Sure enough, on their return from spiking the cannon, Paul and Israel found the other boat back, the crew in confusion, their lantern having burnt out at the very instant they wanted it. By a singular fatality the other lantern, belonging to Paul’s boat, was likewise extinguished. No tinder-box had been brought. They had no matches but sulphur matches. Locofocos were not then known.
The day came on apace.
“Captain Paul,” said the lieutenant of the second boat, “it is madness to stay longer. See!” and he pointed to the town, now plainly discernible in the gray light.
“Traitor, or coward!” howled Paul, “how came the lanterns out? Israel, my lion, now prove your blood. Get me a light—but one spark!”
“Has any man here a bit of pipe and tobacco in his pocket?” said Israel.
A sailor quickly produced an old stump of a pipe, with tobacco.
“That will do,” and Israel hurried away towards the town.
“What will the loon do with the pipe?” said one. “And where goes he?” cried another.
“Let him alone,” said Paul.
The invader now disposed his whole force so as to retreat at an instant’s warning. Meantime the hardy Israel, long experienced in all sorts of shifts and emergencies, boldly ventured to procure, from some inhabitant of Whitehaven, a spark to kindle all Whitehaven’s habitations in flames.