Transcriber Notes

• Missing punctuation and obvious typos corrected, other inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation in the original retained.

SHOSHONE TUNNEL, CAÑON OF GRAND RIVER.

HISTORICAL FINE ART SERIES.

“Glimpses of America”
A PICTORIAL AND DESCRIPTIVE HISTORY OF
Our Country’s Scenic Marvels,
DELINEATED BY PEN AND CAMERA.

By J. W. BUEL,

Who, in a Special Photograph Car and accompanied by a corps of accomplished Artists, visited every part of the United States and Canada, to picture and describe all the wonderful scenery found therein.

Photographs of the Picturesque Wonderlands of North America.

From Regions of Perpetual Ice to Lands of Perennial Sunshine.

PUBLISHED BY

HISTORICAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,

PHILADELPHIA.

The Engravings in this volume were made from original photographs, and are specially protected by Copyright, and notice is hereby given, that any person or persons guilty of reproducing or infringing the copyright in any way will be dealt with according to law.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year

1894, by

H. S. SMITH,

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at

Washington, D. C.

All rights reserved.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

CURRECANTI NEEDLE, ON CURRECANTI RIVER, COLORADO.

CHIPPETA FALLS, IN BLACK CAÑON OF GUNNISON RIVER.

BERYL SPRINGS AND CLEOPATRA TERRACE, YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.

GLIMPSES OF AMERICA.

The most interesting, because most diversified, country in the world is America, and the center of that unexampled interest belongs to the territory comprised within the United States. The castles of England, crushed by the hand of time; the lochs and friths of Scotland, that murmur to the sea their wails of the Viking invaders; the lakes and heaths of Ireland, around which old legends hold perpetual carnival; the Rhine of Germany, whose banks are strewn with the relics of feudalism; the Bernese Alps, that flaunt their whitened locks like aged giants taunting the walled cities about which the sound of battle still seems to linger; the red glare of Vesuvius, wrestling with fiery wrath in mad ambition to overwhelm the cities built upon her ashes; the roar and blaze of Ætna, that growls with the voice of Polyphemus thirsting for the life of Ulysses; the hills of Greece, on which a thousand gods held council; the welling breast of Mother Nile, carrying to the sea remembrances of her ancient children; the Holy Land, blooming with sacred memories that fill the human heart with fragrance; the mighty peaks of Himalayas, piercing the heavens with frosted heads and draped with the fogs of centuries; the plains of Asshur, where Babylon stood, and the wrath of God was kindled. All these, and more, speak with siren tongue to lure the traveler and give him appetite for history. But, if we except the associations which make these places of the Old World memorable, the student of nature will find a thousand greater charms in the picturesque, grand, marvelous and sublime scenery that diversifies our own country. No picture has ever equaled the real, and no book has ever vividly described the wonders that God has scattered over the American landscape. We have had glimpses of mountain, plain, lake, river and cañon, but they have been little more than shadows of the reality, an intimation of a grandeur almost too great to depict. But as great telescopes have brought within our vision surprising views of other worlds, the rings of Saturn, the seas of Mars, and the burnt-out craters of the Moon, so has inventive genius been active in delineating the physical features of the earth, and through the perfection of photography we are now practically enabled to take the world in our hand and examine it with the same convenience that we can an orange. Travel is no longer necessary for the masses in order to behold the marvels of American scenery, for the camera has gathered them all and lays every inspiring scene upon even the poor man’s table, to minister to the delight of his family circle. But photography likewise blesses the traveler, for study of the picture establishes acquaintanceship with that which is represented, while accompanying description quickens his understanding and gives a more intelligent conception of the pictorial subject.

It has been my good fortune to make many trips across the continent over the various railway lines; and business and pleasure have taken me during the past several years to nearly all the accessible parts of the country, reached by rail, boat or stage-coach. Always an admirer of nature, I have longed for the means to sketch or photograph the imposing scenery which caught my enraptured eye as I hurried by. This ambition prompted the really stupendous undertaking whose fruitage is now offered to the public in all its delicious flavor, in the form of a book as herewith submitted.

How the photographic views herein reproduced were obtained may be thus briefly told, and is well worthy the relation: This book was conceived more than half a dozen years ago, but a press of other engagements caused a postponement of any effort at its preparation until the spring of 1890, when the publishers engaged a corps of artists, consisting of three of the best out-door photographers in the country. A passenger car was next chartered, which was remodeled so as to provide comfortable sleeping quarters for the men in one end, a kitchen in the other, while the center was fitted up as an operating-room for taking, developing and finishing pictures. Three cameras, of as many sizes, were also provided, with three thousand prepared plates, and a great quantity of paraphernalia which might be found useful for the expedition.

A FAMILY OF PUEBLO INDIANS, NEW MEXICO.

Thus equipped, our photographic party left St. Louis early in May, going directly west to Denver, from which point we made excursions to all the near-lying parks, thence to Manitou, and by way of the Colorado Midland to Salt Lake. Our work about Salt Lake occupied considerable time, and after leaving there we proceeded to Weber Cañon and then by way of the Union Pacific to Shoshone Falls. We next returned by way of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, making a sweep southward, through Ouray and the Valley of the Gunnison, over Marshall Pass and to Pueblo by way of the Royal Gorge. Our party divided several times in order to cover the territory more expeditiously, and in making the trip into New Mexico one part entered by way of Trinidad from Pueblo and the other traveled directly south through Antonito, forming a junction again at Santa Fe.

Some weeks were spent traveling off the line of road among the ruined villages of the Cliff-Dwellers, and in photographing the more rugged scenery of the Rio Grande River. Then we continued our journey westward over the Atlantic and Pacific and the Southern Pacific Railroads to California, where nearly three months were spent among the towns, Yosemite Valley, Big Trees and mountains of that summer-land. On the appearance of spring we traveled north by way of the California and Oregon Railroad, still making side trips by stage-coach and wagon, to Portland, from which point excursions were made up the Columbia and Willamette Rivers. At Victoria, British Columbia, we took steamer for Alaska, and returning we passed through the Cascade Range over the Northern Pacific, working our way back east. But we continued to make detours a long way off the main line of road, thus visiting the Falls of the Missouri, the Black Hills, the Custer battle-field, Devil’s Tower, and Yellowstone National Park, in which latter wonderland we spent two weeks photographing its scenery and extraordinary formations.

“WHALE-BACK” BOAT of the NORTHERN LAKES.

More than three-fourths of the grandest views were inaccessible by rail, so other means of travel had to be adopted. Often it was by stage-coach, but frequently donkeys were our sole reliance; and when these little animals could not carry us to the most rugged points, we shouldered our instruments and scrambled to the peaks and abysses of necessary observation. The difficulties, dangers and hardships thus encountered were both great and numerous, while the expense involved was so far beyond our first calculations, that had it been anticipated in the beginning the enterprise would certainly never have been undertaken.

GOVERNOR’S RESIDENCE, PUEBLO OF TESUQUE, NEW MEXICO.

We resumed our eastward journey thence to Superior Lake, Dells of the St. Croix, rapids of the Wisconsin, lakes and waterfalls of Minnesota, the Upper Mississippi through Lake Pepin, and back to St. Louis, the entire trip occupying more than eighteen months.

THE URNS, MANITOU PARK.

Our camera car had served our purposes in a most gratifying manner while making the long tour of the West, but in the eastern tour, which remained to be performed, it was considered that the car would be of no special advantage, since accommodations are so much more easily obtained in the built-up sections of the East than in the thinly and sometimes totally unsettled districts of the West, where in many cases our car was our only shelter. The journey east was begun in October, from St. Louis to Chicago, thence to Niagara Falls, and then up the St. Lawrence. Our route next lay through the Green and White Mountains, and other famous sections of the New England States; thence west into the Adirondacks, Mohawk Valley and Lakes George and Champlain, then down the picturesque Hudson into the Catskills. Continuing our journey southward, we visited the points of grandest scenery in Virginia, North Carolina, and Eastern Tennessee, and then proceeded on to Florida, where a part of the winter was spent photographing everything worthy of a place in this volume. On the return trip Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, and Wyandotte Cave, in Indiana, received our attention, as well as other interesting places along the way, and early in February our labors were ended by a return to St. Louis to put the results in book form. Nearly all the descriptive writing was done while our party was on the way, and while the impressions produced by the glorious visions were fresh in the author’s mind. This work, accordingly, is practically one of inspiration, the whole constituting a story of extraordinary interest and a history of incomparable value.

ON THE OCKLAWAHA RIVER, FLORIDA.

Illustrations, however fine, whether of wood or steel, represent the artist’s conceptions, dashed with an individual coloring that prevents a natural reproduction. The painter sketches his landscape from a special point of view, and working many days blends the sunrise with midday and sunset, the mists of morning with the clouds of noon, thus striving to please the eye rather than to truthfully present nature, without artificial adornments.

Photography, on the other hand, is the mirror which reflects nature in all her changeful moods; the absolutely faithful reproducer of her every aspect, exhibiting her in her every-day garb, noting the disfigurements with no less fidelity than the sublime graces which she exhibits and all the widely diversified physical features which render her countenance so variable that admirer and scoffer alike find reason for urging their claims. No other attempt has ever been made to so perfectly picture the wonders of America, and the work has been so thoroughly accomplished that it is confidently believed no one, however great his ambition or lavish his expense, will be able to add anything to the completeness of our undertaking, as here submitted. Whatever may be the measure of deserving of the descriptive part of this book, certainly the photographic illustrations are worthy of all praise as fulfilling the conditions of masterpieces of American scenery, while the publishers are entitled to most generous public recognition for conceiving and so liberally endowing an enterprise, which has flowered in the fragrance and beauty of this exquisite work.

ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT TACOMA, WASHINGTON.

It is seemly to add that our tour was made wholly at the expense of the publishers. Free transportation was offered us over all the railroads on which we traveled, but all such courtesies were uniformly refused, because an acceptance would have placed us under obligations to manifest some favoritism, and thus interfere with the declared purpose of the publishers to issue a work on American scenery in which the views and descriptions should be given truthfully, and without partiality. We therefore selected the routes which promised most satisfactory results, without regard to personal convenience, having in view the ambition to present and describe the most interesting, if not always the most famous, scenery of our country, and in so doing produce a work of which all Americans, like the publishers, may be justly proud. In this our celebrant year such a book is particularly appropriate, and the hope of the publishers, as it is of the author, is that our ambitious and worthy enterprise may find a warm welcome at the fireside of every American family.

VIEW OF FORT WRANGEL, ALASKA.

CHAPTER I.
AMONG THE WILD SCENES OF COLORADO.

“Go abroad

Upon the paths of Nature, and when all

Its voices whisper, and its silent things

Are breathing the deep mystery of the World,

Kneel at its ample altar.”

PIKE’S PEAK FROM COLORADO SPRINGS.

Enthusiasm sometimes exaggerates the reality, just as colored glass confuses the sight; but when it serves to please without doing harm, the fault may be pardoned. To the enthusiasm of the occasion, and our great and unique enterprise, may therefore be charged the burst of admiration that manifested our feelings, when, rolling along the prairies on the Union Pacific R. R., we saw, rising far to the southwest, nearly one hundred miles away, the broad shoulders of Pike’s Peak, breaking into russet above the clouds and showing a head of saffron, mellowed by the soft rays of a sun just falling into the deep valleys of the Occident. It was the chief object to chain our attention for the while, and this first impression awakened most delightful anticipations of the work which lay before us. A few hours later we were in Denver, making final preparations for a photographing tour of the picturesque West. Fortunately, our arrangements were so nearly complete upon leaving St. Louis that only a short stay in Denver was necessary, and it was with eager desire that we had our car attached to a Union Pacific train and started for the heart of the Rockies. The long range of mountains, rising into sharp peaks, and again spreading their tops into truncated cones, elbowing and pushing each other like a brigade in too close quarters at parade-rest, are only fifteen miles from Denver, forming a grand background to an immense expanse of prairie landscape. Starting on the Colorado Central Branch of the Union Pacific, we soon pass through the gate-way of the Rockies; thence on to Golden, a beautiful mining town that nestles in the bed of a dried-up lake, and looks up with pleasing satisfaction to the guardian gods of North and South Table Mountains. Here a stop is made for a trip up Bear Creek Cañon, which is reached by stage, by which conveyance the traveler is trundled into a gorge of surpassing beauty and noble grandeur. Through this great gash the water dashes, swollen by melting snows, and fed by a thousand sources. On either side the frowning and dusky walls, weaving a tortuous way like the path of a drunken giant, rear up their castellated heads until they remind us of the walled cities of Jericho, over which Joshua’s spies were lowered by Rahab.

MARSHALL FALLS, CLEAR CREEK CAÑON.

Only a few miles from Golden is Clear Creek Cañon, another wondrous cleavage wrought by water that goes tumbling through the passage with rumble of breakers and roar of waterfall. The walls of the cañon rise perpendicularly to varying heights of 500 to 1,500 feet, and at places approach so near to each other that an observer looking upward from the cavernous depths can see only a thin strip of blue sky. Away up on the brows of the parallel cliffs are large trees that look like feather dusters, and little streams of liquid silver appear in the distance to be pouring their contributions from crevice and apex to swell the mad creek that rushes with complaining voice down the age-swept gorge. Along this water-bed was formerly the roadway, or trail, used by freight-wagons and stage-coaches, but it is now become the exclusive thoroughfare of the Central Branch, so that the magnificent view which the cañon affords is before the eyes of railroad travelers.

Less than three miles from Georgetown is Green Lake, an exquisite body of water which has been very appropriately called the Gem of the Mountain. Its translucent depths are animated by myriads of trout that are tinged by the green waters to the color of emeralds, while away down in its profound recesses is distinguishable a forest of stately trees which has been swept into the lake by some glacial avalanche. Not a branch appears to have been broken or a position disturbed, for the trees stand boldly upright in all their original gracefulness, but through calcareous depositions, that are a peculiarity of this lake, they have been converted into stone. Thus it is a submerged forest of petrified trees.

Looking beyond the lake we perceive, some seven miles away, the famous Argenta Pass, the summit of which is reached by the highest wagon-road in the world, and from this elevation an almost boundless and marvelously picturesque view may be had, stretching away to the west as far as Holy Cross Mount, and eastward to the prairies of Kansas.

A VIEW OF PIKE’S PEAK.

But we have now reached the backbone of the divide and our train starts down the western grade, circling like a hawk out of the sky. Over immense fills, through deep cuts, across bridges, following a swiftly-flowing stream, until at length we gain the level valley and go dashing away to Graymont, on the way to Idaho Springs and Georgetown. To avoid tunneling in crossing the divide, the railroad winds around the mountain elevations, up a steep grade, over a way that has been blasted out of the eternal rocks, until from away up the lofty sides the traveler may look upon a scene of marvelous beauty and ruggedness that fades into indistinctness miles below. Leaning out of the car window we view a wondrous panorama, and pause directly to bring our cameras into use, that the scene may be caught and held on paper. There on one side of the depths is Devil’s Gate, in close proximity, as it seems, to Bridal Veil Falls, where the clear mountain stream plunges over a precipice of great height to join the gamboling creek that rushes away on its errand hundreds of feet below. There, too, is a spider’s web of steel, eighty-six feet high, that has served as a passage-way for our train across a chasm 300 feet wide, whose bottom can scarcely be distinguished from our lofty eminence; but we see that the track makes a complete loop, and that the road parallels itself, at a constantly increasing grade, no less than three times. All the while that we are winding around and crossing our own track, Georgetown continues visible, but it is dwarfed by the distance to the appearance of a prairie-dog village.

CHALK CLIFFS, CLEAR CREEK CAÑON.

The picturesqueness of the route now changes from wild scenery of lofty mountain and the dark awesomeness of deep cañon, to a park-like landscape, through tillable lands, and on to Silver Plume, a great feat of mining engineering, and beautiful beyond description. Gray’s Peak rises like a giant phantom a few miles beyond, and becomes a charming signet in the ring of park and town of Graymont that lies near its feet.

Returning east a distance of twenty miles, a junction is reached at Fork’s Creek, where another branch of the Union Pacific leads to Central City and Black Hawk. Here a marvelous thing is to be seen: The two towns are only a mile apart, measured by a straight line, yet so fearfully rugged is the territory to be traversed that the distance by rail between the places is four miles, and this interval is covered by means of a “Switch Back,” so called because of the tortuous route and the extraordinary grades. All along this vicinity are famous mines, and a wealth of mining machinery, that converts the country into a maze of industry, and the mountains into smoking mills and cornucopias of silver. In this mountainous region all roads seem to radiate from Denver, and hence to reach other charming scenery by means of our camera car, it was necessary to return again for a trip to Gunnison, which is on the South Park Branch. But in order to facilitate our work it was decided to divide our party, so that one photographer might proceed to Gunnison, while the other two took the northwest route to Estes and Middle Park, where a larger amount of work was to be done, and which could be reached only by stage.

A VIEW OF PLATTE CAÑON.

ARGENTA FALLS.

Continuing our trip, therefore, towards the southwest, our first stop was in Platte Cañon, which is twenty miles from Denver, and there many exquisite views were taken. This cañon, formed by the Platte River, resembles Clear Creek Cañon, but is longer and somewhat wilder. The route is over Kenosha Hill, which is Alpine in its grandeur, and so rugged that the road is as sinuous as the trail of a serpent. The cañon spreads at places until it runs between gradually sloping steeps, but again the walls draw closer, and rise perpendicularly to a sheer height of a thousand feet, excluding the sunlight except as it is strained at times through a narrow rift, until it looks like a pencil of light cleaving the pall of night. What mighty forces were gathered here in the age of the world’s infancy! what terrific convulsions and frenzied spasms of nature that rent in twain the earth’s envelope and left cañons and mountains where once were lake and plain!

Along the way rushes the impetuous Platte River, that has torn and eroded a great fissure through the rocks, and in so doing has left many wonderful incongruities to mark its eccentricity as well as power.

ALONG THE BREAST OF THE CAÑON WALLS OF THE RIO DE LOS ANIMAS, COLORADO.

BRIDAL VEIL FALLS, NEAR DEVIL’S GATE.

Dome Rock is one of the conspicuous curiosities in the cañon, resembling as it does, the top of a mosque that has sunk just behind the wall of beetling cliff, leaving a graceful dome as its burial monument. But all along, at frequent intervals, spires, with cathedral proportions, shoot skyward, lending an appearance not unlike a vast row of churches, where we may fancy nature worships, and the roar of waters is a perpetual hymnal invocation. On the same route, fifty miles from Platte Cañon, is the Alpine Tunnel, which is reached by the road winding about and upward until a height of 11,600 feet is gained, when, suddenly, the train makes an abrupt turn, and leaps into the very bowels of a mountain from which it emerges after many minutes on the other side, and then descends towards the Pacific. This tunnel is one of the most remarkable in all the world. It is at the highest point ever reached by any railroad in America, and in the center of its 1,773 feet of length is the dividing line of altitude between the two oceans. The boring of this mighty channel not only involved the naturally stupendous labor of digging through a mountain, but the work was rendered a hundred fold more difficult by reason of the rare atmosphere in which the workmen had to labor. In addition to this, 70,000 linear feet of California redwood was required for the inside bracing, and this had to be brought up the mountain side on the backs of burros, the only animals of burden that could make the ascent. It was a remarkable undertaking; its accomplishment was very like a miracle.

As we emerge from the tunnel, and creep around the perpendicular side of the mountain on a roadway barely wide enough to accommodate a single train of cars, a bewilderingly magnificent panorama opens to us. Away towards the southwest, one hundred and fifty miles, we observe the lofty and regular heads of the San Juan range, while a little further west we are able to distinguish Uncompaghre Peak, that looks down with benignant aspect upon the town of Ouray. There, too, is the green and happy valley of the Gunnison, towards the end of which we see Elk Mountains and their chief peaks, Mount Gothic and Crested Butte.

At this great height the snow lies packed in the deep crevices all summer through, while upon its borders may be seen beautiful flowers nodding their bright heads in the delightful wind that plays about the peak. Now we go down the mountain side with brakes set, marveling all the way at the natural wonders which have been strewn by some Titanic hand along the route. There, on the right, are the Palisades, which might be called sculptured rocks, so graceful and artistic that they appear to be the creation of the great Phidias, or pupils of his school. Further on lies Quartz Valley, like a pearl nestling in depths far below the angry waves of giant mountains. Now we cross Quartz Creek, where nature laughs with blossoms and fruitage, through Uncompaghre, around Hair-Pin Curve, with the Fossil range to our right, by Juniata Hot Springs, and at length arrive at Gunnison. We are now in the midst of the most magnificent mountain scenery, and in the heart of a great mining country, where there is bustle above ground and activity and visions of amazing wealth underneath. The town is at an elevation of more than 7,000 feet, but many peaks rise high above it, from which extensive views may be had of the Elk Mountain, San Juan and Uncompaghre ranges, while to the southwest a beautiful valley stretches away to mark the devious path of the Gunnison River.

VALLEY OF THE GUNNISON, NEAR SAPINERO.

THE LOOP NEAR GEORGETOWN.

Having taken many views of this famous region, we turned back again to Denver, and from that point of radiation started for North Park. Our route was by way of Boulder, at which place we took the narrow-gauge road for Fort Collins. A few miles from Boulder is Boulder Cañon, a stupendous mountain gorge seventeen miles long, and in places the walls rise to almost the incredible height of 3,000 feet. The falls of Boulder Creek are not without interest, but the mightiness and awful grandeur of the granite cañon weighs so heavily upon the startled perceptions of the spectator, that even the roar of water-fall is scarcely heard, all the five senses being concentrated in that of sight. The eye is set to climbing these terrific precipices of stone; up, up, from niche to niche, from wave upon wave of dizzy height, until it rests upon a world on high that seems to lift its parapets to the sky and bathe its brow in the azure of the heavens. Can it be that the little stream that runs complaining along the ravine has eroded this mighty fissure? No, not this alone, for water has been no more than a servant of other greater forces that have torn the earth into clefts and upheavals. Bursting volcano, denuding glacier, devastating deluge, and cooling fires of internal furnaces that brought a collapse of the earth crust, have all been agencies in this work of mighty disturbance.

MARY LAKE AND LONG’S PEAK, ESTES PARK.

ENTRANCE TO ESTES PARK, FROM ROCKY POINT.

HIGH LINE CANAL, SILVER FLUME AND PLATTE RIVER.

The temptation is very great to step aside into Estes Park, and explore Long’s Peak, which, though thirty-six miles distant, looms up in the clear atmosphere like a frosty-crowned giant almost near enough to speak to. But the rest of our party have preceded us and are no doubt in need of photographic supplies, so we hurry on, pausing only long enough to take a snap-shot at Boulder Falls. Reaching Fort Collins, we had the good fortune to find the others of our party awaiting us. They had made an extensive trip through Estes Park, and had a splendid lot of views as a reward for their labors. It was fortunate, therefore, that we did not stop, for we could have done no more than duplicate their work, and repeated the experiences which they reported to me substantially as follows:

After dividing our party, as already explained, two of our photographers followed the Colorado Central Branch of the Union Pacific to Loveland, at which place they side-tracked our camera car, and having made preparations for the trip, started west to make a tour of Estes Park, their principal objective point being Long’s Peak. The park is conveniently reached by a daily stage-line, which travels over a good road and, with the exception of a few miles of level plains, traverses a picturesque region, with mountains sweeping every side, the monotony of which is relieved by many lakes, thirty-five of which may be seen from a single station, scattered over the plain and bathing the foot-hills. The road leads up Bald Mountain and Pole Hill to an elevation that brings into view the valleys of three rivers, and from Park Hill the whole entrancing scenery of Estes Park, probably the finest in Colorado, is spread out in one unbroken and bewildering panorama of astounding beauty. It is not all a vision of primeval nature, for the vast table-land is abloom with fields of husbandry, and immense herds of cattle give animation to the seemingly boundless pasturage.

From Ferguson’s ranch there is a lovely prospect of Mummy range, with its conspicuous peaks, aglow with the soft colors of sunset in the evening, and mist-crowned in the early hours of the day. On the west are the Front and Rabbit Ear ranges, whose inaccessible heights run up so sharply to where storms have their breeding places, that they are browned by exposure and look inexpressibly bleak. Here, on these wild peaks, safe from human foes, bear and mountain sheep have their habitations, and the caterwaul of the puma rings out upon the air of lofty desolation as a warning to those who would attempt to gain their savage haunts.

DOME ROCK, BOULDER CAÑON.

Long’s Peak is hardly more than a half-dozen miles from Table Mountain, measured by a straight line, but to pass from one to the other is very difficult, except by a long detour, so that the open route is by way of Loveland to Ferguson’s ranch, which is near the base of Long’s Peak, and from which point the ascent is best made. The east side of the mountain is precipitous and hence inaccessible; viewed from this side the peak appears so lofty as to almost fade into the cerulean of sky depths, and for this reason it has been not inaptly called the American Matterhorn. Its apex, seen from below, bears a striking similitude to an impregnable citadel surrounded by giant ramparts.

The road from Ferguson’s passes Mary’s Lake, a lovely body of water, thence over a hill to a forest that is begirt by Lily Mountain with its monster cliffs impending from a height of 11,500 feet above sea-level. The ascent may be made by horses as far as what is known as “Boulder Field,” but from that point foot climbing is necessary. To secure the finest view, a place called the “Key-hole” must be gained, and it is not reached without great exertion of muscle and careful equilibrium while passing along the ledges, since a false step may be attended by serious result. Having reached the Key-hole, the sight that rewards the climber is sublimely grand, for he is brought to face a vertical wall of sheer 2,000 feet, extending up to within what appears to be one or two hundred feet of the apex. The altitude is so great that a finer prospect, perhaps, never greeted human vision, for the world seems to be spread out for examination. A little higher up the scene changes, but is scarcely so beautiful, for every additional foot taken upward increases the indistinctness of the valley below and the mountain scenery in the distance. But by the aid of a field-glass we make out Big Thompson River, Boulder Cañon, and some remarkable columnar cliffs that exhibit fantastic shapes, sculptured by the erratic hand of nature. Mountains appear like legions to the right, to the left, upon all sides, but we are now above them all, and towards the southeast, sixty miles away, we see a smoke-cloud that has formed from the Denver Smelters. Still further southward are visible the hazy heads of Pike’s Peak and its twin brother, Cheyenne Mountain, while a hundred miles north are dimly distinguishable the range of bluffs east of the city of Cheyenne.

After gaining the summit our party had a still better view, for a bright sun had now come out from behind clouds that had before obscured his rays, and so completely dissipated the misty atmosphere that the panorama was greatly increased. They were lifted so far above the Front range that beyond the divide there broke into view, in the far southwest, the Mount of the Holy Cross, while beside it were the very pale outlines of Jackson Peak, the two almost blending into one.

BOULDER FALLS.

As they descended on the northeastern side, suddenly their sight was arrested by a lake slumbering in a little basin that had been scooped out of the granite sides of the mountain. It is almost immediately under the vertical cliffs, and so clear that the observer seems to look through it, as he would through a looking-glass, upon great walls which appear below, but are in reality reflections of the precipice examined when making the ascent. Lily Mountain was in bold outline on the right, where reposed another lake of somewhat greater size, whose water appeared to feed a stream that ran gamboling down a deep gorge into the plain which it nourished.

On every side there were evidences of glacial erosion, not only in the form of bowlders and debris, but in lateral moraines, where the glacier had left deposits, and in gorges where great granite blocks had been tumbled, over which in places the water cantered and fell in beautiful sheets. In one place, towards the base, were found many small aspen trees cut down, and most frequently the trunks were divested of their bark, and the tender limbs were missing. Investigating the cause, it was directly discovered to be the work of beavers, several of whose dams were perceived in a creek that ran through a beautiful meadow land, but no one of the party was able to catch sight of the wary animals.

Our party being satisfied with their trip in the park, and especially with the ascent of Long’s Peak, where they had secured more than a score of magnificent photographic views, returned to Loveland to be rejoined by at Fort Collins, as will be presently described.

MOUNTAIN OF THE HOLY CROSS, COLORADO.

GRAYMONT MOUNTAIN, MIDDLE PARK.

We tarried a short while at Fort Collins, then set off for Mason City, eighty miles distant, the road to which leads through the world-famous Cache La Poudre (Powder River) region. After leaving the south fork of this stream we passed Monitor Peak, crossed the Big Laramie, and brought up at Medicine Bow range. North Park proper lies west of the range, but the physical features of the immediately eastern district are almost identical, and to traverse the whole would have required more than a month. The park is an elevated plain 9,000 feet above sea level, and embraces an area of about 2,500 square miles. Properly speaking, it is a fertile valley enclosed by spurs and branches of the Rocky Mountains, and is so seldom visited that there are as yet no resorts for travelers, and the stage is a poor reliance for reaching the most interesting districts. We also experienced insurmountable obstacles, which compelled us to abandon our purpose of making a tour of the park. The only possible way of going through the district and to chief points of photographic interest (pardon the expression) would have been by horses, and these were not procurable because the country is devoid of settlements; besides, we were unprovided with camp equipment. We saw the mountains rising on every side into jagged spires, and occasional lakes nestling on their bosoms, but they were inaccessible to us, and after making so long a journey we were compelled to return without accomplishing anything worthy to be narrated. Photographs of some mineral springs bubbling up icy-cold in stony basins, wide stretches of landscape, hemmed in by a wall of mountains, and some fine views of scenery along the Cache La Poudre, was all the reward we had for days of uncomfortable traveling, much of which was done on foot, and on horses borrowed for short tours. We traversed enough of the district, however, to satisfy us of its beauty and fertility, and that the region was a vast game park, in which mountain sheep, bear, deer, pumas were numerous, and ptarmigan abundant. We caught sight of several wild sheep and had a far-away (not too far) look at a cinnamon, or grizzly bear, we were not able to positively decide which, and not being equipped for entertaining game of that character were indisposed to permit curiosity to supersede judgment.

Returning to Fort Collins, we retraced our route to Longmount, from which point we determined to visit Table Mountain, near by, and Mount Hallett, a little further towards the west. To carry this decision into effect it was necessary to make some provision for conveyance and camping, as the mountain cannot be explored in a day, and a few evenings must be spent in camp in order to do the work satisfactorily. Fortunately, supplies are easy to procure, and being fully provided, we set out a merry party on a pleasant errand. We reached the foot of Table Mountain towards the close of the day, and went into camp beside a beautiful little stream that had its source somewhere up the gorge that cleft one side of the mountain. At this point we were also able to take some pretty views of the imposing scenery by which we were surrounded.

SADDLE ROCK, AT THE SUMMIT OF THE PASS.

WITHIN THE GATES, GARDEN OF THE GODS.

Near noon of the following day we accomplished the ascent, and from that vantage point surveyed a scene of bewildering grandeur. The wind, however, blew a gale that made our position extremely uncomfortable, and one of our party lost his hat, that was borne away and dropped into an abyss of almost measureless depth. There were mountains to the west that seemed to hang on the edge of the horizon, and down, far down, below us was an immense expanse of bowlders that had evidently once been the sport of a glacier. Indeed, the glacier was still there, a great solid field of compacted snow that at midday hugged the shadow side of the mountain, but was evidently moving gradually, imperceptibly, towards the gorge. Water was pouring from the base and forming waterfalls, cascades and swift streams, showing that heat radiation from the earth was melting the glacier more rapidly than the sun’s rays. The effect was extremely beautiful, for the afternoon sun was changing the edges of the snow-pack into beautiful reflections of aqua-marine, and waves of light shimmered above the glacier that made the ice coverlet scintillant with color.

TORREY’S PEAK, MIDDLE PARK, COLORADO.

Table Mountain is a truncated cone, from which fact it takes its name; but it is deeply fissured on every side, and on the west side there is an appalling gorge, over the edges of which, in places, colossal sheets of ice impend, vast ledges they appear, threatening the vegetation far down below, and rendering traveling along the slopes very dangerous. Having photographed Table Mountain and the fine scenery that is tributary, we descended and passed over to Mount Hallett, where we were delighted to find views of yet greater grandeur. The way to this mount is necessarily over Table Mountain and into Estes Park, the solid ramparts of rocks which surround the park, as far as Willow Cañon, preventing the access of pack animals.

Gaining the base of Table Mountain, we followed up Timber Creek over a natural roadway until the foot of Hallett was reached. The way was easy and pleasant, being level and almost floored with moss and flowers, while many species of birds flitted across our path, and in and out through the trees and bushes, with voices of tuneful glee.

As we ascended the mountain on the northeastern side, a magnificent view was presented down a deep gorge. A little higher up, and as we veered towards the west, we saw, a thousand feet below us, a deep, dark lake whose sides were walled, giving to it the appearance of a crater that had now become a lake basin. Still further up the steep, in a ravine, was another lake, the edges of which served to mark both the timber and snow line. Away off in the southeast was Long’s Peak, frowning in bleak desolation above a lake that hugged its feet. On every side the scenery was ruggedly sublime, while immediately at our right was a great chasm with a vertical wall of stone fully one thousand feet high.

THE GREAT WESTWARD FLOOD OF EMIGRATION—CROSSING THE PLATTE RIVER IN 1868 (from a painting).

The timber was now below us, and our horses picked their way over an indistinct trail through patches of snow. Occasionally, there were suspicious places, where the snow was deeply impacted, which might conceal a treacherous way, a chasm bridged with nothing more substantial than cakes of ice. Yet, on this lonesome mountain, chilled by perpetually arctic winds, swathed by eternal snows, and covered by giant bowlders that menaced everything by their apparent instability, there was no scarcity of animal life. The mountain rat, chipmunk, woodchuck, Rocky Mountain sheep and a few lions make this uninviting region their haunt, while ptarmigan, or mountain grouse, are fairly plentiful. One enthusiastic photographer who climbed Hallett some years before, claimed to have found a herd of mountain sheep so tame that he was able to take their pictures, but none of us had such good fortune.

FREMONT’S PASS, NORTH PARK.

At one point of the elevation we had an enrapturing view of Middle Park and Grand Lake, whose waters looked like a vast sea of quicksilver, on which the sunlight danced in a glorious reflection. North Park might have been also visible from this same lofty point of observation but for the intervention of Mummy Mountain, the monumental mark of Medicine Bow range, far to the northwest, too distant for our cameras to reproduce the view with satisfaction.

Our visits to Table Mountain and Mount Hallett had proven so delightful that our previously contemplated trip to Middle Park was now undertaken with the most pleasant anticipations. Returning to Longmont, we proceeded over the Union Pacific to Sunset, an arm of the road that stretches out into the Front range until it fairly grasps the beautiful scenery of that marvelously grand region. Georgetown would have been a more convenient point of departure for Midland Park, but we chose to avoid staging, and by means of pack animals to reach the park by the quickest, even though it was a more troublesome, route. Middle Park is separated from North Park by an east and west sweep of the great Continental Divide, and like its northern sister is completely encircled by lofty mountains, whose sentinels are Long’s Peak, Gray’s Peak and Mount Lincoln, with elevations above sea level of respectively 14,500, 14,200 and 14,300 feet. The elevation of the park itself is about 7,500 feet, and its area some 3,000 square miles, or about one-third less than the State of Connecticut. It is drained principally by the Blue and Grand Rivers, whose waters flow generally through smiling meadows until they escape from the park. We traveled by horse through Berthoud Pass to Hot Sulphur Springs, which is on a small tributary of Grand River, and only about twelve miles from the south boundary of the park. From this point we went to Grand Lake, the beautiful body of water that we had seen from the heights of Mount Hallett. If the scene was grand when viewed from that distant elevation, it was sublimely picturesque when we reached its shores. The western shore line of the lake washes the vertical base of towering mountains, which enclose it on three sides, and throw their giant shadows into its pellucid depths, where reflections of brown peaks mingle with the beautiful green of tall tufted pines. Its bed appears to be a glacier basin, for all about are cliffs that bear distinct marks of an ice deluge that thousands of years ago, perhaps, invaded this retreat of nature and tore asunder the earth, ground its way through stone, scoured the face of the mountains, and scooped a depression in the plain.

DODGE’S BLUFF, CAÑON OF GRAND RIVER.

GRAND LAKE, MIDDLE PARK.

Strange it is that near the shores of this lake the water is singularly crystalline, while towards the center it is dark as midnight. The lake is also a treacherous body, subject to appalling disturbments from inrushing storms that first gather on the surrounding peaks and then swoop down to break with sudden and appalling force upon its expansive bosom. No wonder that from time immemorial, the Ute Indians have regarded the lake with superstitious fears, and tell ghostly stories of its treachery. Upon one occasion, as an old Indian related, a band of Utes were encamped upon its shores, pleasantly and profitably engaged in trout fishing. They had their women and children with them, and having prepared for a stay of some weeks, they had rafts made of pine logs, and it was from these they did their fishing. While thus engaged they were attacked by a war party of Arrapahoes, their implacable enemies. The Utes committed their wives and children to the rafts, which they pushed far out into the lake, and then engaged with their ferocious adversaries, whom, after a desperate battle, they repulsed. During the fight, however, a storm arose on the lake, which quickly lashed the water into such fury that the piercing cries of the helpless women and children were scarcely audible above the breaking waves and screech of savage wind. When the Utes turned from pursuing their enemies, they saw that a more dangerous foe had attacked their helpless ones. The rafts were quickly broken up by wild surges of the infuriated lake, and every woman and child was swallowed up. The Indians, whose minds are peculiarly susceptible to impressions of a supernatural character, were prompt to attribute the calamity to a manifestation of the Great Spirit’s anger, and since that fatal event they have regarded the lake as being the haunt of water demons, and no Indian has since that calamitous incident dared to venture upon its bosom.

From Grand Lake we followed its outlet some twenty miles south, and entered a beautiful valley of Grand River, where the grass was long and green, the sky a beautiful indigo-blue, and the mountain scenery around us was magnificent. A marvelously clear atmosphere made the distance deceptive, so that peaks which were fifty miles away appeared to be scarcely five. From one point of observation we swept the ragged horizon with our enraptured eyes, and plainly perceived a battalion of well-known mountains that locked their massive arms around Middle Park like loving guardsmen. Roundtop lifted its head to gaze into the mysterious depths of Grand Lake; and far beyond, Long’s Peak, the great gray sentinel of Estes Park, loomed up like a cloud gathering inspiration from the heavens. A little to the right, Elk Mountain projects its snowy cap far into the sky and looks up into the face of its taller kinsmen. Following the waving lines of peak upon peak, our eyes caught sight of a pass through which a river had found its way, and behind the interval were the faded fronts of Medicine Bow range. A little further to the left there is another rent in the continuity of mountains, which closer inspection discovers to us is Gore’s Cañon of Grand River, where it leaves the park through a fissure made in the eruptive rocks quite three miles long, and in places nearly 2,000 feet deep. So perpendicular are these cliffs that a person standing upon the dizzy brink may drop a stone into the rushing river below.

GORE’S CAÑON, MIDDLE PARK.

If we look towards the southeast, across a stretch of sage-brush, we see the peak of heroic Powell, the most majestic elevation in the Park range, singular not only by reason of its cloud-piercing height, but also because it looks through the hazy distance like a mountain of sapphire, while behind it are lofty stretches of peaks with straggling locks of white, where snow has gathered in the wrinkles of their cheeks.

Our rambles through Middle Park had been so pleasant that it was with some reluctance we turned our steps eastward again, to pursue the work of photographing scenery in more southerly fields. We reached Sunset after an absence of twelve days, and were soon after switched on to the North Branch of the Union Pacific for Denver. Thence, our route was south to Colorado Springs and Manitou, where, as the following chapter will show, we repeated our delightful experiences in Middle Park, and saw even greater wonders.

IN THE CAÑON OF GRAND RIVER, COLORADO.

CHAPTER II.
MANITOU, THE MIGHTY!

THE SEAL AND BEAR, GARDEN OF THE GODS.

The glory of Colorado, in the splendor of its waterfalls, the awesomeness of its mountains, the wealth of its mines, and the picturesqueness of its natural parks, is by no means confined to those Rocky Mountain districts which we have just pictured and described, for greater marvels remain to be spoken of, and pictorially represented. Returning to Denver, our tour took us southward, across a plain that hugs the gnarled bosom of the Continental Divide, by the pearl of Palmer Lake, and on to Colorado Springs and Manitou, the twin cities that sit at the feet of Pike’s Peak. Here we are compelled to pause in a spell of mighty wonderment before the amazing prodigies of a riotously eccentric nature, that bursts into an exuberance of dashing cascades, top-lofty mountains, darkling cañons, gruesome formations, monolithic spires, babbling brooks and magnetic springs. Here are God’s acres of tumultuous stone, grand, amazing, chaotic, aberrant; a pantheon of forces, a Jovian council, a mythologic assemblage that sits like a Sanhedrim on the issues of Titanic upheaval, erosion, conglomeration and elemental disturbance. There, rising like a giant specter above its lesser brothers, and dipping its hoary head into the milky baldric of the heavens, stands Pike’s Peak, the grand old sentinel of millenniums, with sides gashed by tumbling cataracts and yellow with quivering leaves of the frosted aspen. So lofty that the stars can almost whisper to it, and the clouds, when tired of sailing through the sky, circle and settle upon its peak, while eternal night sleeps undisturbed, save by the lion’s call, in the deep gorges that split its base.

The first white man who caught sight of this towering mountain was Lieutenant Zebulon Pike, who was sent out by the Government in the year 1806 to make an exploration of the Territory of Louisiana and the Provinces of New Spain, a district now characterized as the great Southwest. From his diary of Saturday, November 15th, 1806, we quote the description of his discovery:

THE STALACTITE ORGAN, GRAND CAVERNS.

“Passed two deep creeks, and many high points of rocks; also large herds of buffaloes. At two o’clock in the afternoon I thought I could distinguish a mountain to our right, which appeared like a small blue cloud; viewed it with the spy-glass and was still more confirmed in my conjecture, and in half an hour it appeared in full view before us. When our small party arrived on the hill, they with one accord gave three cheers to the Mexican Mountains.”

On the 26th, following, this intrepid explorer attempted an ascent of Cheyenne Mountain, ten miles to the east of Pike’s Peak, from which to make an observation of the more lofty eminence, which he thus describes:

“Expecting to return to our camp that evening, we left all our blankets and provisions at the foot of the mountain, killed a deer of a new species, and hung its skin on a tree with some meat. We commenced ascending; found the way very difficult, being obliged to climb up rocks sometimes almost perpendicular; and after marching all day we encamped in a cave without blankets, victuals or water. We had a fine clear sky while it was snowing at the bottom. On the side of the mountain we found only yellow and pitch pine; some distance up we saw buffalo, and higher still, the new species of deer and pheasants.

“Thursday, 27th November.—Arose hungry, thirsty, and extremely sore, from the uneveness of the rocks on which we had lain all night; but we were amply compensated for our toil by the sublimity of the prospect below. The unbounded prairie was overhung with clouds, which appeared like the ocean in a storm, wave piled on wave, and foaming, whilst the sky over our heads was perfectly clear. Commenced our march up the mountain and in about an hour arrived at the summit of this chain; here we found the snow middle-deep, and discovered no sign of bird or beast inhabiting this region. The thermometer, which stood at nine degrees above zero at the foot of the mountain, here fell to four degrees below. The summit of the Grand Peak, which was entirely bare of vegetation, and covered with snow, now appeared at the distance of fifteen or sixteen miles from us, and as high again as we had ascended. It would have taken a whole day’s march to have arrived at its base, whence I believe no human being could have ascended to its summit. * * * * The clouds from below had now ascended the mountain, and entirely enveloped the summit, on which rest eternal snows.”

CATHEDRAL SPIRES, GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO.

JUMBO TUNNEL, GRAND CAVERNS.

Being convinced in his own mind of its inaccessibility, Lieutenant Pike contented himself with the above brief notes in his diary, little thinking that his name would become perpetuated in the discovery, and that for all the ages thereafter Pike’s Peak would be one of the most famous of American mounts.

Not again was the lonely desolation of the mountain, or the marvelous scenery about its base, disturbed by the invasion of explorers until, forty-one years later, Geo. F. Ruxton came as a hunter to view its grandeur and make his camp within its game-haunted shadows. Soon afterwards gold was discovered in the vicinity, and then quickly followed a rush of adventurers whose hardy spirit accomplished that which Pike was fearful to undertake. An ascent of the peak was now made and the altitude ascertained to be 14,174 feet above the sea level.

Simultaneously, through the exploration of industrious prospectors, all the many amazingly curious formations which now render the region one of incomparable natural marvels were discovered, and the settlements of Manitou and Colorado Springs were presently made.

Pike’s Peak has been, since the time of Ruxton’s ascent, an object of great interest to travelers, and as early as 1852 a rough foot-trail was established to the summit, which was greatly improved twenty years later so as to admit the passage of vehicles. In the meantime, the towns of Manitou and Colorado Springs had grown steadily and the number of visitors increased until some one conceived the idea of constructing a railroad from the base to the summit. This idea was seized upon by some eastern capitalists in 1884, and a large capital being subscribed for the purpose, the work of building this unique road was begun. The original company, however, met with difficulties which they were unable to overcome for lack of capital, and in 1888 a second organization, under the title of Manitou & Pike’s Peak Railway Company, succeeded the first corporation, and adopting what is known as the Abt Cog-wheel System of Mountain Climbing, renewed the work thus interrupted. As the higher altitudes were reached the air became so rare that labor was extremely difficult, so that the strongest men were unable to exert themselves for more than a few minutes at a time. In place of wagons burros were employed to carry on their sturdy little backs all the needful materials of ties, rails, tools and spikes, up the steep mountain side, and without them the obstacles would have been insuperable. But thus the work went on until the 20th of October, 1890, when the last spike was driven and the highest railroad in the world received its finishing stroke. Special locomotives and cars were built and by the use of cog-wheels the pinnacle of Pike’s Peak was thereafter to be gained comfortably, if not swiftly. The length of the road leading to the summit is nine and one-quarter miles, and at times the grade seems positively appalling (being 25 per cent.) as the noisily-laboring engine pushes the passenger coach up the devious way, over great bowlders that have been flung down by some Titan from immense heights above; under overhanging brows of threatening cathedrals of stone; over mad-dashing waterfalls; through ever-green forests of silver pines, then into groves of dwarf aspens, until at length the route reaches up and on above the timber line. The steepness of the way still continues, but there are no longer abutting rocks, nor rush of water; the mountain now becomes a measureless pile of broken stones, between which the chipmunk and woodchuck play hide and seek; mists of clouds begin to gather, the snow line shows itself beyond the breath of summer, and a cold wind rushes around the peak making sport of the enterprise that invaded their frigid solitude.

THE CARRIAGE ROAD UP PIKE’S PEAK.—Since the completion of the cog-wheel railway to the summit of Pike’s Peak, the older carriage road is not so much used as in former times; yet it is still preferred by many tourists who travel for pleasure or to gratify their love for the grand and the beautiful in nature. Those who have the time to adopt this slower method of climbing the mountain will be richly repaid for their trouble in the glorious view that bursts upon them at every turn of the winding way. A journey over this carriage road, either up or down, is an event to be remembered throughout the remainder of one’s lifetime.

TEMPLE OF ISIS, WILLIAM’S CAÑON.

After two hours of pushing and climbing the train ceases its deep respirations and stands seemingly exhausted before the stone observatory that crowns the peak. Ah, now what a view, when the clouds pass away and the sun bathes with golden splendor the panorama that lies in the greater charm of indistinctness many leagues below! Towards the west and south and north is a mighty army of mountains, in companies and battalions, bold, rugged, majestic; always standing in review before the Captain and Creator of worlds who seems to have halted His regiment for inspection before an impending battle; while away towards the east spreads the fading prairies, losing themselves in the horizon; and down below, in a long stretch of landscape, is Colorado Springs, with its intersecting streets looking like a corn-field, and its smoke-stacks like scare-crows.

At other times a terrible snow-storm may be raging on the peak, while summer sunshine bathes the plains below; or, standing under the arch of a clear sky, the summit visitor may see the rolling clouds gathering into scrolls of darkness, and the livid lightning running through the storm that is breaking in torrential rain away down the mountain side. So that winter and summer, storm and sunshine, have their eternal meeting place on the age-swept breast of this giant peak, and at this trysting place of the extreme seasons is one of the most beautiful lakes that ever nestled in the bosom of a mountain.

THE JAWS OF CLEAR CREEK CAÑON.

WILLIAMS CAÑON, NEAR THE CAVE OF THE WINDS.

PILLAR OF JUPITER, WILLIAM’S CAÑON.

One of the most picturesque, grand and charming routes in the world is Ute Pass, which starts out of Manitou and climbs around mountains, through cañons, and emerges into a roadway that leads direct to Leadville. The most beautiful section of this pass, however, is in sight of Manitou, where it rises with bold precipitation around the mountain side and passes Rainbow Falls, which has a perpendicular descent of seventy-five feet, and looks down into Cascade Cañon, that is weirdly wild and awesomely imposing. The beauty of the pass is not more in the rugged margin, bordered with precipice and waterfall, than in the marvelous coloring of the roadway and abutting rocks of sandstone which at a distance appear like the petrified primaries of the rainbow wrapped around the mountain.

As the road winds upward a mile from Manitou, a branch strikes off from Ute Pass, and continuing another half mile around and up the mountain the visitor finds the way abruptly terminated by the entrance to a giant cave known as the Grand Caverns. Like most places to which visitors are attracted by flamboyant advertisements, these caves are not so wonderful as they have been represented, yet they possess considerable interest. The corridors are spacious and comparatively level, with here and there formations of stalactites and stalagmites of considerable beauty, though never large. Each compartment has been given a romantic and attractive name intended to increase the imagination, and give support to the marvelous tales with which guides entertain visitors, such as Canopy Avenue, Alabaster Hall, Stalactite Hall, Opera House, Concert Hall, Jewel Casket, Bridal Chamber, etc. The one principal object of interest in the Grand Caverns—a curiosity indeed—is what has been denominated the “Grand Pipe Organ of Musical Stalactites,” a formation which gives forth a great variety of sounds, capable, under the skilful touch of a player, of producing really ear-entrancing music. An “organist” is employed to entertain visitors by performing many familiar instrumental pieces, which, emanating from such a strange instrument, and echoing through the torch-lighted chambers of the grotto, produce a charming effect not easily forgotten.

In another compartment, particularly dark, if not noisome, and partitioned off by a grating to prevent profanation, are deposited some very ancient skeletons, which are said to have been found inurned here by the original cave discoverer in 1881. The photographer, by a trick, has pictured these bones as gigantic in size, whereas in fact they are slightly smaller than those of modern men.

TRIPLE FALLS, CHEYENNE CAÑON, COLORADO.—It would be exceedingly difficult to find a more gloriously beautiful scene than the one depicted by the photograph on this page. The pleasure of beholding it is also greatly increased by the assurance that it is absolutely true to nature, for the camera cannot misrepresent. Cheyenne Cañon is one of the wrinkles that sears the face of Cheyenne Mountain, some five or six miles east of Pike’s Peak, and both cañon and mountain are even more celebrated than their famous neighbor for the wildness and picturesque beauty of their scenery. This region is the Switzerland of America, except that its scenery surpasses that of Switzerland in the same proportion that America is larger and grander than the sturdy little republic of the Alps.

A half-mile further around the mountain, towards William’s Cañon, and approached by a long stair-way that leads down to a dusky, rock-hewn platform, is the entrance to the “Cave-of-the-Winds,” as unforbidding a place as Mephistopheles himself could choose for his abode. This cave is nothing more than a tunnel, too narrow to admit the passage of a fat man without squeezing, and with ceilings so low as to compel a person of ordinary height to keep a stooped position. It is up and down steep stair-ways, across chasms of uncertain depths, and over obstructions which are quite enough to exhaust the visitor before half the cavern is traversed. The stalactites that are found here are very small, but often clustered in resemblance of chrysanthemums and other composite plants. Like the Grand Caverns, every little chamber in the Cave-of-the-Winds is designated by some curious or charm-impelling name, such as Cascade Hall, Canopy Hall, Boston Avenue, Diamond Hall, Hall of Beauty, Dante’s Inferno, Crystal Palace, etc.; while the coral-like stalagmites are represented by the tricky photographer as being of imposing size and bewildering splendor.

ANVIL ROCK, GARDEN OF THE GODS.

Emerging from the stifling, half-artificial Cave-of-the-Winds, and passing down the hill a few yards, a magnificent view of William’s Cañon bursts upon the enraptured vision of the spectator, the contrast from the dismal and disappointing cave lending additional sublimity to the scene. The south entrance to this herculean gorge is within a short walk of Manitou, and at the very door-way the walls rise up perpendicularly to a stupendous height and in fantastic forms that positively bewilder with a grandeur and beauty almost unexcelled by any scenery in the world. This gigantic gash in the mountain is evidently the effect of erosion, the result of a rushing torrent that drove down for centuries through the pass until it wore out a bed hundreds of feet deep and then found other outlet, or became absorbed in the process of drying-up which the world is undergoing. High upon the sides of this wondrous channel may be seen the distinct markings of glacial drift in deposits of shell-fish and bowlders, while in the bed there are fragments of tufa, betraying the action of volcanic fires which burned out ages upon ages ago.

Two miles north of Manitou, and reached by a perfect roadway, over which carriage driving is a supreme pleasure, is the gate-way to that chaotically curious and fantastically marvelous district known as the Garden of the Gods. I know not who gave name to this region of grotesque formations, but its appropriateness lends belief that it was christened by one who had in mind the heroes of some eastern mythology, the Assyrian or Chinese, or the witchcrafts of the Samians. The Greeks, the Romans, and Egyptians conceived their gods as physically perfect, symmetrically beautiful; the idols of these people could never have suggested the wild, distorted, conglomerate forms that are marshalled in this garden of sweet confusion. Yet, the Greeks personified evil in horrid forms, and we have here their conception of deep iniquity done in nature’s sculpturings.

RAINBOW FALLS, UTE PASS.—Winding its serpentine way up the side of the mountain to the right of Pike’s Peak, is Ute Pass, along which a carriage-way has been made. The scenery is incomparably grand and beautiful. The pass has been cut in the side of the mountain by centuries of washings from the little stream that seeks its level by this course, breaking into numerous waterfalls and lending an additional charm to the picturesque surroundings by the music of its rushing waters. Rainbow Falls, so splendidly reproduced on this page, is one of the most celebrated and inspiring of the numerous cataracts to be found in this locality.

TOWER OF BABEL, GARDEN OF THE GODS.

The old legends tell us of the Sabbat, a nocturnal assembly at which demons and sorcerers celebrated their revels, and to the imaginative mind, stored with remembrances of the tales wherein are described the riot of nameless things and loathsomely fearful personages around the throne of Satan, it is easy to fancy this spot as the assembling place, and the strange forms of stone, that sit like dumb monstrosities waiting the call of a master, as the bodies of maleficent devils petrified in the very midst of their orgies. There on that mound squats old Sagittary, the man-beast who shot arrows of lightning from his bow, until he was struck down by a bolt of his own forging. A little beyond is the foul witch Sycorax, the dam of Caliban, whose raven wings shelter a demoniac progeny. In that depression, which looks afar like a seething quagmire, sits Abaddon, the promoter of wars, combustions and plagues, his face awry with fretful anxiety to renew his course of destruction. Behind a mound, that may well be called a breastwork, stand Ægæon, Cottus and Gyges, the brother triplets, each with a hundred arms and fifty heads, who made war upon the Titans and then stormed Olympus with stones plucked from the core of Ætna. Still further up the hillside, protruding from a gash in the side of a giant bowlder of red sandstone, is the distorted face of Hagen, that demon dwarf of a single eye, whose devilish claws tore out the heart of Siegfried. Everywhere, to the right and left, are these garish and ghastly remembrancers of the tales that make children crouch closer to grandmother’s knees, and people the darkness with forms infuriate. But the comical side is not wanting; for nature is protean in this godless garden of quaint conceits done in stone. If we have cause to laugh, it is at the Brobdingnagian frog that we see to the left of the door of the garden, sitting beneath a mushroom, with his gaze towards the mountain. But there is a whole settlement of giant fungi, each capable of giving shelter to a pond-full of modern-day frogs; and we can only explain the absence of other representatives of the croaking batrachia by the possibility that the one who has his home under the petrified umbrella was a political boss in his time and compelled all his followers to remain out in the rain when the big wet spell set in. On the first rock that we pass as we enter the garden, is the perfect outline of a stag’s head, with antlers laid back and nose high, as if startled by the sudden baying of the hounds; while a few yards within the entrance is a huge stone of two hundred tons weight perched like a spinning top upon the shoulder of another, so nicely balanced that every wind seems to threaten its stability, and yet centuries have failed to disturb its equilibrium. Still further on, and to the left, are to be seen a duck complete in all its outlines, and as demure as though she was hatching a brood. Then in succession is shown an alligator stretched out at full length, taking a siesta as natural as though it had life. Next in this procession of statuary wonders are Punch and Judy, peaceful folks in vermilion raiment, with faces full of righteous satisfaction, as if they were on their way to church. Punch’s cap is a little the worse for the long service it has seen, and Judy has a rent in her gown, but they affect no false pride and are evidently content with their fortune. Why should they not be happy, when within a few yards of them there is a poor old washer-woman bending over a tub, and a child tugging at her skirts? Certainly by contrast their lot is infinitely more bearable. And the washer-woman has been at her hard task as long as Punch and Judy have been on their way to the meeting house.

OBSERVATORY ON THE SUMMIT OF PIKE’S PEAK.—The Observatory is built of stones collected from the immediate vicinity. It occupies the highest point on the mountain, and was erected by the Government as a home for the officers who are employed in taking meteorological observations. It is a stormy region, and a place of unrest. Many tourists assert that snow falls here every day in the year, but while this is not literally true it is always cold enough to snow, even when the valleys at the foot of the mountains are sweltering in an August sun. The altitude is so great that tourists frequently faint before reaching the top, and in other instances blood is forced from the nostrils and mouth by the terrible pressure of the atmosphere.

UTE PASS, NEAR MANITOU.

As we advance further into this museum of wonders, and turn our eyes away from the imps, reptiles and broad-smiling people of stone, our gaze is arrested by still stranger freaks of nature. There, before us, in awful sublimity, is the red sentinel who guards the north portals of the garden, flanked on either side by cathedrals and fortresses of amazing size, and aflame with brilliant coloring. There are thin slabs of sandstone standing on edge and lifting their heads a hundred feet high, on which the gods or witches have sculptured images of birds, animals, and moving caravans. A herculean lion is crouching on the peak of one, looking towards the north, where a bear and seal are eyeing each other from a lofty perch, uncertain of their safety, and undetermined whether to attack or retreat. Away up on the pinnacle of another peak sits a little old man in a rusty coat, but semi-respectable in a plug hat, very intently contemplating a coach-and-four driven by a pioneer stage engineer muffled to the chin in a shag overcoat, and bowling along over the dangerous comb of the Tower of Babel. Turning to look back, our sight is arrested by the towering form of Pike’s Peak, and a view that is incomparably and overwhelmingly grand.

Leaving the Garden of the Gods, and passing massive hills of gypsum, virgin in their whiteness and soft velvety reflection, the roadway north lies through a large prairie-dog village, where scores of wish-ton-wishes, of Indian name, scamper through the grass and lift themselves into comical postures on their little mounds to watch the carriage roll by. To the left is Glen Eyrie, where a few disaffected gods seem to have started a small, independent park of wonders, chief of which is Major Domo, a monolith of red sandstone thirty feet in circumference and more than one hundred feet tall; a frowning shaft with slightly inclined head, as if threatening the lesser forms about its base.

Five miles still beyond, nature has opened another museum of surprises, which some human invader has named Monument Park, but which might better be called Fiddler’s Green, or the Devil’s Ante-Chamber, for tradition tells us that the former place is located just five miles this side of Hades, and that all fiddlers en route stop there twenty minutes for refreshments. This assembling place of monstrosities; this parliament of satyr, sibyl, succuba and grim-visaged ogres, is rarely visited, not particularly because the sights superinduce nightmare, but probably because it is at the end of a long and dusty way, and the gruesome formations are not numerous. The views which delight those who love to fellowship with the incongruous and distempered products of nature, are pillars of white—almost calcareous—sandstone which the wind and sand have eroded into fantastic and outre shapes, leaving a top layer of dark limestone to complete the multitude of strange images.

GATEWAY TO GARDEN OF THE GODS.—The next best thing to seeing a thing itself is to see its counterpart in a good photograph. Any one who has ever looked at an object through a camera will realize the force of this assertion, for a photograph is a perfect reproduction of the view as it is reflected in the camera. There cannot be any misrepresentation. Hence a good photograph is far more valuable than a painting or a drawing, let the latter be ever so well done, for the best artist that ever lived cannot draw or paint a scene just as nature made it. We see these facts clearly illustrated in this beautiful photograph. Every line, crevice and indentation of the huge rocks is brought out and stamped upon the printed page, while in the distance we observe the snow-covered summit of Pike’s Peak just as thousands of tourists have seen it with their natural vision.

THE DUTCH WEDDING, MONUMENT PARK.

Here we find the Devil’s Anvil, apparently used by his swarthy majesty in the dim ages in fashioning his roasting spits. And near by is a concourse attending what is known as The Dutch Wedding, where all the goodly company are disattired outrageously, for not one has a stitch to his or her back. But they are more decent folks than old Mother Grundy, who stands in a nook to herself, trying to gossip with her shabby surroundings, and looking for all the world like a hag who has lost her teeth through salivation. Not far below her is The Idiot, as repulsive appearing a fellow as ever violated the laws of nature, and who might well be the offspring of a harridan like Mrs. Grundy. But there are other shapes and misshapes scarcely less wonderful; and if the visitor is at all imaginative, they take forms that are variable and astounding. Doré never pictured creatures of his fancy more weird than the wind-sculptures of Monument Park.

Turning back, and passing south of Colorado Springs some four or five miles, we are brought again into the Rocky range and enter at one of the Cheyenne Cañons, between beetling brows of tremendously high cliffs, through which a mad-dashing water-course has eaten its way. Whether we visit North or South Cañon, the view is augustly sublime and awful in its grandeur. We stand in the bed of the gorge and gaze upward on either side to a dizzy height, where the eagles float lazily about, just below the level of the summit, and build their nest upon the breast of the escarpment because the apex is sky-piercing in its loftiness. Yet tumbling down from that great eminence, where the gray spires of the peaks are dwarfed by distance until they grow thin as needles, is a stream of water, fed by springs that lie in the lap of still taller mountains in the rear, rushing in tumultuous flow until it breaks into seven waterfalls, and then checks its pace as it joins the river that runs on to the sea. A stair-way has been built alongside of the falls, by which the visitor may mount to a height of two hundred feet, and then stand upon a platform and watch the play of leaping waterfall as it breaks into rainbows and mist below, and hear its ceaseless song of praise mingling with the echoes that sport between the cañon walls. They who can feel no inspiration under the moving power of Cheyenne Mountain are hopelessly prosaic, who close their ears against the most entrancing hymns of nature.

It is not strange that the simple people who were reared centuries ago in this cradle of natural wonders entertained strange conceptions of the curious formations and mighty mountains that distinguished their surroundings from other places. Indeed, it would be matter for surprise had the primitive tribes of this region left no legends telling how Manitou, the Great Spirit, had upheaved the peaks, fashioned the grotesque images, scooped out the cañons and set his sign of ever-flowing mercy in the welling spring and roaring waterfall.

BALANCED ROCK, GARDEN OF THE GODS.—Balanced Rock is one of the most remarkable curiosities in the Garden of the Gods. It is an immense stone, weighing thousands of tons, balanced upon so small a pedestal that it seems as if the hand of a child could push it over, and yet the winter storms and the summer cyclones have raged around it for centuries without shaking it from its solid bearings. Nature does many things more wonderful than art or ingenuity of man can devise, and this is one of them. If Balanced Rock were the only curiosity in the Garden of the Gods it would be worth a trip there to see it, and as many of us are not able to bear the expense of such a trip it is gratifying to have within our reach, almost without cost, the living image of these wonders of nature.

THE DEVIL’S TOOTH, CHEYENNE CAÑON.

VULCAN’S ANVIL, MONUMENT PARK.

Among the several traditions which are preserved, we have the fragments of the following, which appear to have been left by the Toltecs, who undoubtedly at one time had their dwelling place in the Manitou district: A certain tribe, whose name is forgotten, living somewhere on the great plains towards the east, were driven from their homes by a mighty flood, and hearing that lofty mountains lay several days’ journey towards the setting sun, they fled to these for refuge. Having thus escaped the fury of what they believed was an angry god, and found safety under the benign shadow of Pike’s Peak, they came to regard it as the dwelling place of Manitou, and instituted a form of worship as an evidence of their gratitude. The climate being healthful and the region abounding with game, this tribe prospered and so increased in power that they made war on their less fortunate neighbors and reduced them to slavery. In other ways they so offended Manitou that, having once saved them from a deluge that drowned a large part of the world, he would now punish them with another flood visitation. And so the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain poured down in such volume that the valley was soon overflowed, and the rising waters began to rapidly climb the mountain sides. Perceiving that the deluge was an infliction sent upon them for their sins, the tribe gathered all of their possessions and with them hastened to ascend Pike’s Peak—which no one before had ever attained—to make an offering to the Great Spirit of all that they had, with the hope of propitiating his anger. All the members of the tribe succeeded in reaching the summit, where they prayed so fervently that the heart of Manitou relented and he consented to save the people by admitting them into heaven. But he would receive none of their earthly possessions, and these were accordingly thrown down and in time were changed into stone, so that by the accretion of the burdens thus rejected, the mountain became much higher than nature had formed it. The deluge was finally assuaged by a dragon which Manitou unchained from a huge rock in heaven, where it was kept prisoner, and sent down to drink up all the water. This dragon never came back to heaven, for after abating the flood it was turned into stone and laid on Cheyenne Mountain, where its crocodilian form may still be recognized by an observer stationed at Colorado Springs.

MAJOR DOMO, GLEN EYRIE.

NEEDLE ROCKS, GARDEN OF THE GODS.

The two photographs on this page furnish us additional evidence of the wonders and beauties of the scenic region embraced by the Garden of the Gods and that immediate locality. There is no other place in the world like it. Nature has run riot here in the manufacture of strange and curious things. But the names which have been bestowed by chance upon these curiosities are not always appropriate. Needle Rocks, for instance, hear a much stronger resemblance to the ruins of some ancient cathedral than they do to the useful and pointed instrument whose name has been unadvisedly bestowed upon them. It is quite probable, however, that the bold pioneer who first beheld and named them was more familiar with needles than castles and cathedrals, and we can afford to let the misnomer pass with the assurance that it was given in good faith, and it certainly does not lessen the pleasure of beholding the object.

MEDICINE ROCK, MONUMENT PARK.

In after times, a new tribe came into the valley, and finding it fruitful and inviting, they established their homes and prospered so well that they soon grew mighty. For a long while no people were so grateful and devout, so worshipful and kindly as they; but power always begets arrogance, and in time these favored people became filled with conceit and began to esteem themselves as the equals of Manitou and to defy his power. This so offended the Great Spirit that he sent a mighty host of monsters out of the north to punish the vain bigots who thus contemned him. But some of the priests of the people had remained true in their devotion, and these now interposed with Manitou and made many offerings and sacrifices to appease his wrath. They so far prevailed that many of the people also purged their hearts of all iniquity, and Manitou was propitiated. As the host of monsters came swooping down, like an army of invincible Centaurs, suddenly Pike’s Peak appeared as if on fire, and the face of the Great Spirit was visible above it, shining with a splendor greater than the sun. On the next instant that invading army of satyrs and gorgons was changed to stone, and it is their bodies that stand, and lie, and posture in strange incongruity in the Garden of the Gods, Glen Eyrie, Bear Athol and Fiddler’s Green.

Many other legends are told to account for the singular formations, but none are so old and often repeated as the one here related. The region was certainly regarded by the early people who occupied it as possessing supernatural features, a fact attested not alone by the traditions so carefully preserved, but by rude carvings found on pieces of shale dug up in the valley, and winged images carved from gypsum, which appear to be very crude representations of a conception of preternatural creatures. These relics, however, are very few, and by many are pronounced spurious, so that it would be treading on doubtful ground to attempt to introduce evidence of the faith imposed by the Toltecs in such legends, or how they sought to perpetuate them. It is sufficient, therefore, to accept the curiosities that are in this wonderful garden merely as strange freaks of nature, without considering the tales handed down from a questionable source, pretending to show that the formations are the results of supernatural causes.

THE IDIOT, MONUMENT PARK.

MOTHER GRUNDY, MONUMENT PARK.

PHANTOM FALLS, NORTH CHEYENNE CAÑON.

CASTLE FALLS, NORTH CHEYENNE CAÑON.

HELL GATE, AUSABLE CHASM.

CHAPTER III.
THE GRAND CAÑONS OF WESTERN RIVERS.

CRYSTAL FALLS, CASCADE CAÑON.

Having pretty thoroughly photographed the region roundabout Manitou, we hitched our camera car to a train on the Colorado Midland and started westward for Salt Lake, and to embalm the scenery that lay between. The way led around the base of Pike’s Peak, passed Cascade Cañon, and along Bear Creek, the road doubling upon itself and twisting around in the most tortuous course imaginable in order to get through the mountain defiles. Every foot of the route is grand, for there is no point that does not offer a view of scenic splendors beautiful, awesome and sublime. So rugged, tumultuous and wonderfully aberrant is the way, that the road plunges through no less than eight tunnels in traversing as many miles, and thus the traveler is whirled through the heart and arms of the mountains. The approach to Green Mountain Falls is up a valley which spreads out into a fascinating landscape, where the green of the meadowlands is set in a brown frame of sky-piercing peaks and impending cliffs. Fontaine River refreshes the glade that opens through the towering range, and a little way from the town the water goes leaping down Foster’s Falls in a sheet of liquid crystal. It is from this cascade that Green Mountain Falls takes its name. But besides this deep dash of broken water, there are many other beautiful falls in the vicinity which have served to make of the place a popular resort, indeed, one of the greatest in Colorado.

Onward we speed through valleys aflame with flowers and noisy with the laughter of gamboling streams, until, seventy miles from Colorado Springs, we plunge into a gorge known by its length as Eleven-Mile Cañon. It lies directly in the way to South Park, and is wonderful not so much for its darkling depths as for its marvelous petrifactions and other natural curiosities; its great masses of granite that have broken away from the peaks above and become a wall to the turbulent torrent that has cleft the mountains on its bridleless way to the sea. Thence our train winds around, up hill, past lakes, trout streams, and ranches, until we stop a while at Buena Vista, where the train pauses on the side of Gold Hill Mountain, fully one thousand feet above the town. From this natural observatory a beautiful view is had indeed: Below is the madly-rushing Arkansas, and the silvery Cottonwood Creek that joins its waters with the river at this point. Buena Vista is in a valley that glows like an emerald in the sun, across which rises a giant bank of mountains known as the Saguache range, in which we distinguish the collegiate trinity of mounts Harvard, Yale and Princeton, each being above 14,000 feet, and the former the second highest in the Rocky Mountains. Snowy and Sangre de Cristo ranges are also visible from this point, while eleven miles up Cottonwood Pass is Cottonwood Lake, a very gem set in a wilderness of snow-covered peaks. It is the same distance from Buena Vista to the summit of Mt. Princeton, reached by an easy wagon road, and on this lofty pedestal the observer sweeps the horizon with enraptured vision that commands a view of Salida, Poncha Pass, the wide expanse of South Park, and grand old Pike’s Peak one hundred miles away; Twin Lakes are twenty-five miles to the north, near Buffalo Peaks, where the sportsman finds a paradise and the health-seeker is exhilarated with balsamic winds; while all around, whichever way we look, the omnipotence of the Creator is exhibited in the mightiness of His handiwork as displayed in the weirdly broken landscape of jocund mountain peaks, bowlders of granite torn from the great heart of the earth, babbling streams, tumbling water-falls, and teeming valleys.

THE BEARS’ CAVE, NEAR GREEN LAKE.

After leaving Buena Vista the route was along the Arkansas River, through somewhat less rugged scenery, and on by Leadville, a city whose life is drawn from the bowels of the mountain. The whole territory is speckled and dotted with engine houses, and derricks, and flumes, and cavities, where the cupidity of man has laid a tribute upon the everlasting hills, and is collecting it by the sweat of his brow and the exercise of his genius.

The road continues to rise until we reach Hagerman Tunnel, a mammoth passage-way bored through solid rock. Its length is 2,164 feet, and to provide perfect ventillation the cut is eighteen feet wide and nearly as many high. The grade is a continually ascending one from Colorado Springs to this point, where an altitude of 11,530 feet is reached, and the slope towards the Pacific begins. Just as we emerge from Hagerman Tunnel, Loch Ivanhoe bursts into glorious view, a silvery sheet that wraps the cold feet of Snowy Mountain, while off to the left, like a sign of hope to the Christian traveler, is the Mount of the Holy Cross. This wonderful peak has become a veritable shrine, visited as it is by thousands, whose reverent feelings it never fails to excite. The mountain obtains its name and reputation from the clefts on its northern side near the summit, which are in the form of a cross and in which the snow lies at such a depth that summer suns never melt it. The height of this peak is 14,176 feet, but though not so lofty as some others in Colorado, it is apparently more exposed and holds the snow longest, the summit being nearly always covered.

PORTAL OF GRAND RIVER CAÑON.—Grand and Green Rivers form the Colorado River, and all are rich in scenery of the most splendid and imposing character. A fine example of the beautiful and the grand blended and combined is seen in the photograph on this page. This is the gateway or portal, as it is aptly named, to other views equal in all respects to this one. A tour through this region is worth the toil and effort of a lifetime, and yet how few there are who can afford to spend their accumulations in giving to themselves such a supreme pleasure. But the camera overcomes the difficulty, giving us mirror-like reflections of these majestic wonders, in which we behold them as perfectly as if we were there in person.

SYLVAN FALLS, CASCADE CAÑON.

The next point of interest on the way to Salt Lake is Glenwood Springs, situated at the junction of Grand and Roaring Fork Rivers. This place derives its importance from its numerous thermal springs of great remedial virtues, and the beautiful adornments which a lavish but well-directed use of money has provided. The situation, too, is one of great natural picturesqueness, as the scenery rivals that about Manitou. Glenwood Springs is located at the head of Grand River Cañon, which extends a distance of sixteen miles through colossal mountains, the palisades of which rise in serried ranks and terminate in towering columns and gigantic turrets frequently 2,000 feet above the bed of the river. It is through this tremendous chasm that the railroad runs, so that travelers have a perfect view of the Titanic scenery from the car windows, as they are whirled through it. Three miles from Glenwood Springs is No Name Cañon, while further up the stream is a tremendous fissure which admits the river, and on account of its wildly savage appearance is called Grizzly Cañon. Ten miles more towards the river’s source is Dead Horse Cañon, which may be gained only at the expense of most laborious effort, for the trail is over great bowlders and along crumbling walls which frown far above the roaring waters below. But away up in this darksome retreat of nature, where the lion and bear have their haunts, is Meteor Falls, that leaps almost out of the mouth of the cañon and hurls its waters down a precipice nearly one hundred feet deep, and then spreads through crevices of the rocks into a score of separate streams. Not far distant is Alexander’s Cave, which, though not so well known, is much grander in size and more curious with stalactite formations than those near Manitou, which have an undeserved fame. From the summit of a mountain just east of Glenwood, and reached by a walk of three miles, an immense expanse of charming scenery is viewable. For seventy miles towards the east extends the snow-crowned chain of the Continental Divide, while towards the north, like a babe sleeping to the lullabys of a brooklet’s voice, lies the White River plateau. Southward the observer’s vision swings across the valleys of Roaring Fork and Crystal River to the Elk range, and then sweeps around to the west, where it lingers on Book Cliffs, ninety miles away, which gleam with scintillant beauty, and inspire with a grandeur that fills the very soul with wondering ecstasy.

BOOK CLIFFS, WALLS OF GRAND RIVER CAÑON.—It would be a difficult thing to find a more beautiful picture than the one that embellishes this page. It is gloriously beautiful. The camera has done its work so well that the very reflection of the sun’s rays and the soft glimmer of the summer air are shown as perfectly as they could be seen with the natural eye. In fact it has been said, and truly so, that the camera is a good detective, for it discovers objects which are invisible to ordinary human sight, and prints them indelibly upon its sensitive plates. Hence good photographs, like those in Glimpses of America, are in many respects more desirable than a visit to the scenes themselves.

THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.

TRIPLE FALLS, CASCADE CAÑON.

The tumultuous anarchism of nature, the wild riot of natural forces, the savage disarrangement, the chaotically indefinable throes of internal madness that characterize the region, suggests other wonders of eruption and erosion, the dissolution and disorganization which have been wrought along the water-course and which has gnawed its way through these everlasting—nay, it would appear, transitory—mountains. The first travelers that fought their way into these vastnesses of cañon, roaring peak and soughing forests, carried back to civilization wondrous tales of the things which they had seen, and though discredited as the conceptions of perfervid imaginations, others were stimulated to seek the proofs, and confirm the theories that were offered by adventurous gold-hunters. The Government itself, unconscious of its own possessions, joined in the search for the wondrous evidences and sent expeditions into the Rocky Mountain regions to make topographic and geologic investigations, the results of which were to increase surprise. Operations in the west, chiefly against the Mohave Indians, made it necessary also for the Government to ascertain the most convenient routes for the transportation of supplies to the military posts in New Mexico and Utah, and in this search the Colorado River became an object of special interest, because if navigable it presented the easiest way to the seat of war. In order to determine the question, an expedition was despatched by the Secretary of War, in 1858, under the command of Lieutenant J. C. Ives, chief of topographical engineers. An iron steamboat fifty feet long was built in Philadelphia, which, being in sections convenient for transportation, was shipped by way of Panama to the Gulf of California, and put into service at Fort Yuma, at the mouth of the Colorado River, for an ascent of that stream.

The expedition thus conducted by Lieutenant Ives resulted in the exploration of a large territory which was before his advent therein a terra incognita, except that it had been partially traversed in 1540 by a few Spanish explorers, acting under orders of the Viceroy of New Spain, whose reports, however, were so crude as to be almost valueless. Ives succeeded in ascending the Colorado a distance of 425 miles in his steamboat, which he concluded was within seventy-five miles of the head of navigation during the most favorable season. The practical results were not of very great value, but his reports were extremely interesting, chiefly for the descriptions of marvelous scenery which they contained. Or, as he writes, “The region explored after leaving the navigable portion of the Colorado—though, in a scientific point of view, of the highest interest, and presenting natural features whose strange sublimity is perhaps unparalleled in any part of the world—is not of much value.”

NEAR HANCE’S CABIN, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.—The Grand Cañon of the Colorado, in Northwestern Arizona, is the supreme natural wonder of the world. It is formed by the Colorado River cutting its way through the high plateau of that region. It is not a mountainous district, but a level plateau, and for this reason the tourist sees no indication of the wonders soon to be unfolded to his astonished vision until he is right upon the brink of the awful chasm which gashes the earth in many places to a depth of more than one mile, at the bottom of which the river writhes and dashes like a tortured serpent. The towering cliffs on either side reflect all the colors of the rainbow, and when they are illuminated by the noonday sun the scene is indescribably beautiful as well as grand.

TEN-MILE PASS, NEAR KOKOMO, COLORADO.

Subsequently the Government determined to effect an exploration of the headwaters of the Colorado, and to this end Major J. W. Powell, chief of the U. S. Survey Corps, was sent out in charge of a party of a dozen equally intrepid men, with instructions to descend the stream if possible. To accomplish his purpose Major Powell provided four staunchly-built row-boats in which he and his party debarked at Green River Station, on the 24th of May, 1869, to run the gauntlet of cañon, maelstrom, rapids and waterfalls in the Green and Colorado Rivers. It is to Major Powell’s report that we are indebted for descriptions of the terribly sublime scenery of these two streams, which surpass in wonder every other region on the globe, and to the photographer of that expedition we make our acknowledgments for several of the views which are here reproduced. Mr. W. H. Jackson, who was for a long while attached to the survey corps as photographer, has also kindly furnished us with a number of exquisite pictures of the more accessible cañons of the Colorado, and to him, therefore, credit in large share must be given. Our own party, while thoroughly equipped for photographing regions contiguous to railroads, was unprepared for making a trip down the most dangerous of rivers, and we have accordingly been compelled to rely for our photographs of the Green and Colorado Cañons upon the work of those above credited. Condensing as much as possible the elaborate and entrancing report of Major Powell, as it fills a very large volume, his explorations may be thus hastily described:

Almost from the beginning of the trip, the scenery was delightful, variegated as it was with high-reaching cliffs dyed in great variety of colors, and long lines of mountains stretching away into an infinity of distance. The blue sky above, green shades of forest pines along the side, empurpled clouds catching the tints of a rising and setting sun, and lines of buff, red and brown, marking the strata of the banks, made a picture which no painter has the genius to reproduce. Green River enters the Minta plateau by the Flaming Gorge, and after reaching the heart of the chain turns eastward, then southward, cutting its way out by the splendid cañon of Lodore. Then following the base of the range for a few miles a sudden caprice seizes it. Not content with the terrible gash it has inflicted upon this noble chain, it darts at it viciously once more and cuts a horseshoe cañon in its flank 2,700 feet deep, then twists and emerges near the point of entrance. Thenceforward the river runs a tortuous course of 300 miles through gently inclined terraces which rise gradually as the stream descends. Further down, the Kaibab (Buckskin) Plateau rises to contest its passage, and a chasm 5,000 to 6,000 feet is the result. The whole province is a vast category of instances of river channels cutting through plateaus, mesas, and terraces where the strata dip up-stream, as will be more particularly described in the summary of Major Powell’s hazardous explorations.

GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO, NEAR THE TEMPLE OF SET.—This splendid photograph will convey to the mind of the reader a good idea of the awful grandeur of this locality. The picture is taken at the bottom of the cañon, beneath the overhanging cliffs which rise perpendicularly for thousands of feet, and between whose jutting crags the sun can penetrate only when it is at the meridian. It is well to contemplate such scenery, for it shows us our own littleness and impotency in the midst of the fearful and resistless forces of nature which God has set in motion.

KAIBAB PINNACLES, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.

Sixty miles from Green River the expedition floated into Flaming Gorge, a chasm fifteen hundred feet in depth, through which the water poured in swift measures and gave intimation of a more impetuous course further down. But undeterred the gallant party proceeded, through Red and Horseshoe Cañons, where the walls drew closer and big bowlders in the stream caused the water to boil with such ominous signs that portage around the obstructions was necessary. Thereafter the way became more difficult, for to dangerous rapids were added lofty falls, while along the vertical walls in places there was scarcely a space to set foot. Frequently the only possible means of passage was by lowering the boats by ropes attached to stem and stern, which taxed the strength of the men as well as the staunchness of the crafts. Time and again, in running rapids, the boats were capsized, but being built in water-tight compartments they righted themselves and were a refuge for the men, who clung to the sides until they drifted near the shore.

At one place, which Major Powell named Disaster Falls, one of the boats was swept over a fall and carried down to a rapid, where, striking broadside against a bowlder, it was broken in two, leaving the three occupants adrift to battle with the surging waters. Their escape from drowning was almost a miracle, due to good luck and the extraordinary efforts of their brave comrades. In this spot the walls were more than 3,000 feet high, and drawn so near together that only a thin strip of sky was visible, which at night-time appeared to rest on the jagged edges of the cliffs.

PYRAMID PEAK, IN GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.—We have on this page a general view of some of the rugged and imposing scenery of this region. The space is too limited, however, to show the towering heights of the cliffs to the right, which, when viewed from this standpoint, seem to bathe their faces in the blue vault of heaven. Along these cliffs, in many places, are found the deserted homes and the ghastly relics of an ancient race of men, long since perished from the face of the earth. They made their dwelling places in this rugged and secluded region as a protection against wild animals and still wilder savage men, but with all their precaution they were unable to shield themselves from the fury of their enemies, and another chapter of mystery and sorrow is thus added to the history of man.

HORSESHOE CAÑON, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.

Sixteen days after their departure from the starting point, the adventurous party were swept into Lodore Cañon, which extends its colossal walls along twenty-four miles of the river, sometimes in the form of hanging cliffs, tousled and gray with stunted vegetation, and rising nearly three thousand feet above the stream, and again in beautiful terraces of red sandstone that spread upward till they are lost in the Uintah Mountains.

It was not until two months after leaving Green River Station that the explorers approached the junction with Grand River. As they dropped out of the winding gorge whence they had descended, they caught a view of a wondrous fissure, down which poured a rushing stream which appeared to issue from the very bowels of the earth, so bottomless seemed the channel. It was Grand River, which, in many respects, is the counterpart of its sister stream, having the same features of waterfall, rapid, and awesome cañon, into which the sunlight falls only at midday, and where night-birds are on the wing almost constantly. It is a fitting thing that these two remarkable rivers should mix their fretful waters and flow on together in a perpetual quarrel, through arid plains, until they end their differences in the Gulf of California.

ECHO CLIFFS, CAÑON OF GRAND RIVER.—The resounding cliffs on either side of the valley so beautifully photographed on this page, give name to the locality. The echo is one of the finest known in any region of the world, and the place will some day become as famous as similar resorts in Europe, which attract thousands of visitors every year. The scenic regions of our country are so vast, so diversified, so grand and so beautiful that the time is not far distant when pleasure seekers, and those desiring rest and recreation from the toils and worries of business will turn their footsteps in this direction, rather than toward the less attractive and more distant wonders of Europe.

CLIFF RUINS IN THE CAÑON.

JURASSIC TERRACE OF THE CALAB, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.

The Colorado River is formed by a union of the Grand and Green Rivers, the former taking its rise near Long’s Peak, and the latter having its source in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming, within a few miles of Fremont’s Peak. The two streams form a junction near a point known as Fort Morrison, in southeast Utah, at the head of the most appalling gorge in the world, called the Grand Cañon of the Colorado. The scenery along both the Grand and Green Rivers is inexpressibly sublime, rising into towering buttes out of the plains; soaring to the clouds in the form of mountains; revelling in the wildest disorder of landscape, and the most turbulent panorama of mad-dashing streams between walls of amazing height; but the wild passions of both rivers seem to be united with more than double intensity when they mingle their waters and thence become one turbid flood gnawing a way through the southwest desert. How hard it is for the inexperienced eye to catch a mental view of the tremendous chasm of the Colorado, however realistic a descriptive writer may paint it, for height and depth almost lose their significance when we apply the terms to dizzy crags above, and the dark lonesomeness of Plutonian recesses beneath.

BUFFALO BILL AND PARTY AT POINT SUBLIME, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.—During the summer succeeding his triumphal tour of Europe, General W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill), accompanied by a party of friends, visited and explored the famous Grand Cañon of the Colorado. The photograph on this page represents the party at lunch on Point Sublime. Buffalo Bill is a warm friend and admirer of the author of Glimpses of America, and loaned this photograph to him for reproduction in this work. It was taken by the special photographer who accompanied the party on the tour referred to.

SKULLS OF THE CLIFF DWELLERS.

The region through which the chafing waters of the Colorado run is forbidding in the extreme, a vast Sahara of waste and inutility; a desert too dreary for either vegetable or animal life; a land that is haunted with wind-storm, on which ride the furies of desolation. But there is in its very bleakness and consumptive degeneracy something that appeals to the observer; a sympathy is aroused that stimulates contemplation of the wondrous works of Deity, of the omnipotent hand that sows seeds of plenty in one place and scatters tares of poverty in another; that makes the valleys to laugh with verdure, and the plains to wail with nakedness. In this sterile domain, this borderland of phantasy and reality, nature is so distraught that the supernatural seems to hold carnival, and in the forms which we here behold there is constant suggestion of chaos. The earth is parched to sterility, and yet there are abundant evidences that in centuries long ago this same land was abundantly blessed with an amazing fertility. Depressions ramifying the region are the dry beds of what were once water-courses, and the whole plateau is garish with rocks over which life-giving floods once poured their vivifying nourishment. But the friable nature of both soil and rock has given way before the action of the river, which has constantly deepened its path and drained the moisture from the earth. Now it is like the Moon, a parched district, save for the single stream which, instead of supplying sustenance, is eating its vitals. The channel is worn more than 5,000 feet deep, with stupendous banks terraced and wrought into shapes most fantastic, and at places diabolic. Imagine a chasm that at times is less than a quarter of a mile wide and more than a mile deep, the bed of which is a tossing, roaring, madly impetuous flood; winding its way in a sinuous course along walls that are painted with all the pigments known to nature! What an imposing spectacle; what a scene of awesome grandeur; what a sublime vision of mightiness! But the geologist sees in the crags and precipices, the strata and bed of that brawling stream, the handwriting of nature, the easily decipherable physical history and geology of the land. The antiquarian and ethnologist, following after, translate the relics of rude habitations found along the cliffs, and the skulls fortunately recovered from the ruins, into a story of the ancient people who in the long centuries ago dared to make their homes in these almost inaccessible fastnesses, driven to such refuges by the ruthless hand of persecution.

HANCE’S TRAIL, GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.—Between the beetling crags and along the serpentine windings of the river, we obtain in this photograph a fine view of some of the wonders of the Grand Cañon. The beauties of the scene would be largely enhanced if the varied hues of the red and orange and amber tinted cliffs could be painted by the camera with the same accuracy that it gives to all the other surroundings and characteristics of the picture. This much to be desired result is largely accomplished, however, in the splendid colored photograph of a similar scene in this connection, and which in fact gives a better idea of the splendors of the Grand Cañon than any photograph in a single color could convey.

ROTARY SNOW-PLOW.

In many places, Major Powell found overarching cliffs, formed by the river in making a sharp bend eating away the shale and gypsum of the base. Occasional inlets were observed, cut by creeks that have been dried up for ages; and following up one of these deep aroytas a little way, he came to a natural stair-way of small and regular terraces that led up fully 500 feet, to an oasis of vegetation, out of which burst a spring that lost its waters before they had run a hundred feet down the parched cliff. Just below this point a beautiful glen was found, where the walls of the cañon appeared to almost meet above the deep and quiet river, which, though narrowed, had an unobstructed channel. The cliffs were of a marvelous beauty, appalling in height, but as variegated as a bed of poppies, with their strata of white, pink, saffron, gray and red.

Passing out of Glen Cañon, the party came directly into the jaws of another chasm, where the river had excavated an amphitheater of mammoth proportions, and then plunged into a gorge where both the walls and bed of the stream were of marble so pure that they shone with an iridescent splendor, and the now lazy river reflected its walls until looking down was gazing into the heavenly depths. Just below was Cataract Cañon, the entrance to which was indicated by a lofty cliff that, from a distance, shone like a crystal mountain, but which, on closer inspection, was discovered to be the source of many springs whose waters glinted in the sun like jewels.

PORTION OF THE ANCIENT PALACE AT CASA GRANDE, ARIZONA.

PART OF THE ANCIENT CITY WALL AI CASA GRANDE, ARIZONA.

The ruins of the ancient city of Casa Grande, in Arizona, and others not less wonderful in the same region, prove that this portion of our country was once inhabited by a powerful and numerous race of people, who possessed a civilization and knowledge of the arts on a parallel with Babylon and Assyria. The walls of these ruins are built of adobe, thick and strong, and guarded with buttresses and towers to meet and repel the attacks of an enemy; but their age and the date of their occupancy cannot be determined. They may be a thousand years old, and it is just as probable that they date back two or three times that distance into the unknown past. Their origin is a profound mystery, and must always remain such.

BRIDAL VEIL, SHOSHONE FALLS.

In many places the arid desolation which was noticeable in the upper portion and on the plateau, and which stretched away on both sides, was broken by patches of vegetation, and the appearance of side gorges in which creeks were still contributing to the river. Storms were not infrequent, too, and these occurring where the cañon walls were a mile high and close together, produced an effect that was almost supernatural in its awfulness. Every obscuration of the sun brought dense shadows in the chasm, which were split in twain by blinding flashes, while the deep thunder echoed sharply between the cliffs, producing a roaring sound that was almost deafening. Such rain-storms, however, were invariably confined to the immediate vicinity of the cañon, the territory lying two or three miles east or west continuing parched, with hardly a cloud above it. Even more remarkable than the stupendous walls which confine the Colorado River, are the ruined cave habitations which are to be seen along the lofty and apparently inaccessible ledges, in which a vanished race long years ago evidently sought refuge from their enemies. These caves are no doubt natural excavations, but in many instances the mouths are partially walled and otherwise fortified. They were reached by very narrow, precipitous and devious paths, and being extremely difficult to attain by the occupants themselves, presented an impregnable front to invaders. But the security which such cavernous retreats afforded was purchased at great cost, for we wonder how the inhabitants managed to exist, situated as they were in a desolate country, where there was great scarcity of both vegetable and animal life. Perhaps the most strikingly beautiful sections of the Grand Cañon are the Vermilion Cliffs, and the Temples and Towers of the Virgin, the one fading into the other. Vermilion Cliffs are a great wall of remarkable height and length of persistent proportions, and so ornate with natural sculpturing, and rich with parti-coloring, as to justify the most extravagant language in describing them. Each of the several terraces has its own style of architecture, and yet they contrast with one another in the most harmoniously artistic manner. The Elephantine ruins on the Nile, the temples of Greece, the pagodas of China, and the cathedrals of Southern Europe, present no more variety of pleasing structures than those encountered in descending the stair-way from the high plateaus to the deep Cañon of the Colorado. As we pass from terrace to terrace, the scene is constantly changing; not only in the bolder and grander masses which dominate the landscape, but in every detail and accessory as well: in the tone of the color-masses, in the vegetation, and in the spirit and subjective influences of the scenery. The profile of the Vermilion Cliffs is very complex, though conforming to a definite type and composed of simple elements. While varying much in different localities, it never loses its typical character. The cliffs consist of an ascending series of vertical ledges, rising story above story, with intervening slopes covered with heaps of rocks, through which project their fretted edges. The composite effect given by the multiple cliffs and sloping water-tables rising tier above tier, is highly architectural, and shows in striking contrast with the rough and craggy aspect of the cliffs of other regions. This effect is much increased by the aberrant manner in which the wall advances in promontories or recedes in alcoves, and by the wings and gables that jut out from every lateral face. In many places side cañons have cut the terrace platforms deeply, and open in magnificent gate-ways upon the broad desert plain in front. We look into them from afar, wonderingly and questioningly, with our fancy pleased to follow their windings until their sudden turns carry them into distant, unseen depths. In other places the cliffs verge into towering buttes, rearing their unassailable summits into the clouds, rich with the aspiring forms of a pure Gothic type, and flinging back in red and purple the intense sunlight that is poured upon them. Could the imagination blanch those colors, it might compare them with vast icebergs, sent from the face of a glacier and floating majestically out to sea.

Grand, glorious, sublime, are the pictorial cliffs of vermilion hue; yet a more magnificent spectacle is presented by an unfolding of the panorama that stretches southward, revealing as it does the heavenly crowned and resplendently painted temples and towers of the Virgin. Here the slopes, the serpentine ledges, and the bosses of projecting rock, interlarded with scanty soil, display all the colors of the rainbow, and in the distance may be likened to the painter’s palette. The bolder tints are of maroon, purple, chocolate, magenta and lavender, with broad bands of white laid in horizontal belts. The cañon proper is 7,000 feet deep here, but less than two miles beyond it stands the central and commanding object of this sublime painting, the glorious western temple that looms up 4,000 feet above the rapid river. This, however, is only the foreground of a matchless panorama, for right opposite are a mighty throng of structures wrought in the same exalted style, separated by two principal forks of the Virgin, known as the Parunuweap and the Mukuntuweap, or Little Zion Valley. At one point the two side cañons swing around and form a junction, where the walls break into giant pediments covered with the most remarkable and picturesque carvings. The sumptuous, bewildering and mazy effects are boldly discernible; but detail is lost when attempt is made to analyze it. The flank of the wall receding up the Mukuntuweap is similarly sculptured and decorated for two miles, and then changes into new kaleidoscopic forms still more wonderful and impressive. A row of towers half a mile high is sculptured out of the palisade, and stands in relief before its face. There is an eloquence in their forms which stirs the imagination with a singular power, and kindles in even the dullest mind a glowing response. Just behind them, and rising a thousand feet higher, is the eastern temple, crowned with a cylindric dome of white sandstone. Directly in front is a complex group of white towers, springing from a central pile and mounting to the clouds. The highest peak in this cumulus mass is almost pure white, with brilliant streaks of carmine descending its vertical walls, while the truncated summit is a deep red.

Nothing can exceed the wondrous beauty of Little Zion Valley, which separates the two temples and their respective groups of towers. In its proportions it is probably equal to Yosemite, but it very far exceeds that natural wonder in the nobility and beauty of sculpturing. We are not surprised that a Mormon zealot gave to this cañon the name of Little Zion, since the scenery is so imposing as to immediately and powerfully suggest those “houses not built with hands.”

Far to the westward is to be seen the last palisade, lifting its imposing front behind an army of towers and domes to an altitude of more than 3,000 feet. Beyond it the view changes quickly, for it passes at once into the Great Basin, which to this region is another world.

The passage of the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, that most fearful, colossal and extraordinary chasm in all the world’s surface, was completed on August 29th, the perils which beset the explorers being constant and the hardest work unremitting. Nor was it accomplished without great sacrifice. The dangers so increased that three of the men deserted, whose fate, however, was most tragic, for they were shortly afterwards murdered by Indians. Starvation threatened the party, for repeated capsizing of the boats resulted in the loss of nearly all their provisions, while exposure brought on illness, so that the men were in a desperate situation when they finally emerged from the jaws of the cañon and found succor among some hospitable Indians.

FALLS OF THE PARUNUWEAP.—The Parunuweap is a wady, or dry bed, during a great part of the year, but which carries in season much of the rainfall of southwest Colorado into the San Juan River, and thence into Colorado River. Throughout a great part of its length the bed of Parunuweap is a cañon of enormous depth and precipitous sides, into which, at frequent intervals, streams that are suddenly swollen by heavy rains pour their overflow. The illustration above shows one of these temporary falls, flowing in large volume over a precipice of the cañon that is nearly perpendicular and quite 200 feet high.

CHAPTER IV.
MARVELS OF THE GREAT DESERT.

TWIN LAKES, COTTONWOOD CAÑON, UTAH.

Grand River valley is followed by the railroad from a point about forty miles north of Leadville for a distance of nearly two hundred miles, and until State Line is reached, when the road cuts across the plains of Utah, which are relieved by little diversity of landscape until Mount Nebo, of the Wasatch range, breaks into view. The scenery along Grand River is, however, extremely beautiful, being very rugged and at times mountainous. The road leads through several cañons that have very high vertical walls, around ledges, over bridges, and takes an occasional plunge into the midnight of tunnels bored through solid granite. The landscape which meets the traveler’s vision when he reaches Utah is very different from that which characterizes Colorado, the difference being apparent almost when the border is reached. After passing the plateau the route is by Provo Lake, where the region becomes broken, and near-by are lofty ledges, over one of which rushes a pellucid stream that is formed by melting snows from the adjacent mountains. Provo Falls is a beautiful sheet of water, dashing down a height of forty feet and then spreading away until lost in Provo Lake.

The Wasatch range is now plainly visible, coasting the eastern shore of Great Salt Lake, and winding around to the southwest until they enclose a valley that by Mormon industry has been converted into a veritable paradise, ramified as it is by canals that render it prolific with nearly everything that fertile soil can produce.

The Wasatch range forms one of the most important topographical features of the Cordilleran system; in fact, it marks the central line of elevation of this great mountain region, and is the dividing ridge between the arid interior basins of Nevada and the high and relatively well-watered plateau country that drains into the Gulf of California. All the mountain formations here are on a scale of universal magnitude, while in their structure are to be seen the effects of dynamic forces, which have folded and twisted thousands of feet of solid rock as if they were as pliable as so many sheets of paper. To the westward the range presents a bold, abrupt escarpment, rising suddenly out of the plains of the Utah basin, and attains its greatest elevation within a couple of miles of its western base. To the eastward it slopes off very gradually, forming a succession of broad ridges and mountain valleys whose waters drain into the Great Salt Lake through cañons and gorges cut through its main western ridge. The altitude is from 10,000 to 12,000 feet above sea level, so that snow is continuous on the summits, while a condensation of the eastward moving atmospheric currents, produced by the chill on the mountain peaks, furnishes a constant supply of water to the mountain streams, and from which the valleys derive their exceptional fertility. A view of the range, as observed from one of the islands in Salt Lake, presents a mountain wall more than 100 miles in length, of delicately varied outline, the upper portion wrapped in a mantle of snow, but dotted with patches of pine revealing all the intricacies of its rocky structure, and cut through at short intervals by deep cañon gashes of rare grandeur and beauty. A striking feature is presented in the old lake terraces which mark the former beach-line of ancient Lake Bonneville, of which the uppermost is 940 feet above the level of the present lake, and can be traced with few interruptions from one end of the range to the other. Lake Bonneville was formerly the great inland sea of which Great Salt Lake is now a part. It covered nearly one-sixth of what is now Utah territory, and there is evidence that it was connected with the sea by an arm extending to the Gulf of California. The upheaval of mountains through volcanic action reduced its bed and gradually confined its waters to the lower basin of what afterwards came to be known, because of its saline waters, as the Great Salt Lake.

BLACK ROCK, GREAT SALT LAKE.

As early as 1689 mention was made of this remarkable lake, which was somewhat indefinitely located and described by Baron La Houtan, “lord-lieutenant of the French colony at Placentia, in New Foundland,” in a work which was first published in the English language in 1735. But though known at such an early day, it was not until 1849 that a survey of the lake was made by Howard Stansbury, captain of topographical engineers, U. S. A., though General John C. Fremont circumnavigated it in 1844, giving names to its several islands and prominent points. The settlement of Mormons in the Salt Lake Valley, near the shores of the lake, served to bring the Dead Sea of America into prominence, and to this fact was largely due the action of the Government in ordering a survey of the great basin to be made. The lake was found to be nearly eighty miles long by fifty broad, and to contain such a quantity of salt, sulphates of silver, chlorides of magnesium, potash and alum, that its solid contents were about four times greater than that of ocean water, while its specific gravity almost equalled that of the Dead Sea. Having no outlet the lake has a fluctuating level, dependent upon the amount of inflowing water and solar evaporation, which varies each season, but though theoretically the lake ought to be diminishing, the fact remains that it is rather increasing, showing marked encroachment on the eastern shores, while on the west there is an apparent recession of its waters, a peculiarity not easily explained.

UTALINE, OR LINE OF DIVISION BETWEEN UTAH AND COLORADO.—It was a poetic as well as an artistic idea that led to the marking of the division line between Utah and Colorado upon the everlasting hills. It is a place of interest to all tourists, who never fail to comment upon it and admire the execution of the idea as the trains pass by. A path has been worn on the rocky side of the hills by the numerous tourists who have personally visited the place, and in the photograph we see an enthusiastic traveler returning to the waiting train after satisfying his curiosity.

THE TEMPLE, SALT LAKE CITY.

There are a number of islands in Salt Lake, the two largest being Antelope and Stansbury, which rise abruptly to a height of 3,000 feet, terminating in rocky ridges that range north and south, and from which a marvelously beautiful view is had of the surrounding scenery, varied by towering peaks, boundless plains, fields of grain, irrigating ditches, prosperous farm houses, and away to the southeast a delightful vision of Salt Lake City. Other islands in the lake are those known as Gunnison, Fremont, Carrington, Dolphin, Black Rock, Mud, Egg, Hat, and several others that are so insignificant as to appear to be unworthy of any name. The total area covered by the lake is about 2,500 square miles, or nearly 400 square miles more than the State of Delaware, and its elevation above the sea is 4,000 feet.

But if Great Salt Lake is one of the prime curiosities of America, its municipal namesake may well claim the distinction of being one of the artificial wonders of our land. Salt Lake City is the sublime result of Mormon persecution, having been founded by that alien sect in 1847. The history of their expulsion from Nauvoo, Illinois, and Gallatin, Missouri, is familiar to every school-boy, yet there will ever linger about the story of their flight, across the winter-swept plains of Iowa and the icy prairies of Nebraska, to the desert lands of Utah, a glamour of romance, second in interest to that of the exile of the Acadians, as told by Longfellow in Evangeline.

In this valley of desolation, as it then appeared, Brigham Young, the Moses of his people, founded a city and re-established a hierarchy which has persisted and prospered to a degree that invites the world’s amazement. By industry as remarkable as it was well directed, the desert was converted into an oasis, and the bare earth, with its poverty of sand and sage-brush, was made to cover its nakedness with the green vestures of almost unexampled fecundity.

PROVO FALLS, NEAR PROVO CITY, UTAH.—There is perhaps not in the whole world a more beautiful sheet of water than Provo Falls. It plunges over a precipice forty feet high, striking boulders on the way that break it into jets and misty lace-work which reflect and re-reflect the sun’s rays in a thousand brilliant and ever-varying colors and tints, until the beholder is entranced with the loveliness of the vision. During the wet season, when the volume of water is greater, the falls are even more beautiful than they are represented in this photograph, but under the most adverse circumstances they are lovely enough to satisfy the most critical taste. Provo Falls constitute one of the chief attractions of Utah scenery.

The town thus established under harsh conditions grew into the stature of a city, whose very isolation seemed to contribute to its prosperity. For the first score of years the place was in nearly all respects one of refuge, where the church was dominant and where priestcraft and polygamy were the two institutions upon which the life of the sect depended. We are not surprised, therefore, to find that the first great building erected in Salt Lake City was a tabernacle, with a seating capacity for 12,000 persons, the largest hall without pillar supports in the world, and that next to this a tithing house was built, for it was a principle with the Mormons that the church should be supported by levies upon the communicants of one-tenth of their annual profits, whether such earnings came from the soil, merchandise or the trades. Then followed the building of an endowment house, where the rites of the church were celebrated; and besides a residence for the president or chief priest, there was erected a structure known as the Bee-Hive, for the accommodation of Brigham Young’s harem, also an assembly hall, and lastly a Grand Temple, costing nearly $3,000,000, which, after twenty years, is just now approaching completion.

BEE-HIVE HOUSE, SALT LAKE CITY.

The City of Salt Lake, with a population of 44,000, is about seven miles from the southeastern shore of the lake, is beautifully laid out with streets 132 feet wide, the gutters of which are kept clean by the constant running of pure water through them, brought down from the Wasatch range and conducted thence through a myriad of ditches to irrigate the soil.

Salt Lake City is one of the chief military posts of the United States, and Fort Douglas, situated about five miles from the city, on a gently sloping hillside at the termination of Red Butte Cañon, is a delightful place and commands an unobstructed view of the entire valley. A mile toward the south is Emigrant Cañon, from which point it is said the Mormon pioneers first caught sight of the verdureless plain which they were destined to convert into a very Eden of productiveness. One of the greatest attractions in the neighborhood of the city (about eighteen miles distant) is a noted bathing resort called Garfield Beach which, during the summer season, is visited by thousands of persons who there indulge the incomparable luxury of a bath in the marvelous Dead Sea of America. The water is so buoyant that those who have not mastered the art of swimming find equal sport with those who are most expert, for they can lie on the delicious waves and be rocked like a child in its cradle, without putting forth any effort whatever. Just back of Garfield’s Beach is a great cavern in the Oquirrah Mountain side known as the Giant’s Cave, the entrance to which is some 300 feet above the lake level, though it is plainly evident that in former years the opening was submerged. When the cave was discovered, in 1860, it was found to contain several complete human skeletons, recklessly disposed, as though they were the victims of slaughter or starvation. It was a custom among the Utes to place their dead in caves and in hollows among the rocks, but the irregularity of the positions of the skeletons found in Giant’s Cave lends plausibility to the belief that the remains are those of a band of Indians who, having taken refuge there, were exterminated by their more powerful enemies.

DOUBLE CIRCLE, NEAR EUREKA, UTAH.—This photograph is interesting to lovers of mountain scenery as well as railway engineers. The distant hazy mountains form a soft and beautiful background, with their dark sides and white, snow-crowned peaks; while in the foreground we behold as fine an example of railroad engineering as can be seen anywhere in the world. In climbing the mountains it is necessary for the tracks to wind and zigzag and cross themselves back and forth, until the train which first passes beneath the bridge a few minutes later dashes across the top of it a hundred feet or more higher up. It is exceedingly interesting to occupy a point where the whole scene is in view and watch a train pursuing its devious way around and over this portion of the track.

BRIGHAM YOUNG’S GRAVE, SALT LAKE CITY.

About forty miles north of Salt Lake City, and on the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad, are two remarkable chasms known as Echo and Weber Cañons, which are not only sublimely grand by reason of their lofty and often vertical walls, but are also marvelously curious on account of the weird formations which distinguish them. The first one reached on our trip from Salt Lake was Weber Cañon, which invites attention and admiration not so much by beetling cliffs as by its great variety of scenery and the kaleidoscopic changes which appear at every hundred yards of advance into it. The cañon is not always narrow, nor are the walls invariably high, for there is a succession of all kinds of mountain scenery, including stretches of beautiful meadow land and fertile fields wrapped about the feet of giant peaks; colossal gate-ways leading into dark defiles; mighty summits breaking way through cloudland; slopes covered with pine and aspen; and ridges that appear to have been fashioned by gods of war into towers, bastions and crenelated battlements. Weber River has forged its way through this chasm, and along its sinuous and rocky bed the railroad runs, sometimes cutting under an overhanging ledge, again almost scraping the sides of the walls that swing so near together, then leaping out of night-infested chasms into broadening valleys that are green and russet with prolific fruitage. While admiring the peaceful landscape and contemplating the happy environments that render the valley a place of delightful habitation, our dreamy reflections are suddenly disturbed by a sight of what seems to have been most appropriately named The Devil’s Slide, a formation whose singularity entitles it to consideration as one of nature’s marvels. The hill upon the side of which this unique wonder occurs is about 800 feet high, composed of a dark red sandstone, whose face has been scarred by some internal disturbance that has caused to be cast up from the base two gray parallel walls of white sandstone, which rise to a varying height of twenty to forty feet above the general surface of the hill, and are not more than twenty feet apart. This remarkable slide begins at the summit and continues to the base, where it is reflected in the clear waters of Weber River, opposite Lost Creek, producing a vision that is weirdly grotesque and sublimely curious.

CASTLE GATE IN PRICE’S CAÑON, UTAH.—We observe in this photograph not only a castle gate but the castle itself, with its battlements and buttresses, as natural and picturesque as any of the ruins that lend their attractions to mediæval Europe. The scene is a grand one as we observe it from the railroad tracks, and to this grandeur there is added a vision of indescribable loveliness when the surrounding country is viewed from the dizzy heights of the castle walls. Such a view is one that never can be forgotten; it impresses itself upon the mind as a permanent and lasting memory. All tourists who have been this way will instantly recognize their old friend, the castle gate, in this splendid photograph.

JOSEPHINE FALLS, BEAR CREEK, UTAH.

“Echo Cañon,” says an English traveler, “is a superb defile. It moves along like some majestic poem in a series of incomparable stanzas. There is nothing like it in the Himalayas that I know of, nor in the Suliman range. In the Bolan Pass, on the Afghan frontier, there are intervals of equal sublimity; and even as a whole it may compare with it. But taken for all in all—its length (some thirty miles), its astonishing diversity of contour, its beauty as well as its grandeur—I confess that Echo Cañon is one of the masterpieces of Nature.”

One of the first objects which claims particular attention near the entrance to the cañon from the west is Pulpit Rock, which is near the village of Echo. This projection receives its name from its suggestive appearance as well as from the popular tradition that Brigham Young occupied it to preach his first sermon in Utah. The rocks and precipices which line the way are variegated with subdued tints, heightened by the pronounced coloring of the mountain vegetation that covers the slopes and spreads out in occasional level tracts at the base. Remarkable and often fantastic formations diversify the cañon, which for their fancied resemblance to artificial things have received such appellations as Steamboat Rock, Gibraltar, Monument Rock, etc. Our further advance brings into view towering cliffs that seem to be suspended from the sky, and again the walls reach over the way like mighty claws, and exhibit their serrated peaks in a series of ruins that in the distance conjure the imagination and present a vision of monoliths, temples, galleries and castles, such as bestrew the old world. Hanging Rock and Castle Rock are two specially bold promontories that give suggestion of Nilotic and Rhenish ruins, a verisimilitude that is intensified by the knowledge that when Johnston invaded Utah in 1857 the Mormons fortified many of the cliffs of both Weber and Echo Cañons, the fading wrecks of these structures being still visible.

MOUNT NEBO, WASATCH RANGE.—Mount Nebo is about sixty miles almost due south of Salt Lake City, and about twenty-five miles south of Provo. Its snow-covered summit may be seen for a hundred miles or more, for the atmosphere of this region is so clear that the vision has almost an unlimited range. This mountain, as well as many other points and places in Utah, was named by the Mormons on account of its fancied likeness to its celebrated Old Testament namesake. It is one of the finest mountain scenes in the whole Western country.

PULPIT ROCK, WEBER CAÑON.

Church Buttes and The Witches present a strange conglomeration in uniting religion with superstition, for they appeal to the two strongest attributes of human nature. From the west the “Witches” first come into view, a group of fantastically-wrought images that appear like chaotic creations, the rock-carved dreams of distempered boyhood, the feverish personations of old Granny Bunch’s tales. There they stand, like an assemblage of weazened and wrinkled wizards plotting some scheme of diabolism, though everlastingly anchored to the eternal hillsides, where, like Giant Grim, they can do nothing more than make faces at passers-by.

Church Buttes are more harmonious in their outlines, as well as massive in their proportions, simulating as they do cathedrals and meeting houses, some with towers and spires, and others of less ostentatious architecture, but all bearing some intimation of a worshipful purpose. But these curious efforts of nature are not confined to the cañons named, nor a limited district, for directly north of Green River, and reached by a Government trail leading to Yellowstone Park, are what are known as the Bridges and Washakie Basins of Bad Lands, a region that is remarkable for its capricious formations, the results of upheavals, glacial scouring, and erosions by wind and water. This district of marvelous forms is a part of Fremont county, covering an area of twenty by twenty-five miles. The country is a mixture of limestones, shales and calcareous sandstones, with occasional green clays, marls, and whitish sand, the latter often drifting into long dunes. Towards the south end of this dry valley there is a chain of bluff escarpments, extending about fourteen miles, and it is in these escarpments that the most remarkable examples of Bad Land erosions are to be found. The ridges rise 300 feet above the valley and present a series of abrupt, nearly vertical faces, worn into innumerable architectural forms, with detached pillars standing like monoliths some distance from the walls. Along the dry ravines the same curiously picturesque forms occur, so that a view of the whole front of the escarpment, with its salient angles, bears a striking resemblance to the ruins of a fortified city. Enormous masses project from the main wall, the stratifications of cream, gray and green sands are traced across their nearly vertical fronts like courses of immense masonry, and every face is scoured by innumerable narrow, sharp cuts, which are worn into the soft material from top to bottom of the cliff, offering narrow galleries which give access for a considerable distance into this labyrinth of natural fortresses. At a little distance, these sharp incisions seem like the spaces between series of pillars, and the whole aspect of the region is that of a line of Egyptian structures. Among the most interesting bodies are those of the detached outliers, points of spurs, or isolated hills, which are mere relics of the beds that formerly covered the whole valley. These monoliths, often reaching 100 feet in height, rise out of the smooth surface of a level plain of clay, and are sculptured into the most surprising forms, surmounted by domes and ornamented by many buttresses and jutting pinnacles.

OLDEST HOUSE IN SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH.—Whether or not this is actually the oldest house in Salt Lake City might be a disputed question, for when it comes to ancient things, or to the oldest inhabitant, we generally find that there are several claimants for the honor. But we can say with sincerity and truth that this is one of the oldest representative houses of the Mormon capital. It is one of the better class, erected immediately after the city was laid out, and it has been occupied continuously ever since. The house and its surroundings have an air of quiet restfulness that is exceedingly inviting, and a tired man could sleep like a new-born infant under the board roof with the rain pattering down upon it.

WITCH ROCKS, WEBER CAÑON.

Clarence King, U. S. Geologist, in a monograph on the Bad Lands, says: “It is not altogether easy to account for the peculiar character of this erosion, resulting as it does in such singular vertical faces and spire-like forms. A glance at the front of these Bad Lands shows at once that very much of the resultant forms must be the effect of rain and wind-storms. The small streams which cut down across the escarpment from the interior of the plateau, do the work of severing the front into detached blocks; but the final forms of these blocks themselves are probably in great measure given by the effect of rain and wind erosion. The material is so exceedingly fine, that under the influence of trickling waters it cuts down most easily in vertical lines. A semi-detached block, separated by two lateral ravines, becomes quickly carved into spires and domes, which soon crumble down to the level of the plain. It seems probable that some of the most interesting forms are brought out by a slightly harder stratum near the top of the cliffs (like the strange, and often uncouth, examples in Monument Park, Colorado), which acts in a measure as a protector of the softer materials, and prevents them from taking the mound-forms that occur when the beds are of equal hardness.”

As we follow down Green River, the same effects are observable in the vertical bluffs which extend along the shores, images to which fancy has given such names as the Devil’s Tea-pot, the Giant’s Club, Vermilion Cliffs, and many others, for the geologic structure is the same through nearly the whole of southeast Wyoming. But the so-called Bad Lands are not wholly confined to Wyoming, for they are met with in both North and South Dakota, west of the Missouri River; though for beauty and magnitude, those of Wyoming are incomparable.

MORMON TITHING HOUSE, SALT LAKE CITY.—This is one of the houses occupied by Brigham Young during his lifetime as a residence and for office purposes. We presume from the name that it was also the appointed place for the payment of tithes by his devoted followers, and if this is true we can safely estimate that many millions of dollars were carried through its gates and deposited in the coffers of the Church as a tribute from ignorance and superstition to the superiority of cunning and avarice. The Mormon leaders have all been shrewd money getters and have not overlooked themselves while taking care of the interests of the Lord.

HANGING ROCK, AMERICAN FORK CAÑON.

From Green River Station we doubled our track and returned to Ogden, where we took some very beautiful views of Ogden Cañon, the Narrows, Adam’s Falls, and the mountains that soar very far skyward at the city’s rear. But our stay here was limited to two days, when we took the Oregon branch of the Union Pacific for a visit to Shoshone Falls, on Snake River, which for size as well as magnificence takes a position second only to our world-wonderful Niagara.

Directly after leaving Ogden the road enters the valley of Bear River, which it follows as far north as Weston Falls, a distance of about seventy-five miles. The scenery along this part of the route is almost as rugged as that of Weber Cañon, being a succession of cañons and lovely stretches of level lands brought into the highest state of cultivation by Mormon industry. At Pocatello the road branches, one of its iron arms extending northward to Helena, while the main line turns westwardly to Oregon. The district which it penetrates after leaving Pocatello is desert-like and devoid of interest almost to the western limits of Idaho, if we except the point where the road crosses Snake River. Here the American Falls go brawling and boiling over immense basaltic rocks that are struggling with the impetuous stream, and whose tops are flecked with tufts of foam thrown up by mad-dashing waves. But the waters have not yet worn a chasm through the desert, which spreads away on either side a level plain, until forty-four miles distant the dreary monotony is broken by three buttes that rise into view out of the uninviting landscape. We now enter a region that is somber beyond all power to describe; a wretched desolation that is relieved by no vegetation save of sage-brush, which straggles through little rifts in the earth and barely lifts its head above the surface. These are the lava beds that extend from Beaver Cañon all along the north side of Snake River, until they lose themselves in the stream where it turns due north and draws a boundary line between Idaho and Oregon. The land appears to have been cursed with such a fire as destroyed Gomorrah, for the eye wanders over nothing but the fiery sputa of volcanoes, that, having wrought the fullest destruction, were in turn destroyed. Everywhere we look there greets our vision waves of lava that lashed the earth until, tired of their devastating work, they became congealed, or were arrested by the hand of omnipotence. But between the knolls of scoria are occasional depressions, which are cross-seamed and cracked until in many places the fissures are hundreds of feet deep, apparently extending in depth to the very vitals of the earth. Some of the crevices are only a few inches in width, while there are others several feet broad, into which creeks have lost themselves, and lead into bottomless pits.

THE DEVIL’S SLIDE, WEBER CAÑON.—This great natural curiosity is in Weber Cañon, about forty miles north of Salt Lake City. It is composed of two parallel walls of white sandstone, thrown up by some ancient convulsion of the earth, which stand out in bold contrast with the dark red sandstone of the hill. The “Slide” is nearly 800 feet in length, the walls rising to a varying height of twenty to forty feet above the general surface of the hill. A few feet to the left of the “Slide” there is another wall of similar formation, but almost covered by the accumulated washings of centuries. It is a pity that so remarkable a curiosity should have received so profane an appellation; but we presume there would be no regrets if the devil should be required to take a hasty run down the top of the ragged and jutting walls of his famous slide.

TEA-POT ROCK, GREEN RIVER.

It is a little more than one hundred miles from Pocatello to Shoshone Station, at which point we left the train, and by private conveyance struck across the lava fields, a distance of twenty-five miles due south, over the dustiest wagon-road that mortal ever traveled. The way is like a switch-back, up and down over sharp waves of lava, with desolation and discomfort obtrusive companions, and nothing rising above the dull undulations except a purplish tint in the horizon, marking with faint intimation a range of mountains one hundred miles away in Utah. For more than four hours we traversed this wearying stretch of parched and begrimed desert, without a sign of the river, until at length turning the base of a higher ridge we came suddenly upon the brink of a tremendous chasm, and there, 1,200 feet below our feet, was the river which we had journeyed so far to view. Long before reaching this objective point, we had heard a deep, rumbling noise that seemed to emanate from the earth’s internals, but now, with astounded sense of the awful, we beheld the cause. There before us was the vexed waters of a large river pouring over two precipices, the first 82 feet and the second 210 feet high, producing by the final plunge a colossal caldron, from which the mists rose up in boiling clouds that ever and anon hid the falls from sight.

PULPIT ROCK, ECHO CAÑON, UTAH.—This singular overhanging rock, with the reading stand in front, has been known as Pulpit Rock since the early days of Mormonism in Utah, owing to the fact that it was used by Brigham Young as a pulpit in the delivery of his first sermon within the present limits of that territory. But it is not for this reason that we include it in Glimpses of America, for we have no sympathy whatever with Mormonism or its doctrines. The rock is one of the prominent curiosities of Utah, and as such it is here represented. The surrounding scenery is very beautiful, with glimpses of the winding river and the rolling hills as a background. It is a favorite resort for tourists, both on account of the scenic beauties and the healthfulness of the pure western air.

MAIDEN OF THE BAD LANDS.

A glance at this tremendous waterfall more than compensated for all the annoyances and discomforts that we had endured. It was a scene of positively bewildering majesty; a vision of the incomparably grand; an object lesson teaching the mightiness and mysterious ways of God. In the deep diapason of its voice we recognized nature’s hallelujah, and the thunderous boom of its plungings was like a chorus of invocation welling from a million throats. Its lovely grandeur, bursting out of the heart of desolation, is the personification of powerful, awe-inspiring sublimity, an exaltation of deity, an inspiration to the soul, a very glorification and apotheosis of nature.

WITCH ROCK, BAD LANDS OF WYOMING.

Pausing on the bank to contemplate and measure the colossal wonder of the falls, we saw the emerald stream gliding along as placidly as though its mission was one of peace; nor was there any appearance of danger to the ferryman, who operated his boat by an over-head wire cable stretched from bank to bank, only 200 yards above. The quiet flow, however, was better understood when we learned that the river here is 200 feet deep; a very ocean filling a mighty chasm; an inundated cañon whose volume of water equals that of a dozen Niagaras, for this tremendous gorge extends a distance of eighteen miles, and its bottom lies under the river 1,400 feet below the brink.

Shoshone Falls proper are 950 feet wide at the point of precipitation, but only a few yards to the rear of it are Bridal Veil Falls, whose width is 125 feet, and which constitute the first plunge or precipice, which in turn is broken into a series of minor cascades, known as Bridal Train and Natural Mill Race Falls, the divisions being produced by the interposition of Eagle Rock and Bell’s Island. One mile and a half below the cataract are Cascade Falls, while three miles above are Twin Falls, which leap down a height of 180 feet, thus showing that there is a space of nearly five miles in which the tremendous chasm has been torn by convulsions which most probably occurred after the river was turned into its bed. An exquisite word-painting by the journalistic pen of Hon. C. C. Goodwin is here reproduced:

MONUMENT ROCK, ECHO CAÑON.

GIANT’S CLUB, GREEN RIVER.

These two natural curiosities, the one in Echo Cañon and the other near Green River, have been well named, for a glance at either immediately suggests its proper use. Their immensity can be estimated by the size of the man who stands at the foot of the Club, who, although he is taller than the average of his race, is hardly able to reach to the first wrinkle on the giant’s weapon.

BANKS OF SNAKE RIVER.

“The lava beds of Idaho are a marked feature of that Territory. Starting near the eastern boundary, they extend southwesterly for a long distance, and are from 300 feet to 900 feet in depth. This mass was once a river of molten fire, the making of which must have succeeded a convulsion of nature more terrible than any ever witnessed by mortals, and long years must have passed before the awful fiery mass was cooled. To the east of the source of the lava flow, the Snake River bursts out of the hills, becoming almost at once a sovereign river, and flowing at first southwesterly and then bending westerly, cuts through the lava fields nearly in the center of the Territory, reckoned from east to west, and about forty miles north of its southern border, and thence flowing with great curves, merges finally with the Columbia. The two rivers combined make one of the chief waterways of the continent, and here and there take on pictures of great beauty. Never anywhere else was there such a scene; never anywhere else was so beautiful a picture hung in so rude a frame; never anywhere else, on a background so forbidding and weird, were so many glories clustered. Around and beyond, there is nothing but the desert—sere, silent, lifeless—as though Desolation had builded there everlasting thrones to Sorrow and Despair.

BAD LANDS OF WYOMING.

“Away back in remote ages, over the withered breast of the desert, a river of fire, 100 miles wide and 400 miles long, was turned. As the fiery mass cooled, its red waves became transfixed, and turned black, giving to the double-desert an indescribably blasted and forbidding face.

“But while this river of fire was in flow, a river of water was fighting its way across it, or has since made war and forged out for itself a channel through the mass. This channel looks like the grave of a volcano that had been robbed of its dead. But right between its crumbling and repellent walls, transfiguration appears. And such a picture! A river as lordly as the Hudson or Ohio, springing from the distant snow-crested Tetons, with waters transparent as glass, but green as emerald, with majestic flow and ever-increasing volume, sweeps on until it reaches this point where the display begins.

“Suddenly, in different places in the river-bed, jagged rocky reefs are upheaved, dividing the current into four rivers, and these, in a mighty plunge of eighty feet downward, dash on their way. Of course the waters are churned into foam, and roll over the precipice white as are the garments of the morning when no cloud obscures the sun. The loveliest of these falls is called “The Bridal Veil,” because it is made of the lace which is woven with a warp of falling waters and a woof of sunlight. Above this and near the right bank, is a long trail of foam, and this is called “The Bridal Trail.” The other channels are not so fair as the one called “The Bridal Veil,” but they are more fierce and wild, and carry in their ferocious sweep more power.

WEBER VALLEY, AND TUNNEL THROUGH GRANITE WALLS, UTAH.—We have a beautiful landscape and a grand mountain view combined in this fine photograph. The rugged wall of granite, through which the railroad tunnel has been cut, forms an appropriate frame for the picture of the peaceful valley and the winding river. The place has a restful look, inviting to the weary worker who seeks rest and health away from the noise and hustle of city life. Here, shut in by the surrounding walls, and with rod in hand, one could sit upon the banks of the mirror-like stream and imagine himself out of the world and away from all its cares and worries. It seems almost a pity that the demands of modern commerce should require the cutting of the hill and the breaking of the solitude by the screaming of the rushing locomotive.

PETRIFIED TREES OF THE BAD LANDS.

“One of the reefs which divides the river in mid-channel runs up to a peak, and on this a family of eagles have, through the years, may be through centuries, made their home and reared their young, on the very verge of the abyss and amid the full echoes of the resounding roar of the falls. Surely the eagle is a fitting symbol of perfect fearlessness, and of that exultation which comes with battle clamors.

“But these first falls are but a beginning. The greater splendor succeeds. With swifter flow, the startled waters dash on, and within a few feet take their second plunge into a solid crescent, over a sheer precipice, 210 feet to the abyss below. On the brink there is a rolling crest of white, dotted here and there, in sharp contrast, with shining eddies of green, as might a necklace of emeralds shimmer on a throat of snow, and then the leap and fall.

BEAUTIES OF THE BAD LANDS.

“Here more than foam is made. Here the waters are shivered into fleecy spray, whiter and finer than any miracle that ever fell from an India loom; while from the depths below, an everlasting vapor rises—the incense of the waters to the waters’ God. Finally, through the long, unclouded days, the sun sends down his beams, and to give the startling scene its growing splendor, wreathes the terror and the glory in a rainbow halo. On either sullen bank the extremities of its arc are anchored, and there in its many-colored robes of light it lies outstretched above the abyss like wreaths of flowers above a sepulchre. Up through the glory and terror an everlasting roar ascends, deep-toned as is the voice of fate, a diapason like that the rolling ocean chants when his eager surges come rushing in to greet and fiercely woo an irresponsive promontory.

CEDAR CAÑON, BAD LANDS OF DAKOTA.

“But to feel all the awe and to mark all the splendor and power that comes of the mighty display, one must climb down the deep descent to the river’s brink below, and pressing up as nearly as possible to the falls, contemplate the tremendous picture. There, something of the energy that creates that endless panorama is comprehended; all the deep throbbings of the mighty river’s pulses are felt, all the magnificence is seen. In the reverberations that come of the war of waters, one hears something like God’s voice; something like the splendor of God is before his eyes; something akin to God’s power is manifesting itself before him, and his soul shrinks within itself, conscious, as never before, of its own littleness and helplessness in the presence of the workings of Nature’s immeasurable forces.

THE BLUFFS OF GREEN RIVER, UTAH.—If the traveler should come suddenly in front of the towering bluff to the right, with its striped and pillared front, it would require no great stretch of the imagination for him to conclude that he was sailing up the ancient Nile and viewing the ruins of Thebes or some other of the great cities that flourished with life and commerce many centuries ago, but now sit in solemn silence contemplating the glory of the dead past. This scene is a very striking one, and the splendid photograph does it full justice. It stands on the printed page just as nature made it, solemn, grand and silent. There is something really sphinxlike in the wrinkled front of the large bluff in the foreground.

MOYEA FALLS, IDAHO.

“Not quite so massive is the picture as is Niagara, but it has more lights and shades and loveliness, as though a hand more divinely skilled had mixed the tints, and with more delicate art had transfixed them upon that picture suspended there in its rugged and somber frame. As one watches, it is not difficult to fancy that, away back in the immemorial and unrecorded past, the angel of love bewailed the fact that mortals were to be given existence in a spot so forbidding, a spot that, apparently, was never to be warmed with God’s smile, which was never to make a sign through which God’s mercy was to be discerned; that then omnipotence was touched, that with His hand He smote the hills and started the great river in its flow; that with His finger He traced out the channel across the corpse of that other river that had been fire, mingled the sunbeams with the raging waters, and made it possible in that fire-blasted frame of scoria to swing a picture which should be, first to the red man and later to the pale races, a certain sign of the existence, the power, and the unapproachable splendor of Jehovah.

“And as the red man, through the centuries, watched the spectacle, comprehending nothing except that an infinite voice was smiting his ears, and insufferable glories were blazing before his eyes; so, through the centuries to come, the pale races will stand upon the shuddering shore and watch, experiencing a mighty impulse to put off the sandals from their feet, under an overmastering consciousness that the spot on which they are standing is holy ground.

SHOSHONE FALLS, IDAHO.—Shoshone Falls are in Snake River, in the southern part of Idaho, and they constitute one of the greatest curiosities of our western country. In some respects they resemble Niagara, and have accordingly been designated as the Niagara of the west. The place is rapidly becoming a popular resort for tourists, and this popularity will greatly increase as it becomes better known. The surrounding scenery is beautiful, consisting of prairie valleys fringed with distant mountains. A splendid description of the Falls is given on page 110 of Glimpses of America.

THE FERRY AT SHOSHONE FALLS.

NATURAL BRIDGE, SHOSHONE FALLS.

“There is nothing elsewhere like it, nothing half so weird, so beautiful, so clothed in majesty, so draped with terror; nothing else that awakens impressions at once so startling, so winsome, so profound. While journeying through the desert, to come suddenly upon it, the spectacle gives one something of the emotions that would be experienced in beholding a resurrection from the dead. In the midst of what seems like a dead world, suddenly there springs into irrepressible life something so marvelous, so grand, so caparisoned with loveliness and irresistible might, that the head is bowed, the strained heart throbs tumultuously, and the awed soul sinks to its knees.” The time is fast approaching when the sublime glories of Shoshone Falls will be appreciated by tourists, and by that large class of summer vacationists who are always searching for sights and places that will drive away the ennui from which they chiefly suffer. The beat of ocean billow, the roar of waterfall, the stretch of landscape from lofty mountain peak, the lonely quietude of glen and wilderness, each have their votaries; but about Shoshone’s chasm there is more to charm than all of these, for the very desolation of its environments adds fascination to the wild and tameless scenery of the falls. The poet and the painter find here an inspiration for their genius; while the most prosaic spectator is thrilled by the matchless grandeur, the majestic awfulness of a mad-cantering river plunging through a gigantic rent, and over a precipice so high that the waters are scattered into mist and dissolve in rainbows when they meet the seething caldron below. It is a strange exhibition of nature’s power and freakishness, a manifestation of mysterious force, a blending of results precipitated by vomiting volcano and an irresistible flood of waters, the joining of rivers of fire with streams breaking over the barriers of mountains and pouring down upon the plains. Considering the surroundings, the bleak sterility of what appears to be a boundless extent of lava fields, and the mighty, awe-compelling avalanche of waters that cleaves it, Shoshone Falls is perhaps the most remarkable waterfall to be found anywhere on either continent, a wonder in which Snake River has an almost equal part. Indeed, this extraordinary river exhibits many equally astonishing features along its extreme length, for while a greater part of the stream flows through a belt of scoria, the lower portion is a succession of waterfalls, second only to those of Shoshone.

CHAPTER V.
OVER THE HEIGHTS AND INTO THE DEEPS OF WONDERLAND.

UNAWEEP CAÑON.

Having satisfied our curiosity and embalmed the views of Shoshone Falls, as here presented, our party of photographers and historiographer returned to Colorado over the same route that we had come, but at Grand Junction we proceeded southward over the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad to Gunnison, Ouray and Tulleride. At Grand Junction, Grand River divides, the southern branch of which is called Gunnison River, and takes its rise in the Sagauche and Elk ranges; and it was along the valley of this south branch that our route lay. It is characteristic of Colorado rivers that all of them flow through large fissures, and a majority have cleft the mountains into mighty chasms, thus producing the matchless scenery which has helped so much to make the State famous. It fortunately happens that the most picturesque places in the west are either directly upon the lines or in the near vicinity of railroads, for necessity has compelled their construction along the river valleys, since there are few other passes in the mountains, and no other routes so feasible.

TOADSTOOL ROCK, NEAR GUNNISON.

The scenery along the south branch of Grand River is very similar to that which we have described on the main stream, and leaving Grand Junction we almost immediately entered the Unaweep Cañon, thence in succession Puniweep and Escalante. The road leaves the valley of the main stream at Delta, and follows a smaller branch (Cedar River) a distance of fifty or sixty miles, until Cimarron is reached, below the southern terminus of the Mesa Verde. In this interval, and running along the north side of the Mesa Verde—Green Plateau—is the Grand Cañon of the Gunnison, a cleft in the earth that is magnificently imposing, possessing as it does many of the characteristics of Grand River, though the walls are of limestone and hence not so precipitous, as being more easily eroded than granite, the base of the walls are cut until in many places they shelve far over the stream, while at frequent intervals the river is broken by cascades and waterfalls, those of Chippeta being particularly beautiful.

BOX CAÑON FALLS, NEAR GUNNISON.

Black Cañon, which begins near the town of Cimarron, is another wild gorge, through which the river glides with stately and uninterrupted majesty, a deep crystalline stream, until it passes Currecanti Needle, when the smooth flow is interrupted by bowlders which convert it into a rapid. Currecanti Needle is an object which excites the almost reverent wonder of every beholder. It is a symmetrical cone of red basalt, resting its feet in the Gunnison River and shooting up to an amazing height, its summit terminating in a spire that pierces the clouds, while its body is as variegated with bright colors as was Joseph’s coat. On each side of the stream the bluffs reach up 2,000 feet, but the needle soars very much more loftily, a great sachem among the stone giants that stand in colossal files along the river. Near Sapinero, which is at the eastern end of the cañon, the walls draw so near together that the light of day is almost entirely excluded, but at places where the sun is admitted they sparkle with dazzling lustre, caused by reflections from the mica of which they are largely composed.

EAGLE ROCK, SHOSHONE FALLS.—The photograph on page 111 gives us a fine front view of Shoshone Falls, while on this page we see them from the side and just above the final plunge. The principal attraction in this picture is Eagle Rock, which occupies a prominent position in the foreground. On the top of the rock there is an eagle’s nest, from which many a young brood has taken its flight, for from all the indications the nest has been in existence for centuries. It is a fitting place for the fearless bird of freedom to rear its young, safe from the raids of wild animals and on the very brink of the dashing and roaring waters. Nothing but an eagle would dare approach such a place.

PROFILE ROCK, NEAR OURAY.

From Gunnison the road follows Tomachi Creek eastward, passing over a country devoid of particular interest, except as views are afforded of high mountains in the Fossil Ridge, Sagauche and Sangre de Cristo ranges far away, until the ascent of Marshall’s Pass is begun. The road now rises rapidly until it crosses the Rocky Mountains, at an elevation of 11,000 feet. But the ascent is indirect, in a serpentine course close to the cone of Mount Ouray, which penetrates the depths of heaven, to a height of 14,000 feet; so lofty that the sun shines brightly upon its snow-covered summit, while the earth below is wrapped in the sable garments of deepest night. Round and round, but in an ascending circle, the laboring train makes its toilsome way, until we see the tracks below us looking like a succession of terraces. At the apex we run through a long tunnel of snow-sheds, through openings in which a view may be had of the extinct crater of Ouray, while a hundred miles away towards the south, and across a wide expanse of plain, the frosted ridge of Sangre de Cristo is clearly visible through the tenuous air. The ride over this great mountain is one of the most delightful and picturesque in all the world, and leaves an impression which is as charming and fadeless as the memory of a boy’s first triumph. After passing down the mountain side, a short run brings us to Poncha Junction, at the entrance of the Valley of the Arkansas, and a few miles further Salida is reached, a splendid little town that is begirt with mountains, but reposes like a jewel in a green sea of amazing fertility and beauty. As we rush eastward down this lovely valley, some wondrous sights are viewable from our car. On the right the Arkansas River bowls along close by the track, while far beyond the horizon is belted with the Sangre de Cristo range. On our left our eyes are gladdened with the sight of three bristling peaks, known as Harvard, Princeton and Yale, which rise above their more humble brothers in the Park range. The scene now undergoes a quick change, for the valley becomes rapidly narrowed by the mountains drawing together, as if to bar our passage; but as their seared sides and snowy crests become more distinct by a closer approach, the scenery increases in interest until soon it develops into positive grandeur. At Parkdale we observe that the sloping sides of the mountains are becoming more abrupt and rocky, until five miles beyond, the gigantic, the marvelous and the terror-inspiring Royal Gorge bursts full upon our amazed and startled senses. The colossal peak has been cut in twain; sliced by the persistent waters of the Arkansas, that with remorseless jaws have eaten through the heart of the giant mountain that lay down in its way; and there the great gash breaks before us, into which the ravening river rushes, with a growling voice and imperious dash, as reckless as a bandit, and impetuous as a fiery youth. Pines and aspens struggle up the mountain sides, but where the waters have split a way there is nothing save vertical walls of stone that soar up, up, so high that it wearies the sight to travel to their summits. There are seams and depressions in their awful cliffs, and projections and cavities that show imprints of the teeth of frost, and away up on these eagles have found resting places, and built their eyries where only the storm-god can reach them. Distance, as expressed in feet on paper, conveys scarcely an idea of mountain height or cañon depth, for the awesome presence is lacking. But the height of the walls of the Royal Gorge, or, as it is sometimes called, the Grand Cañon of the Arkansas, is 3,000 feet, or more than half a mile, while the chasm is only fifty feet wide where the river rushes through, and but seventy feet at the summit. Three Eiffel towers, set upon top of each other, would hardly reach the crown of these tremendous cliffs, around the crests of which flying eagles look like flies lazily swimming in a haze of distance. In order to avoid cutting a road-bed through the base of the perpendicular cliffs, which come very close together, an iron bridge has been thrown around the defile and suspended by anchoring its sides in the granite walls, so that it has no pillared supports, for none are needed. Upon this suspended bridge, which runs parallel with and over the stream, every passenger train stops for the space of several minutes to give opportunity for an inspection of the Royal Gorge, which is most appalling and wonderful at this point.

MOUTH OF GRAND RIVER CAÑON.—In this photograph we see the beginning of the magnificent scenery of Grand River Cañon in Colorado and Utah. It is the doorway or portal to a series of the most splendid views to be found anywhere in the world. No one can realize the true grandeur of this western scenery without beholding it, and the next best thing to seeing it in reality is its reflected image in this series of matchless photographs, taken specially for this work. The camera is a mirror in which the objects are reflected true to nature, and this reflection is caught by the rays of the sun and printed indelibly and beautifully upon the pages of the book.

CASCADE AT OURAY.

LEANING TOWER, PERRY PARK.

The eastern end of the gorge is at Cañon City, and after leaving this place the valley widens rapidly and spreads out into an arid plain that joins the prairies of Kansas. The change from a weirdly wild and savagely astounding cañon, to the pale landscape of a verdureless desert, is very sudden, and there is no variation in the passionless monotony of alkaline plain that lies between the mountain and Pueblo, a distance of forty miles. The Arkansas loses much of its volume and activity in struggling through the parched lands, becoming a listless stream, and murky with sediment that is gathered from its fast-washing banks.

We had to double upon our route very often in order to reach the numerous points of interest and charming scenery which is accessible by railroad, but in many cases much time was saved by dividing our party, though we refrain from wearying the reader with the uninteresting particulars of these movements. In the present instance, however, two of our photographers, with the camera car, proceeded southwest from Pueblo, over the Denver & Rio Grande R. R., to Wagon-Wheel Gap, while the others of our party returned, by way of the same route we had just traversed, to Montrose, thence to Ouray, and from that terminus, by stage, to Ironton, a distance of seven miles. From this latter point they followed the sweep of the same road, called the Rainbow route, around to Alamoso, where a junction was made with the two photographers on their return journey from Wagon-Wheel Gap.

THE TRAIL ALONG THE BREAST OF SAN JUAN MOUNTAIN.—It appeared to many impossible to connect the towns Ouray and Silverton by stage road, on account of the tumultuous mountains, riven by mighty chasms, and scarred by eroding streams, that lay between; but skill, patience and great expenditure of money accomplished what was undertaken with misgivings. A roadway was blasted and carved along the rocky breast of the peaks; chasms were bridged, rents were filled, and our photograph shows a portion of the result, a wildly picturesque stage road, over which it is a delightful experience to travel.

TWIN FALLS, NEAR AMES, COLORADO.

The journey south from Montrose is along Uncompaghre River—every little stream is called a river in the far west—which, like many other streams we have described, has worn a deep bed, in which it is now confined by high walls of polychromatic colors, very beautiful to see. From the occasional rises over which the road passes, very lovely views are to be had of Horse-Fly Peak on the west, and the rather gentle elevation of Tongue Mesa on the east. At Dallas the scenery becomes much more rugged, and thence to Ouray, and Silverton, which is twenty miles from Ironton, the landscape is tumultuous; for nature is here in strange derangement, not to say chaotic dismemberment. It appeared an impossible feat to connect Ouray and Ironton by a stage-road, so tempestuously craggy is the interval, rent as it is by mighty chasm and spurred by amazing peaks of stones piled up into vast pyramids of confusion. But engineering skill dominated even here, and not only was a wagon-road cut through this chain of obstacles, but a narrow-gauge railroad was successfully constructed between Ironton and Silverton.

MOUNT ABRAM.—The hoary head of Mount Abram rises high above its Titanic, yet less lofty, brothers that compose the mountainous battalion of the San Juan Range, in Southern California. This sky-assailing peak lies near the splendid toll-road between Ouray and Silverton, and attains an elevation of 14,235 feet; high enough to receive the first assault of every storm; where the cold is so great that the apex is perpetually wrapped in a thick mantle of snow. A part of the toll-road is shown in the photograph, creeping around the steep slope, where a false step might result in a plunge over a precipice hundreds of feet high.

JAWS OF DEATH, ANIMAS CAÑON.

The approach to Ouray is by a way impressively magnificent, through rifts in castellated walls that are rich with the primary colors, and lofty enough to bathe their crests in the clouds. There goes the river, like a belated business man trying to overtake time, roaring, fretting, panting, with hardly enough space between the escarpments to admit its passage. Along, and over and around this mad-dashing stream the road winds, up and down, in and out, until the points of the compass lose their bearings, and swing around in distraction.

Ouray lies at peace with the world, in a basin whose sides are like a giant’s punch-bowl, only that the confinement is by a succession of mountain ranges piling up behind each other until the highest attain an altitude of 14,235 feet, and hold perpetual carnival with the snow-storm. That little basin seems to be the paint-pot of the Titans, and the mountains their mixing-boards. Letting our sight travel slowly up the soaring slopes, every step of the way is one of beauty. Clothed with a luxurious growth of yellow aspen, the brown of oak, the deep green of spruce, and the silver sheen of mountain pine, the picture needs only a frame to make it perfect. And there above is the thing desired; for where the timber line ends, the flaming colors of red, orange, purple, gray and brown stone begins, rising ever higher until they fade away behind the mists that gather about the peaks.

As we proceed on the way to Silverton the road inclines through forests whose autumn tints keep the eye dancing with admiration, and having descended two thousand feet, the mouth of Bear Creek is reached, where it rolls along a terrible cataract, known as Bear Creek Cascade. A little further on, we dash out upon a bridge which spans a dizzy height, for, there below us, the raging creek plunges over a precipice 275 feet high, and is dashed into vapor upon the rocks. It is a startling sight to behold the surging waters, and watch the mad plunge that falls into a caldron as angry as ever witches stretched hands about.

MOUNT OURAY, COLORADO.—Mount Ouray, like Pike’s Peak, holds the honorable distinction of lifting its head so high as to be always covered with a sheet of snow. Its peak is more than 14,000 feet above the level of the sea, and there it rests in lofty grandeur, looking down like a white-robed priest upon the little valleys nestling at its feet. It is a beautiful sight to stand at the foot of this mountain and watch a railroad train dashing back and forth, here and there, and zigzagging hither and yonder with no apparent purpose, but always climbing higher and higher, until it goes out of sight behind a ridge or through a tunnel, sending back a white flake of steam as it whistles good-bye. When you go to Colorado don’t fail to visit Ouray.

EXCAVATIONS in the CLIFFS, MANCOS CAÑON.

RUINS OF CLIFF DWELLINGS IN MANCOS CAÑON.

Thence onward we pursue our exciting ride, with mountains on either side, by the Needles, Sultan Peak, silver cascades, until soon we reach the Valley of the Animas, and are presently hurled into the wildly weird and awfully sublime Animas Cañon. A very suggestive name was given by the early Spaniards to this stream: Rio de los Animas, signifying the river of lost souls, for nothing could be more gruesomely somber. The cañon proper is about fifteen miles long, and lies between Rockwood and Durango, and is a cleavage that separates the San Juan and San Miguel ranges. The walls are perpendicular, and the passage so narrow that the sunlight can hardly get through. The railroad runs along the breast of the solid rock walls, on a ledge or balcony that had to be cut in the sheer escarpment, 1,500 feet above the river, but the top of the frowning enclosure is still 500 feet higher. Sitting at the car window, the traveler looks down into what appears to be an almost bottomless gulch, and sees the beating waters swirling in pools, and tossing in a terrific tumult that fills the cañon with deafening roar. While the river here is a succession of cataracts, there are waterfalls on either side, leaping down from bordering cliffs and joining hands with the impetuous river.

WEST SIDE OF MARSHALL PASS.—The summit of Marshall Pass has an altitude of 10,852 feet. From this point a magnificent view can be had of the Sangre de Cristo range extending to the southeast. The pass itself is a scenic and scientific wonder; grades of 211 feet to the mile are frequent, and the ascent and descent are made by a series of the most remarkable curves. The streams from the summit flow eastward into the Atlantic and westward into the Pacific. The tracks are so winding that passengers on ascending trains frequently become puzzled, and imagine that they are moving in a circle without a definite purpose, but when the train reaches the top and dashes over the divide, the object of its devious course is revealed, and a feeling of exhilaration succeeds that of doubt and uncertainty as it darts down the opposite side with the swiftness of an eagle.

CALCAREOUS CLIFFS OF GRAND RIVER.

A few miles from Los Pinos Cañon and Toltec Gorge is the bustling town of Durango, which is the supply depot for the San Juan mining district. This place received a great impetus by the reported discovery of rich placer gold mines in southeastern Utah, in November of 1892, and at this time its future appears to be very promising. The region is altogether one of extraordinary interest alike for the miner, tourist and relic-hunter, for thirty miles west of the town are the picturesque ruins of very ancient cliff-dwellers, who, in the early centuries, excavated deep recesses in the perpendicular walls along the Rio Mancos, and there made their homes. Evidently they were of the same race, and no doubt were contemporary with those who fled from the Spanish persecutors and took refuge in artificial caves in the Grand Cañon of the Colorado.

ROYAL GORGE, CAÑON OF THE ARKANSAS RIVER.—Mighty cleavage, wondrous chasm, tremendous gash, is that marvelous rent in the Park Range known as Royal Gorge, through which the Arkansas has cut its way, leaving precipitous walls 3000 feet high, upon the upper breasts of which eagles make their secure eyries. This amazing fissure is less than 100 feet wide at the top, and so narrow at the base that to avoid tunneling the engineers of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway built a hanging bridge, with fastenings in the walls, for a roadway through this awful pass, under which the confined river flows with dreadful roar. A view of this astounding cañon is one of terrific grandeur, of sublime mightiness, of inspiring yet awesome wonder.

PHANTOM CURVE.

Southwest of these now vacant cave dwellings, in the northeast corner of Arizona, is a short branch of the San Juan River, known as the Rio de Chelly, which runs through a cañon celebrated in the history of Indian warfare as presenting the most serious obstacles encountered by expeditions under Colonel Sumner and General Canby. The region, and particularly De Chelly Cañon, was the stronghold of the Navajoe Indians, who rendered the defile almost impregnable. Time and again efforts were made by large bodies of troops to force a passage, but as often they were driven back by the Indians hurling stones down the thousand feet of perpendicular height. The rear was likewise protected by remarkable ruggedness of the approach, and an army sent against them was thus held at bay by the Indians for several months. Kit Carson was finally given a commission as colonel and sent against the defiant marauders with a force of five hundred men. Understanding all the difficulties of the situation, he so disposed his army as to hold the Indians within their lines of refuge, and choosing winter as the best time for action, laid a siege that effectually cut off all communication. Aid from the outside being thus prevented, and all supplies shut off, the Navajoes were presently reduced to such straits that after three desperate but futile efforts to escape, the entire band surrendered.

After passing through Animas Cañon, on the eastern journey, the scenery continues impressively beautiful, for several pellucid streams are crossed at points where they have cut deep furrows in the earth, and eaten their way through opposing mountains. At Ignacio we met with the first considerable number of Indians seen thus far during our trip. This place is the headquarters of the Southern Utes’ reservation, and was named after their chief. Twenty miles beyond we cross the Rio Piedra and enter the valley of the San Juan, which is followed for nearly sixty miles, and until Navajo is reached, where another small band of miserable-looking Indians have their quarters, and besiege incoming passenger trains with importunities that travelers almost invariably generously respond to. Now we are running along the borders of New Mexico, a line of demarkation indicated by the San Juan range that lies north of us, while southward stretches away the undulating and arid plains. At Amargo we are met by another band of Indians, whose sullen countenances and bedraggled appearance plainly show them to be Apaches, whose numbers, however, are now so reduced that the murderous raids which made the tribe celebrated in the early annals of the far west, are not likely to be repeated again.

TRAIL OVER THE SAN JUAN MOUNTAINS.

CREVICE CAÑON, NEAR OURAY.

Many persons have read of mountain trails, but comparatively few have seen them or realized the dangers that attend a passage over them. The splendid photograph of the trail over San Juan Mountains, on this page, will therefore be a subject of interest to all. This is a picture of the real thing, as it exists in nature.

Crevice Cañon, near Ouray, Colo., the companion picture, is another of nature’s wonders that will arouse the curiosity of every reader. It seems impossible that so small a stream could have carved its way through such an obstacle, but it has left the marks of its power in the granite walls of the opposing mountain.

ANTELOPE PARK, NEAR TOLTEC GORGE.

We cross the Conejos range at Cumbres, at an elevation of 10,000 feet, and after traversing a lower range of the San Juan we again strike the Los Pinos River, and, taking a turn around Prospect Peak, come in view of Toltec Gorge, one of the most fearfully grand cañons in the world. The mountain is pierced by a tunnel near its summit, which is approached by a balcony trestle, on which the east-bound train stops several minutes to permit the passengers to gaze into the dreadful depths of the chasm over which they hang. For it must be understood that the road-bed is built here upon a trestle that has all its fastenings in the perpendicular walls, and without any support beneath, so that to one looking from the car window the train appears to be suspended in mid-air, 1,000 feet above the rolling waters below.

The gorge is 1,200 feet deep, and besides being narrow, the walls are perpendicular, so that daylight tarries but a short while in its profound recesses. As we pass the Toltec Gorge, Phantom Curve is approached, and from the grandeur and awesomeness with which the great abyss impressed us, our interest is quickened and spell-bound by objects that at once excite wonder and curious amazement. We are suddenly introduced to forms more strange than monstrous, more remarkable for their incongruity than significant for their grandeur. The chisels of nature’s sculptors, frost, water, storms, ice and decay have wrought many astounding things in stone, which rival in grotesque eccentricity the queer figures that render famous the Garden of the Gods. Passing this parade-ground of nature’s idols, we strike the Big Horn Curve, and twist like a contortionist in making a devious descent, that winds and winds until at last we reach the feet of the Sangre de Cristo range, at Antonito. Thence our direction was due north, over a level country, until we reached Alamosa, where, as per arrangement, we met the others of our party on their return from Wagon-Wheel Gap. Here we received reports of the trip from Pueblo, and tarried a while to write up our journals, pack our negatives, and prepare for the journey that by a long sweep was to take us to the lands of the Pacific.

DEER PARK CASCADE, ANIMAS CAÑON.

OURAY AND SILVERTON STAGE-ROAD.

All over the central and western portion of Colorado we find a succession of beautiful and magnificent scenery, mountains, waterfalls, cañons, landscapes of surpassing loveliness, and everything to charm the eye and please the most diversified taste. The region about Ouray is one of the most picturesque in the entire State. The mines are among the richest in Colorado; and the hot springs, added to its other attractions, make this locality a famous resort. A good idea of the grandeur of the scenery is conveyed in the photograph of the stage road from Ouray to Silverton, which occurs on this page.

LAKE BRENNAN, IN SOUTH PARK, NEAR PLATTE CAÑON.

The trip southward from Pueblo possesses comparatively little interest until Cuchara Junction is reached, where one branch of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad starts directly west, while the other continues south to Trinidad, and there forms a junction with the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad.

At Cuchara the scenery changes from waste plains to a tumultuary landscape similar to sections which we have just described. The road follows the valley of Cuchara for a distance of twenty miles, and then begins a rapid ascent towards Veta Pass, which is, in some respects, more wonderful than even Marshall Pass. In one place the grade is 216 feet to the mile, so steep that two locomotives are required to haul even light trains, and so serpentine that to passengers the cars appear to be moving in a circle. When the summit is reached, an altitude of 9,400 feet above sea level has been gained, and there is a panorama presented that it seems almost sacrilegious to attempt to describe. Away to the south rises up, like monsters plucking stars from the sky, the Spanish Peaks, whose frosted heads are often hidden by clouds that gather about them; towards the west, dim with distance, is seen the commanding form of Sierra Blanca, whose crown is the very heavens; and northward, La Veta Mountain, stupendous and sublime, stands like a grizzly sentinel, surveying the lesser wonders of nature and protecting them against the fierce storms that beat the bronzed breasts of the Rockies. Muleshoe Curve, over which we made the approach up Dump Mountain, is plainly visible, as are the numerous tracks that gridiron the slopes, and the waterfalls that play hide and seek along the mountain sides. Looking down we see the fast-receding banks and almost perpendicular cliffs, and the giant bowlders that have been hurled from the summit into the abyssmal depths a mile below, gathered into dams to impede the flow of waters. The view towards the east is unbroken, and there, spreading out like the lap of bounty, we watch the green prairie running away from the mountain base to meet the horizon.

CITY OF OURAY, AND OURAY MOUNTAINS, COL.—If one should search the world over he could hardly find a more picturesque location for a city than this. It is a perfect picture, with framework of snow-covered mountains, and the music of dashing streams and laughing waterfalls. The city of Ouray has a population of about 3000, and was an active business centre previous to the depressing times in mining interests. It is still a resort for health seekers and tourists, and must always remain so on account of the excellent medicinal properties of its hot springs and the splendor and beauty of its surrounding scenery. The city nestles in a cozy valley at the foot of the mountain, down the sides of which races the little stream that breaks into such a splendid waterfall near the base, as seen in the background of the photograph.

MAIDEN HAIR FALLS, NEAR DUMP MOUNTAIN.

Crossing La Veta’s lofty pass, the descent is rapid and tortuous, until a level is reached in the San Luis Park, which is abloom with the glories of cultivated fields, and animate with grazing herds. This great park, that covers an area equal to the State of Connecticut, was, in the early years of the world’s life, a vast inland sea, though its elevation is now more than 7,000 feet. The earth has absorbed nearly all its waters, though San Luis Lake still lies near its center, shining like a sheet of silver, and is fed by thirty mountain streams. All around this lake, whose length is sixty miles, is a waving savanna of luxuriant grasses, which form the frame of as pretty a picture as the eye of man ever wandered over.

As we proceed westward from La Veta Pass, the landscape becomes somewhat tame, though when we reach Fort Garland the grandest view is obtainable of Sierra Blanca Mountain, whose peak is at an elevation of 14,500 feet, the second highest in America. We cross San Luis Park, and having again reached Alamosa, continue on towards Wagon-Wheel Gap, by way of the picturesque valley of the Rio Grande del Norte. Though while en route we pass through no wonderful cañons, the way is full of interest and beautiful scenery. The river, in places, spreads out into a noiseless and sluggish stream, while again it is contracted by narrow walls into cascades and roaring waterfalls of exceeding magnificence. Especially is this true when we draw near to Wagon-Wheel Gap, where the walls are not only narrow, but rise into palisades of great height and beauty, and at one place, for the distance of half a mile, there are cliffs that soar skyward and lean towards the river, making a rocky canopy above the roadway that hugs the rushing stream.

We are now in the famous Creede mining region, where, besides silver to lure the avaricious seeker of riches, there is much to excite the admiration of the tourist and lover of nature. La Gorita Mountains lie towards the north in vast banks of haze, and the southern horizon is broken by the San Juan range. Here, also, is a region of surprising springs, where boiling-hot and ice-cold waters gush out of neighboring hills, and in places actually strike hands to neutralize each other. Creede, which is ten miles from Wagon-Wheel Gap, is a typical mining camp, full of excitement and all the concomitants of a new and rich discovery, though it is rapidly acquiring civilized ways. Willow Gulch is the scene of greatest activity, and there is now to be obtained, for a fair equivalent, everything from bad fighting whiskey to a spring bed, though the latter is still a scarce luxury, particularly in the immediate vicinity of Willow Gulch.

ANIMAS CAÑON.—Animas Cañon is on the Silverton branch of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, just beyond the station of Rockwood and about 470 miles from Denver. The gorge is formed by the breaking through the mountains of the Rio de las Animas Perdidas, or River of Lost Souls, as it is appropriately termed in musical Spanish. The railroad tracks are laid along a shelf cut in the solid rock wall of the cañon, 500 feet below the top of the mountain and 1000 above its foot. The grandeur of the scene may be inferred from this description. It requires a steady nerve or long practice in traveling over such places to enable one to look down this frightful precipice from the car windows, and it is no unusual thing to observe timid tourists hugging the inner side of the coaches as they dash by this dangerous spot.

CLIFF DWELLINGS IN THE RIO MANCOS CAÑON.

After our meeting and short stay at Alamosa, our party again divided, two of our photographers going south from that point, over the New Mexico extension of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, to Santa Fe, while the other proceeded east to Cuchara Junction, thence south to Trinidad, and from that place he went by way of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, to Santa Fe, where our party again united.

The route directly south from Alamosa is across a well-watered country, but there is nothing of particular interest in the way of scenery until the town of Barranca is reached, where the road strikes the Rio Grande. Out of a level plain the train now dashes into deep gorges, and winds along the banks of a stream that is justly celebrated for the wild and rugged pageantry of mountains which it pierces. Comanche Cañon bursts into view, a glorious revelation of chaos, whose cliffs of marl and basaltic rock have tried in vain to arrest the energy and daunt the skill of civil engineers. As a consequence, their sides are rent and bored into cuts and tunnels, until the mountains of stone are made to acknowledge man’s sovereignty.

Fifteen miles south of Barranca is Espanola, a quaint old Spanish town, whose chief interest, however, lies in the fact that it is the nearest railroad point to some of the most interesting pueblos and cliff ruins that are to be found in New Mexico. The Indian adobes in this vicinity, which claim the largest attention of the anthropologist, are those of San Juan, Santa Clara and San Idelfonso, all situated within three or four miles of Espanola. At Santa Clara are also the ruins of cliff dwellings, relics of the habitations of a race that exists no longer, save in uncertain traditions.

THROUGH THE BLACK CAÑON OF GUNNISON RIVER.—A deep and majestic gorge is Black Cañon, a vast rift in the mountain range where a mad river goes cantering through, here mild flowing where the cañon spreads, there tumultuous and impetuous where the great bluffs push their rugged feet against the stream and narrow the channel. Black Cañon is so called because at places the walls run up vertically and almost touch their heads, so nearly excluding the sunlight that the gorge is quite dark even at noonday, inexpressibly sombre when the sky is overcast, and weirdly awful when storms break, or night shrouds it with a pall. Photographs cannot be satisfactorily made of the dark places in the cañon, and the view herewith accordingly pictures the end near Cimmaron Station.

WEAPONS AND UTENSILS OF THE CLIFF-DWELLERS.

The little knowledge that we have respecting these ancient people is derived from the investigations of the late James Stevenson, chief of the Hayden Survey, who explored the cliff and cave dwellings of Arizona and New Mexico. His labors were rewarded also by the discovery of two perfect skeletons, in the Cañon de Chelly, which proved to be those of prehistoric inhabitants. He also, by patient study, obtained a very thorough knowledge of the religious mythology of the Zunis, and secured a complete collection of their fetich-gods, besides familiarizing himself with the manners and beliefs of the Navajoes and Moquis. We hold him in remembrance for his pioneer as well as scientific services. It was Stevenson that made the first survey of Yellowstone Park, who traced the Columbia and Snake Rivers to their sources, and who was the first white man to climb the Great Tetons, in Wyoming, and reach the Indians’ sacred altar, which has been kept inviolate for centuries.

The six ancient pueblos, which are still inhabited by Indians, were discovered by the Spaniards only forty-eight years after Columbus first landed on San Salvador, and they are thus entitled to rank among the earliest discoveries of this character ever made. In the neighboring cliffs are numerous cave dwellings equally prehistoric in their origin, but which Mr. Stevenson explored with the most valuable results, enabling him to determine the habits and peculiarities of these archaic people. On the west side of the road, and bounded by Caliente Creek, is the black Mesa, a curious elevation that might once have been an island in the ocean that covered this region when the world was young. Towards the east, and in bold view, is the Taos range, which merges into the Culebra range further north, and thence into the Sangre de Cristo. Between the railroad and the Taos Mountain, lies the town of Taos, in a beautiful valley, watered by branches of the Rio Grande. It is a quaint old place, composed chiefly of two great adobe buildings five stories high, surrounded by prosperous ranches and crumbling pueblos, and is celebrated as having been the home of Kit Carson, and the place where his body reposes. His grave is marked by an imposing monument erected to his memory, as a mark of gratitude for his intrepid services, by citizens of New Mexico. The place is accordingly something of a shrine, but is not much visited, because it is about twenty-five miles from the railroad, except on the 30th of September of each year, when it is the scene of a great festival, at which thousands of people gather. A more beautiful and fertile spot, however, is not to be found anywhere in the west.

LAKE SAN CHRISTOVAL IN THE LAP OF OURAY MOUNTAINS, COL.—This lake is a basin of pellucid water formed by the drainage of the surrounding mountains. It is transparent as crystal, and being well filled with mountain trout and other species of game fish, is a favorite resort for lovers of the piscatorial sport. The tourist will find it one of the chief attractions of this delightful region, rich in scenic wonders and charming landscapes.

Comanche Cañon is entered just above Embudo, by way of which the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad enters the Rio Grande Valley. The gorge is so rugged that it was necessary to make a great many deep cuts in the walls of marl and basalt, so that the way through the cañon is more picturesque by reason of the engineer’s work than nature designed it.

THE GRAVE OF KIT CARSON, AT TAOS.

Nearly midway between the pueblo ruins just mentioned and the city of Santa Fe, along the Rio Grande, is the Cañon Diabolo, a chasm that is not strikingly deep, but sufficiently weird to justify the Satanic appellation. High up in the walls, particularly near Espanola, are relics of a vanished race, in the form of excavations which once served as habitations, though evidently they were difficult of access. The appearance of these rock perforations are very similar to those on the Rio Mancos, and in the cañon cliffs of the Colorado; so nearly identical, in fact, that Stevenson expresses the belief that they were made by members of the same race, who took refuge in these caves when driven from their pueblos. At Santa Fe, a short stop was made to await the photographer who had passed around by Trinidad. The trip which he had made was in every respect as interesting as that which we had taken over the direct southern route. Upon passing beyond the Sangre de Cristo range eastward, the scenery grows tamely monotonous for a time, for the landscape is tiresomely level. But before reaching Trinidad, another agreeably surprising change occurs, as the Raton range breaks into view, and presents a kaleidoscopic variety of beautiful scenes. Trinidad lies at the foot of this range, and though it may not be described as a city of great architectural magnificence, certain it is that few places can boast of greater interest to the tourist. It was, long ago, the most important point on the old Santa Fe trail, and its ancient adobe houses were objects of endearment to the hearts of freighters, because they offered both refuge and refreshment after the perils of a dangerous journey. Though a great change has taken place since the railroad reached the town, it is still a typical Mexican city, which even the electric light cannot convert. Passing over the border into New Mexico, the scenery is varied and pleasing, but never grand. Instead of an arid region, however, the country is diversified, for all of the northeastern region is abundantly watered by creeks flowing towards the southeast, with occasional rivers, like the Canadian, Cimarron and Pecos, intersecting the railroad. On both sides of the road there are numerous knolls, called mesas, and craters long since burned out. The ascent of Raton Pass, sometimes called the “Devil’s Way,” affords many exquisite views, of which the Spanish Peaks, one hundred miles to the north, are chief, for the atmosphere is so clear and rare that they appear as distinct as though the distance were scarcely one-fourth so great. Upon gaining an altitude of 7,700 feet, the road enters a tunnel on the Raton Crest, and after a half-mile run emerges on the New Mexico side, where the sunlight appears to be intensified and the warmth of perpetual summer holds sway. The next considerable town reached after leaving Trinidad is Las Vegas, which reposes on a branch of the Pecos, the center of a great many sheep ranches, and it is wool that gives it chief importance. Six miles north of the place is Las Vegas Hot Springs, a sanitarium of much note, located in a region of considerable beauty. They are at the mouth of a small cañon which leads up to the Spanish Range, and thence joins the Rocky Mountains; the waters range in temperature from boiling hot to almost freezing cold.

TOLTEC GORGE OF THE LOS PINOS, COL.—This is one of the most inspiring views in all Colorado. It is on the Silverton branch of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, 309 miles from Denver City. The road traverses the verge of the great chasm, the bottom of which is 1500 feet below. The photograph was taken at the bottom of the cañon, and away up near the top may be seen a passing train, which at so great a height looks like a child’s toy. A little mountain stream meanders through the chasm, gently murmuring and singing as it makes its way over the rocks, but when the snows melt and the rains fall it becomes a mad, roaring, rushing torrent, tearing the sides of the mountain and tossing great boulders about as if they were made of straw.

CAVE DWELLINGS in the CAÑON DE CHELLY.

A RELIC OF THE CAVE-DWELLERS.

At a station called Lamy, there is a branch of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, leading north eighteen miles, to the ancient and interesting city of Santa Fe, celebrated in American history as being the second oldest town in the United States. The place contains much to entertain searchers after relics of the past, and here we find the links that bind the old Spanish invaders with the civilization of to-day. Settled by Catholics, it still retains the characteristics impressed upon it by the Franciscan fathers, and remains true to the faith in which it was first baptized. It is the seat of the archiepiscopal diocese, and the Cathedral of San Francisco is the largest church edifice in the territory, as well as the oldest, the original part, which still remains, having been built as early as 1622.

Old as the town is, Santa Fe is the Phœnix that rose from one that was very much more ancient, for the site was, in the ages that are very remote, occupied by an Indian pueblo, the ruins of which are still to be seen in what is known as the “Old Home.” But the most curious and attractive object within the city is the Governor’s Palace, a long, low building erected in 1598, a summary history of which is thus presented by Governor Prince:

LA VETA PASS, COL.—Over this famous pass the railroad makes its way into San Luis Valley, and we have here a combination of the wonders of engineering skill with a grandeur of view unequaled in any other part of the world. The maximum grade is 237 feet to the mile, and the altitude at the summit is 9393 feet. Two of the largest locomotives are required to draw an ordinary train over the steep grades, and even with these the ascent is labored and tedious. From the top of the pass a view is obtained of such surpassing grandeur that no language can picture it.

ABANDONED CAVE HABITATIONS OF THE CLIFF-DWELLERS, NEAR ESPANOLA.

“Without disparaging the importance of any of the cherished historical localities of the East, it may be truthfully said that this ancient palace surpasses, in historic interest and value, any other place or object in the United States. It antedates the settlement of Jamestown by nine years, and that of Plymouth by twenty-two, and has stood during the 292 years since its erection, not as a cold rock or monument, with no claim upon the interest of humanity except the bare fact of its continued existence, but as the living center of everything of historic importance in the Southwest. Through all that long period, whether under Spanish, Pueblo, Mexican, or American control, it has been the seat of power and authority. Whether the ruler was called viceroy, captain-general, political chief, department commander, or governor, and whether he presided over a kingdom, a province, a department, or a territory, this has been his official residence. From here Oñate started, in 1599, on his adventurous expedition to the Eastern plains; here, seven years later, 800 Indians came from far-off Quivira to ask aid in their war with the Axtaos; from here, in 1618, Vincente de Salivar set forth to the Moqui country, only to be turned back by rumors of the giants to be encountered; and from here Peñalosa and his brilliant troop started, on the 6th of March, 1662, on their marvelous expedition to the Missouri; in one of its strong-rooms the commissary-general of the Inquisition was imprisoned a few years later by the same Peñalosa; within its walls, fortified as for a siege, the bravest of the Spaniards were massed in the revolution of 1680; here, on the 19th of August of that year, was given the order to execute forty-seven Pueblo prisoners, in the plaza which faces the building; here, but a day later, was the sad war-council held which determined on the evacuation of the city; here was the scene of triumph of the Pueblo chieftains as they ordered the destruction of the Spanish archives and the church ornaments in one grand conflagration; here De Vargas, on September 14, 1692, after the eleven hours’ combat of the preceding day, gave thanks to the Virgin Mary, to whose aid he attributed his triumphant capture of the city; here, more than a century later, on March 3, 1807, Lieutenant Pike was brought before Governor Alencaster as an invader of Spanish soil; here, in 1822, the Mexican standard, with its eagle and cactus, was raised in token that New Mexico was no longer a dependency of Spain; from here, on the 6th of August, 1837, Governor Perez started to subdue the insurrection in the north, only to return two days later and to meet his death on the 9th, near Agua Fria; here, on the succeeding day, Jose Gonzales, a Pueblo Indian of Taos, was installed as Governor of New Mexico, soon after to be executed by order of Armijo; here, in the principal reception-room, on August 12, 1846, Captain Cooke, the American envoy, was received by Governor Armijo and sent back with a message of defiance; and here, five days later, General Kearney formally took possession of the city, and slept, after his long and weary march, on the carpeted earthen floor of the palace.”

WAGON-WHEEL GAP.—Wagon-Wheel Gap is in Rio Grande County, Col., in the southern part of the State and near the head of the Rio Grande River. Hot Springs, famous for their curative qualities, are located here. The scenery is exceedingly picturesque, and the place has become a favorite resort for health and pleasure seekers. It is said to be the best place for trout fishing in the West, and this fact largely increases its popularity with tourists. It is 310 miles south of Denver, and is reached by the Creede branch of the Denver and Rio Grande road. The elevation is 8448 feet.

SPANISH PEAKS, FROM LAS VEGAS, NEW MEXICO.

Santa Fe now has many things that belong to the present age: street cars, electric lights, etc., but she is, nevertheless, still a place of adobe houses, before which there is ever a varied commingling of Americans, Mexicans and Indians. She is also the center of archæological interest, for besides the ancient objects which are to be found within her urban limits, there are villages near-by which present all the aspects of the aborigines, practically as they appeared to Cortes and Coronado. These adobe places and their inhabitants are called pueblos, because that is the old Indian name signifying town. The pueblos in New Mexico are nineteen in number, and while varying in size, they are very similar in appearance, showing, as they do, no variation of architecture. The houses were built to accommodate from one hundred to several hundred persons, as the Pueblo Indians were communistic in their manner of living. Instead of being one or two-story structures, like the present style of Mexican and the old Spanish adobes, the houses were built one upon another, in a succession of terraces, sometimes five or more in number, the upper stories being accessible only by means of ladders. The most noted of these pueblos are Taos, Laguna, Acoma, Santa Clara, Zuni and Santo Domingo. Albuquerque was also originally an Indian pueblo, built upon a slight elevation of rock, and the place still contains several clusters of square, flat-roofed adobe houses, arranged in terraces, as before described. The walls of these strange dwellings are very thick, and the interior is gained, not through doors, but by entrance-ways cut in the roof, which is reached only by ladders. The Pueblo Indians have been pronounced by many ethnologists to be the oldest race now living on the continent, though many others regard them as being the descendants of the Aztecs, whose ancient kingdom of Cibola extended from Colorado and Utah on the north, to Central America on the south. The capital of this extinct empire is supposed to have been situated in Penal county, Arizona, the ruins of which are traceable along the Gila River, in what is known as the Casas Grandes. Remarkable stories have been told of the relics of this ruined city, enthusiasts often describing them as equal in grandeur to the prostrate columns and mighty archways that speak in imperishable stone of the magnificence of ancient Egyptian cities. The Montezumas were supposed to have held their court in the splendid stone palaces whose relics lie scattered through the Casas Grandes, and whose carvings and hieroglyphics seem to attest the departed glory of a once mighty people. These famous ruins are twelve miles north of Florence, a station on the Southern Pacific, and are in a region of great picturesqueness, which is traversed by a good wagon-road running along the Gila River. The route is through an arid plain, in which the only vegetation is mesquite and cactus, but the parched desert is gracefully confined by a beautiful and opalescent range of mountains, while overhead is a sapphirine sky more brilliant than ever hung over Italy. The river margin is like a blue wave, colored as it is by the tossing heads of wild lilac flowers, which find protection from the beating sun under the waving branches of banks of willows that stoop low to drink from the river. There, under the shadows of the Tucson Mountains and the Sierra Catarina range, are the colossal ruins of the Casas Grandes. The buildings, of which confused heaps are all that now remain, were of irregular style, but of some architectural pretension, for the walls were constructed of concrete, moulded into blocks nearly three feet square. The principal structure, which has long been called Montezuma’s Palace, was about sixty feet long by fifty broad, and stood five stories, or forty feet high. For windows there was a square aperture over each door, wholly insufficient for either light or ventilation, though the ancient Indians were not partial to either, apparently preferring darkness; and living in the closest communal state, they appreciated fresh air like they did the storm and cold, only when it was on the outside.

LOS PINOS VALLEY, LOOKING WEST.—This beautiful photograph gives us a splendid view of cañon, table-land and mountain scenery. It is rugged and picturesque, with a fringe of distant snow-covered mountains as a central background. From the high table-lands to the right, a view of surpassing grandeur and beauty bursts upon the enraptured vision, repaying the tourist for all his pains in climbing to the exalted heights. Here the atmosphere is always cool and invigorating, and the weariness and lassitude of a warmer and more humid climate are not experienced.

MEXICAN OVENS, USED PRINCIPALLY BY THE PUEBLO INDIANS.

Occasional pieces of copper are found in the Casas Grandes ruins, but no iron, and the cutting instruments of the original occupants were made of obsidian, as were their arrows. Pottery still strews the ground about, but there are no evidences to support the old legends of magnificence with which early travelers invested the so-called palace. But there are plainly to be seen ruins of a great wall that once enclosed the city, on which were sentinel towers rising several feet above the main wall, thus proving that this was not entirely a land of peace, nor do appearances indicate that it was one of plenty. The Apaches, no doubt, harried the less war-like Moqui, who were at last driven southward, and left ruins of similar cities along their gradual retreat from Utah to Mexico. Professor A. L. Heister, the antiquarian, who has made a long and patient investigation of the pueblo ruins in southwest New Mexico, thus writes of his discoveries:

“Within a radius of five miles of St. Joseph, New Mexico, I have discovered several hundred ruins of the habitations of prehistoric man. In these ruins—the walls of which are built of undressed stone and cement—are found the remains of huge cisterns; walls of fortification; queer implements of bone and stone; beautifully designed, carved or painted pottery, together with odd and artistic pictures, characters and symbols cut upon large rocks in cañons near, and with such nicety of taste as serve to strike the beholder with wonder and admiration.

ADOBE VILLAGE OF PUEBLO INDIANS, NEW MEXICO.—The word pueblo in Spanish means village, and this term was applied by the early Spanish explorers to several powerful tribes of Indians whom they found living in adobe villages like the one so beautifully photographed on this page. They had evidently occupied such abodes for centuries before the Spaniards came, and they have not departed from the custom up to the present time. As the increase of a family requires more room, additions are made at the top of the house, and thus we find their homes built in tiers, one above the other, the upper stories being reached by rude ladders, as shown in the illustration. The baking oven, seen at the left of the photograph, is a village institution, and it has been adopted almost universally by the present rural population of Mexico. The Pueblo Indians are rapidly disappearing, their entire number being now less than 1000.

“The ruins are generally found on high ground, and are composed of from two to several hundred rooms, averaging about eight by ten feet, and six to eight feet in height. In some cases the buildings have been two stories high. There has been a side entrance to all of these rooms, but these openings, from some cause, have been carefully walled up.

SCENE ON THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT.

“These people were larger than those of to-day, some of them being fully eight feet high. I am led to believe their average height was not less than seven feet. They buried their dead in the ground floors of their rooms, with the heads towards the east, and, as a rule, their pottery, trinkets and personal ornaments with them. In excavating these ruins, one is constantly impressed with one paramount wonder—their great age. Huge pine trees, three and four feet in diameter and 100 feet high, flourish upon the walls and in the rooms of these habitations of forgotten man. The infilling of drift and the increase of surface, caused by vegetable growth and decay, is very slow, and has been estimated by some geologists to average about one foot in eighty years. Admitting this to be near the truth, our surprise knows no bounds when, on sinking directly under these giant trees, we pass through from six to ten feet of vegetable mold, then encounter from one to three feet of clean-washed sand and gravel, then a solid earthen floor covered with ashes, charcoal, bones and fragments of broken pottery. Yet still below this are the skeletons of human beings, surrounded by their pottery, weapons and ornaments of stone, bone and copper. My own opinion is that these people were either Aztecs or Toltecs. They were sun-worshipers and well advanced in carving, painting, building, weaving and agriculture. They flourished many centuries in Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Mexico, Central and South America, and were exterminated either by famine, flood, disease or volcanic action at least 1,000 years ago.

“In the eastern part of this (Socorro) county are the ruins of an immense city known as the Grande Quivero, covering two by two and one-half miles square. Its walls are, in some places, eight feet thick, forty feet high, and 700 feet long. A great aqueduct carried water to the city, but to-day there is no water within forty miles of this ancient wonder. It stands silent and alone in the sunlight and moonlight, and where once the love, industry and skill of an unknown race made thousands of beautiful and happy homes, the coyote, bat and snake now hold sway. When and by whom it was built was a mystery to the Mexican people more than 300 years ago.”

THE PUEBLO VILLAGE OF LA GUNA.—This is one of the most important of the Pueblo settlements in New Mexico. It is situated in the midst of a rich valley, which, by means of irrigation and rude methods of cultivation, produces abundant food for the unaspiring inhabitants. The reader is referred to page 150 of this work for a very full, graphic and interesting description of the Pueblos and their customs, together with a history of their probable origin and descent.

INNER COURT OF A PUEBLO TOWN, ARIZONA.—In two preceding photographs we have had very fine general views of Pueblo villages, and in this one we are shown the interior or court, formed by the surrounding houses, where much of the domestic work is performed. It is a dreary, desolate-looking place, but decidedly better than the average of the homes of savage or uncivilized peoples. The sun-baked mud houses are certainly preferable to an ordinary Indian wigwam, and we are sure the baking ovens would produce sweeter and more wholesome bread than the roving Apaches or Sioux are accustomed to. In fact, the houses, the ovens, and even the dress of the forlorn-looking woman indicate the beginnings of civilization.

CHAPTER VI.
ACROSS THE CACTUS DESERT INTO CALIFORNIA’S GOLDEN LAND.

NAVAJO CHURCH, NEAR FORT WINGATE.

Leaving Santa Fe, we continued our journey westward over the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, and striking the Rio Grande a short distance south of White Rock Cañon, followed the bank of that stream through some very handsome scenery until we reached Atlantic and Pacific Junction. Thence for a while the route was through an arid section, where alkali and musquite abounded; an unchangeable waste of black sterility; a country so level that the laying of a railroad track was attended by no difficulties, but keeping it clear of sand is a work of great perverseness. We were now on the line of the Atlantic and Pacific, which crosses a branch of the Rio Grande at Rio Puerco, and soon after follows the valley of that stream for about sixty miles. Laguna is on the way, and north and south are mesas, dry lakes and lava beds, but there is no picturesqueness of landscape. South of Fort Wingate, just east of the Arizona border, is the Zuni Plateau, in which several old ruins are still to be seen; but if we except the Indians, who exist in the most miserable condition, and old ruins and craters of extinct volcanoes, the region is without interest, and has few features worthy of the photographer’s art.

After reaching Arizona, the road passes through a corner of the Perco and Zuni reservations, and follows the old trail leading to Prescott. Immediately south of Flagstaff, and in sight of that place, are more ruins of cliff dwellings, built in the banks of Walnut Creek, but so faded as to be scarcely distinguishable now. We are now in the Cactus plain, where immense stalks of that curious vegetable growth rise to the dignity of branchless trees, prickly and often grotesque.

THE NEEDLES ALONG THE RIO GRANDE.—The Needles are a part of the Rocky Mountain chain, and they derive the name from their sharp-pointed and splintered pinnacles, in which respect they differ from all other mountains in America. Their peaks tower into the regions of perpetual snow, which cools and tempers what would otherwise be an almost intolerable climate. The Needles first come into view after emerging from the western extremity of Animas Cañon, and their white turrets are then visible for many leagues as the train glides along parallel with them.

THE OLD SPANISH PALACE, SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO.

OLD CHURCH OF SAN MIGUEL, SANTA FE, N. M., BUILT OF ADOBE IN 1550.

These are two interesting buildings photographed on this page. The Palace, so called, has no very palatial appearance, but it has a record as a government building which many a palace might well be proud of. It has domiciled a long line of governors, both under Spanish and American rule, and is still occupied for this purpose. It fronts the plaza or public park, a portion of which is shown in the picture, and a brilliant scene is witnessed here on a summer’s afternoon when the officers of the garrison stationed here, with their families and visiting friends, gather under the shade of the trees to listen to the excellent music of the military band. The old adobe church is probably older by at least two centuries than any other church house in America, and a few years ago, when the writer was there, it was still used for religious purposes.

NATURAL BRIDGE, NEAR MONTEREY, CALIFORNIA.

At a little station called Peach Springs, the road draws very near the Hualpai reservation, and is within less than a score of miles of the Grand Cañon of the Colorado; but, though short, the way is a difficult one, over parched sands and an eye-wearying desolation, until within four or five miles of the cañon, when the approach to water is indicated by a gradual increase of vegetation, which, however, never becomes rank, even along the river-shore. A stage-line is now running from Flagstaff, which, though not so near as Peach Springs, offers a much easier route to the cañon. The trip from Flagstaff is made in twelve hours, and, by comfortable stages, the traveler is taken to one of the most imposing points in the cañon (Marble Cañon), where the descent is sheer 6,000 feet, and a panorama is afforded of frightful chasm, curiously chaotic walls, strange formations, and mountains breaking one behind the other, like waves on the ocean, until sight fades into the perspective of distance. Here terror and sublimity, in a marvel of natural extremes, have formed perpetual alliance to excite amazement in the mind of every visitor.

We cross the Colorado at Powell, where, to the south, are Red Rock buttes, and to the north are the Needles, the latter being hills that run up into sharp peaks, and then fall away to join a long stretch of plain. Black Mountains run parallel with the river on the north, near the foot of which, but on the river-shore, is a Mohave village, a settlement of that miserable remnant, who from a powerful people have degenerated, through oppression and decimation, until they are scarcely a degree removed from the Digger Indians. The reservation proper of this tribe is, however, near the Navajoes, in the northeastern part of the territory.

A CENTURY PLANT IN BLOOM, CALIFORNIA.

A CACTUS FENCE IN ARIZONA.

Immediately before blooming, the century plant puts out a long stem or shoot, as seen in the photograph, upon which the flowers appear in due course of time. The event is such a rare one as to be quite a curiosity, and as comparatively few of the readers of this book will probably ever be so fortunate as to see the real plant in bloom, they will all the more appreciate this beautiful photograph.—In many parts of Arizona, New Mexico and Mexico the cactus plant is made to do service as a fence around gardens and small fields. The variety generally used for this purpose has a broad, thin blade, resembling an ancient broadsword, and these grow so close together, with sharp needle-pointed thorns shooting out in every direction, that no living thing can pass through or between them.

THE GREAT TELESCOPE, IN LICK OBSERVATORY.

Crossing the Colorado, we strike the desert district of California, which extends through the counties of San Bernardino and Kern, a distance of nearly three hundred miles. Adjoining these two counties on the north is Inyo county, into which the Carson and Colorado Railroad extends southward as far as Owen’s Lake. This county is remarkable for embracing a region of extraordinary wonders, greater, indeed, in several respects, than any other district in the world. In the northern part is a marvelous depression, 159 feet below sea level, and nearly 150 miles in circumference, known as Death Valley. It is distinctly a volcanic region, in which, however, the fires are long since burned out, leaving the desert a vast field of cinders, so parched that no drop of water exists within its borders, though rivers of lava ramify it in every direction. Many have perished in an effort to cross this fiery plain; and looking across it from the margin, the observer sees a shimmer in the air, as if a furnace were in active blast beneath. Here the temperature rises to 122 degrees, and the air hangs in a hot envelope, lazily swinging to and fro, rising and falling in waves of heat, and making the sands blaze with an almost blinding light. Scorched, burned-out and furnace-like though the region be, it is, nevertheless, the abode of life, but no less curious than is the valley itself. The centipede, scorpion and horned-toad find here a congenial habitation; and, strange to say, a species of kangaroo-rat is peculiar to this cursed spot, burrowing in the hot sand and feeding on insects.

Thunder-storms beat around the valley, but no drop of rain ever moistens its burning lips. The dryness of the air is such a preserver of dead bodies that decay is impossible, and the animals that die within its borders are mummified until they become like parchment. This cursed spot, sown as it is with dragon’s teeth, is not entirely without its attractions, though they are as dangerous as were the soft, lute-like voices of the Sirens. It is the field of wonderful illusion, from which spring into the quivering air the most astounding and alluring mirages: rippling brooks, waving palms, floral meadows, ships under sail, banks of thyme, and travelers moving in procession across a landscape more beautiful than an oriental vision.

Continuing our journey westward, we passed through a large arid district, in which dry lakes with beds white with soda, and shining in the blazing sun, were plentiful on both sides, but seeing no more interesting features until we arrived at Los Angeles. Here we found much to amuse, and often to instruct. It is an old town, settled by the Spaniards, in 1780, and although now a beautiful city, it has not entirely put aside the garments of antiquity with which the ancient church fathers invested it. Many old adobe buildings still remain, and there are not wanting the ruins of quaint and curious monasteries, moss-covered, and with broken walls and dilapidated belfries, in which the ghosts of long ago seem to have their haunt.

WITHIN THE JAWS OF GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO.—The Grand Cañon of the Colorado is such a stupendous wonder that we never grow tired of contemplating it. From every point of view we see some new marvel to admire. The variegated and many-hued cliffs are as remarkable for their bewildering beauty as for the grandeur of their lofty heights. Everything is on the most colossal scale, except the little river itself, which goes dashing along in playfulness and glee with no intimation that it is the master workman by whose hands this stupendous wonder was wrought.

OUR STAGE-COACH CROSSING THE SANTA INEZ.

The river, which washes the eastern limits of the city, is a sluggish stream, but it imparts refreshment to one of the most fertile valleys to be found anywhere in California. Here we find a succession of orange-groves and vineyards, bending low with golden and purple fruitage, while beyond the city’s skirts are orchards of walnut, olive and almond, from which profitable crops are annually gathered.

San Diego, 147 miles south of Los Angeles, is another beautiful place, the center of a delightful region, but its interest lies very largely in the fact that it was at this place the first white settler in California pitched his tent, as early as 1769. This great Spanish pioneer, Father Junipero Serra by name, became the founder of twenty-one missions in California, some of which still remain in a fair state of preservation, but a majority exist as mere reminders of the olden time when the Franciscan friars dominated that portion of the Spanish territory. In this southern region the landscape is monotonous, and the air is usually hot, from which fact, no doubt, came the name “California,” which, in the Spanish, signifies “hot furnace,” and was bestowed by the discoverer, in 1534.

MAGNOLIA AVENUE, RIVERSIDE, CAL.—The climate in Southern California is almost tropical, and the fruits, flowers and general vegetation are similar to those found in equatorial regions. In the Spanish language “California” signifies “hot furnace,” and this name was bestowed upon that country by the discoverer in 1534. It is therefore no matter of surprise that we should see reproduced in this photograph a scene that carries us in imagination to the central regions of Florida. Here the palm and the magnolia, the orange and the lemon, grow and bloom side by side.

THE GRIZZLY GIANT, MARIPOSA GROVE OF BIG TREES.

Proceeding northward, the scenery becomes more varied and pleasing, for above Los Angeles a mountainous district is passed, with the San Bernardino and Sierra de San Rafael ranges on the right, and the Monica and Santa Inez ranges on the left. Still further north are the San Benito Mountains, paralleling the San Juan River, along whose magnificent valley the railroad runs until it reaches Castroville on the coast, just above Monterey. This latter place is one of very great attractiveness, not only for its historical associations, as the seat of Spanish Government in California until 1847, but also because it is the best specimen of the old-time adobe cities which now remains, as well as the location of one of the most exquisite gardens and charming hotels that is to be found either in or out of America. The Hotel del Monte is a building of much beauty in itself, but the very large grounds which surround it have been cultivated until they are a veritable paradise of noble oaks, rich green lawns, and bewildering flower-beds, dimpled with every hue that nature is capable of painting. The old town is a ghost of antiquity, the skeleton of a remote past, whose bony fingers point backward, as if beckoning beseechingly to the long ago. There is the mission house, rickety and tattered, raising its palsied head barely above the adobe walls which once served so well to defend it against enemies. But the wall, very thick though it was, has been badly breached by the catapults of time, and having done faithful guard-duty in the early days, it is now like the grave of a hero, which has become a shrine, to which many are drawn by curiosity as well as by respect.

From Monterey northward the road runs through the incomparably beautiful and fertile Santa Clara Valley, a region where nature is always in good humor, and so fat that every time she laughs she shakes out a harvest. Towards the left spreads away a waving plain in richest cultivation, while on the right towers the Coast range of mountains, whose summits, bathed perpetually in a clear atmosphere, look in the distance like a vast ridge of sapphires supporting the sky.

AN OLD MISSION HOUSE IN CALIFORNIA.—The great Spanish pioneer and priest, Father Junipero Serra, went to California in 1769, and pitched his tent near the modern city of San Diego. He was the first white man to settle within the limits of the territory now embraced by the great State of the Pacific coast. His object in going there was to serve as a missionary among the Indians, and so earnest and faithful was he that he lived to become the founder of twenty-one missions. Some of these still remain in a fair state of preservation, like the one photographed on this page, but most of them have fallen into decay.

BRIDAL VEIL FALL, YOSEMITE.

At San Jose, a lovely city embowered with oaks, vines, roses and palms, the stage is taken for Mount Hamilton, upon the peak of which is located the Lick Observatory, enclosing the great Lick telescope. The road cost $80,000 to make; and though the ascent, which is begun fifteen miles from San Jose, is great, yet so admirably constructed is the way that two horses easily drag the stage to the summit. I never had a more delightful ride than this trip afforded, for while the air was bracing, the view was at all times indescribably picturesque. At places where sharp turns are made, passengers can look out of the coach windows down into abysses which seem to be bottomless, and which never fail to elicit the question: “If a wheel should run off the edge, where would the passengers land?”

The altitude of the observatory is 4,250 feet above the valley, and from this lofty point, it is claimed, with an appearance of truth, that a greater area is visible than from any other in the world. Not only is the whole of Santa Clara Valley viewable, but on very clear days the highest peaks of the Yosemite are discernible, and even Mount Shasta, 200 miles distant, can be distinguished. The telescope is a 36-inch reflector, the largest ever made, and so massive that it is controlled by hydraulic power, which is most ingeniously applied, the adjustment being so perfect that its many tons of weight can be moved by a single finger. The public have free access to the observatory, but unfortunately, and very unwisely, visitors are not permitted to use the telescope except on Saturday nights. As favorable evenings are comparatively few, this rule prevents a very great majority of persons from realizing what they have traveled thousands of miles to see, and much complaint against the astronomers in charge is accordingly made.

LICK OBSERVATORY, ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT HAMILTON, CAL.—The observatory buildings occupy the summit of the mountains, at an altitude of 4250 feet above the valley. The place is reached by stage from San Jose, over a road which is said to have cost $80,000 in its construction. The scenery along the road is wonderfully picturesque and beautiful, embracing a number and variety of views that are unsurpassed anywhere in the world. From the observatory nearly the whole of Santa Clara Valley can be seen, and on clear days the peaks of Yosemite, and even the hoary head of Mount Shasta, 200 miles distant, are discernible.

EL CAPITAN, 3,300 FEET HIGH, YOSEMITE.

From San Jose to San Francisco the distance is about fifty miles, through forests of redwood, past charming villas skirting San Francisco Bay, and many beauties peculiar to this perpetual summer land. The city is one of exceedingly great interest, possessing as it does features of a unique as well as of a magnificent character. Some of its best streets are reclamations from the bay, where, in 1849, the largest ships rode at anchor; and what were once bare mountains of sand were made accessible by the adoption of a cable system of street railroads, and on these peaks are now several of the finest residences in America.

The Palace Hotel is the largest in the world, nine stories high, occupying 275 by 350 feet of ground, and cost, with furnishings, the enormous sum of $7,000,000. The public buildings, and many of the business blocks as well, attest the great wealth of the place, which flowed in with the gold discoveries. Lone Mountain, distinguished by a large wooden cross on its summit, affords a view which embraces not only the entire city and bay, but likewise of the ocean, Mount Diabolo and the long Coast Range that shimmers in the sun like polished metal.

But the most delightful point of interest is the Cliff House, near the entrance to the Golden Gate, reached by a beautiful drive through Golden Gate Park, and also by cable and steam cars. The prospect from the hotel piazza, reaching far above and over the ocean, is both grand and charming. Immediately in front, and only three or four hundred yards away, three rocks rise out of the sea to a height of one hundred feet, and on these hundreds of sea-lions gather of sunny days to bask and display themselves before amused spectators. At times, their barking is almost distracting, especially when some ugly-dispositioned pater familias of the great herd sets about clearing the rocks, when there follows a noise like ten thousand big dogs in conflict, and a scrambling, sprawling and tumbling that is wonderful as well as amusing.

GARDEN OF PALMS AT INDIO, NEAR SAN DIEGO, CAL.—No wonder the people of California love their State and its “glorious climate” when they are able to produce such ideal homes as the one reproduced in this superb photograph. It is one of many others like it in the same region, and shows what may be accomplished in a short time with a combination of natural advantages and industry. The picture is so perfect that we can almost imagine we see the waving of the palm leaves and smell the perfume of the flowers.

VERNAL FALLS AND LADY FRANKLIN ROCK, YOSEMITE.

San Francisco is a center from which many interesting itineraries may be conveniently made, several of which we performed, with the particular view of photographing the most attractive features. Chief of these excursions is to the Yosemite Valley, which is 267 miles from San Francisco, the last sixty-seven miles being journeyed by stage. Leaving that city at 4 P. M., we reached Raymond at 6 A. M. the following day, at which point the stage is taken to Wawona, which is only six miles from the Mariposa Grove of Big Trees. These giants of the primeval forest are in a Government reservation two miles square, and compose two distinct groves some half a mile apart. In the upper grove there are 365—one for each day in the year—trees, 154 of which exceed fifteen feet in diameter, and several are more than 300 feet in height. The largest, known as the Grizzly Giant, in the lower grove, is thirty-one feet in diameter, and the first limb which makes out from the trunk, 200 feet above the earth, is six feet in diameter. There is a prostrate tree in this grove which originally measured forty feet in diameter, and was 400 feet in height. The body is hollow, and is large enough to admit three horsemen abreast a distance of seventy feet.

A few miles beyond Wawona is a stage-station called Fresno, which is within the limits of another grove of mammoth trees, the largest of which is thirty-two feet in diameter at the butt, and there are probably 100 or more that measure as much as twenty feet through. Just beyond Fresno, we enter the far-famed and truly marvelous region of the Yosemite (which, in the Indian tongue, signifies a “grizzly bear”), that great heart of the Sierras which beats in mountain and breaks in waterfall. This wondrous valley, running along the western base of the Sierra Nevada range, is a comparatively level area, but it lies fully 4,000 feet above sea level, and is nine miles long, by an average of one mile wide. The remarkable feature of this valley, aside from its special curiosities and mammoth configurations, is the fact that it is enclosed by granite walls of almost unbroken continuity, which present perpendicular faces ranging from 3,000 to 6,000 feet in height. The valley was discovered May 6, 1851, by the Mariposa battalion, in command of Major James D. Savage, which had been sent against the Yosemite Indians, to punish them for outrages perpetrated against the miners in the counties of Mariposa, Fresno, Tuolumne and Inyo. Up to this time the valley was known to whites only through Indian traditions, which represented the region as one of great beauty, but the abode of witches and evil spirits. Upon the discovery, however, it was found to be a place of refuge for the Indians; and within its boundaries, therefore, some desperate fighting took place between the California rangers and the Yosemite Indian marauders, in which there were heavy losses on both sides, and many acts of shocking cruelty.

SEAL ROCKS AND CLIFF HOUSE AT THE GOLDEN GATE, SAN FRANCISCO.—This is one of the many popular resorts near the city of San Francisco. It affords a fine view of the Golden Gate entrance to the harbor, and the coming and going of the ships. The rocks in front of the hotel are nearly always covered with seals, or sea-lions, whose barking and plunging in the water add variety and interest to the scene.

GLACIER POINT, YOSEMITE.

The stage-road leading from Wawona is particularly romantic and delightfully picturesque, with views of mountains, laughing streams and beflowered valleys, that break in pleasing variety upon the expectant vision of the visitor, and give intimation of the grander glories that lie beyond. After crossing Alder Creek, a beautiful stream that washes a pebbled bed, the route mounts Alder Hill, and rises rapidly until from its apex there is afforded an amazing sight, which never fails to throw the beholder into raptures. Northward, like a thread of silver running through a labyrinth of mountains, is the South Fork, while southward the same stream speeds away to join the Merced River, which dashes through a stupendous gorge aflame with colors. Descending Alder Hill on the east, by way of a tortuous route, we at last reach Merced Valley, beautiful as a poet’s inspiration, and crossing this low-lying strip of meadow land, climb another hill, where wonder compels us to pause upon its crest. Away yonder in the misty west, where the horizon drops down like a curtain on the world to hide the mysteries behind, are the dim outlines of the Coast Range, nearly 200 miles distant. But more bewildering sights are near at hand, for there to the left a little way are noisy cascades playing leap-frog over giant stones; Table Rock is close by, and El Capitan, that grizzled old captain of the Yosemite, exposes his shoulder, which seems to be a prop for the clouds. A few miles further and we reach Inspiration Point, where a glorious vision of Yosemite Valley and its Titanic walls break upon us with a startling suddenness, revealing a section of nature that is incomparably grand and awesomely magnificent. El Capitan forges upward 3,300 feet; the Three Brothers keep him company to a yet greater altitude, while in the background, frowzled, yet sublime, loom up against the cerulean sky the gray Cathedral Rocks, lying within the deep shadows of Sentinel Rock. Look around, for on every side appear evidences of mightiness, the awfulness of those powers which sometimes escape from internal reservoirs, or break away from the fastnesses where they were born; the bursting of lava beds, the tearing down of glacier, the down-sweeping of avalanche, and the steady flow of gnawing waters.

BIG TREES IN MARIPOSA FOREST, CAL.—The big trees of California are celebrated all over the world, and visitors to the World’s Fair at Chicago had the pleasure of beholding a number of very fine samples, the largest having been exhibited in the Government department. In this photograph the picturesque cabin, standing near the roots of the gigantic tree, affords a good object of comparison, by which one may readily determine the enormous size of the forest giant.

VERNAL FALLS, YOSEMITE.

A trip through the Yosemite Valley is one of profound amazement, a succession of astounding surprises, where the most amazing prodigies of nature stand before you in review. Why, throw a glance up yonder, so far that though the atmosphere is wondrously clear, yet the trees on the crest are not distinguishable, only a white ribbon that appears to have been flung down over the narrow edge of that appalling summit to attract attention. What we see is the first leap of Yosemite Falls, dashing through a notch that is nearly half a mile wide, and which has a fall from three ledges of 2,548 feet, or sixteen times greater than that of Niagara. There, not far away, is Glacier Point, which is 3,000 feet high, and from which a view of the entire valley can be had. Standing on that pinnacle, we gather in a glorious panorama of extraordinary splendor. The great domes of the Yosemite are plainly discernible; so is Liberty Cap, Clouds’ Rest, Vernal Falls, Nevada Falls, placid lakes, and the swift-rolling Merced River, that collects and bears away the waters that plunge down from a dozen dizzy heights.

MIRROR LAKE, REFLECTING EL CAPITAN, IN YOSEMITE PARK, CAL.—Among the myriad attractions of Yosemite Park, none are more popular than Mirror Lake. The water is so transparent as to give a perfect and beautiful reflection of all surrounding objects. The photograph on this page is a fine example of this attractive feature, the reflection being so perfect that it is difficult to determine which is the right side of the picture. If this lake had been located in the Garden of Eden, we could not blame our grandmother Eve for admiring her counterpart in its pellucid depths.

ILLILLOUETTE FALLS AND SOUTH DOME.

But besides these, as we turn to sweep the other points, we catch views no less grand, of Ribbon Fall, with its leap of 3,350 feet, Indian Cañon, Royal Arches, Bridal Veil Fall, Washington’s Tower, Columbia Rock, and pearl-gray granite walls that rise in places to a vertical height of 6,000 feet. More beautiful, in some respects, than any of these, as many believe, are Mirror Lake, which seems to reflect nearly the whole valley, and Cascade Falls, which are indescribably lovely. The meadows draw our admiration likewise, for they are so covered with flowers as to appear like a carpet of the most gorgeous patterns, done in the liveliest combination of brilliant colors. Other points of great interest are the Giant’s Thumb, Eagle Peak, Valley Ford, the Gnome of the Yosemite, Mount Watkins, 4,000 feet high, and Tis-sa-ack (Half Dome), 5,000 feet in height, which was regarded by the Indians as the Guardian Angel of the valley, for upon the south side of it are the distinct outlines of a human face, declared in a legend to be those of Tu-tock-ah-nu-lah, ancient father of the Yosemites. And there are the Three Brothers, called by the Indians Pom-pom-pa-sa, which signifies “three mountains playing leap-frog,” a name no doubt bestowed because of the popularity of that game with the original natives, and also because the mountains, from a distance, bear a strong resemblance to three giant frogs sitting side by side, upon the point of leaping into the valley, nearly 4,000 feet below.

UPPER CASCADE OF BRIDAL VEIL FALLS IN WINTER.

SENTINEL ROCK WRAPPED IN A CLOUD.

Both of the illustrations on this page belong to Yosemite Park scenery. The one on the right, representing Sentinel Rock wrapped in a cloud, is specially beautiful and interesting. Our photographers were fortunate in having so good an opportunity for reproducing a scene that occurs only at rare intervals, and they have done the work so well that every one will be delighted with the results.

THE TURN, IN CHILNUALNU FALLS, YOSEMITE.

There are several great falls in this wonderful reservation, which, in point of beauty, exceed those in any other part of the world. Yosemite Falls is incomparably the greatest in height, and in the months of May, June and July, the volume of water which it pours down is second only to Niagara and Shoshone. Its first vertical leap is 1,500 feet, where it strikes a series of ledges which break the water into cascades for another fall of 626 feet, after which it takes a sheer plunge of 400 feet, and flows away into the Merced, making a roaring noise in its impetuous descent that can be heard for miles.

Bridal Veil Fall is the termination of a creek bearing the same name, where it plunges over a precipice 900 feet high, and the stream is so thin that it becomes a very mist before reaching the valley. Directly opposite is Virgin Tears Creek, which likewise dashes over a lofty ledge through a notch in El Capitan, 1,000 feet high, and falls in a spray, though during a greater part of the year the creek is nearly dry.

The first fall reached in ascending the cañon of the Merced is Vernal Fall, which has a vertical height of 400 feet and a very considerable volume. But as we proceed further up the cañon, passing a number of cascades, the eye suddenly catches what the ear has anticipated, and rapture succeeds expectation, for there bursts into view Nevada Falls, which, as Professor Whitney says, “is in every respect one of the grandest waterfalls in the world, whether we consider its vertical height, the purity and volume of the river which forms it, or the stupendous scenery by which it is environed. The fall is not quite perpendicular, as there is near the summit a ledge of rock which receives a portion of the water and throws it off with a peculiar twist, adding considerably to the general picturesque effect.”

YOSEMITE VALLEY AS SEEN FROM ARTIST’S POINT.—This is an exceedingly fine view of Yosemite Valley with its surrounding mountains and a glimpse of the falls on the right. The photograph was taken at Artist’s Point, so named for its favorable location in viewing the valley and the majestic scenery by which it is surrounded. No painter could imagine a grander scene, and nothing but the camera could transfer it so accurately to the printed page.

INDIAN CAMP ON THE NEVADA PLAINS.

The fall is about 600 feet, the stream being clearly defined throughout its descent, and the volume of water is very great, giving to the falls the very ideal of beauty, power and truly extraordinary grandeur. In the Cañon of the South Fork, there is another fall of equal height, and it is one, too, of much attractiveness, but brought into comparison with that of Nevada, of which it is a close brother, though difficult to reach, it appears so inconsequential as to scarcely deserve a name, though it is occasionally known as Illillouette Falls.

But everywhere, up and down that magic valley, whether viewed from the gorges that have their bottoms in dark and mystic abysses, or from amazing heights of walls thrust far into the skies, there is wonder piled upon wonder, grandeur overtopping rapture, dumfounded admiration riding at furious pace in the lead of inspiration, glorious realization gilding the visions of imagination. As the gifted Benjamin F. Taylor wrote of his visit to this wonderland: “Yosemite awaited us without warning. Spectral white in the glancing of the sun, the first thought was that the granite ledges of all the mountains had come to resurrection, and were standing pale and dumb before the Lord. I turned to it again, and began to see the towers, the domes, the spires, the battlements, the arches and the white clouds of solid granite, surging up into the air and come to everlasting anchor until the mountains shall be moved! You hasten on; you hear the winds intoning in the choral galleries a mile above your head; you hear the crash of waters as of cataracts in the sky; you trample upon broad shadows that have fallen thousands of feet down, like the cast-off garments of descending night.”

HALF DOME AND CLOUD’S REST, YOSEMITE VALLEY.—This is equally as grand a view of portions of the Yosemite scenery as the one given on page 177, though perhaps less beautiful from an artistic standard. The half dome on the left is one of the most striking features of this photograph. It is so smooth and regular in its outlines that we can hardly regard it as an accident of nature, but rather a work of design. But, after all, do we not find design, and law, and regularity of purpose in all the works of nature?

CAVE ROCK, LAKE TAHOE.

Instead of returning direct to San Francisco, by way of the route we had taken to the Yosemite, we went northward, over a very good road, through Tuolumne and into Calaveras county, near the eastern edge of which is the very celebrated grove of giant trees. The grove is confined within a valley some 3,000 feet long by 800 feet wide, and embraces ninety-three mammoth trees, some of which are prostrate. The tallest now standing is 325 feet high, and measures fifteen feet in diameter. There are others which, though less lofty, exceed the tallest in girth measurement by as much as twenty feet in circumference, while the thickness of the bark on these grizzly giants is as much as eighteen inches. Five miles southeast of the Calaveras forest is the Stanislaus Grove, of about 800 trees, which in any other country than California would be considered as veritable monsters for size; but they do not equal the better specimens in either the Calaveras or Mariposa Groves, though several have a height of 250 feet, and a trunk circumference of thirty feet.

Having inspected and photographed the groves, we proceeded to Murphy’s Hotel, sixteen miles from the Calaveras Grove, thence twenty-five miles by stage to Valley Springs, a station on a narrow-gauge railroad that runs to Lodi, where connection is made for San Francisco.

It was not possible, without occupying years of time, to make trips over all the picturesque rail-routes of America, and the transportation of our material in a photograph car, which was in almost constant use, made it necessary that our three photographers travel together, except when it was desirable to cover in quick time short detours from main lines. For this reason the overland trip from Denver was made by way of the southern route, without dividing our party; but to provide against what would otherwise have been a serious omission, the photographer of the Southern Pacific Railroad was brought into service to supply views of scenery along that road between Ogden and San Francisco, over which the writer has traveled so frequently as to be thoroughly familiar with all the points of interest. It was this route, formerly known as the Central Pacific, joining the Union Pacific at Ogden, that constituted the first all-rail overland road from Omaha to San Francisco, and it continues to hold rank as the most picturesque, though the scenery alternates with many dreary patches.

THE SENTINEL IN YOSEMITE PARK.—Every one who visits Yosemite is amazed at the grandeur and magnitude of the scenery. In the language of the author of this work, “Everywhere, up and down that magic valley, whether viewed from the gorges that have their bottoms in dark and mystic abysses, or from amazing heights of walls thrust far into the skies, there is wonder piled upon wonder.” Each advancing step brings a new revelation, until the vision is lost in a maze of marvelous views. One of the most striking features of this photograph is the outline of the falls in Merced River, as seen to the right of the grizzly Sentinel.

CASCADE BRIDGE AND SNOW-SHEDS ON THE SIERRAS.

After leaving Ogden, the Southern Pacific passes in a half-circle around the northern shores of Salt Lake, and then darts into the Nevada, or Great American Desert, a vast sea of alkali rippled with dry sage-brush; a furnace in summer and a Siberian tundra in winter. Nature has denied to this wretched region any compensation of flower, stream, bird, or even curiosity. It is the very nakedness of bleak desolation, and stretches its cursed length through a distance of 600 miles. The Humboldt River has tried to force a way through this parched waste; but however great its volume of water, gathered from the mountains in spring freshets, the desert drinks it up at a place known as the Humboldt Sink, where the thirst of the sands is so great that the river is arrested and stands still in a shallow lake, the resort of myriads of water-fowls.

But though the land is a wind-swept waste of alkali, scorched, denuded and cursed, yet men have planted their hopes even there, and are wrestling with the harshest and most unpromising disadvantages. Indian camps are frequent, and villages are occasional, where a few brave men, inured to all difficulties, scratch the parched earth and seek a precarious sustenance, though nearly all are traders, furnishing supplies to miners in the mountains miles away.

The dreary, lifeless monotony is relieved, however, just before reaching Humboldt Lake, by the bold but rugged contour of sky-piercing pinnacles, which rise to the south of the road in curious forms and extraordinary magnitude, marking the line of Humboldt River. These interesting formations are known as the Humboldt Palisades, in which the Devil’s Peak is conspicuous, viewed from the car window. After so many hours passed in crossing a wretched desert, the scenery of meandering river and lofty bluffs is extremely invigorating, and preparation to enjoy the sight is complete. But the palisades are singularly beautiful, viewed under any conditions, and situated near the edge of an alkali wilderness, as they are, they break upon the vision of a west-bound passenger with a delight that arouses rapture.

CATHEDRAL ROCKS, 2300 FEET HIGH, IN YOSEMITE PARK, CAL.—These majestic and towering rocks are so striking a feature of Yosemite scenery that they have attracted great attention from artists and photographers, and many copies have been made both in paintings and photographs. But we have seen none that are so beautiful or accurate as the one on this page. It is a perfect picture in all respects, even to the reflection in the lake.

HEATHER LAKE AND MOUNTAIN SCENERY ABOUT LAKE TAHOE.

At Wadsworth, Truckee Valley is entered, green with the joy of exuberant nature, which we follow until Truckee City, a gem of the Sierras, is gained, and realize that we have now to climb over the second ridge of the continent, the ragged ribs that flank the great water-shed of the three Americas. Truckee is not only a pretty village, nestling on the snowy bosom of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but it is the center of a lake region, wherein abound some of the most remarkable bodies of water to be found on the globe. Fourteen miles towards the south is California’s favorite resort, Lake Tahoe, a really marvelous sheet of crystalline water that, from the mountain peaks which enclose it, looks like a colossal beryl that through some disturbment has been rolled out of the sky and found lodgment in the great lap of the Sierras. The environs of the lake are wondrously grand, and the air a very enchantment, so great is its exhilaration. The lake is twenty-two miles long, ten miles wide, and 1,700 feet deep, while the surface is 6,247 feet above sea level, and it is, as Mark Twain eloquently describes it, “a sea in the clouds; a sea that has character, and asserts it at times in solemn calms, and again in savage storms; a sea whose royal seclusion is guarded by a cordon of sentinel peaks that lift their frosty fronts 9,000 feet above the level world; a sea whose every aspect is impressive, whose belongings are beautiful, whose lonely majesty types the Deity.” Tahoe’s waters abound with trout and other fish, whose bodies flash the sunlight from a depth of thirty feet. The waters are so cold that decomposition is arrested below the surface. Many persons have been drowned in the lake, but not one has ever been recovered, when the accident occurred in deep water. So pellucid are its waters that a boat gliding along the surface appears to be passing through the air, and from the prows of swift-moving crafts, sheets of clearest glass seem to be rolling away. Many beautiful cottages are built along the shore, the summer homes of wealthy Californians, and in season the lake is animate with boats and the beach alive with pleasure parties.

THE BROW OF EL CAPITAN GIRDLED WITH CLOUDS.—This is one of the grandest and most beautiful views of Yosemite scenery that we have ever had the pleasure of beholding. El Capitan, or, as we should say in plain English, and certainly much more expressively, “The Captain,” lifts his haughty head 3300 feet above the valley, and calmly surveys the surrounding landscape as if he had a right to command it. Our photographers were fortunate in being able to procure such a splendid representation of cloud effects as are shown along the brow of the mountain in this picture.

CARRIAGE ROAD THROUGH THE HEART OF MARIPOSA’S BIG TREE.—This splendid photograph will give a better idea of the immense size of California’s big trees than any other comparison or illustration could. After cutting a roadway through the tree large enough to admit of the passage of a carriage or an omnibus, it still has left sufficient strength of root to support its trunk and branches and stand firm against the assaults of the storms and earthquakes which frequently bring down other monarchs of the forest less firmly anchored in the heart of the earth.

ICE FORMATION AT FOOT OF BRIDAL VEIL FALLS.

NEVADA FALLS, YOSEMITE.

Yosemite is beautiful and grand in all seasons of the year, in winter as well as in the summer-time. But it is not often visited by tourists except in the balmy season of summer, and thus some of its greatest wonders would go unobserved except for the efforts of the energetic photographer. On this page we have a combination of winter and summer views, and are thereby enabled to enjoy both seasons at the same time.

DONNER LAKE, NEAR TRUCKEE, CALIFORNIA.

A little way west of Truckee, and three miles from the road, is Donner Lake, a beautiful body, but chiefly famous for the tragic history which is connected with it. The story, in brief, is this: In the winter of 1846-47, a party of eighty-two emigrants, while on their way to California, were overtaken by a snow-storm while encamped on the shore of the lake, and of the number thirty-six perished of starvation. A ghastly tale of cannibalism is told of the survivors, and the whole tragedy is embalmed in Bret Harte’s novel of “Gabriel Conroy.” Besides these two more celebrated bodies of water near Truckee, there are Pyramid, Angeline, Silver, and Palisade lakes, all near by, and are more or less popular resorts, particularly with fishing parties.

As we proceed up the Sierras the cold increases, until when the town of Summit is reached snow lies upon the ground throughout the year, and it is perpetual winter there, 7,000 feet above the sea. The route is for many miles enclosed by snow-sheds, but the snow-plow has plenty of work to do in keeping the intervals clear. Formerly this work was performed by three or four engines pushing a big machine, somewhat resembling a shovel-board plow, through the heavy banks of snow, but it is now more speedily and effectively accomplished by a rotary snow-plow, as shown in one of our illustrations. The machine is, in fact, a giant auger, which is run by steam supplied by the engines behind it, and being set in motion, rapidly bores its way through the drifts, throwing the snow at an angle of forty-five degrees, and with a force sufficient to deposit it fifty feet from the track.

AGASSIZ COLUMN, YOSEMITE.

THE PASSAGE-WAY AROUND CAPE HORN.

The cliffs at Cape Horn, so beautifully represented on this page, are over 2000 feet high, and so precipitous that, when work was commenced in making a bed for the railroad tracks, men had to be lowered by ropes from the top and held in position until, with picks and crowbars, they could cut for themselves a footing in the rock walls. As the cars roll round the jagged point they are on a level with the clouds, while below for nearly 2000 feet appear the forests of pine trees, so reduced in size by distance that they appear like ordinary whisk brooms.—Agassiz Column is one of the prominent features of Yosemite scenery, and it is splendidly reproduced in the fine photograph on this page.

SNOW SHOVELERS CUTTING A BLOCKADE ON THE SIERRA NEVADAS.

The road begins to descend rapidly after leaving Summit, but the most wonderful scenery in all California is passed in the next 150 miles. Donner’s Peak comes into view as the first suggestion of a dreadfully tumultuous condition of nature, wrought by the great glaciers that in the early centuries came grinding their way over the mountains. There is Emigrant Gap, through which the first gold-seekers found their way into the Golden Valley, and American Cañon, along the dizzy edge of which the train runs at a free and almost reckless pace. The way is broken with quarreling cascades, fast-dashing creeks and beautiful blue cañons, in which an autumn haze perpetually lingers. Giant’s Gap, in the American Cañon, is a vast rent in an opposing mountain, that looks like it might have been torn out by the hand of the Thunder God to make a way for the trolls. Chasm after chasm comes into view with grandeur and awfulness as a background until presently the train runs out on a ledge that appears to passengers inside the coaches to have no more substantial support than a bank of clouds. We are away up high on the breast of a mountain that shoots upward 2,000 feet perpendicularly, and looking out of the car windows there is nothing but clouds bowling along on the same level, and below forests of pine, stunted by distance, until the trees are no bigger than whisk-brooms, and American River is a white thread not too large to run through the eye of a darning-needle. This is Cape Horn, where the ledge is so precipitous that in making the road-bed it was necessary to lower the first workmen by means of ropes, which were held fast at the summit while the suspended men plied their picks and crow-bars until a footing was made.

“FLOWER BEDS IN FRONT OF HOTEL DEL MONTE, MONTEREY.”

UPPER YOSEMITE FALLS IN WINTER.

VIEW OF AMERICAN RIVER CAÑON, IN THE SIERRAS.

Yosemite Falls in winter, with the lace-like sheet of water gently pouring down between the columns of ice on either side, present a scene of indescribable loveliness. It is a scene, also, not often witnessed, for Yosemite has a dearth of visitors during the winter.—The companion photograph affords a fine view of scenery in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California, made famous by Mark Twain in one of his jokes, wherein he stated that the changes of climate in that region were so sudden and extreme that, while hunting in the mountains one day, his dog’s head was sun-struck by the intense heat, while at the same time his tail was frozen by the severe cold prevailing at his other extremity. The point of the joke will be appreciated after reading the splendid description of this locality by the author of Glimpses of America on page [192].

A ROTARY SNOW PLOW CUTTING THROUGH A BLOCKADE ON THE SIERRAS.

After leaving Cape Horn, and passing many relics of early mining days: holes in the ground, decaying sluice-boxes, long flumes, tumble-down shanties, and a few hydraulic works, the road gains the Sacramento Valley, where the passengers are met by a burst of sunshine that makes the land laugh with plenty, and fills every heart with gladness. The air is fragrant with the almond and orange, and where husbandry has not covered the broad-spreading acres with grain or vineyards, there are flowers of a thousand hues, and butterflies of corresponding colors. The early emigrants from the East, who sought fortune on the Pacific slope after the gold discoveries of 1848-49, found a paradise in the fragrant and prolific valley of the Sacramento, which, beautiful at all times, was to them, after a journey of almost unbearable hardships across the burning sands of the American Desert, a region of incomparable delight. There is, indeed, no contrast in all nature so sudden and so great as that afforded between Nevada and California, the line of separation being the Sierras. Out of the arid plains, a very ocean of verdureless desolation, the road rises rapidly to altitudes of perpetual snow and into forests of pine that cover the sides of fearful precipices, the peaks of towering mountains and the jaws of yawning chasms; then it swoops down again into a land of perennial bloom, the antithesis of that of the eastern desert, where, instead of parching, the sun revivifies and forces into fruitage orchards, vineyards, groves, gardens, and fields, making the land one of teeming plenty, and joyful with song of bird, flash of stream, gleam of golden grain, and resonant with the laughing chorus of exuberant nature. More fortunes have been won by aid of the hoe and sickle wielded in this charming valley than were ever gained by means of pick, flame and rocker on the harsh mountain sides, where the gold-seekers have toiled so hopefully for forty years, and in a great majority of cases spent their strength without reward.

The first time that I crossed the Sierras was in early autumn, before the crisp air had begun to clip the leaves, and when Nevada appeared to be swept with a stifling atmosphere; hot, dusty and dreary was the pale sands, and the gray sage-brush was withered as by a simoom’s breath; I wondered why tourists, on pleasure bent, should make such a journey. Then out of the plain of dearth, and up the mountains we sped; suddenly, as it were, the atmosphere grew chill, flakes of snow began to descend; the way led out of hot summer into severe winter, and the landscape became a picture of tumult, mighty, wonderful and picturesque. Then we rolled down the Sierras into a land of indescribable beauty, into a garden as lovely as that of Hesperides—and the answer was plain.

CHAPTER VII.
OUR JOURNEY THROUGH PICTURESQUE REGIONS OF THE NORTHWEST.

HIGH SIERRAS AND SUSIE LAKE, AN ARM OF LAKE TAHOE.

Winter had been spent in the vernal climate of New Mexico, Arizona and California, and we had so nicely calculated our work that when April arrived we were ready for explorations in northern fields. Accordingly, early in that month, we took our departure from San Francisco, over the California and Oregon Railroad (property of the Southern Pacific), to photograph the natural wonders of the extreme northwest. The road which we had thus selected is one of the most charmingly picturesque in America, abounding as it does with an infinite variety of beautiful valleys, leaping cascades, roaring waterfalls, snow-capped mountains, and abysmal cañons that are wrapped in eternal darkness.

After leaving Sacramento, the route follows the Sacramento Valley, through a marvelously fertile district, cleft by an exquisite stream that bellows, gushes, gurgles and rambles in a devious way from summerless peaks, through blossoming vales, and down mellow meadows, until it drops into the arms of the sea.

UPPER CASCADE OF CHILNUALNU FALLS, YOSEMITE.—It has been said by a distinguished writer that “either the domes or the waterfalls of Yosemite, or any single one of them, would be sufficient in any European country to attract travelers from far and wide. Waterfalls in the vicinity of Yosemite, surpassing in beauty many of the best known and most visited in Europe, are actually left unnoticed by travelers, because there are so many other objects to be visited that it is impossible to find time for them all.” This will doubtless explain why the beautiful cascade photographed on this page is so little known that it is not even described in the leading guide-books. It is one of the most attractive waterfalls in Yosemite, but it has so many neighbors equally beautiful and grander that it is passed by almost unnoticed.

NAJAQUI FALLS, GAVIOTA PASS, CAL.—Gaviota Pass is located in Santa Barbara County, and possesses some of the finest scenery to be found anywhere in the State. The photograph on this page will afford a good idea of the delightful visions to be seen in this region. The falls are neither grand nor majestic, but they are exceedingly beautiful, and the secluded retreat, fringed with ferns and mosses, where but few sounds are heard except the gentle splashing of the constantly falling water, is a place to be sought and loved on a warm summer day.

INTERIOR OF SNOW SHED, SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS.

Beyond Chico, northward, the scenery becomes rapidly more rugged, until we plunge into the Siskiyou range, and apparently become tangled up, so tortuous is the way. Time and again the road overlaps itself in winding up the steeps, leaps across yawning chasms on lofty steel bridges, and dashes into tunnels that for a while appear to lead directly to the center of the under-world. But on every side, where daylight reveals the turbulent landscape, there is much to excite wonder and to lend surprise. A hundred miles before we come abreast of Mount Shasta, the sunlighted head of that mammoth peak glints and glistens with a weirdly grand effect upon the admiring eyes of approaching travelers. There it stands, apparently shifting from one side of the track to the other as we wind around among the gorges and creep up the slopes, but always a chief among mountains and commander among the clouds. Sissons is the nearest station to the giant peak, and here we stopped to make some photographs and gather information. The base of Shasta is exceedingly broad, covering as it does a circumference of seventy-five miles, and its hoary head is lifted up 11,000 feet above the surface, and 14,450 above the sea. The greatest wonder, however, is not in the mountain’s height or size, but in the fact that it is an extinct volcano, whose crater is nearly one mile in diameter and 1,500 feet deep. On one side there is a rift, resembling a broken piece from the rim of a bowl, through which the sea of lava that boiled and seethed in this devil’s caldron many centuries ago, evidently broke and poured a burning flood into the valley, and overflowed a large district of country. This may have been done in one of its expiring throes, for certainly there are no evidences that the volcano has been in activity within the past five hundred years.

“There is a cold gray light upon this mountain in winter mornings, that even to look upon, sends a chill to the very marrow, especially if the snow-banner be flying; yet perhaps at evening tide, when twilight shadows have darkened the valley below, this vast pyramid of hoar frost and storm-swept ridges is transformed into a great beacon light of glory, where the warm mellow light loves to linger; where the richest halos of gold and crimson encircle it with their loving bands; where the last and best treasures of the declining sun are poured out in a wondrous profusion, until it is driven by the night lavenders and grays beyond the horizon; then, the tranquil light of the stars sends shining avenues of silver down its furrowed, hoary slopes; soon there comes out from behind the night, first a faint flash of radiant silver that gleams across the sky and dims the light of the stars, the higher peaks are aflame with St. Elmo fire, and slowly from spire to spire, and from ridge to ridge, this incandescent flood sweeps on until the whole mountain glows and gleams with a light supernatural.”

VIEW OF MOUNT SHASTA FROM SISSONS, CAL.—This view from Sissons is said to be the best obtainable of Mount Shasta. From this point it presents the appearance of a broad triple mountain, the central summit being flanked on the west by a large crater, whose rim is 12,000 feet high. The highest point in the centre is 14,442 feet. Shasta, as a whole, is the cone of an immense extinct volcano, rising with a single sweep from the base to a height of 11,000 feet. It is 338 miles north of San Francisco, and is visible for more than one hundred miles.

SACRAMENTO CAÑON, CALIFORNIA.

Another particularly wonderful natural attraction on the line of this road are the Chalybeate Soda Springs, which furnish an unfailing supply of mineral water, equal to the best that is bottled for the bar and picnic trade. When taken fresh from the spring, it has the appearance of champagne, which, indeed, it resembles in taste; and so strongly charged is the water with carbonic acid gas, that it will hold its flavor as long as any extra-dry wine.

Near these remarkable springs are the Mossbrae Falls, which come sliding over the lofty banks of the Sacramento in sheets of limpid water that look like glass, and have a spread of nearly half a mile. The fall varies in height from fifty to one hundred feet, but is surprisingly beautiful at every point.

After crossing Siskiyou Mountains, the road descends by a spiral way until it strikes Rogue Valley, thence through Grant’s Pass and gains the Willamette Valley, which is a level expanse of exceedingly great fertility. The ride to Portland over the rest of the way is interesting, not so much for the diversity of scenery, as for the scenes of thrift and prosperity which lie on both sides, for the country is a very Eden of productiveness.

Portland, which lies near the junction of the Columbia with the Willamette River, is one of the handsomest cities on earth, situated in one of the most attractive regions that the eye of the traveler ever gazed upon. From a high point in the western suburbs, gained by a cable-road, a view may be had greater than that which Quarantaria offers. To the west broadens the united waters of the two rivers, floating the commerce of this vigorous city to and from the sea. And in the clear atmosphere to the east rise like giants out of a plain the lofty peaks of Hood, St. Helen’s, Adam’s and Ranier, upon whose brows eternal snows beat with fury, and where clouds often settle to rest themselves for a fresh flight. Still beyond are the whitened crests of the Cascade range, reveling in a mad confusion of effort to gain the skies; and wandering through a maze of forest, mountain and gorge, are the Columbia and Willamette, like two long ribbons of burnished silver flung down by the gods to mark a way to wealth.

MOSSBRAE FALLS ALONG THE SACRAMENTO.—These falls are in the Sacramento River, not far from Upper Soda Springs in northern California. They vary in height from fifty to one hundred feet, and have a spread of nearly half a mile up and down the river. The water is so clear and limpid that it resembles great sheets of glass as it pours over the banks, producing a scene of indescribable beauty. The river at this point is very small, as shown by the photograph, but the scenery is of the most delightful character.

SODA SPRINGS, SACRAMENTO CAÑON.

The Willamette River is particularly beautiful in its upper course, where the scenery is almost a counterpart of that along the Rhine, whereas the Columbia becomes charmingly interesting almost from its mouth, and increases in grandeur as the ascent is made. Indeed, it may with truth be declared that scenically considered, the Columbia is the most delightful river that is known to modern geographers. The shores are mountainous, at times shooting up perpendicularly to amazing heights, and composing miles of solid walls; then again dropping away in level stretches covered with forests of pine, spruce and fir-trees; or revealing cañons down which plunge turbulent tributaries, and giddy waterfalls dancing out of the sky and falling in fleecy sheets so far as to dissolve its vapor. Some of the shore walls are of basalt, of fantastic shapes and brilliant with coloring; and not infrequently solitary columns of very great height are seen standing like sentinels along the water edge, such as Castle Rock, Rooster Rock, and the columnar cliffs of Cape Horn.

The Dalles of the Columbia are as famous as the palisades of the Hudson, while in fact they are much more wonderful, and well worth a trip of thousands of miles to see. They occupy about fifteen miles of the river between Celilo and Dalles Station, and are only 130 feet wide, whereas above and below, the bed of the stream is from 2,000 to 2,500 feet wide. As the river is swollen to extraordinary proportions by rain freshets and the melting of snow in the spring-time, it is not a remarkable thing that during such flood periods the water rises suddenly in this narrow cleft as much as sixty, and even seventy feet. The river itself very commonly rises as much as twenty-five feet, even at its widest places, and hence we may imagine what a raging torrent it becomes; but at low-water the Dalles are a succession of cascades of the most beautiful proportions, rolling in sheets of clearest water, over terraces of stone as regular as though they had been laid by the hand of a mason.

STRAWNAHAN’S FALLS, ON SIDE OF MOUNT HOOD.

MULTINOMAH FALLS, OREGON.

The region of Oregon near Portland, and along the Columbia, is rich in scenery of the most beautiful and picturesque character. Far in the distance loom snowy peaks, and the clouds, trees and mountains are reflected in the clear water as in a mirror. Among the most picturesque of all the scenes of this locality are Multinomah Falls, near the railway station of the same name. The water plunges down the astonishing distance of 700 feet, breaking into a ribbon of glittering spray as it falls. A little to the right of the main falls, as seen in the photograph, is another tiny little one, so modest as scarcely to be observed, but loved and admired by tourists equally with its larger sister.

WILLAMETTE FALLS, OREGON.

From the Dalles down, the river plows its way through the Cascade Mountains, which on either side appear like towered battlements, while waterfall after waterfall pour their tribute down the mountain sides to swell the on-flowing stream. Twelve miles below is Memaloose Island, which is the ancient burial place of the Chinook Indians, who held it as a sacred spot, guarded, as they maintained, by spirits of the river. The gorge proper begins twenty miles below the Dalles, and thirty miles further are the cascades, but between these there is an incomparable panorama of grandeur and beauty, for the river is broken by many giant bowlders, around which the swift-rushing water is lashed into fury. Still further below, and around the next interval of six miles, where portage by rail is necessary, the scenery becomes even more exquisite, with islands that are so wind-swept as to be entirely devoid of vegetation, while scores of lovely falls line the river, such as Horse-Tail, a clearly defined stream that pours down a height of 200 feet, and Multinomah, a strip, or veil, of spray, that falls 850 feet perpendicularly. There are, besides these, others almost equally surprising and beautiful, such as Bridal Veil and Oneonta, both of which dash down over cliffs brilliantly green with mosses, and are reflected in their full length in the crystalline river into which they fall, while the soft coloring of bluest sky and blending tints of emerald pines give to the scene an intimation of fairy-land. Just below these, in stately procession, are Castle Rock, that shoots up 1,000 feet; Rooster Rock, a dizzy pinnacle of stone amid-stream; Cape Horn, frowning from shore, and lifting its brow 500 feet above the river, while the Pillars of Hercules, twin shafts of basalt, grand, massive and sublime, act as guardians before this watery realm of wonderland.

DALLES OF THE COLUMBIA, AND MOUNT HOOD IN THE DISTANCE.—The scenery between Portland and Dalles City, along the Columbia, is grand and beautiful in the extreme. Here the river passes through the heart of the Cascade Mountains, and the turbulent waves roar through the narrow channel, confined on either side by cliff-like walls of rock, often rising to the height of 1200 feet or more. At Cascade Locks there are fierce and whirling rapids, with a fall of forty feet, the entire river dashing down twenty feet at a single bound. For a distance of five miles the river is a seething caldron of foam, too dangerous for any kind of navigation to be attempted. The photograph gives a splendid bird’s-eye view of a portion of the Dalles.

NATURAL PILLARS, COLUMBIA RIVER.

Twenty-five miles from the palisades, and reached by means of comfortable stages over a good road, is Mount Hood, one of the loftiest, as well as the most impressive, dead volcanoes to be found anywhere in the world, of which it has been written: “The view from the summit of Hood is one of unsurpassed grandeur, and probably includes in its range a greater number of high peaks and vast mountain chains, grand forests and mighty rivers, than any other mountain in North America. Looking across the Columbia, the ghostly pyramids of Adams and St. Helens, with their connecting ridges of eternal snow, first catch the eye; then comes the silent, lofty Ranier, with the blue waters of Puget Sound and the rugged Olympia Mountains for a background; and away to the extreme north (nearly to H. B. M.’s dominions), veiled in earth mists and scarcely discernible from the towering cumuli that inswathe it, lies Mount Baker. Looking south over Oregon, the view embraces the Three Sisters (all at one time), Jefferson, Diamond Peak, Scott, Pit, and, if it be a favorable day, and you have a good glass, you may see Shasta, 250 miles away. The westward view is down over the lower coast range, the Umpqua, Calapooya, and Rogue River Mountains, with their sunny upland valleys, and away out over the restless ocean. In the opposite direction, across the illimitable plains of Eastern Oregon, to the Azure Blue Mountains; down, almost to the foot of this mountain, ‘rolls the Columbia,’ through the narrow, rugged gorge of ‘The Dalles,’ 250 miles of its winding course being visible. The entire length of the great Willamette Valley, with its pleasant, prosperous towns and gently-flowing river, its broad, fertile farms, like rich mosaics, with borders of dark-green woodlands, is spread out in great beauty under the western slope of Mount Hood.”

THE CRATER OF MOUNT HOOD.

ON THE ROUTE TO CRATER LAKE.

Tourists need not cross the ocean and travel to Switzerland to see wild and grand and splendid mountain scenery, because it can be found in a thousand places in America on a much grander scale than anywhere in the Alps. An evidence of this is seen in the photograph of the crater of Mount Hood, on this page; and all along the Cascade, Rocky and other mountain ranges of our country, similar, and even grander, views can be observed by the thousands. We also present on this page an interesting portrait of our “mountain helper,” in obtaining views for Glimpses of America.

ONEONTA GORGE, COLUMBIA RIVER.

The Columbia is not only famed for its peerless scenery, and as being a main artery in Pacific coast commerce, but it is equally noted as affording the most profitable salmon fishing in the world. Hundreds of people are engaged in this industry, and vast wealth has been amassed by some of the large companies who run immense canneries in connection with the fisheries. At certain seasons the fish appear in such prodigious numbers, on their way up stream to the spawning grounds, that they almost crowd each other out of the water. The most successful way of taking the fish at such times is by the use of wheels attached to the end of a scow, which, being set in motion, scoop them up and deposit them in the boat, and so rapidly that thousands are thus taken in an hour. The fish continue their run up-stream as far as the water will allow, and so determined are they that they perform many amazing feats to gain the headwaters, crossing shoals, darting through the swiftest cascades, and even leaping up and over falls of considerable height. The Indians, familiar with the instincts of the salmon, in the season take great numbers by means of spears, which they cast with astonishing accuracy. A chief fishing place is Salmon Falls, where the river is a mile wide and plunges over a wall fully twenty feet high, extending from shore to shore. Notwithstanding this height, the salmon gather in the whirlpool below and suddenly dart up the falls like a flash of light, their tails waving with such rapidity that they are carried up and over the falls. It is while making these leaps that the Indians spear the fish, killing immense numbers, not only for food, but through sheer wantonness, at times fairly filling the river with the dead beauties.

ROOSTER ROCK, COLUMBIA RIVER.—This grotesque rock, occupying a prominent point in one of the bends of the Columbia River, received its rather inappropriate name from a fancied resemblance to a male chicken. It requires a considerable stretch of the imagination to see where the resemblance comes in, and it is to be hoped the time may come when a more appropriate and picturesque title will be bestowed upon this celebrated curiosity of nature’s creation. Why not call it the Castle of the Columbia? for it certainly looks more like a castle than a rooster.

CASCADES OF THE COLUMBIA.

A SIDE-TRIP TO CRATER LAKE.

Before leaving San Francisco, one of our photographers expressed a very great desire to visit Crater Lake, one of the most remarkable bodies of water on the face of the earth, and so urgent were his pleadings, that it was decided he should make the trip, while the rest of the party continued on to Portland, to perform the work of photographing points of interest thereabouts, and on the Columbia River. In pursuance of this arrangement, he left us at a station called Medford, on the Southern Pacific Railroad, and from that place rode over to Jacksonville, capital of Jackson county, Oregon, a distance of five miles, to make his preparations for a journey to the lake. Jacksonville is a town of about 1,000 inhabitants, off the railroad, but on the military road that leads to Crater Lake, some seventy miles distant northeast, and thence to Fort Klamath. It was not difficult to procure necessary conveyance, but for safety it was deemed advisable to pack the cameras on a donkey, probably the surest-footed and most reliable animal that ever submitted back to a burden. Three men accompanied our photographer, with one road-wagon and a light buggy, hauling the necessary camping outfit, and being well prepared, the party started from Jacksonville on the 15th of April, 1891. The road follows Rogue River the entire distance, along which is some very beautiful scenery, and not a few wild gorges, which were photographed. There are a number of post-offices on the way, Deskins being the most northern, beyond which, and for nearly thirty miles, to the lake, there is a wilderness of mountain and cañon, unrelieved by any signs of human habitation. Crater Lake is in the western part of Klamath county, and is in the Klamath Indian reservation, a region that is distinctively volcanic, diversified by lakes, marshes and mountains, with the soil so mixed with scoriæ that it is harsh and unproductive. It was not until noon of the second day that the vicinity of the lake was reached, approach to it being indicated by a bank of clouds that hung over one spot, like a fog gradually lifting, beneath which was manifestly a large body of water. A suitable camping place was soon found, and the tent being set up and dinner disposed of, the work of exploring and photographing the lake was energetically begun. Fortunately, the weather was propitious and the season favorable, for otherwise clambering over so rough a region with the precious burden of delicate cameras would have been next to impossible. The snow falls to very great depths on the high ridge which surrounds the lake, and spring rains are at times so heavy here that the precipitous sides are gashed deeply by the cataracts thus produced.

VIEW OF CRATER LAKE AND WIZARD ISLAND.—This stupendous and marvelous curiosity is located in Klamath County, Ore., and may now be reached by stage from Medford Station on the Oregon branch of the Southern Pacific Railway, a distance of about eighty miles. But when it was visited by the author of Glimpses of America and his photographing party there were no public conveyances, and they were forced to rely upon their own resources. Crater Lake is probably the greatest natural curiosity in the world, as every one will doubtless admit after reading the descriptions in these pages.

AMONG THE CLOUDS ON MOUNT HOOD.

The Klamath Indians have many traditions about the lake, one of which is to the effect that in earlier years it was the haunt of great numbers of water-devils, who watched its shores and drew into its mysterious depths all luckless persons who ventured near its banks. For this reason it was not until recently that any Indian could be prevailed upon, by the promise of however great a reward, to approach near the lake, though they were glad to guide travelers to its vicinity.

The first sight of this marvelous body of water excites unbounded awe and immeasurable wonder. The surface is 6,250 feet above sea level, but notwithstanding this great elevation, it is enclosed by cliffs that rise from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, and the greater part are vertical. At times, viewed from the summit of the walls, both the skies and mountainous surroundings are mirrored in the unrippled surface of the lake, until it is really difficult to distinguish the line of separation between the real and the reflection.

Crater Lake is egg-shaped, being seven miles in length by six in breadth, and in the southwest portion there is an island which rises out of the water to the amazing height of 850 feet. But this is not its only remarkable feature, for the island is circular in shape, with a scant vegetation on its sides, and in the center is a crater known as the Witch’s Caldron, which is 100 feet deep and nearly 500 feet in circumference. Here, then, we have the now smokeless chimney of what was once an active volcano, out of which poured a fiery mass that ran down the steeps and became congealed in the lake, for the base of the island is of ashes and vitrified rocks, evidencing the intense heat which once prevailed within and around it.

SCENE ON COLUMBIA RIVER.

CLIFFS AROUND CRATER LAKE.

The salmon fisheries of the Columbia River constitute one of our most important northwestern industries, and the fish-wheels used in catching the salmon are to be seen at many points, lending a degree of life and activity to what would otherwise, in many instances, be an uninspiring view.—The surface of Crater Lake is 6250 feet above the level of the sea, and yet it is enclosed by cliffs that rise from 1000 to 2000 feet higher still. This will give some idea of the imposing grandeur of the scene. Many of these cliffs are perpendicular from the water’s edge to their summits, so that a stone dropping from the top will fall of its own weight into the lake more than a thousand feet below.

GROTTO IN CRATER LAKE.

On the shore, north of Wizard Island, is a rock that juts up 2,000 feet, and its side is so perpendicular that one standing upon its summit can drop a stone into the lake, nearly half a mile beneath. It is not at all surprising that this wonderful lake should be the subject of much superstitious dread among the Klamaths, and among the traditions and tales which these simple Indians tell is the following: A long time ago, a band of Klamaths, while hunting deer, which have always been abundant in this region, came suddenly upon the lake. They had often traveled over the same district, without discovering either lake or depression, and now, suddenly beholding so large a body of water, surrounded by towering walls, they perceived in it the work of the Great Spirit, but were not able to interpret its significance. All but one of the Indians fled in terror from the place, but the bravest determined, if possible, to ascertain the wishes of the Great Spirit, and, accordingly, he proceeded to the very brink of the lofty walls, and there built a camp-fire, to wait the Spirit’s call. Long he waited, until weary at last he lay down and slept; while he was thus sleeping he had a vision and heard mysterious voices, but he was not able to understand what was said, or to clearly discern the shape or appearance of his unearthly visitors. But as often as he slept he perceived, in his dreams, the indistinct forms of what half-appeared to resemble human bodies, and plainly heard voices, but they were strange tongues. Charmed by these visions, the Indian remained, day after day, and week after week, upon the precipice of the lake, leaving his camp-fire only to slay a deer for subsistence, until at length he descended to the surface of the lake and bathed in its crystal and mysterious waters. Instantly he felt his strength marvelously increased, and thereafter saw that the weird visions of his dreams were inhabitants of the lake, having human forms, but whether they were spirits of good, or devils of evil, he knew not. Familiarity, however, at length made him careless, and on one occasion he caught a fish in the lake, with the intention of using its flesh for food, but no sooner had he killed the fish than a thousand water-devils rose up out of the depths of the lake, and, seizing the unfortunate brave carried him through the air to the top of the cliffs. Here they cut his throat and cast his body headlong into the water, 2,000 feet below, where it was devoured by the angered devils.

PALISADES OF THE COLUMBIA.

THE GREAT GLACIER, CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILWAY.—This fine photograph shows the front wall of the glacier as it plows its way down the mountain side, grinding the rocks into powder and cutting seams and cañons that will stand for centuries as records of its resistless powers. Those who have never seen one of these immense rivers of ice, ever moving and never failing, can hardly appreciate the feeling of awe that is aroused by a near approach to them. There is no other force of nature that so distinctively manifests its irresistible powers.

A FISH-WHEEL ON COLUMBIA RIVER.

The Klamath Indians believed that the water-spirits had not fully satisfied their revenge by this one bloody act, but would similarly destroy any Indian who had the temerity to approach the lake.

Near the base of a cliff on the south side of the lake stands a solitary rock, probably 100 feet high by 200 in length, and nearly the same in breadth, that, while not seen by the present generation of Indians, it is nevertheless known to them, and is a special object of superstitious dread. They consider it as a peculiarly ferocious monster, but are unable to describe its characteristics. It stands in the lake, entirely alone, and about fifty yards from shore. Standing on the cliffs, about five miles to the west and looking across the lake, this strange rock is plainly visible in the sunlight, its rugged peaks reaching aloft, giving it the appearance of a full-rigged ship at anchor. Should a cloud pass before the sun as the shadow strikes the rock it will recede from view as effectually as though it had ceased to exist. This illusion has prompted some one to call the rock the Phantom Ship.

Another equally interesting optical illusion is thus described by W. G. Steel, F.A.G.S., who made an exploration of the lake with a corps of United States surveyors: “One day while at work on the lake, my attention was called to what seemed to be a tall, full-bearded man standing on the southern portion of Llao Rock’s summit. One foot was placed a little forward of the other and the knee slightly, but naturally bent, while before him stood a gun. His hands were clasped over the muzzle as he gazed intently to the north. Just behind him stood a boy, apparently about fifteen years of age. They seemed entirely too natural not to be flesh and blood, and yet persons at that distance would not be visible to the naked eye, as we were two miles out on the lake. Day after day, as our work progressed, their position remained the same, and in the absence of a better excuse, we decided them to be trees.

GREEK CHURCH AT JUNEAU, ALASKA.—The prevailing religion among the natives of Alaska is a mixture of the doctrines of the Greek Church, inculcated by missionaries from Russia, and the ancient totemism of the aborigines. The missionaries wisely concluded that it was better to convert the natives to Christianity, and bring them up to civilization by a gradual process, rather than attempt a sudden transformation; hence the singular combination of the rites of a ludicrous superstition with the beneficent teachings of the Man of Galilee. Mission churches exist at several points in the territory, one of which, a very picturesque building, is finely photographed on this page.

SUMMIT OF MOUNT SAINT HELENS, ABOVE THE CLOUDS.

“It is hard to comprehend what an immense affair it is. To those living in New York City I would say, Crater Lake is large enough to have Manhattan, Randell’s, Ward’s and Blackwell’s Islands dropped into it side by side, without touching the walls, or Chicago or Washington City might do the same. Our own fair city of Portland, with all her suburbs, from City Park to Mount Tabor, and from Albina to Sellwood inclusive, could find ample room on the bottom of the lake. On the other hand, if it were possible to place the lake, at its present elevation, above either of these cities, it would be over a mile up to the surface of the water, and a mile and three-quarters to the top of Llao Rock. Of this distance, the ascent would be through water for 2,000 feet. To those living in New Hampshire, it might be said the surface of the water is twenty-three feet higher than the summit of Mount Washington.”

The shore of Crater Lake has many remarkable indentations of slender arms and beautifully formed bays, and on one side there is a grotto running back some thirty feet and twenty feet inside, spanned by a graceful arch about eight feet high, forming an admirable shelter as well as a curious alcove in the rock, where the water is some twelve feet deep. The lake itself measures a little more than 2,000 feet in depth in places, but soundings show that there are peaks below the surface representing cinder cones, and which once evidently stood high above the surface. The whole lake is thus a reminder of mighty forces and the relic of terrible convulsions. What an immense affair it must have been ages upon ages ago, when, long before the hot breath of a volcano soiled its hoary head, standing as a proud monarch, with its feet upon the earth and its head in the heavens, it towered far, far above the mountain ranges, aye, looked far down upon the snowy peaks of Hood and Shasta, and snuffed the air beyond the reach of Everest. Then streams of fire began to shoot forth, great seas of lava were hurled upon the earth beneath. The elements seemed bent upon establishing hell upon earth and fixing its throne upon this great mountain. At last its foundation gave away and it sank forever from sight. Down, down, down deep into the bowels of the earth, leaving a great, black, smoking chasm, which succeeding ages filled with pure, fresh water, giving to our day and generation one of the most beautiful lakes within the knowledge of man.

TOP OF MUIR GLACIER, ALASKA.

CREVASSE IN MUIR GLACIER, ALASKA.

The Muir is the most celebrated of all the glaciers in the world. It is located in southeastern Alaska, about one hundred miles north of Sitka, and is easily accessible by the California coast line steamers. The two excellent photographs on this page will give a good idea of the wonderful formation and diversified beauties of this immense ice-river, which has been moving steadily down the mountain side for ages past, and will doubtless continue to do so for ages to come.

It may in truth be declared that Crater Lake is one of the grandest points of interest on earth. Here all the ingenuity of nature seems to have been exerted to the fullest capacity to build one grand, awe-inspiring temple within which to live and from which to gaze upon the surrounding world and say: “Here would I dwell and live forever. Here would I make my home from choice; the universe is my kingdom, and this my throne.”

CATHEDRAL ROCK, ON COLUMBIA RIVER.

AWAY TO THE NORTH, AND THENCE TO ALASKA.

Our trip up the Columbia, and along the Willamette as far as Willamette Falls, was delightful beyond any one’s ability to describe; but though wonder succeeded wonder, and kept us as under a spell of enchantment, there were other surprises in store which were to hold our interest and even add something to our astonishment. Returning to Portland, we might have carried out our original resolution to take the steamer at that point direct for Alaska, but we very wisely made a change in our plans, by which we proceeded by rail to Vancouver, stopping en route, however, to continue our work of photographing mountains, valleys and glaciers.

Tacoma was our first stop after leaving Portland, and a very beautiful city it is, admirably and commercially situated at the head of navigation in Puget’s Sound. Mount Tacoma appears to be in the very front-yard of the city, so wonderfully clear is the air, though in fact it is forty miles away. The Sound is astir with the white wings of sailing vessels, and streaked with the black trails of ocean-going steamers, while the blue waters are begirt with the dark green of heavy forests, making a picture of almost incomparable beauty. There is romance in the very air, a kind of dreamy vision of the long ago, when this was the happy land of the Siwashes, who come before us again in the pretty legends which linger still upon the lips of this almost extinct tribe. They tell us of a Saviour who once came to them, riding in a copper canoe, out of the bleak desolation of the icy north, and who, first calling all the tribes together, preached to them the gospel of unselfish service and righteousness. He taught them the beatitudes, and was first to declare that man was possessed of an undying spirit, which lived forever, in pleasure or pain, according to the measure of his deserving. The Indians listened with reverent attention until this Saviour exhorted them to live in brotherly unity, one with another, and to avoid all strife, for he who shed human blood would feel the vengeance of the Great Spirit. This teaching so incensed the war-like tribes that they seized the Saviour and nailed his body to a tree, where it remained nine days. Then behold, there came a great storm of hail, accompanied by thunders that rent the earth and leveled the forests. In the midst of this mighty cataclysm of natural forces the Saviour appeared again, resurrected unto full life, and speaking to the winds and the thunders, in an instant the storm was hushed, and a great peace and burst of sunshine bathed the earth. After this the reincarnated Saviour renewed his preaching and continued to teach immortality for many weeks, until at last he ascended to the skies in a cloud.

INDIAN BURIAL HOUSES, NEAR THE TOWN OF JUNEAU, ALASKA.—It is a religious custom among the Indians of Alaska to build houses, more or less pretentious according to the means of the surviving relatives, over the graves of their deceased friends. These houses are then suffered to fall into decay with the lapse of time, like family cemeteries in our own land, until in many instances the ghastly remains are exposed to view. The cemetery photographed on this page is evidently a new one, judging by the neat appearance of the little houses. There is really a beautiful sentiment in this custom, notwithstanding its origin among a heathenish and superstitious people.

BRINK OF SNOQUALMIE FALLS, WASHINGTON.

These same Indians have also a tradition of the deluge, which bears a striking similarity to the Genetic account. They assert that many thousands of years ago a great rain fell upon the earth, such as was never before or since known; that such torrents of water were poured out of the sky that the world became a universal sea, with no spot of dry land anywhere visible. In this all-prevailing flood every human being perished except one man who took refuge on Mount Tacoma. As the water rose, he was driven higher and higher, until at last he reached the summit; but still the sea advanced; it covered the loftiest point of the mountain, then rose above his feet, his knees, and finally reached to his waist, when, to prevent him from being swept away, the Great Spirit turned his feet to stone, and he thus became anchored on the peak. Then the rain ceased, and the waters were gradually assuaged, but the man could not yet move from his position. At last the waters were again within their beds, the fields bloomed, the forests put forth with new life, and the world became musical with song of bird and the lullabies of flowing streams. Then a profound sleep fell upon the man, and while he slept the Great Spirit took a rib from his side, and from it made a beautiful woman. When he woke his feet were no longer stone, but strong with vigor, and at once he started down the mountain; but scarcely had he taken the first step when he saw before him the lovely woman who was given to him for wife. The Great Spirit now directed the couple to the foot of Tacoma, where he had planted a garden, and in this paradise he commanded them to abide and replenish the world.