“These matters are not easy to find out; even you gunners, who have been on the bay all your lives, where your fathers lived before you, do not know. But now tell us what other sport you have here.” “On the mainland there are a good many English snipe in spring, while in the fall we catch blue-fish and shoot ducks. The black ducks and teal will soon be along; but ever since the inlet was closed, the canvas-backs and red-heads have been scarce.” “What do you mean by the inlet’s closing?” “There used to be several inlets across the beach--one about ten miles below--and then we had splendid oysters and ducks plenty. There came a tremendous storm one winter that washed up the sand and closed the inlet, and so it has remained ever since.” “Can’t they be dredged out?” “The people would pay a fortune to any man who did that, if he could keep it open. In the fall, we go after ducks twenty miles when we want any great shooting; but we kill a good many round here.” “How do you catch the blue-fish that you spoke of?” “They chase the bony-fish along the shore, and when they come close in, you can stand on the beach, and throw the squid right among them, I took sixteen hundred pounds in half a day.” “Phew!” was the universal chorus. “‘Lige was there, and he knows whether that is true. They averaged fifteen pounds apiece. On those occasions, the only question is whether you know how to land them, and can do it quick enough.” “Your hands must have been cut to pieces.” “Not at all; you’ll never cut your hands if you don’t let the line slip.” “Did you run up ashore with them?” “No, I had no time for that; I landed them, hand over hand.” “Well, after that story it’s time we went to bed; so good-night.” During that night the mosquitoes, bad as they had been, were more terrible than at any time previous. Favored by the late frequent rains, they had become more numerous than had ever been known on the beach; and being consequently compelled to subdivide to an unusual degree the ordinarily small supply of food, they were savagely hungry. Sleep was out of the question, and after trying all sorts of devices from gunpowder to mosquito-nets, the party wandered out of doors, and, scattering in search of a place of retreat, afforded an excellent representation of unhappy ghosts on the banks of the Styx. The shore, near the surf, and the bathing-houses had heretofore been tolerably secure resorts, but, on this unprecedented night, a special meeting of mosquitoes seemed to have been called in that neighborhood.