The rapid foaming and fuming presented so vigorous an appearance and made so much noise we thought it ought to be named, and it was called Fretwater Falls. Mr. Beaman a little to his left is sitting in undress uniform. Andy is cooking dinner and I am reclining on the sand and driftwood writing, while the more substantial part of my dress is hanging on a dead tree keeping the company of two or three others of the same sort. Clem seems to think it capital fun to knock sand into my face while I am writing. It may be to him, but I fail to see the point of his gaudy amusement.
Dinner is called and there is a general rush and rally on the biscuits and coffee.
Beaman has gone up to take a picture of 'Fretwater Falls,' the name we gave to the last rapid.