The Heritage of Dedlow Marsh | Page 6

of Dedlow,' Boone Culpepper was one day found floating
dead in his skiff, with a charge of shot through his head and shoulders.
The shot-gun lying at his feet at the bottom of the boat indicated the
'accident' as recorded in the verdict of the coroner's jury--but not by the
people. A thousand rumors of murder or suicide prevailed, but always
with the universal rider, 'Served him right.' So invincible was this
feeling that but few attended his last rites, which took place at high
water. The delay of the officiating clergyman lost the tide; the homely
catafalque--his own boat--was left aground on the Marsh, and deserted
by all mourners except the two children. Whatever he had instilled into
them by precept and example, whatever took place that night in their
lonely watch by his bier on the black marshes, it was certain that those
who confidently looked for any change in the administration of the
Dedlow Marsh were cruelly mistaken. The old Kingfisher was dead,
but he had left in the nest two young birds, more beautiful and graceful,
it was true, yet as fierce and tenacious of beak and talon.
II.
Arriving at the house, the young people ascended the outer flight of
wooden steps, which bore an odd likeness to the companion-way of a
vessel, and the gallery, or 'deck,' as it was called--where a number of
nets, floats, and buoys thrown over the railing completed the nautical
resemblance. This part of the building was evidently devoted to kitchen,
dining-room, and domestic offices; the principal room in the centre
serving as hall or living-room, and communicating on the other side
with two sleeping apartments. It was of considerable size, with heavy
lateral beams across the ceiling--built, like the rest of the house, with a
certain maritime strength--and looked not unlike a saloon cabin. An
enormous open Franklin stove between the windows, as large as a
chimney, blazing with drift-wood, gave light and heat to the apartment,
and brought into flickering relief the boarded walls hung with the spoils
of sea and shore, and glittering with gun-barrels. Fowling-pieces of all
sizes, from the long ducking-gun mounted on a swivel for boat use to
the light single-barrel or carbine, stood in racks against the walls;
game-bags, revolvers in their holsters, hunting and fishing knives in
their sheaths, depended from hooks above them. In one corner stood a

harpoon; in another, two or three Indian spears for salmon. The
carpetless floor and rude chairs and settles were covered with otter,
mink, beaver, and a quantity of valuable seal-skins, with a few larger
pelts of the bear and elk. The only attempt at decoration was the
displayed wings and breasts of the wood and harlequin duck, the muir,
the cormorant, the gull, the gannet, and the femininely delicate
half-mourning of petrel and plover, nailed against the wall. The
influence of the sea was dominant above all, and asserted its saline
odors even through the spice of the curling drift-wood smoke that half
veiled the ceiling.
A berry-eyed old Indian woman with the complexion of dried salmon;
her daughter, also with berry eyes, and with a face that seemed wholly
made of a moist laugh; 'Yellow Bob,' a Digger 'buck,' so called from
the prevailing ochre markings of his cheek, and 'Washooh,' an ex-chief;
a nondescript in a blanket, looking like a cheap and dirty doll whose
fibrous hair was badly nailed on his carved wooden head, composed the
Culpepper household. While the two former were preparing supper in
the adjacent dining-room, Yellow Bob, relieved of his burden of game,
appeared on the gallery and beckoned mysteriously to his master
through the window. James Culpepper went out, returned quickly, and
after a minute's hesitation and an uneasy glance towards his sister, who
had meantime pushed back her sou'wester from her forehead, and
without taking off her jacket had dropped into a chair before the fire
with her back towards him, took his gun noiselessly from the rack, and
saying carelessly that he would be back in a moment, disappeared.
Left to herself, Maggie coolly pulled off her long boots and stockings,
and comfortably opposed to the fire two very pretty feet and ankles,
whose delicate purity was slightly blue-bleached by confinement in the
tepid sea-water. The contrast of their waxen whiteness with her blue
woolen skirt, and with even the skin of her sunburnt hands and wrists,
apparently amused her, and she sat for some moments with her elbows
on her knees, her skirts slightly raised, contemplating them, and curling
her toes with evident satisfaction. The firelight playing upon the rich
coloring of her face, the fringe of jet-black curls that almost met the
thick sweep of eyebrows, and left her only a white strip of forehead, her

short upper lip and small chin,