nd, and, filling
my water-bottles at a farm-house, kept upon that shore all day. The
wind arose, stirring up a rough sea as I approached Bombay Hook, where
the bay is eight miles wide. I tried to land upon the salt marshes,
over the edges of which the long, low seas were breaking, but failed
in several attempts. At last roller after roller, following in quick
succession, carried the little craft on their crests to the land, and
packed her in a thicket of high reeds.

I quickly disembarked, believing it useless to attempt to go further
that day. About an eighth of a mile from the water, rising out of the
salt grass and reeds, was a little mound, covered by trees and bushes,
into which I conveyed my cargo by the back-load, and then easily drew
the light canoe over the level marsh to the camp. A bed of reeds was
soon cut, into which the canoe was settled to prevent her from being
strained by the occupant at night, for I was determined to test the
strength of the boat as sleeping-quarters. Canoes built for one person
are generally too light for such occupancy when out of water. The tall
fringe of reeds which encircled the boat formed an excellent substitute
for chamber walls, giving me all the starry blue heavens for a ceiling,
and most effectually screening me from the strong wind which was
blowing. As it was early when the boat was driven ashore, I had time to
wander down to the brook, which was a mile distant, and replenish my
scanty stock of water.

With the canvas deck-cover and rubber blanket to keep off the heavy
dews, the first night passed in such contracted lodgings was
endurable, if not wholly convenient and agreeable. The river mists
were not dispelled the next day until nine o'clock, when I quitted my
warm nest in the reeds and rowed down the bay, which seemed to grow
broader as I advanced. The bay was still bordered by extensive
marshes, with here and there the habitation of man located upon some
slight elevation of the surface. Having rowed twenty-six miles, and
being off the mouth of Murderkill Creek, a squall struck the canoe
and forced it on to an oyster reef, upon the sharp shells of which
she was rocked for several minutes by the shallow breakers. Fearing
that the paper shell was badly cut, though it was still early in the
afternoon, I ascended the creek of ominous name and associations to
the landing of an inn kept by Jacob Lavey, where I expected to
overhaul my injured craft. To my surprise and great