keting yonder heights,
we'll make for Whitehaven, my boy. I promised to drop in there a moment
ere quitting the country for good. Israel, lad, I mean to step ashore in
person, and have a personal hand in the thing. Did you ever drive
spikes?"

"I've driven the spike-teeth into harrows before now," replied Israel;
"but that was before I was a sailor."

"Well, then, driving spikes into harrows is a good introduction to
driving spikes into cannon. You are just the man. Put down your glass;
go to the carpenter, get a hundred spikes, put them in a bucket with a
hammer, and bring all to me."

As evening fell, the great promontory of St. Bee's Head, with its
lighthouse, not far from Whitehaven, was in distant sight. But the wind
became so light that Paul could not work his ship in close enough at an
hour as early as intended. His purpose had been to make the descent and
retire ere break of day. But though this intention was frustrated, he
did not renounce his plan, for the present would be his last
opportunity.

As the night wore on, and the ship, with a very light wind, glided
nigher and nigher the mark, Paul called upon Israel to produce his
bucket for final inspection. Thinking some of the spikes too large, he
had them filed down a little. He saw to the lanterns and combustibles.
Like Peter the Great, he went into the smallest details, while still
possessing a genius competent to plan the aggregate. But oversee as one
may, it is impossible to guard against carelessness in subordinates.
One's sharp eyes can't see behind one's back. It will yet be noted that
an important omission was made in the preparations for Whitehaven.

The town contained, at that period, a population of some six or seven
thousand inhabitants, defended by forts.

At midnight, Paul Jones, Israel Potter, and twenty-nine others, rowed in
two boats to attack the six or seven thousand inhabitants of Whitehaven.
There was a long way to pull. This was done in perfect silence. Not a
sound was heard except the oars turning in the row-locks. Nothing was
seen except the two lighthouses of the harbor. Through the stillness and
the darkness, the two deep-laden boats swam into the haven, like two
mysterious whales from the Arctic Sea. As they reached the outer pier,
the men saw each other's faces. The day was dawning. The riggers and
other artisans of the shipping would before very long be astir. No
matter.

The great staple exported from Whitehaven was then,