CHESTER AND THE DEE 255 



Lord ! the blessed stream's turned round and is 

 running up the river " ; and so it was, unless we 

 were both stark staring mad. For a bit we were 

 too flabbergasted to do anything except get to 

 the bank in case some tilting up of the world or 

 mighty local upheaval made getting on to land 

 desirable. Nothing seemed to happen, how^ever, 

 so we concluded to at least get back to the hotel 

 if we could and make sure of our portable 

 property, possibly calculated to be of some value 

 under the altered conditions likely to follow water 

 running up-hill to find its own level. When we 

 paddled back to the boatyard, lo and behold ! all 

 was pretty much as we left it, and the people 

 about the banks quite happy in their minds, 

 instead of playing the part of supernumeraries in 

 a scene such as Martin, the mad artist, delighted 

 to depict. All was serene, with no evidence of 

 the end of the world being due, except that the 

 river did still run up-hill, and the weir had 

 disappeared — which is to say, the flood tide had 

 risen over it, as was its custom, only we two 

 poor ignorant strangers did not know such a 

 thing could be done, and so funked our lives out, 

 though we didn't say so to each other. 



The Dee bore, which did this, is a remarkable 

 sight when it comes in. You see the river as a 

 banked-in stream-way ends at Connah's Quay, 

 some eight miles or so below the city. There it 

 runs out over a vast expanse of flats, which one 

 wonders are not reclaimed, and so out seawards. 

 Over these flats the incoming tide gathers, and 

 in due course forces a volume of water up the 

 channel. At one moment you are by a low tide, 

 which is more just the natural outflow of the 

 stream than the remains of the tidal ebb. The 



