The Tornado . 
33 
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 swirl¬ 
ing water. The shades closed in like the walls of 
the Italians 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 vitcz 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. 
After enduring a third tornado we grounded, 
and the crew sprang ashore, saying that they 
were going to boil plantains on the' bank. I made 
snug for the night with a wet waterproof and a 
1 
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