A NIGHT HUNT UP THE CUNGAMUNCK. 495 
the outlet. There we found every thing needful already in 
the boat. The additions to its ordinary equipment were very 
few and simple. A stout pine stick had been let into an 
auger hole through a board which had been placed across 
the bow. This stood some four feet high; and upon the top 
of it was placed a triangular shaped box, open at the wide 
end, and which was intended to hold the lighted candles. 
Then there was a low seat, which was intended for the 
marksman, who sat forward, just behind the staff and box- 
lantern; then we had a paddle, which was to be used when 
we reached the scene of operations, where the ordinary oars 
were to be laid aside. 
Now we embarked, and set off down the narrow but deep 
outlet. It here takes the name of Sockendog river, and its 
course towards the southeast is through a wide valley, between 
two chains of hills. The water spreads over the surface of 
this valley in reality, though it is so overgrown by the 
“mash” of tall grass, flags and water-lilies, that the real 
channel seems like a dark shining ribbon laid along a rippled 
and rustling waste of green. Soon we reached Cungamunck 
Bay, which spreads a quarter of a mile in width, with the 
hills rising abruptly on the east. It is a pretty sheet of 
water, covered with the white and yellow flowers of the lily. 
Sockendog plunges on through a gorge by the foot of the 
hills, while we turn towards the north-west, pushing through 
the grass and lilies for the thread-like channel of the Cunga- 
munck river, which comes winding down from out a forest 
of wild hills. 
Now the valley narrows rapidly, and the hills stand 
marshalled on either hand in close dark lines. The sun 
is yet over an hour high, and its yellow glitter is broken 
upon our faces through the firs and pines which bristle on 
the ridges. We are gliding with a “stilly creeping” glide, 
beneath their long shadows and up the tortuous vistas of this 
curious stream, which comes creeping slowly down through 
