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.
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.