"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."