The two went alone about a quarter of a mile.
“Captain Paul,” said Israel, on the way, “can we two manage the sentinels?”
“There are none in the fort we go to.”
“You know all about the place, Captain?”
“Pretty well informed on that subject, I believe. Come along. Yes, lad, I am tolerably well acquainted with Whitehaven. And this morning intend that Whitehaven shall have a slight inkling of me. Come on. Here we are.”
Scaling the walls, the two involuntarily stood for an instant gazing upon the scene. The gray light of the dawn showed the crowded houses and thronged ships with a haggard distinctness.
“Spike and hammer, lad;—so,—now follow me along, as I go, and give me a spike for every cannon. I’ll tongue-tie the thunderers. Speak no more!” and he spiked the first gun. “Be a mute,” and he spiked the second. “Dumbfounder thee,” and he spiked the third. And so, on, and on, and on, Israel following him with the bucket, like a footman, or some charitable gentleman with a basket of alms.
“There, it is done. D’ye see the fire yet, lad, from the south? I don’t.”
“Not a spark, Captain. But day-sparks come on in the east.”
“Forked flames into the hounds! What are they about? Quick, let us back to the first fort; perhaps something has happened, and they are there.”