He explains that “the wind ain’t right fer fishin’. I’ve seen fish caught off’en this bridge so fast you couldn’t bait the hooks, but the wind has to be south. Besides the water’s all roily to-day an’ the fish can’t see nothin’. I bin drownin’ worms ’ere most all day, an’ I ain’t had a bite, an’ I’m goin’ to quit.”
Just after the boat had passed under the bridge, a dead minnow floated along on the current. A large pickerel broke water and seized it. His sweeping tail made a loud swish, and the water boiled with commotion as he turned and dove with his prize.
Instantly the dejected figure on the bridge became thrilled with a new life, and a torrent of profanity filled the air.
“Now wot d’ye think o’ that! The gosh dangled idjut’s bin ’round ’ere all the time, an’ me settin’ ’ere with worms fer ’im. They’s a lot o’ fish in this ’ere river that I’ll teach sumpen to before I’m through with ’em. I’m a pretty old man, but you bet I’m goin’ to play the game while I’m ’ere. I wonder where ’e went with that dam’ minnie!”
The boat goes tranquilly on, and in the dim distance the old man is actively moving around on the bridge, flourishing his cane pole and casting the tempting bait all over the surface of the water, evidently hoping that the “gosh dangled idjut” will rise again.
The river now comes to the beginning of the vast marsh, through which its well-defined channel follows a tortuous route among big wet stretches of high grasses and bulrushes, winds with innumerable turns, makes long sweeps and loops, and comes back, almost doubling itself in its serpentine course. The current slackens and the water becomes deeper.
The cries of the marsh birds are heard, and muskrats are swimming at the apexes of the long V-shaped wakes out on the open water. On small boggy spots are piles of empty freshwater clam shells where these interesting little animals have feasted. As the crows seem to dominate the sand hills, the muskrats contribute much picturesque quality to the marsh. Their little houses add interest to the wet places, and traces of them appear all over the low land.
“THE RIVER NOW COMES TO THE BEGINNING OF THE VAST MARSH”]
A wild duck hurries her downy young into the thick grasses--a few turtles tumble hastily from the bogs into the water--a large blue heron rises slowly out of an unseen retreat, and trails his long legs after him in rhythmic flight down the marsh--mysterious wings are heard among the rushes--immense flocks of blackbirds fill the air--there is a splash out among the lily pads, where a hungry fish has captured his unsuspecting prey, and the deep sonorous bass of a philosophic bullfrog resounds from concealed recesses.