Blo'ard Ned's bold crew turned fishermen, each man becoming owner of a good stout boat-the gift, it was said, of their old master. However that may have been, they were still to be seen-faithful old dogs as they were-keeping watch before the house of their former commander.

For the benefit of those who may be curious to know what Captain Ned's end was, we can tell them that he died respected and regretted by numerous friends and admirers. We point no moral. These are but longshore sketches of smuggling days. Handsome Hannah" did not long survive her husband; but that name was for years later a household word in many a marshland home where she had taken comfort and gladness.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A NIGHT ON THE FLATS.

"IF you want a shot at black geese, come with me to-night, down past Standgate Creek: it's light o' nights now, and the tide serves right for it. There's clouds of 'em feedin' on the sea-grass."

So spake Den's fishing and fowling friend commonly known by the name of "Finny," by reason of being by far the best fisherman in our out-of-theworld hamlet in the salt marshes of North Kent. A genuine old sea-dog he was, and equally at home with net, long line, or duck-gun. In the stormiest weather, such as would have kept most of our fishing folk on shore, Fin was apparently in his element. He was a few years older than Den, and his companion and guide in many an expedition on the

flats and along the shore, being well versed in all the quags and swamps of our treacherous marshes. The spots Finny fought shy of, all others gave a wide berth to.

"Yes, Fin, I will go, and be glad to. Where do they feed?"

"About the spit 'twixt Standgate and Chesney: they gits mostly on and about the ooze and slub round Halstow, and from there to Rainham; very often they goes right away, clean out to sea. 'Tain't often they comes in like this, but there's rattlin' good feed fur 'em about that spit; the ooze and slub there is covered, like a thick carpet, with sea-grass what they likes. They won't leave it, now they've found it, ye may depend on't."

The place Finny spoke of was one of the most lonely spots on our lonely coast. The spit was a point of marshland running out into the water, dividing the lands of two marsh graziers. The wash of the tide round it had formed two bays, so that if there were a boat in each bay, the spit would most effectually hide the occupants of one boat from those of the other. It was raised about ten feet above the water on one side-the side that they intended shooting

from; the marsh had not been washed away by the rush of the tide so much there.

The friend's grounds over which Den usually shot did not extend so far as that. He pointed this out to his companion.

"It's all right, boy; I knowed you'd say that: but I see the looker this mornin', fur I see a lot of the geese about as I was comin' in from open water. I tried then fur a shot, but it waun't no go. So when I see the looker close inshore, I slung him a skate, —a rattler,—a real good 'un, what weighed twenty pound if it weighed one; enuf to keep his crew at home fur a week almost. He likes 'em. An' I puts the question to him, ef I

an' a mate o' mine could

come on his ground fur a shot to-night at them geese; just fur one, an' no more. An' he said, 'Yes, jist fur one, and fur once.'

"But how about his two bears, Fin?" That was the name they gave to his two enormous bob-tailed sheep-dogs, either of which, with his full coat on, was capable of catching a great marsh hare. They were unpleasant customers to meet, for their manner of warning off trespassers was most effectual. They would catch hold of you by some portion of your

clothes, and hold you fast till their master came up. Try and get away you dared not.

'They'll not touch us. I told him he could hev another bit of fish next time as the boat come by, if he waun't tired of it; an' he said that was all right, an' would suit him to a T. He's stoved the bow of his punt in, so she lays high an' dry in the blite close to the ooze-she's got to lay there till he ken git her docked; and he said he'd draw her broadside on to the ooze, in among the blite, an' put some dry bents in the bottom fur us to lay on, all snug like. The tide flows eleven o'clock; they geese floats up an' guzzles that grass, an' they're sure to cum right up on tu the edge of the flat. An' when they's floated up an' on the feed, you an' me, boy, ken rake 'em fore an' aft. We'll take Rover-he's as good as a man on board, as fur as keepin' watch is consarned, an' they bears wun't be loosed, jist fur this one night. He shell hev as much fish as he ken tuck in next time the boat cums round by the spit again."

Now bless your heart, stow that; ye wun't git