"No, I won’t. I can’t blockade a French port with a cutter of two guns. If we run too close to the French shore we might easily be snapped up, and for nothing at all. Besides, orders are orders. I’ve got mine as plain as a pikestaff, and I can’t go beyond ’em." Jack was disappointed, but clearly there was nothing to be said. One evening the _Fury_ was making toward Wynport. She had overhauled a suspicious looking brig passing down Channel, but found that she was a harmless Portuguese sailing in ballast. "I know she was a Portuguese," said Joe Turley to his messmates on the forward deck. "But old Turnip-tops, of course he must take his Bible oath she was a Spaniard, and so we’ve wasted three or four hours, on the very night, too, when we’re due at the _Goat and Compasses_." It had been arranged that half the crew should have a night ashore at Wynport—the first since the _Fury_ had spread her sails. "True, old Sparrow-grass is a nuisance, though he’s got a good heart. Here he comes." The bo’sun came forward and joined the group. "Well, messmates," he said, "we’ll be late at the _Goat and Compasses_, and I’m sorry for that, but whenever I’m sorry I think of my brother Sol, who always says, ’Cheer ho! my hearty,’ and slaps your back in a way that warms the very cockles of your heart. I remember—but what’s that light?" "What light, Mr. Babbage?" said one of the men. "There, to larboard." He pointed toward the shore. A strong light was shining intermittently, remaining steady for a few seconds, then disappearing, then flashing out again. "’Tis a signal, sure enough," cried Turley; "but what for? That’s the point." "No, it ain’t the point," said Babbage. "The point’s a good deal east of that light, and it’s Bantock Point." "Well, I meant point in a manner of speaking. The light’s at Luscombe; any one can see that." "More like at Totley." "I say Luscombe, Mr. Babbage," was the stubborn rejoinder. "Totley, I say, and what I say I stick to, as brother Sol says." "Ahoy, there!" called Jack from amidships. "What do you make of that light, Babbage?" "Some one showing a signal from Totley, sir, two miles t’other side of Luscombe." "No, it can’t be at Totley. That’s round a bend of the shore. It’s at or near Luscombe itself. A smugglers’ signal, eh?" "Like as not, sir. They’ve been too quiet of late: a sure sign of something brewing, like a calm after a storm, as brother Sol might say." "I’m pretty sure it’s at Luscombe. But ’twill be rather hard to determine exactly in the darkness. Run her in a little toward shore, so that we can take a look at things."