that, after one to the right, and another to the left, we should
fall into the direct channel. Roi Denis had promised us arrival
at sunset; his son gradually protracted sunset till midnight.
Still the distance grew and grew. I now learned for the first
time that the boat was too large for the channel, and that oars
were perfectly useless ahead.

At 8 P.M. we entered what seemed a cul de sac; it looked like
charging a black wall, except where a gleam of grey light
suggested the further end of the Box Tunnel, and cheered our poor
hearts for a short minute, whilst in the distance we heard the
tantalizing song of the wild waves. The boughs on both sides
brushed the boat; we held our hands before our faces to avoid the
sharp stubs threatening ugly stabs, and to fend off the low
branches, ready to sweep us and our belongings into the deep
swirling water. The shades closed in like the walls of the
Italian's dungeon; until our eyes grew to it, the blackness of
Erebus weighed upon our spirits; perspiration poured from our
brows, and in this watery mangrove-lane the pabulum vitae seemed
to be wanting. After forcing a passage through three vile
"gates," the sheet-lightning announced a second tornado. We
sighed for more vivid flashes, but after twenty minutes they
dimmed and died away, still showing the "bush"-silhouette on
either side. The tide rushed out in strength under the amphibious
forest--all who know the West Coast will appreciate the position.
It was impossible to advance or to remain in this devil's den,
the gig bumped at every minute, and the early flood would
probably crush her against the trees. So we dropped down to the
nearest "open," which we reached at 9.30 P.M.