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THE RAMPARTS OF F AM AGO ST A 249 There are only two gates—the water gate, opening on the harbour, and the land gate, whose outer aspect I was a moment ago describing. When I reached this gate I stood for some time on the causeway, wondering, before I entered, what I should find within. Not a sound broke the stillness ; not a soul seemed to be stirring. The place might have been a tomb, or a city in an enchanted sleep. At last in the darkness of the arch I saw a figure that seemed a negro's, lean and in tattered clothing, which peeped at me and then vanished. A minute or two later there emerged an old man with a donkey. They passed me slowly and drowsily, and nothing else moved. ' In this ditch, sir,' said Scotty, ' they often shoot many snipe—game, sir, much game. My brother he tell me that. He live here. He belong to the coastguard.' ' Is your brother a poacher ? ' I said, annoyed at this inapposite interruption. ' Yes, sir,' said Scotty, who understood the ques-tion but imperfectly. ' He shoot much. My brother a poacher—yes, sir.' Happily here the conversation dropped. I crossed the causeway and entered the dark portal. For forty feet or more I traversed a vaulted pas-sage, with a sharp bend in the middle of it and just wide and high enough to allow of a waggon passing. In the gloom as I went by I noticed some ancient gates leaning, half unhinged, against the wall, and two

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