High-Water Mark — Bret Harte

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,