HIGH-WATER MARK


When the tide was out on the Dedlow Marsh, its extended dreariness
was patent. Its spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools, and
tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open
bay, were all hard facts. So were the few green tussocks, with their
scant blades, their amphibious flavor and unpleasant dampness. And if
you choose to indulge your fancy--although the flat monotony of the
Dedlow Marsh was not inspiring--the wavy line of scattered drift gave
an unpleasant consciousness of the spent waters, and made the dead
certainty of the returning tide a gloomy reflection which no present
sunshine could dissipate. The greener meadowland seemed oppressed with
this idea, and made no positive attempt at vegetation until the work of
reclamation should be complete. In the bitter fruit of the low cranberry
bushes one might fancy he detected a naturally sweet disposition curdled
and soured by an injudicious course of too much regular cold water.

The vocal expression of the Dedlow Marsh was also melancholy and
depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, the shriek of the
curlew, the scream of passing brent, the wrangling of quarrelsome
teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the startled crane, and syllabled
complaint of the "killdeer" plover, were beyond the power of written
expression. Nor was the aspect of these mournful fowls at all cheerful
and inspiring. Certainly not the blue heron standing mid-leg deep in the
water, obviously catching cold in a reckless disregard of wet feet
and consequences; nor the mournful curlew, the dejected plover, or
the low-spirited snipe, who saw fit to join him in his suicidal