Early the next morning we left Whitehall on the steamer _Saranac_, and landed at Chip-man's Point, or Sholes's Landing, the port of Orwell, and the most eligible point whence to reach the battle-ground of Hubbardton. The morning was delightful, and the ride in a light wagon, accompanied by the intelligent son of Mr. Sholes, proved to be one of peculiar pleasure. Our route was through the pleasant little village of Orwell, five miles southeast of the landing. There we turned southward, and followed the margin of the broad ravine or valley through which the retreating Americans and pursuing British passed when St. Clair evacuated Ticonderoga. The road was made very tortuous to avoid the high ridges and deep valleys which intersect in all directions, while at the same time it gradually ascends for several miles. I never passed through a more picturesque country. The slopes and valleys were smiling with cultivation, and in every direction small lakes were sparkling in the noonday sun. Within about six miles of the battle-ground we descended into a romantic valley imbosomed in a spur of the Green Mountains-. We passed several small lakes, lying one below another, over which arose rough and lofty precipices, their summits crowned with cedar, hemlock, pine, and spruce. The tall trunks of the pines, black and branchless, scathed by lightning and the tempest, arose above the surrounding forests like mighty sentinels, and added much to the wild grandeur of the scene. From the rough and narrow valley we ascended to a high, rolling table-land, well cultivated; and upon the highest part of July 7, 1777 this tract, surrounded on the south and east by loftier hills, the battle of Hubbardton occurred.