Chapter 16

THEY LOOK IN AT CARRICKFERGUS, AND DESCEND ON WHITEHAVEN.

Next day, off Carrickfergus, on the Irish coast, a fishing boat, allured

by the Quaker-like look of the incognito craft, came off in full

confidence. Her men were seized, their vessel sunk. From them Paul

learned that the large ship at anchor in the road, was the ship-of-war

Drake, of twenty guns. Upon this he steered away, resolving to return

secretly, and attack her that night.

"Surely, Captain Paul," said Israel to his commander, as about sunset

they backed and stood in again for the land "surely, sir, you are not

going right in among them this way? Why not wait till she comes out?"

"Because, Yellow-hair, my boy, I am engaged to marry her to-night. The

bride's friends won't like the match; and so, this very night, the bride

must be carried away. She has a nice tapering waist, hasn't she, through

the glass? Ah! I will clasp her to my heart."

He steered straight in like a friend; under easy sail, lounging towards

the Drake, with anchor ready to drop, and grapnels to hug. But the wind

was high; the anchor was not dropped at the ordered time. The ranger

came to a stand three biscuits' toss off the unmisgiving enemy's

quarter, like a peaceful merchantman from the Canadas, laden with

harmless lumber.

"I shan't marry her just yet," whispered Paul, seeing his plans for the

time frustrated. Gazing in audacious tranquillity upon the decks of the

enemy, and amicably answering her hail, with complete self-possession,

he commanded the cable to be slipped, and then, as if he had

accidentally parted his anchor, turned his prow on the seaward tack,

meaning to return again immediately with the same prospect of advantage

possessed at first--his plan being to crash suddenly athwart the Drake's

bow, so as to have all her decks exposed point-blank to his musketry.

But once more the winds interposed. It came on with a storm of snow; he

was obliged to give up his project.

Thus, without any warlike appearance, and giving no alarm, Paul, like an

invisible ghost, glided by night close to land, actually came to anchor,

for an instant, within speaking-distance of an English ship-of-war; and

yet came, anchored, answered hail, reconnoitered, debated, decided, and

retired, without exciting the least suspicion. His purpose was

chain-shot destruction. So easily may the deadliest foe--so he be but

dexterous--slide, undreamed of, into human harbors or hearts. And not

awakened conscience, but mere prudence, restrain such, if they vanish

again without doing harm. At daybreak no soul in Carrickfergus knew that

the devil, in a Scotch bonnet, had passed close that way over night.

Seldom has regicidal daring been more strangely coupled with

octogenarian prudence, than in many of the predatory enterprises of

Paul. It is this combination of apparent incompatibilities which ranks

him among extraordinary warriors.

Ere daylight, the storm of the night blew over. The sun saw the Ranger

lying midway over channel at the head of the Irish Sea; England,

Scotland, and Ireland, with all their lofty cliffs, being as

simultaneously as plainly in sight beyond the grass-green waters, as the

City Hall, St. Paul's, and the Astor House, from the triangular Park in

New York. The three kingdoms lay covered with snow, far as the eye could

reach.

"Ah, Yellow-hair," said Paul, with a smile, "they show the white flag,

the cravens. And, while the white flag stays blanketing 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, and still is, coal.

The town is surrounded by mines; the town is built on mines; the ships

moor over mines. The mines honeycomb the land in all directions, and

extend in galleries of grottoes for two miles under the sea. By the

falling in of the more ancient collieries numerous houses have been

swallowed, as if by an earthquake, and a consternation spread, like that

of Lisbon, in 1755. So insecure and treacherous was the site of the

place now about to be assailed by a desperado, nursed, like the coal, in

its vitals.

Now, sailing on the Thames, nigh its mouth, of fair days, when the wind

is favorable for inward-bound craft, the stranger will sometimes see

processions of vessels, all of similar size and rig, stretching for

miles and miles, like a long string of horses tied two and two to a rope

and driven to market. These are colliers going to London with coal.

About three hundred of these vessels now lay, all crowded together, in

one dense mob, at Whitehaven. The tide was out. They lay completely

helpless, clear of water, and grounded. They were sooty in hue. Their

black yards were deeply canted, like spears, to avoid collision. The

three hundred grimy hulls lay wallowing in the mud, like a herd of

hippopotami asleep in the alluvium of the Nile. Their sailless, raking

masts, and canted yards, resembled a forest of fish-spears thrust into

those same hippopotamus hides. Partly flanking one side of the grounded

fleet was a fort, whose batteries were raised from the beach. On a

little strip of this beach, at the base of the fort, lay a number of

small rusty guns, dismounted, heaped together in disorder, as a litter

of dogs. Above them projected the mounted cannon.

Paul landed in his own boat at the foot of this fort. He dispatched the

other boat to the north side of the haven, with orders to fire the

shipping there. Leaving two men at the beach, he then proceeded to get

possession of the fort.

"Hold on to the bucket, and give me your shoulder," said he to Israel.

Using Israel for a ladder, in a trice he scaled the wall. The bucket and

the men followed. He led the way softly to the guard-house, burst in,

and bound the sentinels in their sleep. Then arranging his force,

ordered four men to spike the cannon there.

"Now, Israel, your bucket, and follow me to the other fort."

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."

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 k****e all Whitehaven's habitations

in flames.

There was a lonely house standing somewhat disjointed from the town,

some poor laborer's abode. Rapping at the door, Israel, pipe in mouth,

begged the inmates for a light for his tobacco.

"What the devil," roared a voice from within, "knock up a man this time

of night to light your pipe? Begone!"

"You are lazy this morning, my friend," replied Israel, "it is daylight.

Quick, give me a light. Don't you know your old friend? Shame! open the

door."

In a moment a sleepy fellow appeared, let down the bar, and Israel,

stalking into the dim room, piloted himself straight to the fire-place,

raked away the cinders, lighted his tobacco, and vanished.

All was done in a flash. The man, stupid with sleep, had looked on

bewildered. He reeled to the door, but, dodging behind a pile of

bricks, Israel had already hurried himself out of sight.

"Well done, my lion," was the hail he received from Paul, who, during

his absence, had mustered as many pipes as possible, in order to

communicate and multiply the fire.

Both boats now pulled to a favorable point of the principal pier of the

harbor, crowded close up to a part of which lay one wing of the

colliers.

The men began to murmur at persisting in an attempt impossible to be

concealed much longer. They were afraid to venture on board the grim

colliers, and go groping down into their hulls to fire them. It seemed

like a voluntary entrance into dungeons and death.

"Follow me, all of you but ten by the boats," said Paul, without

noticing their murmurs. "And now, to put an end to all future burnings

in America, by one mighty conflagration of shipping in England. Come on,

lads! Pipes and matches in the van!"

He would have distributed the men so as simultaneously to fire different

ships at different points, were it not that the lateness of the hour

rendered such a course insanely hazardous. Stationing his party in front

of one of the windward colliers, Paul and Israel sprang on board.

In a twinkling they had broken open a boatswain's locker, and, with

great bunches of oakum, fine and dry as tinder, had leaped into the

steerage. Here, while Paul made a blaze, Israel ran to collect the

tar-pots, which being presently poured on the burning matches, oakum and

wood, soon increased the flame.

"It is not a sure thing yet," said Paul, "we must have a barrel of

tar."

They searched about until they found one, knocked out the head and

bottom, and stood it like a martyr in the midst of the flames. They then

retreated up the forward hatchway, while volumes of smoke were belched

from the after one. Not till this moment did Paul hear the cries of his

men, warning him that the inhabitants were not only actually astir, but

crowds were on their way to the pier.

As he sprang out of the smoke towards the rail of the collier, he saw

the sun risen, with thousands of the people. Individuals hurried close

to the burning vessel. Leaping to the ground, Paul, bidding his men

stand fast, ran to their front, and, advancing about thirty feet,

presented his own pistol at now tumultuous Whitehaven.

Those who had rushed to extinguish what they had deemed but an

accidental fire, were now paralyzed into idiotic inaction, at the

defiance of the incendiary, thinking him some sudden pirate or fiend

dropped down from the moon.

While Paul thus stood guarding the incipient conflagration, Israel,

without a weapon, dashed crazily towards the mob on the shore.

"Come back, come back," cried Paul.

"Not till I start these sheep, as their own wolves many a time started

me!"

As he rushed bare-headed like a madman, towards the crowd, the panic

spread. They fled from unarmed Israel, further than they had from the

pistol of Paul.

The flames now catching the rigging and spiralling around the masts,

the whole ship burned at one end of the harbor, while the sun, an hour

high, burned at the other. Alarm and amazement, not sleep, now ruled the

world. It was time to retreat.

They re-embarked without opposition, first releasing a few prisoners, as

the boats could not carry them.

Just as Israel was leaping into the boat, he saw the man at whose house

he had procured the fire, staring like a simpleton at him.

"That was good seed you gave me;" said Israel, "see what a yield,"

pointing to the flames. He then dropped into the boat, leaving only Paul

on the pier.

The men cried to their commander, conjuring him not to linger.

But Paul remained for several moments, confronting in silence the

clamors of the mob beyond, and waving his solitary hand, like a

disdainful tomahawk, towards the surrounding eminences, also covered

with the affrighted inhabitants.

When the assailants had rowed pretty well off, the English rushed in

great numbers to their forts, but only to find their cannon no better

than so much iron in the ore. At length, however, they began to fire,

having either brought down some ship's guns, or else mounted the rusty

old dogs lying at the foot of the first fort.

In their eagerness they fired with no discretion. The shot fell short;

they did not the slightest damage.

Paul's men laughed aloud, and fired their pistols in the air.

Not a splinter was made, not a drop of blood spilled throughout the

affair. The intentional harmlessness of the result, as to human life,

was only equalled by the desperate courage of the deed. It formed,

doubtless, one feature of the compassionate contempt of Paul towards

the town, that he took such paternal care of their lives and limbs.

Had it been possible to have landed a few hours earlier not a ship nor a

house could have escaped. But it was the lesson, not the loss, that

told. As it was, enough damage had been done to demonstrate--as Paul had

declared to the wise man of Paris--that the disasters caused by the

wanton fires and assaults on the American coasts, could be easily

brought home to the enemy's doors. Though, indeed, if the retaliators

were headed by Paul Jones, the satisfaction would not be equal to the

insult, being abated by the magnanimity of a chivalrous, however

unprincipled a foe.