A SHELLBACK OF THE CROUCH 



HE moorings must be 

 left before six o'clock to- 

 morrow morning, gentle- 

 men, or we shall miss 

 best part of the ebb 



tide," said Dan H , 



a well-known Burnham 

 fisher man-wildfowler, 

 as Jimmy Maldoon 

 and myself wished him 

 *' good - night " in the 

 coffee-room of that com- 

 fortable Burnham hostelry, The White Hart, from the 

 windows of which were to be seen innumerable yachts of 

 all rigs and ratings, from a fine ocean-going steamer down 

 to the small but speedy Httle " water wags," riding peace- 

 fully at their moorings in the River Crouch, which 

 appeared like a river of molten silver under the beams of 

 the harvest moon. 



" All right, Dan ; we will be on the club jetty at five 

 o'clock sharp, and then we shall have ample time to get 

 aboard and sail down along to the main on the ebb ! 

 Good-night ! " 



" How about grub, Marshman ? Dan isn't half a bad 

 trencherman, and your appetite is not a particularly 



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