at I was ready to
run any risk sooner than lose the little cargo we had of a dozen
brandy-kegs, and about the same number of packages; but there seemed not
the slightest prospect of our getting off, unless we happened to be
unobserved in the darkness. However, I pulled on, and keeping off to
the right, we had the satisfaction of seeing the revenue boat row
straight on, as if not noticing us.

"Keep off a little now," I whispered, "or we shall be ashore."

"No, no--it's all right," was the reply; "we are just over the swatch;"
which is the local term given to the long channels washed out in the
sand by the tide, here and there forming deep trenches along the coast,
very dangerous for bathers.

"They see us," I whispered; when my companion backed water, and the
consequence was, that the boat's head turned right in-shore, and we
floated between the piles, and were next moment, with shipped oars, out
of sight in the outlet of the gowt.

Now, I am not prepared to give the derivation of the word "gowt," but I
can describe what it is--namely, the termination, at the sea-coast, of
the long Lincolnshire land-drains, in the shape of a lock with gates,
which are opened at certain times, to allow the drainage to flow under
the sand into the sea, but carefully closed when the tide is up, to
prevent flooding of the marsh-lands, protected by the high sea-bank,
which runs along the coast and acts the part of cliffs. From these
lock-gates, a square woodwork tunnel is formed by means of piles driven
into the shore, and crossed with stout planks; and this covered
water-way in some cases runs for perhaps two hundred yards right beneath
the sandbank, then beneath the sand, and has its outlet some distance
down the shore; while, to prevent the air blowing the tunnel up when the
sea comes in, a couple of square wooden pipes descend at intervals of
some fifty yards through the sand into the water-way; at high water,
when the mouth is covered, and the lock-gates closed, the air comes
bellowing and roaring up these pipes as every wave comes in; and at
times, when the tunnel is pretty full, the water will, after chasing the
air, rush out after it, and form a spray fountain; while, as the waves
recede, the wind rushes back with a strange whistling sound, and a
draught that draws anything down into the tunnel with a fierce rush.
But there was another peculiarity of the hollow way that was strangely
impressed upon my memory that night--namely,