One of the boys announced the boat coming. It soon appeared, Frank standing up in the bow, and Uledi, as usual, at the helm; but as this was the first time Frank had played the pioneer over cataracts, I observed he was a little confused—he waved his hand too often, and thereby confused the steersman—in consequence of which it was guided over the very worst part of the rapids, and though we signalled with cloth we were unheeded, and the boat, whose timbers had never been fractured before, now plunged over a rock, which crashed a hole 6 inches in diameter in her stern, and nearly sent Frank headlong over the bow. Naturally there was a moment of excitement, but by dint of shouting, frantic gestures, and energy on the part of the crew, the poor wounded boat was brought towards shore, with her bow in the air and her stern buried. “Ah, Frank! Frank! Frank!” I cried, “my boat, my poor boat, after so many thousands of miles, so many cataracts, to receive such a blow as this on a contemptible bit of rapids like the Upper Mowa!” I could have wept aloud; but the leader of an Expedition has but little leisure for tears, or sentiment, so I turned to repair her, and this, with the aid of Frank, I was enabled to do most effectually in one day. _May 27._—All the canoes arrived successfully during the 25th and 26th without accident. On the 27th, after first conveying the goods of the Expedition and forming a new camp, below the Lower and Greater Mowa Falls, on a projection of terrace extending from the debouchure of the Mowa Brook, which overhung the Mowa Cove, we dropped our canoes down along the bank and through a cleft in the ledge already described, and by 3 P.M. had passed the Great Mowa Falls, and everybody was safe in camp.