The appearance of the country around these broads has changed very much during the last half-century, and this change is still going on. Wherever it seems possible, drainage-works are attempted and carried out; and acres upon acres of valuable meadow-land have been and are in process of being reclaimed from the marsh. Some of these flat green meadows, which a century back were sodden quagmires covered with stagnant water, now pasture large herds of cattle, and are let at four pounds an acre for grazing purposes. At the outlet of the drains into the river, drainage windmills are erected of every size and shape, from the brick tower to the skeleton wooden erection painted a brilliant red or green. These windmills form a striking and picturesque addition to the background of a marsh picture, but, like the decoys, they will soon be a thing of the past, as they are now beginning to be superseded by steam, which does the work required much more efficiently and quickly.
Otters abound in the pathless forests of reeds which fringe the meres, and are often bold and familiar. One night while sleeping on board his yacht at Cantley, Mr Davies was awakened by the noise of something heavy jumping on board. The boat rocked violently, and the disturbance was so sudden and inexplicable, that he got up just in time to see a large dark object plunge overboard and disappear. On striking a light, the broad and unmistakable track of an otter, was visible, imprinted wherever his moist feet had been, and that seemed to be everywhere, for he had evidently made a round in search of something eatable.
The whole marsh district is subject to destructive floods and high tides, which rush up the rivers, driving back the fresh water and destroying vast quantities of fish. The whole coast also suffers much from sea-breaches. ‘Between Winterton and Waxham, hard by Hornsea Mere, the only barrier between sea and lake is a line of what are called “miel” banks, which are simply banks of sand held together by marum grasses. Upon this marum grass, which grows in the loosest sand, the welfare of a wide district depends. In 1781, there were many breaches of the sea between Waxham and Winterton, so that every tide the salt water and sands destroyed the marshes and the fish in the broads and river; and if the wind blew briskly from the north-west, by which the quantity of water in the North Sea was largely increased from the Atlantic, the salt water drowned all the low country even as far as Norwich.’ In the following eight years, the breaches were seriously widened, the largest being two hundred yards in width, through which a vast body of water poured.
In a country so open, wind-storms are very frequent; and what are called ‘Rodges blasts,’ rotatory whirlwinds, often occasion great damage, wrecking the windmills, uprooting trees, convulsing the grasses, and lifting the reed-stacks high into the air. Will-o’-the-wisps, once very common, are now comparatively rare, having been exorcised by drainage. Mr Davies only once saw one at Hickling over a wet bit of meadow. ‘The sportive fiend that haunts the mead’ appeared to him as a small flickering phosphorescent light faintly visible in the darkness.
Another peculiar and uncomfortable phenomenon of the marshes is the water-eynd or sea-smoke, which, rolling up from the ocean, covers the whole landscape with a dense watery vapour, shutting out the placid beauty of lagoon and mere, and reed-bed and coppice, and putting an end to all pleasure, till the sun shines out again in a blaze of glory, bathing the drenched flats in a warm flush of colour. The reeds on the wide margins of the meres then quiver in the sunlight, which shimmers down into their dark-green recesses; the still water gleams in the shallow bays, where the cattle stand knee deep; and the warm air is redolent of the odour of meadow-sweet and thyme: all is motion and colour and fragrance, as if Nature were visibly rejoicing at having got quit of the uncomfortable bath of the water-eynd.
BY MEAD AND STREAM.
BY CHARLES GIBBON.
CHAPTER XXVI.—A QUESTION OF DIVISION.
Philip locked his desk, after placing Mr Shield’s letter in his pocket-book, locked his door, and hastened to the station in time to catch one of the afternoon fast trains to Dunthorpe. As he was in a hurry, he hired a fly to Ringsford. On the way down, he had made up his mind to get over what he anticipated would be a disagreeable interview with his father, before going to Willowmere. Then he would be able to tell Madge all about it, and receive comfort from her.
He alighted at the gate, and walked swiftly up the avenue. The sun was out of sight; but it had left behind a soft red glow, which warmed and brightened the blackened landscape. Peering through the dark lacework formed by the bare branches of the trees, he saw a figure standing as it were in the centre of that red glow: the shadows which surrounded Philip making the figure on the higher ground beyond appear to be a long way off. A melancholy figure: light all round him, darkness within himself.