But to return to the Fyns.
On that island they spent many years, hand in glove with the smugglers.
There was an old fellow, a farmer on the mainland, who rode a white horse into Looe. He acted as spy, and was intimate with the preventive men, who trusted him, and perhaps some of them had their palms greased to give him information. If the white horse were seen returning along the coast road to the west, that was a signal to Fyn that all was safe. But sometimes the horse was too lame or tired to return home, and the farmer went his way on foot; that always coincided with activity among the officers of the revenue.
From Looe Island, Fyn or his sister signalled by lights to the smugglers lying in the offing. At length their daring and their success induced the Government to establish one of their guard on the island itself—the station is still there—and the man was bidden keep a watchful eye on Black Joan and her brother.
Now the Fyns had their secret stores full of a cargo they desired to run ashore, but were afraid of being seen by this man.
One day Black Joan hastened to the preventive officer with, "Oh, my dear! Now ther 's that terr'ble put out I be. What du 'y think now? My boat hev a broke her moorings, and is driftin' wi' the tide out to say. Oh, my dear man, du 'y now bring her in for me." The officer ran to the cliff, and sure enough there was the boat slowly floating away on the ebb of the tide.
