With all our tugging and toiling, we had accomplished but thirteen miles
since leaving the Kakalin, and it was already late when we arrived in
view of the "Grande Chûte," near which we were to encamp.

We had passed the "Little Chûte" (the spot where the town of Appleton
now stands) without any further observation than that it required a vast
deal of extra exertion to buffet with the rushing stream and come off,
as we did, victorious.

The brilliant light of the setting sun was resting on the high wooded
banks through which broke the beautiful, foaming, dashing waters of the
Chûte. The boat was speedily turned towards a little headland projecting
from the left bank, which had the advantage of a long strip of level
ground, sufficiently spacious to afford a good encamping ground. I
jumped ashore before the boat was fairly pulled up by the men, and with
the Judge's help made my way as rapidly as possible to a point lower
down the river, from which, he said, the best view of the Chûte could be
obtained. I was anxious to make a sketch before the daylight quite faded
away.

The left bank of the river was to the west, and over a portion less
elevated than the rest the sun's parting rays fell upon the boat, the
men with their red caps and belts, and the two tents already pitched.
The smoke now beginning to ascend from the evening fires, the high
wooded bank beyond, up which the steep portage path could just be
discerned, and, more remote still, the long stretch of waterfall now
darkening in the shadow of the overhanging forests, formed a lovely
landscape, to which the pencil of an artist could alone do justice.

This was my first encampment, and I was quite enchanted with the novelty