Cannon Field 
are immortal, preserved in the history of three 
great nations. 
Perhaps the tall old apple-trees on Cannon 
Field were placed there long ago by French 
hands. They are very un-American apple- 
trees indeed, and one is inclined to question 
their title to be called apple-trees at all, until 
among their scattered leaves are discovered 
unequivocal if not tempting apples. 
At the foot of the bluff is the deep sea basin 
where the water rises and falls from twenty- 
eight to thirty feet, twice each day. But one 
does not realise the magnitude of the tides at 
this point. One does not realise it at all at 
first. The flowing of the tide is fast but 
gradual : the mighty basin fills, fills, until the 
tall pier is an ordinary wharf, with no hint of 
a hole in its side, and a broad sheet of water 
smiles and sparkles in the sun. 
Through the Gut the tides come racing with 
frightful velocity, making the smaller boats 
watchful about entering, but once inside, the 
waters spread without much commotion and 
fill the great Basin to its brim. 
Swiftly but gradually the waters subside, the 
pier grows tall, long points of shining gravel 
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