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Title: Wonders of the Yellowstone
Author: Richardson, James
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Wonders of the Yellowstone" ***

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                                OF THE


                               EDITED BY

                           JAMES RICHARDSON.

            _New Edition, with new Map and Illustrations._

                               NEW YORK
                        CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by

                      SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO.,

       In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington



  The Crown of the Continent--Yellowstone Lake--Ancient
  Volcanic Action--Modern Thermal Phenomena                        1


  Early Explorations--Lewis and Clarke's Expeditions--Trappers'
  Yarns--Colonel Raynold's Expedition--The Washburn
  Expedition--Colonel Barlow's Expedition--Dr.
  Hayden's Geological Survey                                        5


  Route from Fort Ellis to Bottlers' Ranch--Fort Ellis--Prospect
  from the Divide--Snowy Mountain--Trail Creek--Pyramid
  Mountain--The Bottler Brothers--Yellowstone Valley               15


  Bottlers' Ranch to Gardiner's River--River Valley--Second
  Cañon--Cinnabar Mountain--The Devil's Slide--Western
  Nomenclature--Precious Stones                                    21


  Hot Springs of Gardiner's River--Third Cañon--Rapids--Valley
  of Gardiner's River--Thermal Springs--White
  Mountain--Hot Springs--Natural Bathing-pools--Diana's
  Bath--Liberty Cap--Bee-hive--Extinct Geysers--Beautiful
  Water--Vegetation in Hot Springs--Antiquity
  of Springs--Classification of Thermal Springs                    27


  Gardiner's River to Grand Cañon of the Yellowstone--Forks
  of Gardiner's River--Gallatin Mountains--Basaltic
  Columns--Falls of Gardiner's River--Mountain
  Prospect--Over the Divide--Agatized Wood--Delightful
  Climate--Mountain Verdure--Volcanic Ridges--Ravines--Third
  Cañon of the Yellowstone--Hell-roaring River--Hell-roaring
  Mountain--East Fork of the Yellowstone--Ancient
  Springs and Calcareous Deposits--First Bridge
  over the Yellowstone--Rock Cutting--Tower-creek Cañon--Column
  Rock--The Devil's Den--Tower Falls--The
  Devil's Hoof--Mineral Springs--Mouth of Grand Cañon              43


  Over Mount Washburn to Falls of the Yellowstone--Ascent
  of Mount Washburn--Extensive View--Steam Puffs--Elephant's
  Back--Grand Cañon--Yellowstone Basin--The
  Three Tetons--First View of Yellowstone Lake--Madison
  Mountains--Gallatin Range--Emigrant Peak--Geological
  History of the Yellowstone Basin--Ancient
  Volcanic Action--Descent of Mount Washburn--Hell-broth
  Springs--The Devil's Caldron--Cascade Creek--The
  Devil's Den--Crystal Cascade                                     61


  The Grand Cañon and the Falls of the Yellowstone--Description
  of Grand Cañon--Descent into the Cañon--History
  of Grand Cañon---Lower Falls--Upper Falls                        78


  From the Falls to the Lake--River above the Falls--Alum
  Creek--Boiling Springs--Crater Hill--A Narrow Escape--The
  Locomotive Jet--Sulphur Springs--Mud Puffs--No
  Vegetation--Temperature of Springs--Muddy Geyser--Mud
  Volcano--Mud-sulphur Springs--The Grotto--The
  Giant's Caldron--Movements of Muddy Geyser                       90


  Yellowstone Lake--Setting of the Lake--Shape of the Lake--Shores
  of the Lake--Yellowstone Trout--Worms in
  Trout--Waterfowl--The Guide-bird--Fauna of Yellowstone
  Basin--Islands in the Lake--The First Explorers                 105


  Around the Yellowstone Lake--Hot Springs of Pelican
  Creek--Hot Springs of Steam Point--Fire Slashes--Difficult
  Travelling--Little Invulnerable--Poetry in the
  Wilderness--Volcanic Peaks--Mounts Langford, Doane,
  and Stephenson--Brimstone Basin--Alum Creek--Upper
  Yellowstone--Wind River Mountains--Valley of Upper
  Yellowstone--The Five Forks--Bridger's Lake--Yellowstone
  Mountains--Heart Lake--Madison Lake--Mount
  Sheridan--Flat Mountain--Bridger's "Two
  Ocean River"--A Companion lost--Lakes and Springs--Hot
  Springs on the West Shore--Bridge Creek--Dead
  Springs--The Elephant's Back                                   114


  Upper Geyser Basin--The Grand Geyser Region--Firehole
  River--Madison Lake--Mountains about the Lake--Cascades--The
  Geysers--Old Faithful--The Bee-hive--The
  Giantess--Castle Geyser--Grand Geyser--The Saw-mill--The
  Comet--The Grotto--The Pyramid--The Punch
  Bowl--Black Sand Geyser--Riverside Geyser--The Fan--The
  Sentinels--Iron Spring Creek--Soda Geyser                      133


  Lower Geyser Basin--Down the Firehole--Prismatic Hot
  Springs--The Cauldron--Old Spring Basins--The Conch
  Spring--Horn Geyser--Bath Spring--The Cavern--Mud
  Springs--Thud Geyser--Fountain Geyser--Mud Pot--Fissure
  Spring--White Dome Geyser--Bee-hive--Petrifaction--Hot
  Spring Vegetation--Cold Spring--General
  View of the Basin--The Twin Buttes--Fall of the
  Fairies--Rainbow Spring                                        162


  Natural History of Geysers and other Thermal Springs--Iceland
  Geysers--History of _The Geyser_--The Strokr--Eruption
  of _the_ Geyser--Growth of _the_ Geyser--Mechanism
  of Geysers--Artificial Geysers--Life and Death of
  Geysers--Laugs--New Zealand Hot Springs--_Te Tarata_--Hot
  Springs of the Waikato--Origin of Mineral
  Springs--Chemistry of Mineral Springs                          180


  Mr. Everts's Thirty-seven Days of Peril--Lost--Loss of
  Horse--Midnight Dangers--Starvation--Return to Lake--No
  Food in the Midst of Plenty--Bessie Lake--Thistle
  Roots--Hunted by a Lion--Storms--First Fire--Vain
  Efforts to find Food--Attempt to cross the Mountains--The
  Lost Shoe--Forest on Fire--Hallucination--Turned
  back--The Doctor--Physiological Transformations--Descending
  the River--Loss of Lens--Discovery
  and Rescue                                                     199


  Our National Park--The Yellowstone Reservation--Dr.
  Hayden's Report--Text of Act of Congress--Appointment
  of Hon. N. P. Langford Superintendent of Park                  250


  GREAT GEYSER BASIN                                         _Front_

  HOT SPRINGS OF GARDNER'S RIVER                                  27

  DIANA'S BATH, GARDNER'S RIVER                                   31

  LIBERTY CAP, GARDNER'S RIVER                                    36


  THE DEVIL'S HOOF                                                58

  GETTING A SPECIMEN                                              72

  THE DEVIL'S DEN                                                 76

  UPPER FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE                                  86

  THE MUD VOLCANO                                                100

  YELLOWSTONE LAKE                                               106

  THE FIRST BOAT ON YELLOWSTONE LAKE                             113

  BREAKING THROUGH                                               122

  THE GRAND GEYSER, FIREHOLE BASIN                               144

  THE GIANT GEYSER                                               153

  FAN GEYSER, FIREHOLE BASIN                                     158

  THE BEE-HIVE                                                   161


  IMAGINARY COMPANIONS                                           236

  THE GIANTESS, FIREHOLE BASIN                                   252






In the northwest corner of the Territory of Wyoming, about half way
between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean, and in the same
latitude as the State of New York, the grand Rocky Mountain system
culminates in a knot of peaks and ranges enclosing the most remarkable
lake basin in the world. From this point radiate the chief mountain
ranges, and three of the longest rivers of the Continent--the Missouri,
the Columbia, and the Colorado.

On the south are the Wind River Mountains, a snow-clad barrier which no
white man has ever crossed. On the east is the Snowy Mountain Range,
and the grand cluster of volcanic peaks between it and Yellowstone
Lake. On the west is the main divide of the Rocky Mountains. On the
north are the bold peaks of the Gallatin Range, and the parallel
ridges which give a northward direction to all the great tributaries of
the Missouri from this region.

Set like a gem in the centre of this snow-rimmed crown of the
continent, is the loveliest body of fresh water on the globe, its
dark-blue surface at an elevation greater than that of the highest
clouds that fleck the azure sky of a summer's day, over the tops of the
loftiest mountains of the East. Its waters teem with trout, and the
primeval forests that cover the surrounding country are crowded with
game. But these are the least of its attractions. It is the wildness
and grandeur of the enclosing mountain scenery, and still more the
curious, beautiful, wonderful and stupendous natural phenomena which
characterize the region, that have raised it to sudden fame, and caused
it to be set apart by our national government as a grand national
play-ground and museum of unparalleled, indeed incomparable, marvels,
free to all men for all time.

Evidences of ancient volcanic action on the grandest scale are so
abundant and striking throughout the lake basin, that it has been
looked upon as the remains of a mammoth crater, forty miles across.
It seems, however, to have been rather the focus of a multitude of
craters. "It is probable," says the United States geologist, Dr.
Hayden, with his usual caution, "that during the Pliocene period the
entire country drained by the sources of the Yellowstone and the
Columbia was the scene of volcanic activity as great as that of any
portion of the globe. It might be called one vast crater, made up of a
thousand smaller volcanic vents and fissures, out of which the fluid
interior of the earth, fragments of rock and volcanic dust, were poured
in unlimited quantities. Hundreds of the nuclei or cones of these
volcanic vents are now remaining, some of them rising to a height of
10,000 to 11,000 feet above the sea. Mounts Doane, Longford, Stevenson,
and more than a hundred other peaks, may be seen from any high point on
either side of the basin, each of which formed a centre of effusion."

All that is left of the terrific forces which threw up these lofty
mountains and elevated the entire region to its present altitude, now
finds issue in occasional earthquake shocks, and in the innumerable
hot springs and geysers, whose description makes up so large a portion
of this book of wonders. Nowhere else in the world can the last-named
phenomena be witnessed on so grand a scale, in such limitless variety,
or amid scenes so marvellous in beauty, so wild and unearthly in
savage grandeur, so fascinating in all that awes or attracts the lover
of the curious, the wonderful, the magnificent in nature.



In their exploration of the headwaters of the Missouri in the summer
of 1805, the heroic Captains Lewis and Clarke discovered and named the
three terminal branches of that river--the Jefferson, the Madison, and
the Gallatin; then ascending the first named to its springs among the
Rocky Mountains, they crossed the lofty ridge of the divide and pursued
their investigations along the Columbia to the sea. The following
summer they returned, separately exploring the two main branches of
the Great River of the Northwest, each perpetuating the name and fame
of his brother explorer by calling a river after him. Ascending the
southern, or Lewis Fork, Captain Clarke recrossed the mountains to
Wisdom River, (a branch of the Jefferson,) then traversed the country
of the Jefferson, the Madison and the Gallatin to the Rochejaune, or
Yellowstone, which he followed to its junction with the Missouri, where
he rejoined Captain Lewis. The map of the country explored by these
brave men, makes the source of the Yellowstone a large lake, doubtless
from information received from the Indians, but they seem to have heard
nothing of the marvels along the upper reaches of the river and around
the lake from which it flows.

In later years--especially after the discovery of the Montana
gold-mines had drawn to the upper valleys of the Missouri an
adventurous, gold-seeking population, who scoured the mountains in
all directions--rumors of burning plains, spouting springs, great
lakes and other natural wonders, came down from the unknown regions
up the Yellowstone. And not content with these, the imagination was
freely drawn on, and the treasure valleys of the Arabian Nights were
rivalled, if not reproduced. Our over-venturous party, hotly pursued
by Indians, escaped, report said, by travelling night after night by
the brilliant light of a huge diamond providentially exposed on a
mountain. A lost trapper turned up after protracted wandering in this
mysterious region, his pockets stuffed with nuggets of gold gathered in
a stream which he could never find again. More astounding still was
a valley which instantly petrified whatever entered it. Rabbits and
sage-hens, even Indians were standing about there, like statuary, among
thickets of petrified sage-brush, whose stony branches bore diamonds,
rubies, sapphires, emeralds and other gems by the thousand, as large
as walnuts. "I tell you, sir," said one who had been there, to Colonel
Raynolds, "it is true, for I gathered a quart myself and sent them down
the country."

The first earnest attempt to explore the valley of the upper
Yellowstone was made in 1859, by Colonel Raynolds, of the Corps of
Engineers. His expedition passed entirely around the Yellowstone basin,
but could not penetrate it. In his report to the War Department, he

"It was my original desire to go from the head of Wind River to the
head of the Yellowstone, keeping on the Atlantic slope, thence down
the Yellowstone, passing the lake, and across by the Gallatin to the
three forks of the Missouri. Bridger said at the outset that this
would be impossible, and that it would be necessary to cross over to
the headwaters of the Columbia and back again to the Yellowstone.
I had not previously believed that crossing the main crest twice
would be more easily accomplished than the transit over what was
in effect only a spur; but the view from our first camp settled the
question adversely to my opinion at once. Directly across our route
lies a basaltic ridge, rising not less than 5,000 feet above us, its
walls apparently vertical, with no visible pass or even cañon. On the
opposite side of this are the headwaters of the Yellowstone. Bridger
remarked triumphantly and forcibly on reaching this spot, 'I told you
you could not go through. A bird can't fly over that without taking a
supply of grub along.' I had no reply to offer, and mentally conceded
the accuracy of the information of 'the old man of the mountains.' * *
* * *

"After this obstacle had thus forced us over on the western slope
of the Rocky Mountains, an effort was made to recross and reach the
district in question, but although it was June, the immense body of
snow baffled all our exertions, and we were compelled to content
ourselves with listening to marvellous tales of burning plains,
immense lakes, and boiling springs, without being able to verify these
wonders. I know of but two white men who claim to ever have visited
this part of the Yellowstone Valley--James Bridger and Robert Meldrum.
The narratives of both these men are very remarkable, and Bridger, in
one of his recitals, described an immense boiling spring, that is a
perfect counterpart of the Geysers of Iceland. As he is uneducated,
and had probably never heard of the existence of such natural marvels
elsewhere, I have little doubt that he spoke of that which he had
actually seen. The burning plains described by these men may be
volcanic, or, more probably, burning beds of lignite similar to those
on Powder River, which are known to be in a state of ignition.... Had
our attempt to enter this district been made a month later in the
season, the snow would have mainly disappeared, and there would have
been no insurmountable obstacles to overcome.

"I cannot doubt, therefore, that at no very distant day the mysteries
of this region will be fully revealed, and though small in extent, I
regard the valley of the upper Yellowstone as the most interesting
unexplored district of our widely expanded country."

Ten years after Colonel Raynolds's unsuccessful attempt to solve the
problem of the Yellowstone, a small party under Messrs. Cook and Folsom
ascended the river to the lake, and crossed over the divide into the
Geyser Basin of the Madison. No report, we believe, was published of
their discoveries. At any rate, the general public were indebted for
their first knowledge of the marvels of this region to an expedition
organized in the summer of 1870 by some of the officials and leading
citizens of Montana. This company, led by General Washburn, the
Surveyor-General of the Territory, and accompanied by a small escort
of United States cavalry under Lieutenant G. C. Doane, left Fort Ellis
toward the latter part of August, and entered the valley of Yellowstone
River on the 23d. During the next thirty days they explored the cañons
of the Yellowstone and the shores of Yellowstone Lake; then crossing
the mountains to the headwaters of the Madison, they visited the geyser
region of Firehole River, and ascended that stream to its junction
with the Madison, along whose valley they returned to civilization,
confident, as their historian wrote, that they had seen "the greatest
wonders on the Continent," and "convinced that there was not on the
globe another region where, within the same limits, nature had crowded
so much of grandeur and majesty, with so much of novelty and wonder."

Mr. Langford's account of this expedition, published in the second
volume of _Scribner's Monthly_, and the report of Lieutenant Doane,
printed some time after by the United States Government, (Ex. Doc. No.
51, 41st Congress,) gave to the world the first authentic information
of the marvels of this wonderful region. Though their route lay
through a terrible wilderness, and most of the party were but amateur
explorers at best, only one (Mr. Everts) met with a serious mishap.
This gentleman's story of his separation from the company, and his
thirty-seven days of suffering and perilous wandering, is one of the
most thrilling chapters of adventure ever written.

The path fairly broken, and the romance of the Yellowstone shown to
have a substantial basis in reality, it was not long before others were
ready to explore more fully the magnificent scenery and the strange and
peculiar phenomena described by the adventurers of 1870. As soon as the
following season was sufficiently advanced to admit of explorations
among the mountains, the Chief Engineer of the Military Department of
the Missouri, Brevet Colonel John W. Barlow, set out for a two months'
survey of the Yellowstone Basin, under special orders from General
Sheridan. His route lay along the river to the lake; thence along the
northern shore of the lake to the hot springs on its western bank;
thence across the mountains westward to the Geyser Basins of Firehole
River, which he ascended to its source in Madison Lake; thence to
Heart Lake, the source of Snake River; thence across the mountains to
Bridger's Lake, in the valley of the Upper Yellowstone. Descending
this stream to where it enters Yellowstone Lake, he returned by the
east shore of the lake to Pelican Creek; thence across the country to
the Falls of the Yellowstone; thence over the mountains to the East
Fork of the Yellowstone, which he followed to its junction with the
main stream.

In the meantime, a large and thoroughly-organized scientific party,
under Dr. F. V. Hayden, U. S. geologist, were making a systematic
survey of the region traversed by Colonel Barlow. The work done by this
party is briefly summarized by Dr. Hayden as follows:

"From Fort Ellis, we passed eastward over the divide, between the
drainage of the Missouri and Yellowstone, to Bottlers' Ranch. Here we
established a permanent camp, leaving all our wagons and a portion of
the party. A careful system of meteorological observations was kept
at this locality for six weeks. From Bottlers' Ranch we proceeded up
the valley of the Yellowstone, surveyed the remarkable hot springs on
Gardiner's River, The Grand Cañon, Tower Falls, Upper and Lower Falls
of the Yellowstone, thence into the basin proper, prepared charts of
all the Hot Spring groups, which were very numerous, and continued up
the river to the lake. We then commenced a systematic survey of the
lake and its surroundings. Mr. Schönborn, with his assistant, made
a careful survey of the lake and the mountains from the shore, and
Messrs. Elliott and Carrington surveyed and sketched its shore-lines
from the water in a boat. Careful soundings were also made, and the
greatest depth was found to be three hundred feet. From the lake I
proceeded, with Messrs. Schönborn, Peale, and Elliott to the Firehole
Valley, by way of East Fork of the Madison; then ascended the Firehole
Valley. We made careful charts of the Lower and Upper Geyser Basin,
locating all the principal springs, and determining their temperatures.
We then returned over the mountains by way of the head of Firehole
River, explored Madison Lake, Heart Lake, etc. After having completed
our survey of the lake, we crossed over to the headwaters of the East
Fork by way of the valley of Pelican Creek, explored the East Fork to
its junction with the main Yellowstone, and thence to Bottlers' Ranch,
which we reached on the 28th of August. From this place we passed down
the Yellowstone, through the lower cañon, to the mouth of Shield's
River, to connect our work with that of Colonel Wm. F. Raynolds, in
1860. From there we returned to Fort Ellis."

It is safe to say that no exploring expedition on this continent ever
had a more interesting field of investigation, or ever studied so many
grand, curious and wonderful aspects of nature in so short a time.



The Yellowstone tourist leaves the confines of civilization at Fort
Ellis. This frontier military post, situated near the head of the
beautiful and fertile valley of the East Gallatin, commands the valleys
of the Yellowstone and the three forks of the Missouri--the finest and
most productive portion of Montana. On the east and north are ranges
of hills and mountains which form the divide between the waters of the
Yellowstone and the Missouri. On the south and west, the beautiful
Valley of the Gallatin. Abundant vegetation, beautiful scenery, streams
of pure water flowing down the mountain-sides and across the plains on
every hand, and a climate that can hardly be surpassed in any country,
combine to make this pleasant station one of the most charming places
on the continent.

For the first six miles the road from Fort Ellis to the wonder-land of
the Yellowstone Valley follows the general course of the East Gallatin,
up steep acclivities and through the defiles of a hilly country to the
crest of the divide. The road here takes advantage of a natural pass
between hills that rise from six hundred to twelve hundred feet above
the road, itself considerably more elevated than the summit of the
White Mountains. From the tops of the hills on either side the view
is wonderfully fine in every direction. To the west lies the Gallatin
Valley, with its cordon of snow-capped peaks, its finely-timbered water
courses, and its long, grassy declivities, dotted with the habitations
of pioneers, and blooming with the fruits of industry. To the eastward
lies the beautiful Valley of the Yellowstone, not yet laid under
tribute to man. On the further side of this valley--the bed of an
ancient lake--the eye takes in at a glance one of the most symmetrical
and remarkable ranges of mountains in all the West. Indeed, Dr. Hayden
says, in describing them:

"Several of my party who had visited Europe regarded this range as in
no way inferior in beauty to any in that far-famed country. A series of
cone-shaped peaks, looking like gigantic pyramids, are grouped along
the east side of the valley for thirty or forty miles, with their bald,
dark summits covered with perpetual snow, the vegetation growing
thinner and smaller as we ascend the almost vertical sides, until, long
before reaching the summits, it has entirely disappeared. On all sides
deep gorges have been gashed out by aqueous forces cutting through the
very core of the mountains, and forming those wonderful gulches which
only the hardy and daring miner has ventured to explore. This range,
which is called on the maps Snowy Mountains, forms the great water-shed
between two portions of the Yellowstone River, above and below the
first cañon, and gives origin to some of the most important branches
of that river. From the summit of Emigrant Peak, one of the highest
of these volcanic cones, one great mass of these basaltic peaks can
be seen as far as the eye can reach, rising to the height of 10,000
to 11,000 feet above the sea. Emigrant Peak, the base of which is cut
by the Yellowstone River, is 10,629 feet above tide-water, while the
valley plain near Bottlers' Ranch, on the opposite side of the river,
was found to be 5,925 feet. This splendid group of peaks rises 5,000
feet and upward above the valley of the Yellowstone."

About three miles from the divide the road strikes the valley of Trail
Creek, a small-sized trout-stream of great clearness and purity,
flowing southeastward to the Yellowstone, between high hills wooded
at the summits. Approaching the river, the country becomes more and
more volcanic in appearance, masses of basaltic lava cropping out
from the high ridges on the right and left. Many of these masses
show a perpendicular front of several hundred feet, with projections
resembling towers, castles and the like. Several miles away on the
right, is Pyramid Mountain, a snow-capped peak. Farther to the south is
a long range of mountains, also covered with snow, even in midsummer.

On the left of the valley the foot hills bear abundant verdure, the
highest summits being covered with a vigorous growth of pines. Trail
Creek enters the Yellowstone about thirty miles from Fort Ellis. Ten
miles further up the Yellowstone is Bottlers' Ranch, the last abode of
civilized man in this direction.

The Bottler brothers, who have established themselves here, belong
to that numerous class of pioneers who are satisfied only when their
field of operation is a little in advance of civilization, exposed to
privation and danger, yet possessing advantages for hunting, trapping
and fishing not enjoyed by men content to dwell in safety. These,
however are not their only occupations. They have under cultivation
large fields of wheat, potatoes and other crops, possess extensive
herds of cattle, and make large quantities of butter, for which they
find a ready market in the mining camps of Emigrant Gulch across the
river, which at this point is a very rapid stream, about three hundred
feet wide and four feet deep on the riffles at low water.

Of this part of the valley Dr. Hayden says: "It is about fifteen miles
long, and will average three miles in width; it is well watered, soil
fertile, and in every respect one of the most desirable portions of
Montana. We may not look for any districts favorable for agriculture
in the Yellowstone Valley above the second cañon; but this entire lake
basin seems admirably adapted for grazing and for the cultivation
of the usual crops of the country. The cereals and the roots have
already been produced in abundance, especially wheat and potatoes.
The mountains on either side are covered with snow, to a greater or
less extent, all the year, which in melting feeds the numerous little
streams that flow down the mountain-sides in the Yellowstone. Hundreds
of springs flow out of the terraces. One terrace near Bottlers' Ranch
gives origin to fifty springs within a mile, and then, all aggregating
together in the river bottom, form a large stream. Thus there is the
greatest abundance of water for irrigation, or for any of the purposes
of settlement. The elevation of the valley at this ranch is 4,925
feet, and this may be regarded as the average in altitude. But a small
portion of it is occupied as yet, but the time is not far distant when
the valley will be covered with fine farms and the hills with stock. It
will always be a region of interest, from the fact that it is probably
the upper limit of agricultural effort in the Yellowstone Valley."



At Bottlers' Ranch the wagon road terminates. For the first ten miles
beyond, the trail runs along the west bank of the river through the
wildest imaginable scenery of rock, river and mountain. The path is
narrow, rocky and uneven, frequently leading over steep hills of
considerable height. From the top of one of these, a bold mountain spur
coming down to the water's edge, the view up the valley is very fine,
embracing the river fringed with cottonwoods, the foot hills covered
with luxuriant, many-tinted herbage, and over all the snow-crowned
summits of the distant mountains. Above this point the valley opens
out to a "bottom" of large extent and great beauty. Across the river
the steep lava mountains come close to the stream, their lofty fronts
covered with stunted timber. A large portion of the bottom land is
subject to overflow by the numerous mountain streams that come in from
the right, and bears an abundance of grass, in many places waist high.
The river is skirted with shrubbery and cedars, the latter having thick
trunks, too short for ordinary lumber, yet of beautiful grain for small
cabinet work, and susceptible of exquisite finish.

At the head of this valley is the second cañon of the Yellowstone,
granite walls rising on either side to the height of a thousand feet
or more, and the river dashing through the narrow gorge with great
velocity. Seen from the lofty mountain spur over which the trail is
forced to pass, the bright green color of the water, and the numerous
ripples, capped with white foam, as the roaring torrent rushes around
and over the multitude of rocks that have fallen from above into the
channel, present a most picturesque appearance. Above the cañon, which
is about a mile in length, the valley widens slightly, then narrows
so as to compel the traveller to cross a ridge, on whose summit lies
a beautiful lake. Descending to the valley again the road traverses a
tract of level bottom land, a mile or two wide, covered with a heavy
growth of sage-brush. Throughout all this portion of its course, the
Yellowstone is abundantly stocked with trout of the largest variety
known this side the Rocky Mountains.

Some ten miles above the second cañon on the edge of the river valley
is Cinnabar Mountain, whose weather-beaten side presents one of the
most singular freaks of nature in the world. Two parallel vertical
walls of rock, fifty feet wide, traverse the mountain from base to
summit, and project to the height of three hundred feet for a distance
of fifteen hundred feet. The sides are as even as if wrought by line
and plumb. The rock between the walls and on either side has been
completely worn away. Speaking of this curious formation, Mr. Langford

"We had seen many of the capricious works wrought by erosion upon the
friable rocks of Montana, but never before upon so majestic a scale.
Here an entire mountain-side, by wind and water, had been removed,
leaving as the evidences of their protracted toil these vertical
projections, which, but for their immensity, might as readily be
mistaken for works of art as of nature. Their smooth sides, uniform
width and height, and great length, considered in connection with
the causes which had wrought their insulation, excited our wonder
and admiration. They were all the more curious because of their
dissimilarity to any other striking objects in natural scenery that we
had ever seen or heard of. In future years, when the wonders of the
Yellowstone are incorporated into the family of fashionable resorts,
there will be few of its attractions surpassing in interest this
marvellous freak of the elements."

According to the observations of Dr. Hayden, the mountain is formed of
alternate beds of sandstone, limestone, and quartzites, elevated to a
nearly vertical position by those internal forces which acted in ages
past to lift the mountain ranges to their present heights. Standing
at the base and looking up the sides of the mountain, the geologist
could not but be filled with wonder at the convulsions which threw
such immense masses of rocks into their present position. Ridge after
ridge extends down the steep sides of the mountain like lofty walls,
the intervening softer portions having been washed away, leaving the
harder layers projecting far above. In one place the rocks incline
in every possible direction, and are crushed together in the utmost
confusion. Between the walls at one point is a band of bright brick-red
clay, which has been mistaken for cinnabar, and hence the name Cinnabar
Mountain. The most conspicuous ridge is composed of basalt, which
must have been poured out on the surface when all the rocks were in
a horizontal position. For reasons best known to himself, one of the
first explorers of this region gave these parallel ridges the title of
"Devil's Slide."

"The suggestion was unfortunate," writes the historian of the
Expedition, "as, with more reason perhaps, but with no better taste, we
frequently had occasion to appropriate other portions of the person of
his Satanic Majesty, or of his dominion, in signification of the varied
marvels we met with. Some little excuse may be found for this in the
fact that the old mountaineers and trappers who preceded us had been
peculiarly lavish in the use of the infernal vocabulary. Every river
and glen and mountain had suggested to their imaginations some fancied
resemblance to portions of a region which their pious grandmothers had
warned them to avoid. It is common for them, when speaking of this
region, to designate portions of its physical features, as "Firehole
Prairie,"--the "Devil's Den,"--"Hell Roaring River," etc.--and these
names, from a remarkable fitness of things, are not likely to be
speedily superseded by others less impressive."

These "impressive" titles stand in curious contrast with the fanciful
names bestowed in this region by Capts. Lewis and Clarke,--Wisdom
River, Philosophy River, Philanthropy Creek, and the like.

From the Devil's Slide to the mouth of Gardiner's River, twelve miles,
the ground rises rapidly, passing from a dead level alkali plain, to a
succession of plateaus covered slightly with a sterile soil. Evidences
of volcanic action begin to be frequent: old craters converted into
small lakes appear here and there, prettily fringed with vegetation,
and covered with waterfowl. Scattered over the hills and through the
valleys are numerous beautiful specimens of chalcedony and chips of
obsidian. Many of the chalcedonies are geodes, in which are crystals of
quartz; others contain opal in the centre and agate on the exterior;
and still others have on the outside attached crystals of calcite.




Ten miles above the Devil's Slide, Gardiner's River, a mountain torrent
twenty yards wide, cuts through a deep and gloomy gorge and enters the
Yellowstone at the lower end of the Third Cañon.

At this point the Yellowstone shrinks to half its usual size, losing
itself among huge granite boulders, which choke up the stream and
create alternate pools and rapids, crowded with trout. Worn into
fantastic forms by the washing water, these immense rock masses give
an aspect of peculiar wildness to the scenery. But the crowning wonder
of this region is the group of hot springs on the slope of a mountain,
four miles up the valley of Gardiner's River. The first expedition
passed on without seeing them, but they could not escape the vigilance
of the scientific company that followed.

The lower reaches of the valley of Gardiner's River, and the enclosing
hillsides, are strewn with volcanic rock, having the appearance
of furnace cinder. The tops of the rounded hills are covered with
fragments of basalt and conglomerate, whose great variety of sombre
colors add much to the appearance of desolation which characterizes
the valley. Here and there are stagnant lakes fifty to a hundred yards
in diameter, apparently occupying ancient volcanic vents. Crossing a
barren, elevated region two miles in extent, and three or four hundred
feet above the river-bed, the trail descends abruptly to a low "bottom"
covered with a thick calcareous crust, deposited from hot springs, now
for the most part dry. At one point, however, a large stream of hot
water, six feet wide and two feet deep, flows swiftly from beneath
the crust, its exposed portion clearly revealed by rising steam. The
quantity of water flowing from this spring is greater than from any
other in this region; its temperature ranges from 126° to 132° Fah. A
little further above are three or four other springs near the margin
of the river. These have nearly circular basins, six to ten feet in
diameter, and a temperature not above 120°. Already these springs have
become the resort of invalids, who speak highly of the virtues of the
waters. A short distance up the hill are abundant remains of springs,
which in time past must have been very active. For nearly a mile the
steep hill-side is covered with a thick crust of spring deposits,
which, though much decomposed and overgrown with pines and cedars,
still bear traces of the wonderful forms displayed in the vicinity
of the active springs further up the hill. Ascending the hill, Dr.
Hayden's party came suddenly and unexpectedly upon these marvellous
deposits, which they agreed in pronouncing one of the finest displays
of natural architecture in the world. The snowy whiteness of the
deposit, which has the form of a frozen cascade, at once suggested
the name of White Mountain Hot Spring. The springs now in active
operation cover an area of about one square mile, while the rest of
the territory, three or four square miles in extent, is occupied by the
remains of springs which have ceased to flow. Small streams flow down
the sides of the Snowy Mountain in channels lined with oxide of iron of
the most delicate tints of red. Others show exquisite shades of yellow,
from a deep, bright sulphur, to a dainty cream-color. Still others are
stained with shades of green, all these colors as brilliant as the
brightest aniline dyes. The water after rising from the spring basin
flows down the sides of the declivity, step by step, from one reservoir
to another, at each one of them losing a portion of its heat, until it
becomes as cool as spring-water. Within five hundred feet of its source
Dr. Hayden's party camped for two days by the side of the little stream
formed by the aggregated waters of these hot springs, and found the
water most excellent for drinking as well as for cooking purposes. It
was perfectly clear and tasteless, and harmless in its effects. During
their stay here all the members of the party, as well as the soldiers
comprising their escort, enjoyed the luxury of bathing in these most
elegantly carved natural bathing-pools; and it was easy to select, from
the hundreds of reservoirs, water of any desired temperature. These
natural basins vary somewhat in size, but many of them are about four
by six feet in diameter, and one to four feet in depth. Their margins
are beautifully scalloped, and adorned with a natural beadwork of
exquisite beauty.


The level or terrace upon which the principal active springs are
located, is about midway up the sides of the mountain, covered with the
sediment. Still farther up are the ruins of what must have been at
some period more active springs than any at present known. The sides
of the mountain for two or three hundred feet in height, are thickly
encrusted with calcareous deposit, originally ornamented with elegant
sculpturing, like the bathing pools below; but atmospheric agencies,
which act readily on the lime, have obliterated all their delicate

The largest living spring is near the outer margin of the main
terrace. Its dimensions are twenty-five feet by forty, and its water
so perfectly transparent that one can look down into the beautiful
ultramarine depth to the very bottom of the basin. Its sides are
ornamented with coral-like forms of a great variety of shades, from
pure white to a bright cream yellow, while the blue sky reflected in
the transparent water gives an azure tint to the whole which surpasses
all art. From various portions of the rim, water flows out in moderate
quantities over the sides of the hill. Whenever it gathers into a
channel and flows quite swiftly, basins with sides from two to eight
feet high are formed with their ornamental designs proportionately
coarse; but when the water flows slowly, myriads of little basins
are formed, one below another, with a semblance of irregular system.
The water holds in solution a great amount of lime, with some soda,
alumina and magnesia, which are slowly deposited as the water flows
down the sides of the mountain. Underneath the sides of many of the
pools are rows of exquisitely-ornamented stalactites, formed by the
dripping of the water over the margins. All these springs have one or
more centres of ebullition which is constant, though seldom rising
more than four or five inches above the surface. The ebullition is due
mainly to the emission of carbonic acid gas. The springs in the centre
of the main basin are probably all at the boiling point--194° at this
elevation. Being inaccessible, however, it is impossible to determine
their actual temperature. The hottest that could be reached was 162°
Fah. The terrace immediately above the main basin is bordered by a long
rounded ridge with a fissure extending its whole length, its interior
lined with beautiful crystals of pure sulphur. Only hot vapors and
steam issue from this fissure, though the bubbling and gurgling of
water far beneath the surface can be distinctly heard. Back of this
ridge are several small springs which throw up geyser-like jets of
water intermittently to the height of three feet.

On the west side of this deposit, about one-third of the way up the
White Mountain from the river and terrace, where was once the theatre
of many active springs, old chimneys or craters are scattered thickly
over the surface, and there are several large holes and fissures
leading to vast caverns below. The crust gives off a dull hollow sound
beneath the tread, and the surface gives indistinct evidence of having
been adorned with the beautiful pools or basins already described. At
the base of the principal terrace is a large area covered with shallow
pools some of them containing water, with all the ornamentations
perfect, while others are fast going to decay, and the decomposed
sediment is as white as snow. On this sub-terrace is a remarkable cone
about 50 feet in height and 20 feet in diameter at the base. Its form
has suggested the name of Liberty Cap. It is undoubtedly the remains
of an extinct geyser. The water was forced up with considerable power,
and probably without intermission, building up its own crater until
the pressure beneath was exhausted, and the spring gradually closed
itself over at the summit and perished. No water flows from it at the
present time. The layers of lime were deposited around the cap like
the layers of straw on a thatched roof, or hay on a conical stack. Not
far from the Liberty Cap is a smaller cone, called, from its form, the
"Bee-hive." These springs are constantly changing their position; some
die out, others burst out in new places. On the northwest margin of
the main terrace are examples of what have been called oblong mounds.
There are several of them in this region, extending in different
directions, from fifty to one hundred and fifty yards in length, from
six to ten feet high, and from ten to fifteen feet broad at the base.
There is in all cases a fissure from one end of the summit to the
other, usually from six to ten inches wide, from which steam sometimes
issues in considerable quantities, and on walking along the top one
can hear the water seething and boiling below like a cauldron. The
inner portion of the shell, as far down as can be seen, is lined with
a hard, white enamel-like porcelain; in some places beautiful crystals
of sulphur have been precipitated from the steam. These mounds have
been built up by a kind of oblong fissure-spring in the same way that
the cones have been constructed. The water, continually spouting up,
deposited sediment around the edges of the fissure until the force was
exhausted, and then the calcareous basin was rounded up something like
a thatched roof by overlapping layers.

[Illustration: THE LIBERTY CAP.]

Near the upper terrace, which is really an old rim, are a number of
these extinct, oblong geysers, some of which have been broken down
so as to show them to be mere shells or caverns, now the abode of
wild animals. Dr. Hayden attempted to enter one of them, and found it
full of sticks and bones which had been carried in by wild beasts;
and swarms of bats flitted to and fro. Some of the mounds have been
worn away so that sections are exposed, showing the great number
and thickness of the overlapping layers of sediment. Many mounds
are overgrown with pine-trees, which must be at least eighty or a
hundred years old. Indeed, the upper part of this mountain appears
like a magnificent ruin of a once flourishing village of these unique
structures, now fast decomposing, yet beautiful and instructive
in their decay. One may now study the layers of deposit, sometimes
thousands on a single mound, as he would the rings of growth in a
tree. How long a period is required to form one of these mounds, or to
build up its beautiful structure, there is no data for determining. On
the middle terrace, where the principal portion of the active springs
are, some of the pine-trees are buried in sediment apparently to the
depth of six or eight feet. All of them are dead at the present time.
There is, however, evidence enough around the springs to show that
the mineral-water is precipitated with great rapidity. It is probable
that all the deposits in the immediate vicinity of the active springs
are constantly changing from the margin of the river to the top of the
White Mountain and return. The deposits upon the summit are extensive,
though now there is very little water issuing from the springs there,
and that is of low temperature. Quantities of steam are ever ascending
from the springs, and on damp mornings the entire slope of the mountain
is enveloped in clouds of vapor.

"But," observes Dr. Hayden, in summing up his account of this
indescribable locality, "it is to the wonderful variety of exquisitely
delicate colors that this picture owes the main part of its
attractiveness. The little orifices from which the hot water issues
are beautifully enamelled with the porcelain-like lining, and around
the edges a layer of sulphur is precipitated. As the water flows along
the valley, it lays down in its course a pavement more beautiful and
elaborate in its adornment than art has ever yet conceived. The sulphur
and the iron, with the green microscopic vegetation, tint the whole
with an illumination of which no decoration-painter has ever dreamed.
From the sides of the oblong mound, which is here from 30 to 50 feet
high, the water has oozed out at different points, forming small groups
of the semicircular, step-like basins.

"Again, if we look at the principal group of springs from the high
mound above the middle terrace, we can see the same variety of
brilliant coloring. The wonderful transparency of the water surpasses
anything of the kind I have ever seen in any other portion of the
world. The sky, with the smallest cloud that flits across it, is
reflected in its clear depths, and the ultramarine colors, more
vivid than the sea, are greatly heightened by the constant gentle
vibrations. One can look down into the clear depths and see, with
perfect distinctness, the minutest ornament on the inner sides of the
basins; and the exquisite beauty of the coloring and the variety of
forms baffle any attempt to portray them, either with pen or pencil.
And then, too, around the borders of these springs, especially those
of rather low temperature, and on the sides and bottoms of the numerous
little channels of the streams that flow from these springs, there is
a striking variety of the most vivid colors. I can only compare them
to our most brilliant aniline dyes--various shades of red, from the
brightest scarlet to a bright rose tint; also yellow, from deep-bright
sulphur, through all the shades, to light cream-color. There are also
various shades of green, from the peculiar vegetation. These springs
are also filled with minute vegetable forms, which under the microscope
prove to be diatoms, among which Dr. Billings discovers _Palmella_
and _Oscillara_. There are also in the little streams that flow from
the boiling springs great quantities of a fibrous, silky substance,
apparently vegetable, which vibrates at the slightest movement of the
water, and has the appearance of the finest quality of cashmere wool.
When the waters are still these silken masses become incrusted with
lime, the delicate vegetable threads disappear, and a fibrous, spongy
mass remains, like delicate snow-white coral."

The antiquity of these springs is a question of great interest, yet
difficult of solution. When were these immense deposits begun? On the
margin of the mountain, high above the present position of the hot
springs, is a bed of white, or yellowish white limestone, from fifty
to a hundred and fifty feet thick. It is regularly stratified and the
jointing is complete. There is a belt a mile long and one fourth of a
mile wide, covered with cubical masses of this rock that have fallen
down the slope of the mountain. These immense blocks, fifty to one
hundred feet in each dimension, appear as if the mass had slowly fallen
down as the underlying rocks were worn away. So thickly is this belt
covered with these huge masses that it is with the greatest difficulty
one can walk across it. It would seem that this bed must at one time
have extended over a portion or all of the valley of Gardiner's
River. Much of the rock is very compact, and would make beautiful
building-stone, on account of its close texture and color, and it could
be converted into the whitest of lime. If the rocks are examined,
however, over a considerable area, they are found to possess all the
varieties of structure of a hot-spring deposit. Some portions are quite
spongy, and decompose readily; others are made up of very thin laminæ,
regular or wavy; enough to show the origin of the deposit without a
doubt. But in what manner was it formed? Dr. Hayden believes that the
limestone was precipitated in the bottom of a lake, which was filled
with hot-springs, much as the calcareous matter is laid down in the
bottom of the ocean at the present time. Indeed, portions of the rock
do not differ materially from the recent limestones now forming in the
vicinity of the West India Islands. The deposit was evidently laid down
on a nearly level surface, with a moderately uniform thickness, and
the strata are horizontal. Since this group of strata was formed, the
country has been elevated, and the valley of Gardiner's River has been
carved out, so that the commencement of the period of activity of these
springs must date back to a period merging on, but just prior to, the
present geological period--probably at the time of the greatest action
of the volcanic forces in this region.

Classed with reference to their chemical constituents, the springs here
and elsewhere in the Yellowstone Valley are of two kinds: those in
which lime predominates, and those in which silica is most abundant.
The springs of Gardiner's River are mainly the former. Where does the
lime come from? The geology of the country surrounding the springs
shows already that there is underneath the spring deposits, at least a
thickness of 1,500 feet, of carboniferous limestone; and if the origin
of the heat which so elevates the temperature of the waters of these
springs is as deep seated as is generally supposed, the heated waters
have ample time and space for dissolving the calcareous rocks through
which they flow.



About a mile above the springs, Gardiner's River separates into three
branches--the East, Middle, and West Forks, which rise high up in the
mountains, among perpetual snows. They wind their way across a broad
plateau covered mostly with a dense growth of pines, but with some
broad, open, meadow-like spots, which, seen from some high mountain
peak, lend a rare charm to the landscape. After gathering a sufficient
supply of water, they commence wearing their channels down into the
volcanic rocks, deeper and deeper as they descend. Each one has its
water-fall, which would fill an artist with enthusiasm. From the high
ridge between the East and Middle Forks a fine view is obtained of the
surrounding country.

Far to the southwest are lofty peaks covered with snow, rising to the
height of 10,000 feet, and forming a part of the magnificent range
of mountains that separates the Yellowstone from the sources of the
Gallatin. From this high ridge one can look down into the chasm of the
Middle Fork, carved out of the basalt and basaltic conglomerates to
the depth of 500 to 800 feet, with nearly vertical sides. In the sides
of this cañon, as well as those of the East Fork, splendid examples of
basaltic columns are displayed, as perfect as those of the celebrated
Fingal's Cave. They usually appear in regular rows, vertical, five and
six sided, but far more sharply cut than elsewhere seen in the West,
though occasionally the columns are spread out in the form of a fan.
Sometimes there are several rows, usually about fifty feet high, one
above the other, with conglomerate between.

The cañon is about 500 yards from margin to margin at top, but narrows
down until on the bottom it is not more than forty yards wide. At one
point the water pours over a declivity of 300 feet or more, forming a
most beautiful cascade. The direct fall is over 100 feet. The constant
roar of the water is like that of a train of cars in motion. The pines
are very dense, usually of moderate size, and among them are many open
spaces, covered with stout grass, sometimes with large sage-bushes.
Upon the high hills the vegetation is remarkably luxuriant, indicating
great fertility of soil, which is usually very thick, and made up
mostly of degraded igneous rocks. Above the falls the rows of vertical,
basaltic columns continue in the walls of the cañon, and they may well
be ranked among the remarkable wonders of this rare wonder-land. The
lower portion of the cañon is composed of rather coarse igneous rocks,
which have a jointage and a style of weathering like granite. The West
Fork rolls over a bed of basalt, which is divided into blocks that give
the walls the appearance of mason-work on a gigantic scale. Below the
falls the river has cut the sides of the mountain, exposing a vertical
section 400 feet high, with the same irregular jointage.

South of the hot springs is a round dome-like mountain, rising 2,100
feet above them, or 8,500 feet above the sea. Its summit commands a
prospect from thirty to fifty miles in every direction. To the north
and west stands a group of lofty peaks over 10,000 feet above the
sea, and covered with huge masses of snow. These peaks form a part of
the range that separates the waters of the Gallatin from those of the
Yellowstone. Farther on to the southward are the peaks of the head
of the Madison, and in the interval one black mass of pine forest,
covering high plateaus, with no point rising over 8,500 feet above the
sea--the whole region being more or less wavy or rolling, interspersed
here and there with beautiful lakes a few hundred yards in diameter;
and here and there a bright-green grassy valley through which little
streams wind their way to the large rivers. In one of these lakes the
explorers saw the greatest abundance of yellow water-lily, which blooms
in great profusion on the surface of all the mountain lakes of the
Yellowstone Basin. On the east side of Gardiner's Cañon, and west of
the Yellowstone, is a sort of wave-like series of ridges, with broad,
open, grassy interspaces, with many groves of pines. These ridges
gradually slope down to the Yellowstone, northeast. Far to the east and
north is one jagged mass of volcanic peaks, some of them snow-clad,
others bald and desolate to the eye. Far to the south, dimly outlined
on the horizon, may be seen the three Tetons and Madison Peak--monarchs
of all the region. A grander view could not well be conceived.

Leaving Gardiner's River, Dr. Hayden's party ascended the broad slope
of the dividing ridge between that river and the streamlets which flow
into the Yellowstone. Immense boulders of massive granite, considerably
rounded, are a marked feature of the country about the entrance of
the East Fork. One of these, a mass of red feldspathic granite, is
twenty-five feet thick and fifty feet long. The high wavy ridge,
9,000 feet above the sea, is composed of beds of steel-gray and brown
sandstone and calcareous clay, in which are numerous impressions
of deciduous leaves. Vast quantities of silicified wood of great
perfection and beauty are scattered all over the surface. In some cases
long trees have been turned to agate, the rings of growth as perfectly
shown as in recent wood. The soil is very thick, and covered with
luxuriant vegetation.

"We were travelling through this region in the latter part of the month
of July," writes Dr. Hayden, "and all the vegetation seemed to be in
the height of its growth and beauty. The meadows were covered densely
with grass and flowers of many varieties, and among the pines were
charming groves of poplars, contrasting strongly by their peculiar
enlivening foliage with the sombre hue of the pines. The climate was
perfect, and in the midst of some of the most remarkable scenery in the
world, every hour of our march only increased our enthusiasm.

"The climate during the months of June, July, and August, in this
valley, cannot be surpassed in the world for its health-giving powers.
The finest of mountain water, fish in the greatest abundance, with
a good supply of game of all kinds, fully satisfy the wants of the
traveller, and render this valley one of the most attractive places of
resort for invalids or pleasure-seekers in America."

From the summit of the ridge the party descended to the valley of the
Yellowstone, nearly opposite the mouth of the East Fork of that river.
The road was a rough one. During the period of volcanic action in this
region, the sedimentary rocks were crumpled into high, sharp, wave-like
series of ridges; from innumerable fissures, igneous matter was poured
out over the surface cooling into basalt; and from volcanic vents was
also thrown out, into the great lake, rock fragments and volcanic dust,
which were arranged by the water and cemented into a breccia. Deep into
these ridges the little streams have cut their channels, forming what
should be called valleys, rather than cañons, with almost vertical
sides. These ravines, 500 to 800 feet deep, covered mostly with grass
or trees, occur in great numbers, many of them entirely dry at present,
but attesting the presence and power, at no very remote period, of
aqueous forces compared with which those of the present are utterly

Before studying this portion of the Yellowstone Valley, it may be well
to retrace our steps to the mouth of Gardiner's River, to explore the
Third Cañon of the Yellowstone, so far as possible, and the rest of its
interesting valley up to this point.

As already noticed, the country about the mouth of Gardiner's River
is desolate and gloomy. The hill-slopes are covered with sage brush,
the constant sign of arid soil, and grass is scarce. This is the
first poor camping-place on the route. The cañon being impassable,
the trail passes to the right, crossing several high mountain-spurs,
over which the way is much obstructed by fallen timber, and reaching
at last a high rolling plateau. This elevated tract is about thirty
miles in extent, with a general declivity to the north. Its surface is
an undulating prairie, dotted with groves of pine and aspen. Numerous
lakes are scattered throughout its whole extent, and great numbers of
springs, which flow down the slopes, are lost in the volume of the
Yellowstone. The river breaks through this plateau in a winding cañon
over 2,000 feet in depth--the middle cañon of the Yellowstone rolling
over volcanic boulders in some places, and in others forming still
pools of seemingly fathomless depth. At one point it dashes to and fro,
lashed to a white foam on its rocky bed; at another, where a deep basin
occurs in the channel, it subsides into a crystal mirror. Numerous
small cascades are seen tumbling from the rocky walls at different
points and the river appears from the lofty summits a mere ribbon of
foam in the immeasurable distance below. Standing on the brink of the
chasm the heavy roaring of the imprisoned river comes to the ear only
in a sort of hollow, hungry growl, scarcely audible from the depths.
Lofty pines on the bank of the stream "dwindle to shrubs in dizziness
of distance." Everything beneath, says Lieut. Doane, has a weird and
deceptive appearance. The water does not look like water, but like oil.
Numerous fish-hawks are seen busily plying their vocation, sailing
high above the waters, and yet a thousand feet below the spectator. In
the clefts of the rocks down, hundreds of feet down, bald eagles have
their eyries, from which one can see them swooping still farther into
the depths to rob the ospreys of their hard-earned trout. It is grand,
gloomy, and terrible; a solitude peopled with fantastic ideas; an
empire of shadows and of turmoil.

The plateau formation is of lava, generally in horizontal layers, as it
cooled in a surface flow, yet upheaved in many places into wave-like
undulations. Occasionally granite shafts protrude through the strata,
forming landmarks of picturesque form. Like dark icebergs stranded in
an ocean of green, they rise high above the tops of the trees in wooded
districts, or stand out grim and solid on the grassy expanse of the


Near the head of the Third Cañon a stream flows into the Yellowstone
from the northeast, bearing the sonorous title, Hell-Roaring River. It
is quite a large stream, rising high among the mountains, and flowing
with tremendous impetuosity down the deep gorges. The mountains on
either side come close down to the channel of the Yellowstone, and
are among the most rugged in this rugged region. A huge peak of this
sort, composed of stratified gneiss, with deep strata of massive red
and grey granite, stands at the mouth of Hell-Roaring River, and takes
to itself the same imposing name. A short distance above the mouth of
Hell Roaring River, the East Fork of the Yellowstone comes in from
the southeast. Its sources are high up among the most rugged and
inaccessible portions of the basaltic range, several jagged peaks which
rise from 10,000 to 11,000 feet above the sea.

"The summits of these high peaks," observes Mr. Hayden, "are all close,
compact trachyte, while all around the sides are built up walls of
stratified conglomerate. It is plain that all of them are the nuclei
of old volcanoes. The trachyte may sometimes be concealed by the
conglomerates, but I am inclined to think that each one has formed a
centre of effusion. Large quantities of silicified wood are found among
the conglomerates, mostly inclosed in the volcanic cement, evidently
thrown out of the active craters with the fragments of basalt. My
impression is, that when the old volcanoes disgorged their contents
into the great lake of waters around, they threw out also portions
from the sedimentary formations, and thus the silicified wood comes
from the Tertiary or Cretaceous beds, which may have formed the upper
part of the walls of the crater. At any rate, these woods belong to
the Coal Series of the West, and they are scattered profusely among
the conglomerates. Interlaced among the massive beds of volcanic
conglomerates are some layers of a light-grey or whitish sandy
clay, which show that the whole breccia or conglomerates, with the
intercalated layers of clay or sand, were deposited in water like any
sedimentary water rocks."

Interesting ruins of ancient springs abound in this valley. Mr. Hayden
describes one, a very curious mammiform mound of calcareous deposit,
about forty feet high, built up by overlapping layers like those of
Liberty Cap on Gardiner's River.

"This cone is a complete ruin. No water issues from it at the present
time, and none of the springs in the vicinity are above the ordinary
temperature of brook-water; sulphur, alum, and other chemical deposits
are abundant. This old ruin is a fine example of the tendency of the
cone to close up its summit in its dying stages. The top of the cone
is somewhat broken; but it is eighteen feet in diameter at this time,
and near the centre there is a hole or chimney two inches in diameter,
plainly a steam-vent. This marks the closing history of this spring.
The inner portions of this small chimney are lined with white enamel,
thickly coated with sulphur, which gives it a sulphur-yellow hue. The
base upon which the cone rests varies in thickness. On the east side
huge masses have been broken off, exposing a vertical wall twenty feet
high, built up of thin horizontal laminæ of limestone. On the west side
the wall is not quite as high, perhaps eight or ten feet. It would
seem, therefore, that it was at first an overflowing spring, depositing
thin horizontal layers until it built up a broad base ten to twenty
feet in height; then it gradually became a spouting spring, building
up with overlapping layers like the thatch on a house, until it closed
itself at the top and ceased."

In the tongue that runs down between the junction of the East Fork and
the Yellowstone, there is a singular _butte_ cut off from the main
range, which at once attracts the traveller's attention. The basis or
lower portion of the _butte_ is granite, while the summit is capped
with the modern basalt, and the _débris_ on the sides and at the base
is remarkable in quantity, and has very much the appearance of an
anthracite coal-heap. This _butte_ will always form a conspicuous
landmark, not only on account of its position, but also from its
peculiar shape and structure.

Just below the junction of the East Fork the first and only bridge
across the Yellowstone was constructed in 1870 for the accommodation
of miners bound for the "diggings" on Clark's Fork. It was a work of
considerable boldness, as the river is some two hundred feet wide, and
flows with great rapidity over its narrow and rocky channel.

A short distance above the bridge, on the west side of the Yellowstone,
is a splendid exhibition of black micaceous gneiss, forming a vertical
wall on the right side of a little creek, while on the left the entire
mass of the hills for miles in extent is composed of the usual igneous
rocks. Through these rocks the stream, now not more than four feet wide
and six inches deep, has cut a channel from two hundred to four hundred
yards wide, through the hardest rocks to a depth varying from five
hundred to a thousand feet!

Further up the Yellowstone, on the same side, are a number of wonderful
ravines and cañons carved in like manner into the very heart of the
mountains. Most conspicuous of these is the Cañon of Tower Greek.
Before reaching that stream, however, Column Rock, a noticeable
feature in a landscape of great extent and beauty, demands at least a
passing notice. Column Cliff would be a more appropriate name, since
it extends along the east bank of the river upwards of two miles. Says
Mr. Langford, whose observations were made from the west side: "At
the distance from which we saw it, we could compare it in appearance
to nothing but a section of the Giant's Causeway. It was composed of
successive pillars of basalt overlying and underlying a thick stratum
of cement and gravel resembling pudding-stone. In both rows, the
pillars, standing in close proximity, were each about thirty feet high
and from three to five feet in diameter. This interesting object,
more from the novelty of its formation and its beautiful surroundings
of mountain and river scenery than anything grand or impressive in
its appearance, excited our attention, until the gathering shades of
evening reminded us of the necessity of selecting a suitable camp."

Tower Creek rises in the high divide between the valleys of the
Missouri and the Yellowstone, and flows for about ten miles through
a cañon so deep and gloomy that it has earned the appellation,
"Devil's Den." About two hundred yards above its entrance into the
Yellowstone, the stream pours over an abrupt descent of one hundred
and fifty-six feet, forming one of the most beautiful falls to be
found in any country. These falls are about 260 feet above the level
of the Yellowstone at the junction, and are surrounded with columns of
volcanic breccia, rising fifty feet above the falls and extending down
to the foot, standing like gloomy sentinels, or like gigantic pillars
at the entrance of some grand temple. "One could almost imagine," says
Dr. Hayden, "that the idea of the Gothic style of architecture had been
caught from such carvings of nature."

Speaking of the symmetry of some of these columns, Mr. Langford says:

"Some resemble towers, others the spires of churches, and others still
shoot up as lithe and slender as the minarets of a mosque. Some of
the loftiest of these formations, standing like sentinels upon the
very brink of the fall, are accessible to an expert and adventurous
climber. The position attained on one of their narrow summits, amid the
uproar of waters and at a height of 250 feet above the boiling chasm,
as the writer can affirm, requires a steady head and strong nerves;
yet the view which rewards the temerity of the exploit is full of
compensations. Below the fall the stream descends in numerous rapids,
with frightful velocity, through a gloomy gorge, to its union with the
Yellowstone. Its bed is filled with enormous boulders, against which
the rushing waters break with great fury.

Many of the capricious formations wrought from the shale excite
merriment as well as wonder. Of this kind especially was a huge mass
sixty feet in height, which, from its supposed resemblance to the
proverbial foot of his Satanic Majesty, we called the "Devil's Hoof."
The scenery of mountain, rock, and forest surrounding the falls is very
beautiful. Here, too, the hunter and fisherman can indulge their tastes
with the certainty of ample reward. As a half-way resort to the greater
wonders still farther up the marvellous river, the visitor of future
years will find no more delightful resting-place. The name of "Tower
Falls," which we gave it, was suggested by some of the most conspicuous
features of the scenery."

[Illustration: THE DEVIL'S HOOF.]

The sides of the chasm are worn into caverns lined with
variously-tinted mosses, nourished by clouds of spray which rise
from the cataract; while above, and to the left, a spur from the
great plateau rises over all, with a perpendicular front of 400 feet.
The fall is accessible both at the brink and at the foot, and fine
views can be obtained from either side of the cañon. In appearance
it strongly resembles Minnehaha, but is several times as high, and
the volume of water is at least eight times as great. In the basin a
large petrified log was found imbedded in the débris. "Nothing," says
Lieutenant Doane, "can be more chastely beautiful than this lovely
cascade, hidden away in the dim light of overshadowing rocks and woods,
its very voice hushed to a low murmur, unheard at the distance of a few
hundred yards. Thousands might pass by within a half mile and not dream
of its existence; but once seen, it passes to the list of most pleasant

Along the Yellowstone, near the mouth of Tower Creek, is a system
of small mineral springs distributed for a distance of two miles in
the bottom of the deep cañon through which the river runs. Several
of these springs have a temperature at the boiling point; many are
highly sulphurous, holding, in fact, more sulphur than they can carry
in solution, and depositing it in yellowish beds along their courses.
Several of them are impregnated with iron, alum, and other substances.
Their sulphurous fumes can be detected at the distance of half a mile.
The excess of sulphur in the rock-walls of the cañon give a brilliant
yellow color to the rocks in many places. The formation is usually very
friable, falling with a natural slope to the edge of the stream, but
occasionally masses of a more solid nature project from the wall in
curious shapes of towers, minarets, and the like; while over all the
solid ledge of trap, with its dark and well-defined columns, makes a
rich and beautiful border inclosing the pictured rocks below.

This is the mouth of the Grand Cañon of the Yellowstone.



The Upper or Grand Cañon of the Yellowstone extends from the mouth
of Tower Creek to the foot of the Great Fall, a distance of twenty
miles. It is impassable throughout its entire length, and accessible
to the water's edge only at few points and by dint of severe labor.
The trail ascends the divide between Tower Creek and the Yellowstone,
skirting for six or eight miles the cañon of Tower Creek. The ground
rises rapidly and is much broken by creek-beds running parallel with
the river. Following the highest ridges, the first explorers reached
at last a point whence they could overlook the Grand Cañon cleaving
the slopes and breaking through the lofty mountain ranges in front.
Here they caught their first glimpse of a phenomenon afterwards to
become a familiar sight to them. Through the mountain gap formed by the
cañon, and on the interior slopes some twenty miles distant, an object
appeared which drew a simultaneous expression of wonder from every one
in the party. It was a column of steam, rising from the dense woods to
the height of several hundred feet. They had all heard fabulous stories
of this region, and were somewhat skeptical of appearances. At first it
was pronounced a fire in the woods, but presently some one noticed that
the vapor rose in regular puffs, as if expelled with a great force.
Then conviction was forced upon them. It was, indeed, a great column of
steam, puffing away on the lofty mountain side, with a roaring sound,
audible at a long distance, even through the heavy forest. A hearty
cheer rang out at this discovery, and they pressed onward with renewed

The highest peak of this ridge was named by the first company who
climbed it--Mount Washburn--in honor of their leader. The view from
its summit is "grand beyond description;" yet some conception of its
grandeur can be formed, let us hope, from the graphic review of its
more striking features by Lieutenant Doane.

"Looking northward, the great plateau stretches away from the base
of the mountain to the front and left with its innumerable groves
and sparkling waters, a variegated landscape of surpassing beauty,
bounded on its extreme verge by the cañons of the Yellowstone. The pure
atmosphere of this lofty region causes every outline of tree, rock, or
lakelet to be visible with wonderful distinctness, and objects twenty
miles away appear as if very near at hand. Still further to the left
the snowy ranges on the headwaters of Gardiner's River stretch away to
the westward, joining those on the head of the Gallatin, and forming,
with the Elephant's Back, a continuous chain, bending constantly to
the south, the rim of the Yellowstone Basin. On the verge of the
horizon appear, like mole-hills in the distance, and far below, the
white summits above the Gallatin Valley. These never thaw during the
summer months, though several thousand feet lower than where we now
stand upon the bare granite, and no snow visible near, save in the
depths of shaded ravines. Beyond the plateau to the right front is the
deep valley of the East Fork bearing away eastward, and still beyond,
ragged volcanic peaks, heaped in inextricable confusion, as far as the
limit of vision extends. On the east, close beneath our feet, yawns
the immense gulf of the Grand Cañon, cutting away the bases of two
mountains in forcing a passage through the range. Its yellow walls
divide the landscape nearly in a straight line to the junction of Warm
Spring (Tower) Creek below. The ragged edges of the chasm are from two
hundred to five hundred yards apart, its depth so profound that the
river bed is nowhere visible. No sound reaches the ear from the bottom
of the abyss; the sun's rays are reflected on the farther wall and then
lost in the darkness below. The mind struggles and then falls back upon
itself, despairing in the efforts to grasp by a single thought the idea
of its immensity. Beyond, a gentle declivity, sloping from the summit
of the broken range, extends to the limit of vision, a wilderness of
unbroken pine forest.

"Turning southward, a new and strange scene bursts upon the view.
Filling the whole field of vision, and with its boundaries in
the verge of the horizon, lies the great volcanic basin of the
Yellowstone--nearly circular in form, from fifty to seventy-five
miles in diameter; and with a general depression of about 2,000 feet
below the summits of the great ranges which form its outer rim. Mount
Washburn lies in the point of the circumference, northeast from the
centre of the basin; far away in the southwest, the three great Tetons
on Snake River fill another space in the circle; connecting these two
highest are crescent ranges, one westward and south, past Gardiner's
River and the Gallatin, bounding the lower Madison, thence to the
Jefferson and by the Snake River range to the Tetons; another eastward
and south, a continuous range by the head of Rose Bud, inclosing the
sources of the Snake, and joining the Tetons beyond. Between the south
and west points, this vast circle is broken through in many places
for the passage of the rivers; but a single glance at the interior
slopes of the ranges shows that a former complete connection existed,
and that the great basin has been one vast crater of a now extinct
volcano. The nature of the rocks, the steepness and outline of the
interior walls, together with other peculiarities to be mentioned
hereafter, render this conclusion a certainty. The lowest point in
this great amphitheatre lies directly in front of us, and about eight
miles distant: a grassy valley, branching between low ridges, running
from the river toward the centre of the basin. A small stream rises in
this valley, breaking through the ridges to the west in a deep cañon,
and falling into the channel of the Yellowstone, which here bears in a
northeast course, flowing in view as far as the confluence of the small
stream, thence plunged into the Grand Cañon, and hidden from sight. No
falls can be seen, but their location is readily detected by the sudden
disappearance of the river; beyond this open valley the basin appears
to be filled with a succession of low, converging ridges, heavily
timbered, and all of about an equal altitude.

"To the south appears a broad sheet of water--the Yellowstone Lake.
Across the Grand Cañon, on the slope of the great mountain wall, is the
steam jet seen this morning; and in the next ravine beyond it are six
more of inferior volume. Still farther south are others, to the number
of perhaps twenty, and to the southwest more of them, scattered over
the vast expanse of the basin, rising from behind the wooded hills in
every direction. The view in this respect strongly resembles that from
the Alleghanies, where they overlook iron and coal districts, with all
their furnaces in active operation, save that one looks in vain here
for the thrifty towns, country villas, steamboats, and railroad depots."

Does this picture seem overdrawn? The briefer and less enthusiastic
description of Dr. Hayden confirms its truth, though he does not accept
in full Lieutenant Doane's interpretation of it. He says, in his
official report:

"The view from the summit of Mount Washburn is one of the finest I have
ever seen, and although the atmosphere was somewhat obscured by smoke,
yet an area of fifty to one hundred miles radius in every direction
could be seen more or less distinctly. We caught the first glimpse
of the great basin of the Yellowstone, with the lake, which reminded
one much, from its bays, indentations, and surrounding mountains, of
Great Salt Lake. To the south are the Tetons, rising high above all the
rest, the monarchs of all they survey, with their summits covered with
perpetual snow. To the southwest an immense area of dense pine forests
extends for one hundred miles without a peak rising above the black,
level mass. A little farther to the southwest and west are the Madison
Mountains, a lofty, grand, snow-capped range, extending far to the
northward. Nearer and in full view, to the west commence the bold peaks
of the Gallatin Range, extending northward as far as the eye can reach.
To the north we get a full view of the valley of the Yellowstone, with
the lofty ranges that wall it in. Emigrant Peak, and the splendid group
of mountains of which it is a part, can be clearly seen, and lose none
of their marvellous beauty of outline, view them from what point we
may. To the north and east the eye scans the most remarkable chaotic
mass of peaks of the most rugged character, apparently without system,
yet sending their jagged summits high up among the clouds. Farther
distant are somewhat more regular ranges, snow-covered, probably the
Big Horn. But with all this magnificent scenery around us from every
side, the greatest beauty was the lake, in full view to the southeast,
set like a gem amid the high mountains, which are literally bristling
with peaks, many of them capped with snow. These are all of volcanic
origin, and the fantastic shapes which many of them have assumed under
the hand of time, called forth a variety of names from my party. There
were two of them that represented the human profile so well that we
called them the "Giant's Face "and "Old Man of the Mountain." These
formed good landmarks for the topographer, for they were visible from
every point of the basin."

As regards the geological character of the country seen from Mount
Washburn, Dr. Hayden observes, in discussing the geology of the region:

"We may say, in brief, that the entire basin of the Yellowstone is
volcanic. I am not prepared to pronounce it a crater, with a lake
occupying the inner portion, while the mountains that surround the
basin are the ruins of this great crater; but, at a period not very
remote in the geological past, this whole country was a scene of
wonderful volcanic activity. I regard the hot springs so abundant all
over the valley as the last stages of this grand scene. Hot springs,
geysers, etc., are so intimately connected with what we usually term
volcanoes that their origin and action admit of the same explanation.
Both undoubtedly form safety-valves or vents for the escape of the
powerful forces that have been generated in the interior of the earth
since the commencement of our present period; the true volcanic action
has ceased, but the safety-valves are the thousands of hot springs all
over this great area. I believe that the time of the greatest volcanic
activity occurred during the Pliocene period--smoke, ashes, fragments
of rock, and lava poured forth from thousands of orifices into the
surrounding waters. Hundreds of cones were built up, fragments of which
still remain; and around them were arranged by the water the dust and
fragments of rock, the _ejectamenta_ of these volcanoes, in the form of
the conglomerate or breccia as we find it now. These orifices may have
been of every possible form--rounded or oblong, mere fissures, perhaps,
extending for miles, and building up their own crater rims as the hot
springs build up their rounded, conical peaks or oblong mounds at the
present time."

Leaving Mount Washburn, with its summit piles of basalt, and its
precipitous slope scattered with agates and beautiful fragments of
sardonyx, chalcedony, and malachite, let us descend to the valley.

The trail pursues a tortuous way to avoid the fallen timber and the
dense groves of pine, descending the almost vertical inner sides of the
rim of the Yellowstone Basin, to the valley of a small creek. Two or
three miles down this stream is a hideous glen, filled with sulphurous
vapor emitted from six or eight boiling springs of great size and
activity. Mr. Langford says of this unsavory place:

"It looked like nothing earthly we had ever seen, and the pungent fumes
which filled the atmosphere were not unaccompanied by a disagreeable
sense of possible suffocation. Entering the basin cautiously, we found
the entire surface of the earth covered with the incrusted sinter
thrown from the springs. Jets of hot vapor were expelled through
a hundred natural orifices with which it was pierced, and through
every fracture made by passing over it. The springs themselves were
as diabolical in appearance as the witches' caldron in Macbeth, and
needed but the presence of Hecate and her weird band to realize that
horrible creation of poetic fancy. They were all in a state of violent
ebullition, throwing their liquid contents to the height of three or
four feet. The largest had a basin twenty by forty feet in diameter.
Its greenish-yellow water was covered with bubbles, which were
constantly rising, bursting, and emitting sulphurous gas from various
parts of its surface. The central spring seethed and bubbled like a
boiling caldron. Fearful volumes of vapor were constantly escaping it.
Near it was another, not so large, but more infernal in appearance.
Its contents, of the consistency of paint, were in constant, noisy
ebullition. A stick thrust into it, on being withdrawn, was coated
with lead-colored slime a quarter of an inch in thickness. Nothing
flows from this spring. Seemingly, it is boiling down. A fourth spring,
which exhibited the same physical features, was partly covered by an
overhanging ledge of rock. We tried to fathom it, but the bottom was
beyond the reach of the longest pole we could find. Rocks cast into it
increased the agitation of its waters. There were several other springs
in the group, smaller in size, but presenting the same characteristics.

"The approach to them was unsafe, the incrustation surrounding them
bending in many places beneath our weight,--and from the fractures thus
created would ooze a sulphury slime of the consistency of mucilage.
It was with great difficulty that we obtained specimens from the
natural apertures with which the crust is filled,--a feat which was
accomplished by one only of our party, who extended himself at full
length upon that portion of the incrustation which yielded the least,
but which was not sufficiently strong to bear his weight while in an
upright position, and at imminent risk of sinking into the infernal
mixture, rolled over and over to the edge of the opening, and with the
crust slowly bending and sinking beneath him, hurriedly secured the
coveted prize."

[Illustration: GETTING A SPECIMEN.]

"There was something so revolting in the general appearance of the
springs and their surroundings--the foulness of the vapors, the
infernal contents, the treacherous incrustation, the noisy ebullition,
the general appearance of desolation, and the seclusion and wildness
of the location--that, though awestruck, we were not unreluctant to
continue our journey without making them a second visit."

Once more our amateur explorers had recourse to their western
vocabulary, and bestowed on this unhappy locality the title,
"Hell-broth Springs"--which, says the historian of the expedition,
"fully expressed our appreciation of their character."

The following season this remarkable group of springs was thoroughly
examined by the party under Dr. Hayden. That careful observer says:

"They are evidently diminishing in power, but the rims all around
reveal the most powerful manifestations far back in the past. Sulphur,
copper, alum, and soda cover the surface. There is also precipitated
around the borders of some of the mud springs a white efflorescence,
probably nitrate of potash. These springs are located on the side of
the mountain, nearly 1,000 feet above the margin of the cañon, but
extend along into the level portions below.... One of these springs was
bubbling quite briskly, but had a temperature of only 100°. Near it is
a turbid spring of 170°. In the valley are a large number of turbid,
mud, and boiling springs, with temperatures from 175° to 185°. There
are a number of springs that issue from the side of the mountain, and
the waters, gathering into one channel, flow into the Yellowstone, The
number of frying or simmering springs is great. The ground in many
places, for several yards in every direction, is perforated like a
sieve, and the water bubbles by with a simmering noise. There is one
huge boiling spring which deposits fine black mud all around the sides.
The depth of the crater of this spring, its dark, gloomy appearance,
and the tremendous force which it manifested in its operations, led
us to name it the "Devil's Caldron." There are a large number of
springs here, but no true geysers. It is plainly the last stages of
what was once a most remarkable group. Extending across the cañon on
the opposite side of the Yellowstone, interrupted here and there, this
group of springs extends for several miles, forming one of the largest
deposits of silica, but only here and there are there signs of life.
Many of the dead springs are mere basins, with a thick deposit of iron
on the sides, lining the channel of the water that flows from them.
These vary in temperature from 98° to 120°. The highest temperature
was 192°. The steam-vents are very numerous, and the chimneys are
lined with sulphur. Where the crust can be removed, we find the under
side lined with the most delicate crystals of sulphur, which disappear
like frost-work at the touch. Still there is a considerable amount of
solid amorphous sulphur. The sulphur and the iron, with the vegetable
matter which is always very abundant about the springs, give, through
the almost infinite variety of shades, a most pleasing and striking
picture. One of the mud springs, with a basin twenty by twenty-five
feet, and six feet deep, is covered with large bubbles or puffs
constantly bursting with a thud. There are a number of high hills in
this vicinity entirely composed of the hot-spring deposits, at least
nine-tenths silica, appearing snowy-white in the distance; one of
the walls is 175 feet high, and another about 70 feet. They are now
covered to a greater or less extent with pines. Steam is constantly
issuing from vents around the base and from the sides of these hills.
There is one lake 100 by 300 yards, with a number of bubbling and
boiling springs rising to the surface. Near the shore is one of the
sieve-springs, with a great number of small perforations, from which
the water bubbles up with a simmering noise; temperature, 188°. This
group really forms one of the great ruins."

A short day's march from Hell-broth Spring brings the traveller to a
little stream flowing into the Yellowstone, between the upper and the
lower fall. From its rapid and tumultuous flow, the first explorers
called it Cascade Creek. Just before its union with the Yellowstone it
traverses a gloomy gorge cut through a kind of volcanic sandstone,
largely made up of fragments of obsidian and other igneous rocks
cemented with volcanic ash. This rock is worn by the water into so many
fantastic shapes and cavernous recesses, that--with their usual poverty
of invention and tartarean taste--the first observers straightway gave
the uncanny channel over to the Prince of Darkness, and dubbed it the
Devil's Den. A mile below this gorge the stream flows over a series
of ledges, making a cascade as beautiful as its previous course has
been weird and ugly. There is first a fall of five feet, which is
immediately succeeded by another of fifteen, into a pool as clear as
amber, nestled beneath overarching rocks. Here the stream lingers as if
half reluctant to continue its course, then gracefully emerges from the
grotto, and, veiling the rocks down an abrupt descent of eighty-four
feet, passes rapidly on to the Yellowstone. For a wonder, this charming
fall has received a corresponding name--Crystal Cascade. An infinite
variety of volcanic specimens, quartz, feldspar, mica, granites, lavas,
basalts, composite crystals--in fact, everything, from asbestos to
obsidian, is represented by fragments in the bed of this stream.

[Illustration: THE DEVIL'S DEN.]

At the foot of the gorge and on the margin of the Yellowstone stands a
high promontory of concretionary lava, literally filled with volcanic
butternuts. Many of these are loose, and can be taken out of the rock
with the hand; broken open, they are invariably hollow, and lined with
minute quartz crystals of various tints. This rare formation occurs
frequently in the great basin.



No language," says Dr. Hayden, "can do justice to the wonderful
grandeur and beauty of the Grand Cañon." It has no parallel in the
world. Through the eye alone can any just idea be gained of its
strange, awful, fascinating, unearthly blending of the majestic and
the beautiful; and, even in its visible presence, the mind fails to
comprehend the weird and unfamiliar, almost incredible scenes it
reveals. Says Mr. Langford: "The brain reels as we gaze into this
profound and solemn solitude. We shrink from the dizzy verge appalled,
glad to feel the solid earth under our feet, and venture no more,
except with forms extended, and faces barely protruding over the edge
of the precipice. The stillness is horrible. Down, down, down, we see
the river attenuated to a thread, tossing its miniature waves, and
dashing, with puny strength, against the massive walls which imprison
it. All access to its margin is denied, and the dark gray rocks hold
it in dismal shadow. Even the voice of its waters in their convulsive
agony cannot be heard. Uncheered by plant or shrub, obstructed with
massive boulders and by jutting points, it rushes madly on its solitary
course. The solemn grandeur of the scene surpasses description. The
sense of danger with which it impresses you is harrowing in the
extreme. You feel the absence of sound, the oppression of absolute
silence. If you could only hear that gurgling river, if you could see a
living tree in the depth beneath you, if a bird would fly past, if the
wind would move any object in the awful chasm, to break for a moment
the solemn silence that reigns there, it would relieve that tension of
the nerves which the scene has excited, and you would rise from your
prostrate condition and thank God that he had permitted you to gaze,
unharmed, upon this majestic display of natural architecture. As it
is, sympathizing in spirit with the deep gloom of the scene, you crawl
from the dreadful verge, scared lest the firm rock give way beneath and
precipitate you into the horrid gulf."

"The fearful descent into this terrific cañon," Mr. Langford adds, "was
accomplished with great difficulty by Messrs. Hauser and Stickney, at
a point about two miles below the falls. By trigonometrical measurement
they found the chasm at that point to be 1,190 feet deep. Their
ascent from it was perilous, and it was only by making good use of
hands and feet, and keeping the nerves braced to the utmost tension,
that they were enabled to clamber up the precipitous rocks to a safe

Lieutenant Doane also made the descent, somewhat further down the
river, accompanied by one of his company. Selecting the channel of
a small creek, they scrambled down its steep descent, wading in the

"On entering the ravine, we came at once to hot springs of sulphur,
sulphate of copper, alum, steam jets, etc., in endless variety, some
of them of very peculiar form. One of them in particular, of sulphur,
had built up a tall spire, standing out from the slope of the wall
like an enormous horn, with hot water trickling down its sides. The
creek ran on a bed of solid rock, in many places smooth and slippery,
in others obstructed by masses of débris from the overhanging cliffs
of the sulphureted limestone above. After descending for three miles
in the channel we came to a sort of bench or terrace, the same one
seen previously in following down the creek from our first camp in
the basin. Here we found a large flock of mountain sheep, very tame,
and greatly astonished, no doubt, at our sudden appearance. McConnell
killed one and wounded another, whereupon the rest disappeared,
clambering up the steep walls with a celerity truly astonishing. We
were now 1,500 feet below the brink. From here the creek channel was
more precipitous, and for a mile we made our way down over masses of
rock and fallen trees, splashing in warm water, ducking under cascades,
and skirting close against sidelong places to keep from falling into
boiling caldrons in the channel. After four hours of hard labor we
reached the bottom of the gulf and the margin of the Yellowstone,
famished with thirst, wet and exhausted. The river-water here is quite
warm, and of a villainously alum and sulphurous taste. Its margin is
lined with all kinds of chemical springs, some depositing craters of
calcareous rock, others muddy, black, blue, slaty, or reddish water.
The internal heat renders the atmosphere oppressive, though a strong
breeze draws through the cañon. A frying sound comes constantly to
the ear, mingled with the rush of the current. The place abounds with
sickening and purgatorial smells. We had come down the ravine at least
four miles, and looking upward the fearful wall appeared to reach the
sky. It was about three o'clock P.M., and stars could be distinctly
seen, so much of the sunlight was cut off from entering the chasm. Tall
pines on the extreme verge appeared the height of two or three feet.
The cañon, as before said, was in two benches, with a plateau on either
side, about half way down. This plateau, about a hundred yards in
width, looked from below like a mere shelf against the wall; the total
depth was not less than 2,500 feet, and more probably 3,000. There are
perhaps other cañons longer and deeper than this one, but surely none
combining grandeur and immensity with such peculiarity of formation and
profusion of volcanic or chemical phenomena."

The history of this tremendous chasm is not hard to read. Ages ago this
whole region was the basin of an immense lake. Then it became a centre
of volcanic activity; vast quantities of lava was erupted, which,
cooling under water, took the form of basalt; volumes of volcanic
ash and rock-fragments were thrown out from the craters from time to
time, forming breccia as it sunk through the water and mingled with
the deposits from silicious springs. Over this were spread the later
deposits from the waters of the old lake. In time the country was
slowly elevated, and the lake was drained away. The easily eroded
breccia along the river channel was cut out deeper and deeper as the
ages passed, while springs and creeks and the falling rain combined to
carve the sides of the cañon into the fantastic forms they now present,
by wearing away the softer rock, and leaving the hard basalt and the
firmer hot-spring deposits standing in massive columns and Gothic
pinnacles. The basis material of the old hot spring deposits in silica,
originally white as snow, are now stained by mineral waters with every
shade of red and yellow--from scarlet to rose color, from bright
sulphur to the daintiest tint of cream. When the light falls favorably
on these blended tints the Grand Cañon presents a more enchanting
and bewildering variety of forms and colors than human artist ever

The erosion was practically arrested at the upper end of the cañon by a
sudden transition from the softer breccia to hard basalt, and the falls
are the result. From below the Upper Fall the vertical wall of basalt
can be clearly seen passing diagonally across the rim. The Lower Fall
was formed in the same way.

"A grander scene than the lower cataract of the Yellowstone," writes
Mr. Langford, "was never witnessed by mortal eyes. The volume seemed
to be adapted to all the harmonies of the surrounding scenery. Had
it been greater or smaller it would have been less impressive. The
river, from a width of two hundred feet above the fall, is compressed
by converging rocks to one hundred and fifty feet, where it takes the
plunge. The shelf over which it falls is as level and even as a work of
art. The height, by actual line measurement, is a few inches more than
350 feet. It is a sheer, compact, solid, perpendicular sheet, faultless
in all the elements of grandeur and picturesque beauties. The cañon
which commences at the upper fall, half a mile above this cataract,
is here a thousand feet in depth. Its vertical sides rise grey and
dark above the fall to shelving summits, from which one can look down
into the boiling, spray-filled chasm, enlivened with rainbows, and
glittering like a shower of diamonds. From a shelf protruding over the
stream, 500 feet below the top of the cañon, and 180 above the verge
of the cataract, a member of our company, lying prone upon the rock,
let down a cord, with a stone attached, into the gulf, and measured
its profoundest depths. The life and sound of the cataract, with its
sparkling spray and fleecy foam, contrasts strangely with the sombre
stillness of the cañon a mile below. There all was darkness, gloom, and
shadow; here all was vivacity, gayety, and delight. One was the most
unsocial, the other the most social scene in nature. We could talk,
and sing, and whoop, waking the echoes with our mirth and laughter in
presence of the falls, but we could not thus profane the silence of the
cañon. Seen through the cañon below the falls, the river for a mile or
more is broken by rapids and cascades of great variety and beauty.

"Between the Lower and Upper Falls the cañon is two hundred to nearly
four hundred feet deep. The river runs over a level bed of rock, and
is undisturbed by rapids until near the verge of the lower fall. The
upper fall is entirely unlike the other, but in its peculiar character
equally interesting. For some distance above it the river breaks into
frightful rapids. The stream is narrowed between the rocks as it
approaches the brink, and bounds with impatient struggles for release,
leaping through the stony jaws, in a sheet of snow-white foam, over a
precipice nearly perpendicular, 115 feet high.[1] Midway in its descent
the entire volume of water is carried, by the sloping surface of an
intervening ledge, twelve or fifteen feet beyond the vertical base
of the precipice, gaining therefrom a novel and interesting feature.
The churning of the water upon the rocks reduces it to a mass of
foam and spray, through which all the colors of the solar spectrum
are reproduced in astonishing profusion. What this cataract lacks in
sublimity is more than compensated by picturesqueness. The rocks which
overshadow it do not veil it from the open light. It is up amid the
pine foliage which crowns the adjacent hills, the grand feature of a
landscape unrivalled for beauties of vegetation as well as of rock and
glen. The two confronting rocks, overhanging the verge at the height of
a hundred feet or more, could be readily united by a bridge, from which
some of the grandest views of natural scenery in the world could be
obtained--while just in front of, and within reaching distance of the
arrowy water, from a table one-third of the way below the brink of the
fall, all its nearest beauties and terrors may be caught at a glance."

"We rambled around the falls and cañon two days, and left them with the
unpleasant conviction that the greatest wonder of our journey had been

A few scattered sentences, culled from Dr. Hayden's calmly scientific
account of the falls, will suffice to show that Mr. Langford's
description "o'ersteps not the modesty of nature."


"Above the Upper Falls the Yellowstone flows through a grassy,
meadow-like valley, with a calm, steady current, giving no warning,
until very near the falls, that it is about to rush over a precipice
140 feet, and then, within a quarter of a mile, again to leap down a
distance of 350 feet.

"From any point of view the Upper Falls are extremely picturesque and
striking. The entire volume of water seems to be, as it were, hurled
off of the precipice with the force which it has accumulated in the
rapids above, so that the mass is detached into the most beautiful
snow-white, bead-like drops, and as it strikes the rocky basin below,
it shoots through the water with a sort of ricochet for the distance of
200 feet. The whole presents in the distance the appearance of a mass
of snow-white foam. On the sides of the basalt walls there is a thick
growth of vegetation, nourished by the spray above, which extends up as
far as the moisture can reach.... After the waters roll over the upper
descent, they flow with great rapidity over the apparently flat rocky
bottom, which spreads out to nearly double its width above the falls,
and continues thus until near the Lower Falls, when the channel again
contracts, and the waters seem, as it were, to gather themselves into
one compact mass and plunge over the descent of 350 feet in detached
drops of foam as white as snow; some of the large globules of water
shoot down like the contents of an exploded rocket.... The entire mass
of the water falls into a circular basin, which has been worn into the
hard rock, so that the rebound is one of the magnificent features of
the scene.... It is a sight far more beautiful, though not so grand or
impressive as that of Niagara Falls. A heavy mist always rises from
the water at the foot of the falls, so dense that one cannot approach
within 200 or 300 feet, and even then the clothes will be drenched in
a few moments. Upon the yellow, nearly vertical wall of the west side,
the mist mostly falls, and for 300 feet from the bottom the wall is
covered with a thick matting of mosses, sedges, grasses, and other
vegetation of the most vivid green, which have sent their small roots
into the softened rocks, and are nourished by the ever-ascending spray.
At the base and quite high up on the sides of the cañon, are great
quantities of talus, and through the fragments of rocks and decomposed
spring deposits may be seen the horizontal strata of breccia."

On his return down the opposite or eastern side of the river, Colonel
Barlow descended to the foot of the Lower Fall for the purpose of
exploring the cañon. He says: "I expected this to be an undertaking of
great difficulty and attended with some danger, but entering a sharp
and narrow gorge or fissure in the side of the cañon, immediately below
the great fall, I found the descent much easier than was anticipated.
It proved to be very steep, but the rock being solid, with projecting
angles, there was little danger to a careful climber. A slope of
loose and finely broken rock, a hundred feet in height, moist from
the falling spray, terminated the descent. Sliding to the bottom of
this slope, I stood at the foot of the great fall, 350 feet below its
crest, the walls of the cañon rising 700 feet. My first impression
on beholding this fall from below was one of disappointment; it did
not appear as high as I expected. The fall, however, was grand, and
presented a symmetrical and unbroken sheet of white foam, set in dark
masses of rock, while rainbows were formed in the spray from almost
every point of view. The steep rocks near the falls, constantly wet
with rising mist, were covered with vegetation of an intensely green
color. The river below runs with the velocity of a torrent, rushing
down declivities, spinning round sharp angles, and dashing itself into
spray at every turn. I found it impossible to follow the bed of the
stream, the steep and slippery side affording no footing whatever, and
crumbling at the slightest touch."



Half a mile above the Upper Fall the Yellowstone gives no intimation of
its approaching career of wildness and grandeur. It rolls peacefully
between low verdant banks and over pebbly reaches or spaces of
quicksand, with beautiful curves and a majestic motion. Its waters
are clear and cold, and of the emerald hue characteristic of Niagara.
Great numbers of small springs, fed by the slowly melting snows of
the mountains, flow from the densely wooded foot-hills, irrigating
the "bottoms," and sustaining a growth of grass and flowers that
clothes the lowlands with freshness and vividness of color. Everything
terrific, diabolic, volcanic, would seem to have been left behind.
The first hint to the contrary is given by a pretty little rivulet,
a yard wide and a few inches deep, clear as crystal, winding along
through the rank grass to join the Yellowstone. It looks like any
clear-watered mountain stream; but a single taste shows that it has
a different origin. It is strongly charged with alum--hence its name,
Alum Creek--and its source is in a remarkable group of sulphur and alum
springs two or three miles further on,--that is, about ten miles above
the falls.

All about these springs are evidences of volcanic action in great
variety and profusion. Mr. Langford says:

"The region was filled with boiling springs and craters. Two hills,
each 300 feet high, and from a quarter to half a mile across, had
been formed wholly of the sinter thrown from adjacent springs--lava,
sulphur, and reddish-brown clay. Hot streams of vapor were pouring
from crevices scattered over them. Their surfaces answered in hollow
intonations to every footstep, and in several places yielded to
the weight of our horses. Steaming vapor rushed hissingly from the
fractures, and all around the natural vents large quantities of sulphur
in crystallized form, perfectly pure, had been deposited. This could be
readily gathered with pick and shovel. A great many exhausted craters
dotted the hill-side. One near the summit, still alive, changed its
hues like steel under the process of tempering, to every kiss of the
passing breeze. The hottest vapors were active beneath the incrusted
surface everywhere. A thick leathern glove was no protection to the
hand exposed to them. Around these immense thermal deposits, the
country, for a great distance in all directions, is filled with boiling
springs, all exhibiting separate characteristics.

"The most conspicuous of the cluster is a sulphur spring twelve
by twenty feet in diameter, encircled by a beautifully scolloped
sedimentary border, in which the water is thrown to a height of from
three to seven feet. The regular formation of this border, and the
perfect shading of the scollops forming it, are among the most delicate
and wonderful freaks of nature's handiwork. They look like an elaborate
work of art. This spring is located at the western base of Crater Hill,
above described, and the gentle slope around it for a distance of 300
feet is covered to considerable depth with a mixture of sulphur and
brown lava. The moistened bed of a small channel, leading from the
spring down the slope, indicated that it had recently overflowed.

"A few rods north of this spring, at the base of the hill, is a cavern
whose mouth is about seven feet in diameter, from which a dense jet of
sulphurous vapor explodes with a regular report like a high-pressure
engine. A little farther along we came upon another boiling spring,
seventy feet long by forty wide, the water of which is dark and muddy
and in unceasing agitation.

"About a hundred yards distant we discovered a boiling alum spring,
surrounded with beautiful crystals, from the border of which we
gathered a quantity of alum, nearly pure, but slightly impregnated
with iron. The violent ebullition of the water had undermined the
surrounding surface in many places, and for the distance of several
feet from the margin had so thoroughly saturated the incrustation with
its liquid contents, that it was unsafe to approach the edge. As one of
our company was unconcernedly passing near the brink, the incrustation
suddenly sloughed off beneath his feet. A shout of alarm from his
comrades aroused him to a sense of his peril, and he only avoided being
plunged into the boiling mixture by falling suddenly backward at full
length upon the firm portion of the crust, and rolling over to a place
of safety. His escape from a horrible death was most marvellous, and in
another instant he would have been beyond all human aid. Our efforts to
sound the depths of this spring with a pole thirty-five feet in length
were fruitless."

The report of the Geological Expedition describes these curious
springs somewhat more minutely. The first that attracted Dr. Hayden's
attention was the powerful steam-vent above mentioned, which he calls
the Locomotive Jet. "The aperture is about six inches in diameter, a
sort of raised chimney, and all around are numerous small continuous
steam-vents, all of which are elegantly lined with the bright-yellow
sulphur. The entire surface is covered with the white silicious
crust, which gives forth a hollow sound beneath the tread; and we
took pleasure in breaking it up in the vicinity of the vents, and
exposing the wonderful beauty of the sulphur-coating on the inner
sides. This crust is ever hot, and yet so firm that we could walk over
it anywhere. On the south side of these hills, close to the foot, is
a magnificent sulphur-spring. The deposits around it are silica; but
some places are white, and enamelled like the finest porcelain. The
thin edges of the nearly circular rim extend over the waters of the
basin several feet, yet the open portion is fifteen feet in diameter.
The water is in a constant state of agitation. The steam that issues
from this spring is so strong and hot that it was only on the windward
side that I could approach it and ascertain its temperature, 197°. The
agitation seemed to affect the entire mass, carrying it up impulsively
to the height of four feet. It may be compared to a huge caldron of
perfectly clear water somewhat superheated. But it is the decorations
about this spring that lent the charm, after our astonishment at the
seething mass before us--the most beautiful scolloping around the rim,
and the inner and outer surface covered with a sort of pearl-like
bead work. The base is the pure white silica, while the sulphur gave
every possible shade, from yellow to the most delicate cream. No kind
of embroidering that human art can conceive or fashion could equal
this specimen of the cunning skill of nature. On the northeast side
of the hills, extending from their summits, are large numbers of the
steam-vents, with the sulphur linings and deposits of the sulphur over
the surface. These hills are entirely due to the old hot springs, and
are from 50 to 150 feet in height. The rock is mostly compact silica,
but there is almost every degree of purity, from a kind of basalt to
the snow-white silica. Some of it is a real conglomerate, with a fine
silicious cement inclosing pebbles of white silica, like those seen
around the craters of some geysers. Although at the present time there
are no true geysers in this group, the evidence is clear that these
were, in former times, very powerful ones, that have built up mountains
of silica by their overflow. The steam-vents on the side and at the
foot of these hills represent the dying stages of this once most active
group. Quite a dense growth of pines now covers these hills, which
rise up in the midst of the plains, and from their peculiar white
appearance are conspicuous for a great distance. At one point there is
a steam-vent so hot that it is difficult to approach it, emitting a
strong sulphurous smell, and within two feet of it there is a larger
spring, boiling like a caldron. So far as I can determine, there is no
underground connection of any of the springs with each other. Sometimes
the rims of these craters, as well as the inner sides of their basins,
have a beautiful papulose surface, the silica just covered with a
thin veil of delicate creamy sulphur. At this locality are some very
remarkable turbid and mud springs. One of them has a basin twenty feet
in diameter, nearly circular in form, and the contents have almost the
consistency of thick hasty-pudding. Indeed, there is no comparison that
can bring before the mind a clearer picture of such a mud volcano than
a huge caldron of thick mush. The surface is covered all over with
puffs of mud, which, as they burst, give off a thudlike noise, and then
fine mud-waves recede from the centre of the puffs in the most perfect
rings to the side. Although there are hundreds of these mudpots, yet it
is very rare that the mud is in just the condition to admit of these
peculiar rings. The thud is, of course, produced by the escape of the
sulphureted hydrogen gas through the mud. The mud is so fine as to
have no visible or sensible grain, and is very strongly impregnated
with alum. For three hundred yards in length and twenty-five yards in
width, the valley of this little branch of Alum Creek is perforated
with these mud-vents of all sizes, and the contents are of all degrees
of consistency, from merely turbid water to a thick mortar. The entire
surface is perfectly bare of vegetation, and hot, yielding in many
places to a slight pressure. I attempted to walk about among these
simmering vents, and broke through to my knees, covering myself with
the hot mud, to my great pain and subsequent inconvenience. One of the
largest of the turbid springs has a basin with a nearly circular rim
twenty feet from the margin to the water, and forty feet in diameter.
There are two or three centres of ebullition; temperature, 188°."

A couple of miles above these springs, near the banks of the
Yellowstone, is a not less remarkable group of sulphur and mud springs.
All the intermediate space abounds in the remains of similar springs,
now quiescent or dead, yet giving evidence of former power and activity
beyond that displayed by any now existing. "There were giants in those
days!" Mr. Langford describes a group of these "unsightly caldrons,"
varying in size from two to ten feet in diameter; their surfaces from
three to eight feet below the level of the plain: "The contents of the
most of them were of the consistency of thick paint, which they greatly
resembled, some being yellow, others pink, and others dark brown. This
semi-fluid was boiling at a fearful rate, much after the fashion of
a hasty-pudding in the last stages of completion. The bubbles, often
two feet in height, would explode with a puff, emitting at each time
a villainous smell of sulphuretted vapor. Springs six and eight feet
in diameter, but four feet asunder, presented distinct phenomenal
characteristics. There was no connection between them, above or below.
The sediment varied in color, and not unfrequently there would be
an inequality of five feet in their surfaces. Each, seemingly, was
supplied with a separate force. They were embraced within a radius of
1,200 feet, which was covered with a strong incrustation, the various
vents in which emitted streams of heated vapor. Our silver watches,
and other metallic articles, assumed a dark leaden hue. The atmosphere
was filled with sulphurous gases, and the river opposite our camp was
impregnated with the mineral bases of adjacent springs. At the base
of adjacent foot-hills we found three springs of boiling mud, the
largest of which, forty feet in diameter, encircled by an elevated
rim of solid tufa, resembles an immense caldron. The seething,
bubbling contents, covered with steam, are five feet below the rim.
The disgusting appearance of this spring is scarcely atoned for by the
wonder with which it fills the beholder. The other two springs, much
smaller, but presenting the same general features, are located near a
large sulphur spring of milder temperature, but too hot for bathing.
On the brow of an adjacent hillock, amid the green pines, heated vapor
issues in scorching jets from several craters and fissures. Passing
over the hill, we struck a small stream of perfectly transparent water
flowing from a cavern, the roof of which tapers back to the water,
which is boiling furiously, at a distance of twenty feet from the
mouth, and is ejected through it in uniform jets of great force. The
sides and entrance of the cavern are covered with soft, green sediment,
which renders the rock on which it is deposited as soft and pliable as

"About two hundred yards from this cave is a most singular phenomenon,
which we called the Muddy Geyser. It presents a funnel-shaped orifice,
in the midst of a basin one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, with
sloping sides of clay and sand. The crater or orifice, at the surface,
is thirty by fifty feet in diameter. It tapers quite uniformly to
the depth of about thirty feet, where the water may be seen, when the
geyser is in repose, presenting a surface of six or seven feet in
breadth. The flow of this geyser is regular every six hours. The water
rises gradually, commencing to boil when about half way to the surface,
and occasionally breaking forth in great violence. When the crater is
filled, it is expelled from it in a splashing, scattered mass, ten or
fifteen feet in thickness, to the height of forty feet. The water is of
a dark lead color, and deposits the substance it holds in solution in
the form of miniature stalagmites upon the sides and top of the crater.
As this was the first object which approached a geyser, we, naturally
enough, regarded it with intense curiosity....

"While returning by a new route to our camp, dull, thundering sounds,
which General Washburn likened to frequent discharges of a distant
mortar, broke upon our ears. We followed their direction, and found
them to proceed from a mud volcano, which occupied the slope of a
small hill, embowered in a grove of pines. Dense volumes of steam
shot into the air with each report, through a crater thirty feet in
diameter. The reports, though irregular, occurred as often as every
five seconds, and could be distinctly heard half a mile. Each alternate
report shook the ground a distance of two hundred yards or more, and
the massive jets of vapor which accompanied them burst forth like the
smoke of burning gunpowder. It was impossible to stand on the edge of
that side of the crater opposite the wind, and one of our party, Mr.
Hedges, was rewarded for his temerity in venturing too near the rim,
by being thrown by the force of the volume of steam violently down the
outer side of the crater. From hasty views, afforded by occasional
gusts of wind, we could see at a depth of sixty feet the regurgitating

[Illustration: THE MUD VOLCANO.]

"This volcano, as is evident from the freshness of the vegetation
and the particles of dried clay adhering to the topmost branches of
the trees surrounding it, is of very recent formation. Probably it
burst forth but a few months ago. Its first explosion must have been
terrible. We saw limbs of trees 125 feet high encased in clay, and
found its scattered contents two hundred feet from it."

On the east side of the Yellowstone, close to the margin of the
river, are a few turbid springs, and mud-springs strongly impregnated
with alum. The mud is yellow and contains much sulphur. These, the
discoverers, Dr. Hayden and his company, called Mud-sulphur Springs.
The main basin is 15 by 30 feet, and has three centres of ebullition,
showing that deep in the earth are three independent orifices for the
emission of heated waters. Dr. Hayden's description of the roaring
spring issuing from a cavern, coincides with that given above. He
called it the Grotto. Around all these springs he observed an abundance
of grasses, rushes, mosses, and other plants growing with a surprising
luxuriance. The recent mud-volcano described by Mr. Langford was
considered by Dr. Hayden as the most remarkable mud-spring thus far
discovered in the West.

"It does not boil with an impulse like most of the mud-springs,"
he says, "but with a constant roar which shakes the ground for a
considerable distance, and may be heard for half a mile. A dense column
of steam is ever rising, filling the crater, but now and then a passing
breeze will remove it for a moment, revealing one of the most terrific
sights one could well imagine. The contents are composed of thin mud
in a continual state of the most violent agitation, like an immense
caldron of mush submitted to a constant, uniform, but most intense
heat.... All the indications around this most remarkable caldron show
that it has broken out at a recent period; that the caving in of the
sides so choked up the orifice that it relieved itself, hurling the
muddy contents over the living pines in the vicinity."

The steam rising from this spring--the Giant's Caldron--can be seen
for many miles in every direction. The movements of Muddy Geyser were
closely watched for twenty-four hours by Mr. Campbell Carrington, who
was specially detailed for that duty by Dr. Hayden. His observations
began about nine o'clock A.M., July 1st. Then the pool was calm.
Shortly after, he heard the loud, hissing noise of escaping steam.
Hurrying to the geyser, he saw a wave about three feet in height
rise and die away to the left; three similar waves followed in quick
succession. Their dense columns of steam burst up to the height of
twenty feet, with a dull, heavy explosion, the action continuing for
fifteen minutes, when the spring ceased flowing as suddenly as it
had begun. The average height of the flowing was about fifteen feet,
though some of the jets reached fully thirty feet. Five minutes after
the eruption the pool measured twenty-five feet in circumference and
three in depth, where before it was a hundred feet in circumference and
eleven in depth. Ten minutes later the mud began to rise slowly in the
pool. This continued for a little over three hours, when the spring
began to boil near the centre. The ebullition gradually increased in
violence for twenty minutes, then it suddenly stopped, and the eruption
began as at first. This rising, falling, and overflowing took place
eight times in twenty-four hours. The following table shows the time of
the observed flowings and their length:

"First flowing, 9.20 A.M. to 9.35 A.M.; length, 15 minutes.

"Second flowing, 1.30 P.M. to 1.50 P.M.; length, 20 minutes.

"Third flowing, 5 P.M. to 5.15 P.M.; length, 15 minutes.

"Fourth flowing, 8.30 P.M. to 8.50 P.M.; length, 20 minutes.

"Fifth flowing, 12.30 P.M. to 12.45 P.M.; length, 15 minutes.

"Sixth flowing, 4 A.M. to 4.15 A.M.; length, 15 minutes.

"Seventh flowing, 7.30 A.M. to 7.45 A.M.; length, 15 minutes.

"Eighth flowing, 11 A.M. to 11.10 A.M.; length, 10 minutes.

"Total length of time, 26 hours. Aggregate time of flowing, three hours
and 15 minutes. Average length of flowings, 15 minutes and 37 and one
half seconds."



"Such a vision," exclaims the sober-minded chief of the Geological
Survey, "is worth a lifetime; and only _one_ of such marvellous beauty
will ever greet human eyes."

"Secluded amid the loftiest peaks of the Rocky Mountains," writes Mr.
Langford, "possessing strange peculiarities of form and beauty, this
watery solitude is one of the most attractive natural objects in the
world. Its southern shore, indented with long narrow inlets, not unlike
the frequent fiords of Iceland, bears testimony to the awful upheaval
and tremendous force of the elements which resulted in its creation.
The long pine-crowned promontories, stretching into it from the base
of the hills, lend new and charming features to an aquatic scene full
of novelty and splendor. Islands of emerald hue dot its surface, and
a margin of sparkling sand forms its jewelled setting. The winds,
compressed in their passage through the mountain gorges, lash it into
a sea as terrible as the fretted ocean, covering it with foam. But now
it lay before us calm and unruffled, save by the gentle wavelets which
broke in murmurs along the shore. Water, one of the grandest elements
of scenery, never seemed so beautiful before. It formed a fitting
climax to all the wonders we had seen, and we gazed upon it for hours,
entranced with its increasing attractions."

The beautiful sheet of water so enthusiastically yet fittingly
described, is somewhat more than twenty miles long and fifteen broad,
with an irregular outline, presenting some of the loveliest shore-lines
that water ever assumed. Its form has been compared to that of an
outspread hand, the northern portion representing the palm, the
southwestern a swollen thumb, the first and second fingers aborted, the
third and fourth disproportionately large. A glance at the map will
show that a juster comparison would be to the head and shoulders of
some grotesque animal with two slender ears and a pair of huge knobby
horns--the head facing the north. The greatest stretch of water extends
from the end of the heavy lower jaw (the outlet of the Yellowstone) to
the top of the upper horn, where the Upper Yellowstone comes in; while
the great body of the water lies between the forehead and the base of
the shoulder. The superficial area of the lake is about three hundred
square miles; its greatest depth 300 feet, and its elevation above the
sea 7,427 feet. In the last respect it has but one rival, Lake Titicaca
in South America.

[Illustration: YELLOWSTONE LAKE.]

Lying upon the very crown of the continent, Yellowstone Lake receives
no tributaries of any considerable size, its clear cold water coming
solely from the snows that fall on the lofty mountain ranges that
hem it in on every side. In the early part of the day, when the air
is still and the bright sunshine falls on its unruffled surface, its
bright green color, shading to a delicate ultramarine, commands the
admiration of every beholder. Later in the day, when the mountain
winds come down from their icy heights, it puts on an aspect more in
accordance with the fierce wilderness around it. Its shores are paved
with volcanic rocks, sometimes in masses, sometimes broken and worn
into pebbles of trachyte, obsidian, chalcedony, cornelians, agates, and
bits of agatized wood; and again, ground to obsidian-sand and sprinkled
with crystals of California diamonds. Here and there hot-spring
deposits show wave-worn bluffs of the purest white; and in sheltered
bays, clay-concretions and casts from mud-puffs strew the beach with
curious forms, that exploring trappers mistook for the drinking cups,
stone war-clubs, and broken idols of some extinct race.

Vegetation is abundant in the lake as well as around it. Several
species of plants grow far out into the deep waters, living thickly on
rocks twenty feet below the surface. After a severe storm their uptorn
stems strew the beach like kelp on the seashore, and the water is
discolored with vegetable matter for several yards from the shore. The
water swarms with trout, but there is no other kind of fish, no shells,
no shell-fish,--nothing but trout. Of these, Mr. Carrington, the
naturalist of the Geological Survey, reports the following interesting

"Although I searched with diligence and care in the neighboring
streams and waters around the Yellowstone Lake, I was unable to find
any other species of fish except the salmon-trout; their numbers are
almost inconceivable; average weight, one pound and a half; color, a
light-grey above, passing into a light-yellow below; the fins, all
except the dorsal and caudal, vary from a bright-yellow to a brilliant
orange, they being a dark-grey and heavily spotted. A curious fact, and
one well worthy of the closest attention of an aspiring icthyologist,
is connected with these fish, namely, that among their intestines, and
even interlaced in their solid flesh, are found intestinal worms,
varying in size, length, and thickness, the largest measuring about six
inches in length. On cutting one of these trout open, the first thing
that attracts your attention is small oleaginous-looking spots clinging
to the intestines, which, on being pressed between the fingers, break
and change into one of these worms, small, it is true, but nevertheless
perfect in its formation. From five or six up to forty or fifty will
be found in a trout, varying, as I said before, in size, the larger
ones being found in the solid flesh, through which they work their way,
and which, in a very short while, becomes almost putrid. Their number
can generally be estimated from the appearance of the fish itself; if
many, the trout is extremely poor in flesh, the color changes from the
healthy grey to a dull pale, it swims lazily near the top of the water,
losing all its shyness and fear of man; it becomes almost savage in its
appetite, biting voraciously at anything thrown in the water, and its
flesh becomes soft and yielding. If, on the other hand, there are few
or none, the flesh of the fish is plump and solid, and he is quick and
sprightly in all his motions. I noticed that it was almost invariably
the case when a trout had several scars on the outside of his body that
it was free from these worms, and I therefore took it for granted that
the worms finally worked their way through the body, and the flesh,
on healing up, leaves the scars on the outside; the trout, in a short
while, becomes plump and healthy again. The only way that I can account
for the appearance of these worms is, that the fish swallows certain
bugs or insects, and that the larvæ formed from them gradually develop
into the full-grown intestinal worm. But even if this explanation of
their appearance was received, does it not seem a little strange that
while all the fish above the Upper Falls are more or less affected by
them, that below and even between the Upper and Lower Falls such a
thing as wormy trout is never heard of? Being unable, with my limited
knowledge of icthyology, to arrive at any definite conclusion in regard
to their appearance, I submit the above facts to those who are more
learned than myself in this most interesting branch of natural history."

Waterfowl make up in number and variety for the lack of life within the
lake. The surface fairly swarms with them. Lieutenant Doane enumerates
swans, pelicans, gulls, geese, brants, and many varieties of ducks
and dippers; also herons and sand-hill cranes. The pelicans are very
plentiful, immense fleets of them sailing in company with the majestic
swan, and at nightfall the low, flat islands in the lake are white with
them. The gulls are of the same variety as those of San Francisco
Harbor. Eagles, hawks, ravens, ospreys, prairie chickens, grouse,
mocking-birds and woodpeckers are common in and around the lake basin.
Mention is also made of a guide-bird, whose habits correspond with its
name. It resembles the blackbird, but is larger. Lieutenant Doane says:

"I saw but one of these--the day I went to the bottom of the Grand
Cañon; it hopped and flew along from rock to rock ahead of us during
the whole trip down, waited perched upon a rock while we were resting,
and led us clear to the summit again in the same manner, making
innumerable sounds and gestures constantly to attract attention. Others
of the party remarked birds of the same kind and acting in the same

Herds of deer, elk, and mountain sheep, throng the forests and mountain
meadows about the lake. Buffalo signs, grizzly bears and California
lions are far from uncommon, while the smaller lakes and creek-valleys
of the basin are fairly alive with otter, beaver, mink, and muskrats.
Lieutenant Doane observed several unnamed and undescribed species of
squirrels and weasels, and doubtless there are many other new varieties
of animal life peculiar to this little-known region. One department of
natural history, however, is happily unrepresented in the basin. There
are no snakes, though rattlesnakes are plentiful down the Yellowstone.

There are but two considerable islands in the lake--Stephenson's and
Frank's--each about a mile long, narrow and covered with a thick growth
of pines. Dot Island, near Frank's, a small lozenge-shaped mud-bank,
not over a third of a mile long, and half a dozen of smaller size,
usually near the shore, complete the list.

The first explorers constructed a rude raft for the purpose of visiting
these islands and exploring the shore-line of the lake, but it was
speedily wrecked by the choppy waves beat up by the sudden gusts
from the mountains. The Geological Expedition took the precaution to
carry from Fort Ellis the framework of a little craft, twelve feet
long, three and a half feet wide, and twenty-two inches deep, which,
covered with well-tarred canvas, made a very serviceable boat for
fair-weather navigation. "Our little bark, whose keel was the first
to plow the waters of the most beautiful lake on the continent," says
Dr. Hayden, "was named by Mr. Stephenson in compliment to Miss Anna L.
Dawes, the amiable daughter of Hon. H. L. Dawes. My whole party," he
adds, "were glad to manifest, by this slight tribute, their gratitude
to the distinguished statesman, whose generous sympathy and aid had
contributed so much toward securing the appropriation which enabled
them to explore this marvellous region."


The little craft rode the waves well and performed excellent service.
Its first voyage was to Stephenson's Island, named after the first
assistant of the expedition.



The Yellowstone leaves the Lake with an easy flow in a channel a
quarter of a mile wide, and deep enough to swim a horse. A mile to the
eastward of the outlet is the mouth of Pelican Creek, whose swampy
valley is the resort of myriads of waterfowl. On the northern side,
three or four miles from the lake, Sulphur Hills stand as monuments of
a once magnificent system of boiling springs.

The deposit covers the side of the mountain to an elevation of 600 feet
above the lake shore. The huge white mass of silica, covering an area
half a mile square, can be seen from any position on the lake shore,
whence it appears like an immense bank of snow. In the valley near
Pelican Creek, a few springs issue from beneath the crust, distributing
their waters over the bottom and depositing oxide of iron, sulphur,
and silica in the most beautiful blending of gay colors. Although
the waters of the springs are 160° in temperature, the channels are
lined with a thick growth of mosses and other plants, and in the water
is an abundance of vividly green vegetation. The mass of hot-spring
material built up here cannot be less than 400 feet in thickness. A
large portion of it is pudding-stone or conglomerate. Some of the
masses inclosed in the fine white silicious cement are themselves
globes of pure white silica, eight inches in diameter. It is plain,
from the evidence still remaining, that this old ruin has been the
theatre of tremendous geyser action at some period not very remote,
and that the steam-vents, which are very numerous, represent only the
dying stages. These vents or chimneys are richly adorned with brilliant
yellow sulphur, sometimes as a hard amorphous coating, and sometimes in
delicate crystals that vanish like frost-work at the touch. It seems
that it is only during the last stages of these springs that they adorn
themselves with these brilliant and vivid colors.

Hot springs are scattered along the valley of the creek for several
miles, some of them of considerable size and beauty. The average width
of the valley is about two miles; the heat from the springs and the
extremely fertile soil combining to fill the valley with abundant
vegetation. At the northeastern corner of the lake, five or six miles
from the outlet, is a long, low spit of land built out into the lake
by ancient geyser action. A few roaring steam-vents, giving name
to the point, are all that remain of the violent action that once
characterized the place. The hot spring area is four or five miles
long by two wide; the ground in many places being perforated like a
cullender with simmering vents. A mile or so from the lake is a large
pond where there is another extensive group of springs, depositing
sulphur, alum, common salt, and staining the ground with oxide of iron.

South of Steam Point is a small bay bounded by a deposit of yellow
clay, full of the remarkable concretions already referred to.
Further up the eastern shore are pebbly beaches strewn with agates
cornelians, and chips of chalcedony. Beyond, the narrow lake-shore is
quite impassable. The adjacent lowlands, and the higher levels and
hill-slopes further back, are almost as difficult of penetration, owing
to the dense growth of lofty pines and the interminable fire-slashes
that cover large areas. These fire-slashes are due to autumnal fires
which sweep through the forests, burning the vegetable mould, so that
the trees are left without support, and the first wind lays them down
in the wildest confusion. Through these networks of fallen timber it
is with the utmost difficulty that a passage can be forced. All the
explorers speak of the exasperating nature of their tribulations in
these wildernesses.

Mr. Langford treats it with characteristic good humor.

"Ascending the plateau from the beach," he says, "we became at once
involved in all the intricacies of a primeval wilderness of pines.
Difficulties increased with our progress through it, severely trying
the amiability of every member of the company. Our pack-horses would
frequently get wedged between the trees or caught in the traps of a
network of fallen trunks, from which labor, patience, and ingenuity
were severely taxed to extricate them. The ludicrous sometimes
came to our relief, proving that there was nothing so effectual in
allaying excitement as hearty laughter. We had a remarkable pony in
our pack-train, which, from the moment we entered the forest, by his
numerous acrobatic performances and mishaps furnished amusement for the
company. One part of the process of travel through this forest could
only be accomplished by leaping over the fallen trunks, an exploit
which, with all the spirit needful for the purpose, our little broncho
lacked the power always to perform. As a consequence, he was frequently
found with the feat half accomplished, resting upon the midriff, his
fore and hind feet suspended over the opposite sides of some huge log.
His ambition to excel was only equalled by the patience he exhibited
in difficulty. On one occasion, while clambering a steep rocky ascent,
his head overtopping his haunches, he literally performed three of the
most wonderful backward headsprings ever recorded in equine history. A
continued experience of this kind, after three weeks' toilsome travel,
found him as sound as on the day of its commencement, and we dubbed him
the 'Little Invulnerable.'"

In another place Mr. Langford writes:

"Our journey of five miles, the next day, was accomplished with great
difficulty and annoyance. Almost the entire distance was through a
forest piled full of fallen trunks. Travelling was but another name for
scrambling; and as man is at times the least amiable of animals, our
tempers frequently displayed alarming activity, not only towards the
patient creatures laden with our stores, but towards each other. Once,
while involved in the reticulated meshes of a vast net of branches
and tree-tops, each man, with varied expletive emphasis, clamorously
insisting upon a particular mode of extrication, a member of the party,
who was always jolly, restored us to instant good-humor by repeating,
in theatrical tone and manner, those beautiful lines from Childe

  "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
  There is a rapture on the lonely shore."

Our 'Little Invulnerable,' too, was the unconscious cause of many
bursts of laughter, which, like the plaudits of an appreciative
audience, came in at the right time."

The eastern rim of the Yellowstone Basin is formed by one of the
grandest volcanic ranges in the world, the general level of their
summits being about 10,000 feet above the sea, while numerous peaks
thrust their rugged crests a thousand feet higher into the sky. Mr.
Langford and Lieutenant Doane were the first to penetrate this range,
climbing with great labor one of the highest of the groups of lofty
peaks near the southeast corner of the Lake.

"The grandeur and vast extent of the view from this elevation," writes
Mr. Langford, "beggar description. The lake and valley surrounding
it lay seemingly at our feet within jumping distance. Beyond them we
saw with great distinctness the jets of the mud volcano and geyser.
But beyond all these, stretching away into a horizon of cloud-defined
mountains, was the entire Wind River range, revealing in the sunlight
the dark recesses, gloomy cañons, stupendous precipices, and glancing
pinnacles, which everywhere dotted its jagged slopes. Lofty peaks shot
up in gigantic spires from the main body of the range, glittering in
the sunbeams like solid crystal. The mountain on which we stood was the
most westerly peak of a range which, in long-extended volume, swept to
the southeastern horizon, exhibiting a continuous elevation more than
thirty miles in width; its central line broken into countless points,
knobs, glens, and defiles, all on the most colossal scale of grandeur
and magnificence. Outside of these, on either border, along the entire
range, lofty peaks rose at intervals, seemingly vying with each other
in the varied splendors they presented to the beholder. The scene
was full of majesty. The valley at the base of this range was dotted
with small lakes and cloven centrally by the river, which, in the far
distance, we could see emerging from a cañon of immense dimensions,
within the shade of which two enormous jets of steam shot to an
incredible height into the atmosphere."

Between the lake and this group of mountains--the three highest of
which bear the names of Langford, Doane, and Stephenson--is Brimstone
Basin. For several miles the ground is impregnated with sulphur, and
the air is tainted with sulphurous exhalations. Streams of warm
sulphur-water course the hillsides and unite to form a considerable
rivulet called Alum Creek, whose channel is coated with a creamy-white
mixture of silica and sulphur. Old pine logs, once lofty trees, lie
prostrate in every direction over the basin, which covers an area some
three miles in extent. From all appearances this basin must have been
the scene of thermal activity within a comparatively recent period; but
now not a spring can be found with a temperature above that of ordinary
spring-water. Similar brimstone basins are numerous around the lake,
on the lower slopes of the mountains, at the foot of bluffs, or more
frequently in level districts. The latter are always wet, and generally
impassable, the thin crust covering an abundance of scalding mud,
especially dangerous to horses.

The Upper Yellowstone rises in the high volcanic range which shuts off
the Yellowstone Basin from the Wind River drainage, forming what is
known as the great water-shed of the continent.

This range of mountains has a marvellous history. As it is the
loftiest, so it is the most remarkable lateral ridge of the Rocky
Range. The Indians regard it as the "crest of the world," and among
the Blackfeet there is a fable that he who attains its summit catches
a view of the land of souls, and beholds the happy hunting-grounds
spread out below him, brightening with the abodes of free and generous

In the expedition sent across the continent by Mr. Astor, in 1811,
under command of Captain Wilson P. Hunt, that gentleman met with the
first serious obstacle to his progress at the base of this range. After
numerous efforts to scale it, he turned away and followed the valley
of the Snake, encountering the most discouraging disasters until he
arrived at Astoria.

Later, in 1833, the indomitable Captain Bonneville was lost in this
mountain labyrinth, and, after devising various modes of escape,
finally determined to ascend the range, which tremendous task he
succeeded in accomplishing, in company with one of his men. It was this
same line of snow-clad, craggy peaks that turned back Captain Raynolds
in 1859.

[Illustration: BREAKING THROUGH.]

Near its mouth the Upper Yellowstone is about half the size of the main
stream as it leaves the lake. Its valley is about three miles wide
and very marshy; all the little streams flowing down from the wooded
hill-slopes being obstructed by beaver-dams, so as to form continuous
chains of ponds. The sides of the valley are dark, sombre walls of
volcanic rock, which weathers into curious and imposing forms. Looking
up the valley from some high point, one almost imagines himself in
the presence of the ruins of some gigantic city, so much like ancient
castles and cathedrals do these rocks appear--a deception that is not
a little heightened by the singular vertical furrows cut deep into the
cliffs. At the base of the walls immense masses of breccia have fallen
from the mountain tops, in many instances cutting long swaths through
the pine forests. In the upper part of the valley, which in midsummer
is lush with vegetation, five streams flow down from the mountains
to swell the waters of the Yellowstone. These streams Colonel Barlow
calls, in honor of his commander's greatest victory, the Five Forks.
Here the valley terminates abruptly, the mountains rising like walls
and shutting off the country beyond. Just at the head of the valley is
a little lake, a hundred yards or so in width; the large lake which has
been placed on maps as Bridger's Lake having no existence. Dr. Hayden
with two assistants ascended the mountains to the west of the head of
the valley to survey the district bordering on the great divide. From
this point as far as the eye can reach on every side are bare, bald
peaks, domes and ridges in great numbers. At least one hundred peaks
worthy of a name can be located within the radius of vision. The rocks
everywhere, though massive, black, and deeply furrowed vertically, have
the appearance of horizontal stratification. In some instances the
furrows are so regular that the breccia has a columnar appearance. The
summits of the mountains are composed entirely of breccia, containing
angular masses of trachyte, from 10 to 30 feet in diameter, though most
of the fragments are small. Dr. Hayden's party camped at night near a
small lake, by the side of a bank of snow, 10,000 feet above the sea,
with short spring grass and flowers all around them. There are but two
seasons on these mountain summits, spring and winter; as late as August
fresh new grass may be seen springing up where a huge bank of snow has
just disappeared. Little spring-flowers, seldom more than two or three
inches high, cover the ground--_Clatonia_, _Viola_, _Ranunculus_, and
many others. The following morning they travelled for several miles
along a ridge not more than two hundred yards wide, from one side of
which the waters flow into the Pacific, and on the other, into the
Atlantic. To the westward the outlines of the Teton Range, with its
shark-teeth summits, are most clearly visible, covered with snow. From
whatever point of view, the sharp-pointed peaks of this range have
the form of huge sharks' teeth. To the southward, for fifty miles at
least, nothing but igneous rocks can be seen. Toward the Tetons there
is a series of high ridges, passing off from the main Teton Range
toward the northeast, and varying in height from 9,500 to 10,500 feet
above the sea, and from 1,000 to 1,800 feet above the valleys at their

The explorers ascended one of the high ridges, (not the highest,
however,) and found it to be 1,650 feet above the valley at its foot.
The northeast side is steep like a roof, the southwest breaking off
abruptly. From the summit of this ridge, the view is grand in the
extreme. To the westward the entire country, for the distance of fifty
miles, seems to have been thrown up into high, sharp ridges, with
gorges 1,000 to 1,500 feet in depth. Beautiful lakes, grassy meadows
also, come within the field of vision. "I can conceive," says Dr.
Hayden, "of no more wonderful and attractive region for the explorer.
It would not be difficult for the traveller to make his way among these
grand gorges, penetrating every valley, and ascending every mountain
and ridge. The best of grass, wood, water and game are abundant to
supply the wants of himself and animals.

"I think," he continues, "that numerous passes could be found from the
valley of Snake River to the basin of the Yellowstone. It seems to me
there are many points on the south rim of the basin where a road could
be made with ease into the valley of Snake River. From this ridge there
appears to be but little difference in the altitude of Yellowstone
Lake and Heart Lake, and they cannot be more than eight or ten miles
apart, and yet the latter is one of the sources of Snake River. The
little branches of Snake River nearly interlace with some streams that
flow into the lake, and the gullies come up within two miles of the
shore-line. There is a very narrow dividing ridge in one place, between
the drainage, which may be within one mile of the lake."

Heart Lake was visited by Colonel Barlow, who found it a pretty,
pear-shaped sheet of water, four miles long and two wide in its
broadest part. From the north it receives a warm creek fed by a
considerable group of hot springs. Its outlet at the southern end joins
the terminal creek of Snake River, a few miles from its source among
the Yellowstone Mountains.

Ten miles northwest of Heart Lake is Madison Lake, the source of
Madison River, the country between being a somewhat rugged range of
mountains, of which Red Mountain is the most conspicuous. To the
eastward from Heart Lake is Mount Sheridan, from the summit of which
a magnificent view of the Yellowstone Basin can be obtained. Nearer
the great lake is Flat Mountain, whose altitude falls a little short
of 10,000 feet. Between Flat Mountain and the Yellowstone Range the
divide is very low, some of the branches of Snake River extending up to
within two miles of the lake, where the elevation is not more than 400
feet above the lake level. It is doubtless this singular interlacing
of the headwaters of the Yellowstone and Snake River that gave rise to
Bridger's story of the "Two Ocean River."

At sunrise on the morning of August 10th, at the west base of Flat
Mountain, the thermometer stood at 15½° Fah., and water froze in Dr.
Hayden's tent that night a quarter of an inch thick. It was in this
neighborhood that Mr. Everts was lost from the first expedition.

The country between Flat Mountain and the hot springs at the
southwestern extremity of the lake is a level plateau with alternating
spaces of grassy glade and dense thickets of pine around and between a
perfect network of small, lily-covered lakes. The hot springs on the
lake shore are numerous and of great variety and interest. There are
no true geysers, however, though some of the springs are pulsating
springs, the water rising and falling in their orifices with great
regularity. Higher up the bank are a large number of mud-springs, two
or three hundred in all, of variable temperatures, the most of them
not differing materially from those already described. Some, however,
have a character strikingly unique. The area covered by the springs
is about three miles long and half a mile wide, a portion of it
reaching out into the lake. Some of the submerged springs have built up
funnel-shaped craters of silicious deposit, from five to twenty feet in
height, rising from the bottom to the surface of the water. Extending
a pole over the deep water, members of Dr. Hayden's party caught trout
and cooked them in these boiling springs out in the lake without
removing them from the hook.

Four hundred yards from the lake shore is a large boiling basin of
pink-colored mud, seventy feet in diameter, with a rim of conical mud
craters, which project the hot mud in every direction. The deposit
speedily hardens into a firm, laminated stone, of beautiful texture,
though the brilliant pink color fades to a chalky white. Near and
around this basin are a dozen springs, from six to twenty-five feet
across, boiling muddy water of a paint-like consistency, varying in
color from pure white to dark yellow. Close by are several flowing
springs of clear hot water, from ten to fifty feet in diameter, their
basins and channels lined with deposits of red, green, yellow, and
black, giving them an appearance of gorgeous splendor. The bright
colors are on the surface of the rock only, which is too friable
to be preserved. Below these springs are several large craters of
bluish water, boiling to the height of two feet in the centre, and
discharging large streams of water; their rims are raised a few inches
in a delicate rock-margin of a fringe-like appearance, deposited from
the water. Beyond these are two lakes of purple water, hot, but not
boiling, and giving deposits of great beauty. Near by are two more blue
springs, one thirty by forty feet, and 173° in temperature. This spring
discharges a considerable stream into the other, which is seventy feet
distant, and six feet lower. The latter is forty feet by seventy-five,
183° in temperature, and discharges a stream of one hundred inches.
The craters of these springs are lined with a silvery-white deposit of
silica, which reflect the light so as to illuminate the water to an
immense depth. Both craters have perpendicular but irregular walls, and
the distance to which objects are visible down in their deep abysses is
truly wonderful.

West of these is another group of clear watered hot springs, which
surpass all the rest in singularity if not in beauty. These have
basins of different sizes and immeasurable depth, in which float what
appear like raw bullock hides as they look in a tanner's vat, waving
sluggishly with every undulation of the water. On examination, this
leathery substance proves to be of fragile texture, like the vegetable
scum of stagnant pools, and brilliantly colored red, yellow, green,
etc., black on the under side. This singular substance is about two
inches in thickness, jelly-like to the touch, and is composed largely
of vegetable matter, which Dr. Hayden thinks to be diatoms.

Of the beautiful transparency of the springs above described, Dr.
Hayden says: "So clear was the water that the smallest object could
be seen on the sides of the basin; and as the breeze swept across the
surface, the ultramarine hue of the transparent depth in the bright
sunlight was the most dazzlingly beautiful sight I ever beheld. There
were a number of these large clear springs, but not more than two or
three that exhibited all those brilliant shades, from deep sea green to

Occasionally, says Lieutenant Doane, this anomaly is seen, namely: "two
springs, at different levels, both boiling violently; one pours a large
and constant stream into the other, yet the former does not diminish,
nor does the latter fill up and overflow."

Most of the springs, however, seem to be independent of each other,
since they have different levels at the surface, different temperatures
and pulsations, and rarely are the waters and deposits of any two
exactly alike.

Passing northward through dense woods and almost impenetrable
fire-slashes, the next noteworthy region arrived at is the valley of
Bridge Creek, the creek receiving its name from a natural bridge of
trachyte thrown across the stream. The bridge is narrow, affording
scanty room for the well-worn elk-trail two feet wide, while the
descent on either hand is so great that a fall from the bridge would
be fatal to man or beast. Numerous herds of elk make daily use of this
convenient passway.

Dead and dying springs are abundant all along the valley of this creek,
the most of them being reduced to mere steam-vents. In one place the
spring deposits cover several acres and present a most attractive
picture. The ground is thickly covered with conical mounds, from a few
inches in diameter to a hundred feet, full of steaming orifices lined
with brillant sulphur-crystals. The under side of the heated crust is
everywhere adorned in the same manner. The basis of the deposit is
snow-white silica, but it is variegated with every shade of yellow
from sulphur, and with scarlet from oxide of iron. From a distance the
whole region has the appearance of a vast lime-kiln in full operation.
Most of the country has been eroded into rounded hills from fifty to
two hundred feet high, composed of the whitish-yellow and pinkish clays
and sands of the modern lake deposit, which seems to prevail more or
less all round the rim of the basin, reaching several hundred feet
above the present level of the lake.

Between Bridge Creek and the outlet of the lake, completing the circuit
of the basin, is the Elephant's Back, a long, low mountain, noticeable
only for its rounded summit and precipitous sides.



Just over the western margin of the Yellowstone Basin, yet within
the limits of our great National Park, is the grand geyser region of
Firehole River. Here, in a valley a dozen miles long and two or three
wide, is an exhibition of boiling and spouting springs on a scale so
stupendous that if all the corresponding phenomena of all the rest of
the world could be brought into an equal area the display would seem as
nothing in comparison.

Firehole River, the main fork of the Madison, has its source in Madison
Lake, a beautiful sheet of water set like a gem among the mountains,
dense forests of pines coming down to the very shores. A pointed ridge
extends into the lake on the west side about half a mile, giving it the
form of a heart. Its area is about three miles from north to south,
and two from east to west. Its shores are paved with masses of trachyte
and obsidian. The high mountains about the lake and along the river are
gashed with deep gorges, with steep and jagged sides. Pines grow upon
the mountain-sides where the declivity is so great that they cannot be
scaled. In the obstructed gorges and on the mountain-tops, from 9,000
to 10,000 feet above the sea, little lakes occur every mile or so,
nestled among the pines. Clear-watered mountain-torrents tumble down
the almost vertical ridges to swell the Firehole, making cascades that
in any other region would enjoy world-wide fame. Just before reaching
the geyser-basin, some ten miles below the lake, the river roars
through a deep gorge in the trachyte rock, and as it emerges, dashes
over two cliffs, one twenty, the other fifty feet in height. "These
pretty falls," writes Lieutenant Doane, "if located on an Eastern
stream, would be celebrated in history and song; here, amid objects
so grand as to strain conception and stagger belief, they were passed
without a halt."

Shortly after, the cañon widens and the dominion of the Fire King
begins. Scattered along both banks of the river are boiling springs
from two to twelve feet across, all in active eruption. The craters
of these springs are from three to forty feet high. Like the springs
on Gardiner's River, these gradually seal themselves up by depositing
mineral matter around and over their orifices. Numbers of such
self-extinguished craters, now cones of solid rock, are scattered
along the river-side. Two miles further down the stream is the upper
geyser-basin, an open, rolling valley, two miles wide and three long,
the mountains on either side rising 1,500 feet above the valley, with
steep, heavily-timbered ledges of dark rock.

Hurrying down the Firehole, thinking the wonders of the Yellowstone
country had been left behind, and anxious only to reach the settlements
of the Madison Valley, the expedition of 1871 was startled and
astonished to see at no great distance an immense volume of clear,
sparkling water projected into the air to the height of one hundred and
twenty-five feet. "Geysers! geysers!" exclaimed one of the company,
and, spurring their jaded horses, they were soon gathered around an
unexpected phenomenon--a perfect geyser. The aperture through which
the column of water was projected was an irregular oval, three feet
by seven in diameter. The margin of sinter was curiously piled up,
the exterior crust filled with little hollows full of water, in which
were globules of sediment, gathered around bits of wood and other
nuclei This geyser stands on a mound, thirty feet above the level of
the surrounding plain, its crater rising five or six feet higher. It
spouted at regular intervals nine times during the explorers' stay, the
columns of boiling water being thrown from ninety to one hundred and
twenty-five feet at each discharge, which lasted from fifteen to twenty
minutes. They gave it the name of "Old Faithful."

"Near the crater, and as far as the irruptive waters reach," writes
Lieutenant Doane, "the character of the deposit is very peculiar.
Close around the opening are built up walls, eight feet in height, of
spherical nodules, from six inches to three feet in diameter. These
stony spheres, in turn, are covered with minute globules of stalagmite,
incrusted with a thin glazing of silica. The rock, at a distance,
appears the color of ashes of roses, but near at hand shows a metallic
gray, with pink and yellow margins of the utmost delicacy. Being
constantly wet, the colors are brilliant beyond description. Sloping
gently from this rim of the crater in every direction the rocks are
full of cavities in successive terraces, forming little pools, with
margins of silica the color of silver, the cavities being of irregular
shape, constantly full of hot water, and precipitating delicate,
coral-like beads of a bright saffron. These cavities are also fringed
with rock around the edges, in meshes as delicate as the finest lace.
Diminutive yellow columns rise from their depths, capped with small
tablets of rock, and resembling flowers growing in the water. Some
of them are filled with oval pebbles of a brilliant white color, and
others with a yellow frost-work which builds up gradually in solid
stalagmites. Receding still farther from the crater, the cavities
become gradually larger, and the water cooler, causing changes in the
brilliant colorings, and also in the formations of the deposits. These
become calcareous spar, of a white or slate color, and occasionally
variegated. The water of the geyser is colorless, tasteless, and
without odor. The deposits are apparently as delicate as the down on
the butterfly's wing, both in texture and coloring, yet are firm and
solid beneath the tread. Those who have seen the stage representations
of "Aladdin's Cave," and the "Home of the Dragon Fly," as produced in
a first-class theatre, can form an idea of the wonderful coloring, but
not of the intricate frost-work, of this fairy-like, yet solid mound of
rock, growing up amid clouds of steam and showers of boiling water. One
instinctively touches the hot ledges with his hands, and sounds with a
stick the depths of the cavities in the slope, in utter doubt in the
evidence of his own eyes. The beauty of the scene takes away one's
breath. It is overpowering, transcending the visions of the Moslem's

As the next party of explorers were leaving the basin, ascending the
river, this grand old geyser, which stands sentinel at the head of the
valley, gave them a magnificent parting display. "With little or no
preliminary warning," writes Dr. Hayden, "it shot up a column of water
about six feet in diameter to the height of 100 to 150 feet, and by a
succession of impulses seemed to hold it up steadily for the space of
fifteen minutes, the great mass of water falling directly back into the
basin, and flowing over the edges and down the sides in large streams.
When the action ceases, the water recedes beyond sight, and nothing
is heard but the occasional escape of steam until another exhibition
occurs. This is one of the most accommodating geysers in the basin, and
during our stay played once an hour quite regularly."

Old Faithful stands alone, though surrounded by a number of old
geyser hills, whether built up in past ages by one spring shifting
its position from time to time, or by a group of springs, now almost
exhausted, it is impossible to tell.

Just across the river, and close to the margin, stands a silicious
cone, very symmetrical, slightly corrugated on its exterior surface,
three feet in height and five in diameter at its base. Its orifice is
oval, with scalloped edges, and two feet by three in diameter. Of this
unpretending cone Mr. Langford writes:

"Not one of our company supposed that it was a geyser; and among so
many wonders it had almost escaped notice. While we were at breakfast
upon the morning of our departure a column of water, entirely filling
the crater, shot from it, which, by accurate triangular measurement, we
found to be 219 feet in height. The stream did not deflect more than
four or five degrees from a vertical line, and the eruption lasted
eighteen minutes. We named it 'The Bee-hive.'"

A hundred yards further from the river, near the centre of the large
group of spouting and boiling geysers, of which the Bee-hive is one, is
a large oval aperture with scalloped edges, the diameters of which were
eighteen and twenty-five feet, the sides corrugated and covered with a
greyish-white silicious deposit, which was distinctly visible at the
depth of one hundred feet below the surface.

"No water could be discovered," writes Mr. Langford, on his first
approach to the spring, "but we could distinctly hear it gurgling
and boiling at a great distance below. Suddenly it began to rise,
boiling and spluttering, and sending out huge masses of steam, causing
a general stampede of our company, driving us some distance from our
point of observation. When within about forty feet of the surface it
became stationary, and we returned to look down upon it. It was foaming
and surging at a terrible rate, occasionally emitting small jets of
hot water nearly to the mouth of the orifice. All at once it seemed
seized with a fearful spasm, and rose with incredible rapidity, hardly
affording us time to flee to a safe distance, when it burst from the
orifice with terrific momentum, rising in a column the full size of
this immense aperture to the height of sixty feet; and through and
out of the apex of this vast aqueous mass, five or six lesser jets or
round columns of water, varying in size from six to fifteen inches in
diameter, were projected to the marvellous height of two hundred and
fifty feet. These lesser jets, so much higher than the main column, and
shooting through it, doubtless proceed from auxiliary pipes leading
into the principal orifice near the bottom, where the explosive force
is greater.... This grand eruption continued for twenty minutes, and
was the most magnificent sight we ever witnessed. We were standing on
the side of the geyser nearest the sun, the gleams of which filled
the sparkling column of water and spray with myriads of rainbows,
whose arches were constantly changing,--dipping and fluttering hither
and thither and disappearing only to be succeeded by others, again
and again, amid the aqueous column, while the minute globules into
which the spent jets were diffused when falling sparkled like a
shower of diamonds, and around every shadow which the denser clouds
of vapor, interrupting the sun's rays, cast upon the column, could be
seen a luminous circle radiant with all the colors of the prism, and
resembling the halo of glory represented in paintings as encircling the
head of Divinity. All that we had previously witnessed seemed tame in
comparison with the perfect grandeur and beauty of this display. Two
of these wonderful eruptions occurred during the twenty-two hours we
remained in the valley. This geyser we named 'The Giantess.'"

The central spring of this group stands on the summit of a great mound
built up in thin layers, by the continual but moderate overflow of the
spring. The crater is twenty feet in diameter, slightly bubbling or
boiling near the centre, and with a thin, elegant ring projecting a few
inches over the water. Looking down into the clear water of this spring
one seems to be gazing into fathomless depths, while the bright blue of
the water is unequalled even by the sea. There are many such central
springs, usually crowning the summits of mounds, and with projecting
rims carved with an intricate delicacy truly marvellous, and adorned
with colors that defy description. "The great beauty of the prismatic
colors," writes Dr. Hayden, "depends much on the sunlight; about the
middle of the day, when the bright rays descend nearly vertically, and
a slight breeze just makes a ripple on the surface, the colors exceed
comparison; when the surface is calm there is one vast chaos of colors,
dancing, as it were, like the colors of a kaleidoscope. As seen through
this marvellous play of colors, the decorations on the sides of the
basin are lighted up with a wild, weird beauty, which wafts one at once
into the land of enchantment; all the brilliant feats of fairies and
genii in the Arabian Nights' Entertainments are forgotten in the actual
presence of such marvellous beauty; life becomes a privilege and a
blessing after one has seen and thoroughly felt its cunning skill."

Across the river, and a short distance below this group, is the largest
and most imposing formation in the valley--the crater of Castle Geyser.
This geyser receives its name from its resemblance to the ruins of
an old castle as one enters the valley from the east. The deposited
silica has crystallized in immense globular masses, like cauliflowers
or spongiform corals, apparently formed about a nucleus at right
angles to the centre. The entire mound is about forty feet high, and
the chimney twenty feet. The lower portion rises in steps formed of
thin laminæ of silica, mostly very thin, but sometimes compact, an
inch or two thick. On the southeast side, where the water is thrown
out continually, these steps are ornamented with the usual bead and
shell work, with the large cauliflower-like masses: but the other
portions are fast going to decay, and the débris are abundant. This
has undoubtedly been one of the most active and powerful geysers in
the basin; it still keeps up a great roaring inside, and every few
moments, as observed by Dr. Hayden, it throws out a column of water
to the height of ten or fifteen feet. Occasionally it seems to have
more imposing eruptions, since on one occasion Lieutenant Doane saw it
throw a column of water to the height of sixty feet, with the escape
of heavy volumes of steam. The next year Colonel Barlow saw a similar
display. According to the latter observer, the base of the crater is
three hundred and twenty-five feet in circumference, and the turret
one hundred and twenty-five. At the base of the turret lies a large
petrified pine log, covered with a brilliant incrustation several
inches thick.

Across the river, and a little below the Castle, are some fifty springs
and geysers, the chief of which has been called Grand Geyser, its
power seeming greater than that of any other in the valley. Lieutenant
Doane describes this magnificent geyser as follows:

"Opposite camp, on the other side of the river, is a high ledge of
stalagmite, sloping from the base of the mountain down to the river.
Numerous small knolls are scattered over its surface; the craters of
boiling springs from 15 to 25 feet in diameter; some of these throw
water to the height of three and four feet. On the summit of this bank
of rock is the grand geyser of the world, a well in the strata, 20 by
25 feet in diametric measurements, (the perceptible elevation of the
rim being but a few inches,) and when quiet having a visible depth of
100 feet. The edge of the basin is bounded by a heavy fringe of rock,
and stalagmite in solid layers is deposited by the overflowing waters.
When an eruption is about to occur the basin gradually fills with
boiling water to within a few feet of the surface, then suddenly, with
heavy concussions, immense clouds of steam rise to the height of 500
feet, and the whole great body of water, 20 by 25 feet, ascends in one
gigantic column to the height of 90 feet; from the apex of this column
five great jets shoot up, radiating slightly from each other, to the
unparalleled altitude of 250 feet from the ground. The earth trembles
under the descending deluge from this vast fountain; a thousand hissing
sounds are heard in the air; rainbows encircle the summits of the jets
with a halo of celestial glory. The falling water plows up and bears
away the shelly strata, and a seething flood pours down the slope
and into the river. It is the grandest, the most majestic, and most
terrible fountain in the world. After playing thus for twenty minutes
it gradually subsides, the water lowers into the crater out of sight,
the steam ceases to escape, and all is quiet. This grand geyser played
three times in the afternoon, but appears to be irregular in its
periods, as we did not see it in eruption again while in the valley.
Its waters are of a deep ultramarine color, clear and beautiful. The
waving to and fro of the gigantic fountain, in a bright sunlight, when
its jets are at their highest, affords a spectacle of wonder of which
any description can give but a feeble idea. Our whole party were wild
with enthusiasm; many declared it was 300 feet in height; but I have
kept, in the figures as set down above, within the limits of absolute


Dr. Hayden describes it with equal enthusiasm.

"We camped the evening of August 5th, in the middle of the Upper Geyser
Basin, in the midst of some of the grandest geysers in the world.
Colonel Barlow and Captain Heap, of the United States Engineers, were
camped on the opposite side of the Firehole. Soon after reaching camp a
tremendous rumbling was heard, shaking the ground in every direction,
and soon a column of steam burst forth from a crater near the edge of
the east side of the river. Following the steam by a succession of
impulses, a column of water, apparently six feet in diameter, rose
to the height of 200 feet, while the steam ascended a thousand feet
or more. So steady and uniform did the force act, that the column of
water appeared to be held there for some minutes, returning into the
basin in millions of prismatic drops. This was continued for about
fifteen minutes, and the rumbling and confusion attending it could be
compared only to that of a charge in battle. It would be difficult to
describe the intense excitement which attended such a display. It is
probable that if we could have remained in the valley several days, and
become accustomed to all the preliminary warnings, the excitement would
have ceased, and we could have admired calmly the marvellous ease and
beauty with which this column of hot water was held up to that great
height for the space of twenty minutes. After the display is over the
water settles down in the basin several inches and the temperature
slowly falls to 150°. We called this the Grand Geyser, for its power
seemed greater than any other of which we obtained any knowledge in
the valley. The are two orifices in one basin; one of them seems to
have no raised rim, and is a very modest-looking spring in a state of
quiescence, and no one would for a moment suspect the power that was
temporarily slumbering below. The orifice is oblong, two and a half by
four feet, while for the space of ten feet in every direction around
it are rounded masses of silica, from a few inches to three feet in
diameter, looking like spongiform corals. Nothing could exceed the
crystal clearness of the water. This is the Grand Geyser. Within twenty
feet of this orifice is a second one, of irregular quadrangular form,
fifteen by twenty-five feet; the east side of the main outer rim of
reservoir extended twenty feet beyond the large orifice. The bottom of
this great reservoir is covered with thick spongiform masses, and in
addition the rim is most elegantly adorned with countless pearl-like
beads, of all sizes. There are several beautiful triangular reservoirs,
one and one half by three feet, set around the outer sides of the rim,
with numerous smaller ones, full of clear water, with hundreds of small
depressions most beautifully scalloped. As we recede from the rim,
the waters as they pass slowly away produce, by evaporation, broad
shallow basins, with thin, elegantly colored partitions, portions
of which have the form of toad-stools. When the water settles into
these depressions, or flows away toward the river in numerous small
channels, the wonderful variety of coloring which is so attractive
to the eye is produced. The larger orifice seems to be in a state
of violent agitation as often as once in twenty minutes, raising up
the entire mass of water ten or fifteen feet. It is never altogether
quiet. Although these two orifices are within the same rim, I could not
ascertain that there is the slightest connection with each other. When
the large orifice is much agitated it does not disturb the equanimity
of the Grand Geyser. They both operate perfectly independently of each
other. Indeed I do not know that there is a connection between any of
the springs in the whole basin, though there may be in some rare cases.
The Grand Geyser operated twice while we were in the basin, with an
interval of about thirty-two hours; of course the displays could not
be exactly periodic, but it would be an interesting study to remain
several days to watch carefully the movements of such a power."

Just east of Grand Geyser is the Saw-mill, a moderate sized geyser,
with three smaller ones by the side of it, all playing at the same
time. From the larger a column of water is constantly shot up fifteen
or twenty feet, with much the sound of the escape of steam from a
pipe. The orifice is not more than six inches in diameter; but with
the three smaller ones playing at the same time a great commotion is
excited. Near this little group are several large boiling springs,
which throw up the water in the centre from two to four feet. These are
funnel-shaped, with orifices from six inches to two feet in diameter,
in basins with nearly circular rims, from fifteen to forty feet in
diameter. About one fourth of a mile northeast of the Castle, upon a
mound thirty feet about above the river, built up of thin laminæ of
silica, and rounded off, rise four chimneys of different sizes, which
are geysers, though perhaps not spouting extensively at present. One
is twelve inches high, nearly circular, and three feet in diameter;
the second is oblong, four by six feet, with rather coarsely scolloped
margins, with an aperture about fifteen inches in diameter; the third
chimney is about three feet high and six feet in diameter at the
base, with an orifice nearly quadrangular twelve inches across. The
spongiform masses inside are covered all over with beautiful pearly
beads of silica. The fourth chimney rises five feet above the mound,
is ten feet in diameter at the base, with an orifice two feet across,
lined inside with the spongiform masses. This has been at one time a
first-class geyser, but is now fast going to decay, a beautiful ruin.
The elegant bead work on the margin, and all the spongiform masses,
now are falling into pieces, forming great quantities of _débris_
around the base of the mound. There is also one boiling spring of
great beauty. The orifice, which is nearly circular and beautifully
scolloped around the margin, extends straight down, and the water
rises within an inch or two of the margin. The water is in a state
of constant agitation, boiling up two feet at times. The margin has
a coating of bright cream-yellow, while all around the surface there
is the most delicate and intricate embroidering, surpassing the most
elaborate lace-work. Surrounding the crater is an outer reservoir four
feet wide, with a white and reddish-yellow rim, while in the bottom of
the reservoir is the variegated sediment which aids in giving such a
wonderfully gay appearance to the spring. A stream of water flows from
the spring to the river, and the channel is lined for fifty yards with
the variegated sediment. Near this is another mound which rises, with
laminated steps, about six feet. Dr. Hayden called it the Bathtub. It
has much the shape and size of an ordinary bathing-tub, five feet by
ten, beautifully scolloped around the inner margin with the spongiform
or cauliflower masses of silica, the outer surface being adorned
with the greatest profusion of pearly beads. The water is constantly
boiling up two feet high, though but a small quantity flows from the
spring. The entire valley is full of similar springs, many of these
no doubt geysers whose periods of activity have never been observed.
"We could not distinguish," writes Lieut. Doane, "the geysers from the
other hot springs except by seeing them play, and doubtless there are
many besides in the valley of great size, which we saw when quiet, and
classed as boiling springs. They all vary in times, force, deposits,
and color of water. The number of springs of all kinds in the valley is
not less than fifteen hundred; and, with the exception of the Bluestone
Springs, scarcely any two are exactly alike. Taken as an aggregate, the
Firehole Basin surpasses all the other great wonders of the continent.
It produces an effect on the mind of the beholder utterly staggering
and overpowering. During the night we were several times awakened
by the rush of steam and the hissing of the waters, as the restless
geysers spouted forth in the darkness. A constant rumbling, as of
machinery in labor, filled the air, which was damp and warm throughout
the night."

Lieutenant Doane's suspicion that many quiet-looking springs were
slumbering geysers, was speedily and grandly justified. The very
next morning his company were awakened by a fearful hissing sound,
accompanied by the rush of falling water. On looking out, they saw on
the other side of the stream a small crater, three feet in height,
with an opening 26 inches in diameter, which had scarcely been noticed
on the previous day. Now it was playing a perpendicular jet to the
height of 219 feet, amid great clouds of steam, and causing the ground
to tremble as the heavy body of water fell with tremendous splashes
upon the shelly strata below. Huge masses of rock were torn from their
places and borne away into the river channel. It played thus, steadily,
for ten minutes, giving time to obtain an accurate measurement by
triangulation. This crater gave no notice of being a geyser, and
its appearance and size, compared with others, were altogether
insignificant. "We were more than ever convinced," adds Lieutenant
Doane, "that continued observation would develop the knowledge of
geysers in greater numbers, and perhaps of greater projectile force
than any we had seen."

Crossing the river once more to the south side--that of Old Faithful
and the Castle--we find another large group of springs, the chief of
which is the Giant. This is remarkable rather for its immense flow of
water than for any peculiarity of structure. It has a rugged crater,
shaped like the base of a broken horn, twelve feet high. Its cavity or
nozzle is seven feet in diameter.

[Illustration: THE GIANT GEYSER.]

During its quiescent state the boiling water can be seen in its
chambers at a depth of forty feet, the action of the steam and water
together producing a loud, rumbling sound. Near, and acting in concert
with it, are half a dozen smaller craters from two to eight feet in
height, constantly full of water, and boiling violently from two to
six feet into the air. "This great geyser," says Lieutenant Doane,
"played several times while we were in the valley, on one occasion
throwing constantly for over three hours a stream of water seven feet
in diameter, from 90 to 200 feet perpendicularly. While playing it
doubled the size of the Firehole River."

At the base of the mountain further south is a remarkable geyser,
discovered by Colonel Barlow, and called by him the Comet.

The crater of this geyser is very beautiful, though, being but slightly
elevated above the general slope of the plateau, it might easily
be overlooked, should it not happen to play during the visit of an
examining party. There are three openings. One, a very small aperture,
emits puffs of steam, similar to the exhaust-pipe of a steam engine.
The large one in the centre, six feet across, boils violently during an
eruption, but does not throw water to a great height. The third opening
is the geyser proper. It is twelve by eighteen inches in diameter,
somewhat narrowed as it descends, and is of great depth--smooth
and straight. These cavities are all lined with delicate deposit,
beautifully enamelled, in appearance as delicate as frost-work, but
hard and strong, requiring the assistance of a hammer to detach
fragments for specimens. Soon after Colonel Barlow entered the basin he
witnessed a grand eruption of this geyser. He says:

"A roar was heard near the hill-side a hundred yards distant, and upon
rushing out in that direction we saw a huge mass of steam issuing from
a crater at the base of the hill, accompanied by a column of water
rising to a height far exceeding that of any geyser yet seen. This
grand fountain continued to play for several minutes, when, having
subsided, I approached to obtain a closer view of the aperture whence
had issued such a powerful stream. A sudden gush of steam drove me
away, following which the water was again impelled upward and upward,
far above the steam, until it seemed to have lost the controlling force
of gravity. The roar was like the sound of a tornado, but there was no
apparent effort--a steady stream, very graceful and perfectly vertical,
except as a slight breeze may have waved it to and fro. Strong and
smooth, it continued to ascend, like the stream from a powerful steam
fire-engine. We were all lost in astonishment at the sudden and
marvellous spectacle. I have no hesitancy in stating that this geyser
played to the height of over two hundred feet. It commenced at five
o'clock in the afternoon and continued twenty minutes.

"The enthusiasm of the party as they watched this wondrous display knew
no bounds. Those who were usually loud and boisterous in the exhibition
of their feelings, became subdued and simply gazed in silent awe;
while the more sober members seemed to lose their natural gravity and
manifested their delight in shouts of rapture. For myself, I remember
trying to obtain a view of the fountain from all points of the compass
at once, and was brought to a realizing sense of the difficulties
attending the execution of this desire, by discovering that I was
waiting in the torrent of hot water which was now flooding the nearly
level surface of the surrounding rock.

"After the grand column of water subsided, vast clouds of steam, were
for some time ejected from the throat of the geyser, and also from a
small rent close beside the main orifice.

"During the following day we watched this crater with increasing
vigilance in the hope of witnessing another of its stupendous
exhibitions. The photographer kept his camera levelled upon the spot
all day, and careful arrangements for triangulating the height of the
column were also made. But though numerous indications of another
eruption were observed at intervals by the rising of the water with
violent ebullitions, no explosion occurred till about ten o'clock
at night, when the grand performance was repeated. The spectacle by
moonlight was truly sublime, but less satisfactory than in the day,
since it was more difficult to distinguish between the column of water
and the masses of vapor escaping with it. The interval between its
eruptions was approximately determined as about twenty-nine hours;
we therefore reasoned that it would play again at three o'clock the
following night, and at eight on the succeeding morning. But we were
doomed to disappointment; the eruption persisted in taking-place
before daylight on the three succeeding nights, thus preventing the
observations we so much desired to make."

Two hundred yards below the Giant is the Grotto so named from the
curious irregularity of its inclosing walls. It has an exceedingly
intricate formation, with fantastic arches, pillars, and turreted
sides, and discharges several times a day. Several of the first
explorers crawled through the sinuous apertures when all was quiet.
It seemed as harmless as curious then, but their opinion was changed
slightly when they saw it an hour after throwing a column of water six
feet in diameter to the height of sixty feet. Near it are several vents
in which the water boils constantly to the height of six feet, large
streams running down the banks into the river.

Around the point of a hill a few hundred yards south of the Grotto, and
partially concealed by a grove of pines, is a white cone twenty-five
feet high and a hundred feet in diameter at the base. It has evidently
been a geyser of considerable importance, but it now merely sends forth
puffs of steam from a small orifice at the top. Near it is a quiet
hot-spring with a most elegantly scalloped rim. Back of this Pyramid is
the Punch Bowl, and still further south, the Black Sand Geyser, neither
of which has been specially described.

Returning to the river and crossing we find at the water's edge, nearly
opposite the Grotto, the Riverside Geyser, and a short distance below,
on the same side, is the Fan. The latter geyser has a double orifice,
which discharges five radiating jets to the height of sixty feet, the
falling drops and spray giving the appearance of a feather fan. The
effect is very beautiful. Its eruptions are frequent, lasting usually
from ten to thirty minutes. A vent connected with it, about forty
feet distant, expels dense masses of vapor fifty or sixty feet high,
accompanied by loud, sharp reports, during the time the geyser is in
action. Lieutenant Doane describes the curious action of these vents as

"First the steam would rush from the upper crater, roaring violently,
then this would suddenly cease, to be followed by a fan-like jet of
water rising from the lower crater to the height of over forty feet,
playing for perhaps two minutes; then this would suddenly stop flowing,
and the steam would rush forth again for a time. Occasionally the small
crater threw a transverse stream, alternating with the others; and thus
they played on for hours, after which all would subside to a gentle

[Illustration: FAN GEYSER.]

Along both banks of the river are small craters built up in every
conceivable shape. Several streams pour out cascades from round holes
in the rocky bank of the river, and all around are little geysers
playing at intervals from six to forty feet.

A plateau opposite the Fan contains fifteen hot springs of various
characteristics; some are of a deep blue color and have fantastic
caverns distinctly visible below the surface of the water. The openings
at the surface are often beautifully edged with delicately wrought
rock fringes. One variety deposits a red or brown leathery substance,
partially adhering to the sides and bottom of the cavern and waving
to and fro like water plants. In size these springs vary from five to
forty feet in diameter.

Two hundred yards below the Fan are two lively geysers called the
Sentinels. The one on the right bank of the stream is in constant
agitation, its waters revolving horizontally with great violence,
occasionally spouting upward to the height of twenty feet, with a
lateral projection of fifty feet. Much steam is thrown off at each
eruption. The crater of this geyser is three feet by ten. The companion
Sentinel on the other side of the stream is smaller and less active.
At this point the river-valley is narrow and the stream rapid, with a
considerable fall. Forty or fifty comparatively unimportant geysers and
boiling springs are scattered along the narrow valley to the junction
of Iron Spring Creek, the lower limit of the Upper Geyser Basin.

Iron Spring Creek, a stream about half the size of Firehole River,
takes its name from a group of springs on its banks, about a mile south
of the Giant. Among the most noticeable of these is a group of eight
beautiful springs enclosed in a single rim, one hundred and forty feet
in length. The interior of the basin is lined with a rose-colored
deposit. These springs are situated on the crest of an eminence
incrusted with rocky deposits which encroach on the adjacent forest,
whose dead and whitened trunks bear evidence of the deadly effect of
the hot water flowing among them. On a considerable mound, at the
junction of Iron Creek with the main stream, is a group of geysers
that do not differ materially from those already described. The central
member of the group is known as Soda Geyser.

[Illustration: THE BEE-HIVE.]



Between the Upper and Lower Geyser Basin is a space of two or three
miles entirely free from hot springs; yet the abundance of spring
deposit over all the valley shows that the region was once the scene of
great thermal activity; the bottom over which the river flows is paved
with silica. Vegetation grows remarkably rank along the stream, and in
the valley where the crust of silica does not prevent it, the perpetual
warmth caused by the proximity to the springs being very favorable to
the growth of plants. The forest grows close down to the margin of the
river, making travel very difficult, and in one place the hills of
trachyte almost close in the valley.

At the upper end of the basin--which comprises an area of about thirty
square miles--are three large boiling springs, on the west margin of
the river; nearly opposite are three more, and a short distance below,
on the same side, four or five more. Anywhere else these springs would
be accounted marvels; but they are so eclipsed by a group a few rods
further down the stream that we can give them only a passing glance.
This group includes some of the grandest hot-springs in the world. The
most formidable is near the margin of the river. Dr. Hayden says:

"It seems to have broken out close by the river, and to have
continually enlarged its orifice by the breaking down of its sides.
It evidently commenced on the east side, and the continual wear of
the under side of the crust on the west side has caused the margin
to fall in, until an aperture at least 250 feet in diameter has been
formed, with walls or sides twenty to thirty feet high, showing the
laminæ of deposition perfectly. The water is intensely agitated all
the time, boiling like a caldron, from which a vast column of steam
is ever rising, filling the orifice. As the passing breeze sweeps it
away for a moment, one looks down into this terrible seething pit with
terror. All around the sides are large masses of the silicious crust
that have fallen from the rim. An immense column of water flows out of
this caldron into the river. As it pours over the marginal slope, it
descends by numerous small channels, with a large number of smaller
ones spreading over a broad surface, and the marvellous beauty of the
strikingly vivid coloring far surpasses anything of the kind we have
seen in this land of wondrous beauty--every possible shade of color,
from the vivid scarlet to a bright rose, and every shade of yellow to
delicate cream, mingled with vivid green from minute vegetation. Some
of the channels were lined with a very fine, delicate yellow, silky
material, which vibrates at every movement of the waters. Mr. Thomas
Moran, the distinguished artist, obtained studies of these beautiful
springs, and from his well-known reputation as a colorist, we look
for a painting that will convey some conception to the mind of the
exquisite variety of colors around this spring. There was one most
beautiful funnel-shaped spring, twenty feet in diameter at the top,
but tapering down, lined inside and outside with the most delicate
decorations. Indeed, to one looking down into its clear depths, it
seemed like a fairy palace. The same jelly-like substance or pulp to
which I have before alluded, covers a large area with the various
shades of light-red and green. The surface yields to the tread like a
cushion. It is about two inches in thickness, and although seldom so
tenacious as to hold together, yet it may be taken up in quite large
masses, and when it becomes dry it is blown about by the wind like
fragments of variegated lichens."

Near this magnificent spring is a hill of silica with a spring 150 feet
in diameter on its summit. It is known as the Cauldron. The water boils
up in the centre, and overflows with such uniformity on all sides as
to form a succession of ornamental steps, from one to three inches in
height, just as water would freeze in flowing down a gentle declivity.
It has the same transparent clearness, the same brilliancy of coloring,
as the spring above described, but the hot steam and the thinness of
the rim prevented an approach near enough to observe its depth, or
ascertain its temperature, except at one edge, where it was 180°. The
average temperature of twenty of the springs of this group was 184°.

About a mile below this group, on the west side of the river, are four
small lakes, with quiet surfaces and water as blue as the sky. One
of them is nearly half a mile in length. Their water is cold at the
present time, but their basins give indications of their having once
been enormous hot springs.

A mile or so further down the river is a group of a hundred or more
important springs besides a countless number of unimportant and dead
springs, covering a space of nearly a square mile. Only a few of them
can be specially noticed here. One, on the right bank of the river, is
called the Conch Spring, from the resemblance of its basin to a shell,
eight feet by ten.

A little below the Conch Spring, on the very margin of the river, is a
fine geyser, which has built for itself a crater three feet high, with
a shell a foot thick. The inside of the crater is about six feet in
diameter. The water is in constant agitation; sometimes it will boil up
so violently as to throw the entire mass up four feet, and then it will
die down so as to boil like a caldron. The water is perfectly clear,
and the overflow forms a stream six inches wide and two inches deep,
passing down the sides of the crater and thence into the river along a
most exquisitely decorated channel. The entire surface of the crater
is covered with pearl-like beads, formed by the spray. A section of
the crater shows it to have been built up very slowly, in thin laminæ.
Another spring has a crater like a horn, about a foot in diameter at
the top and six feet at the base. It is called the Horn Geyser. It is
in constant ebullition, and has the same ornamentations as the one just
described. A spring on a level with the river has an enormous square
basin, thirty feet across, of unknown depth. It is called the Bath
Spring. A little below is another basin of wonderful beauty, called the
Cavern. The water issues from several apertures beneath the crust near
the margin of the river. The basin itself is fifteen by twenty feet,
and twenty feet deep. Nothing can exceed the transparent clearness of
the water; the slightest object is reflected in its clear depths, and
the bright blue tints are indescribable. Mud springs are also numerous
and important in this group. As usual, they are of all sizes, from an
inch or two to twenty or thirty feet in diameter, with contents varying
from turbid water to stiff mud. They seldom have any visible outlet,
but are in constant agitation, with a sound which varies with the
consistency of the contents; several give off a suppressed thud as the
gases burst their way through the stiff mortar. Sometimes the mortar
is as white as snow; sometimes brown, or tinged with a variety of
vivid colors. One mud spring, located in the woods near a small lake,
northeast of the Cavern, has a basin thirty by forty feet, with sides
fifteen feet high. It is in constant action, frequently hurling the mud
outside of the rim. All around it are a number of little vents, which
keep up a simmering noise. Some of these vents have built up little
cones, from four to twelve inches high, many of them sealed at the top.
On removing the cone, the inside is found to be lined with delicate
crystals of sulphur, deposited from the steam.

On the opposite side of the river, along a little branch that flows in
from the west, is a considerable group of geysers and boiling springs.
Near the base of the mountains is a first-class boiling spring with a
curious fungus-like rim. It is always in violent agitation, sending
forth great columns of steam. It flows from beneath a hill, and is
surrounded with springs whose silicious deposits take the form of the
toad-stool fungus. Some of this group may be called spasmodic springs.
One, with a most beautifully scalloped rim, fifteen by twenty feet
in diameter, is always boiling, and occasionally explodes with great
violence, shooting its water several feet into the air.

Along the eastern side of this Lower Geyser Basin are several extensive
areas abounding in mud-springs, boiling springs and geysers, whose
infinitely varied characteristics can have no more than the briefest
notice. Beginning at the north, the first that commands attention is
that whose central object of interest is the Thud Geyser, so called
from the peculiar noise it makes as the water rises and recedes. It
is situated on the slope of a small hill, is about twenty feet in
diameter, and has a crater five feet wide and five high, composed of
geyserite of a greyish color, full of deep pockets containing balls
of the same material, about the size of walnuts, each one covered
with little rosette-like formations. The column of water thrown out
by this geyser during its eruptions is very wide, and reaches the
height of fifty feet. Near it was obtained some pieces of wood, coated
with geyserite of a delicate pink tinge: the silica had thoroughly
penetrated the woody fibre. There were found, also, pine-cones coated
in the same manner, forming beautiful specimens. A few yards back of
the geyser are three large mud-springs, in one of which the mud is red,
in another white, and in the third pink--the jets of steam causing the
mud to assume the form of small conical points throughout the basins.
They are situated in a bed of clay, the red color being due to iron.
Below these latter are some chalybeate springs whose bright-red iron
deposit have spread over a considerable area, in glaring contrast with
the white color of the silicious deposits of their neighbors.

In the same group is a fissure spring forty feet long, four feet wide
and ten deep, clear as crystal; also a large basin nearly circular,
fifty feet in diameter with a number of huge apertures, some of which
throw up water thirty feet. One orifice shoots a constant stream six
feet high. All around this geyser-group are smaller springs continually
bubbling, and large numbers of small geysers, some constantly playing
to heights not exceeding ten feet, while others merely keep up a
violent ebullition, rising and falling with a pulsating motion. There
is also one beautiful quiet spring, with a basin so large that it looks
like a small lake. Into its clear depths one may look down thirty or
forty feet, beholding a fairy-like palace adorned with more brilliant
colors than any structure made by human hands. The aggregate waters of
the group form a little stream which flows westward into the small lake
already noticed in connection with the mud-springs at the lower end of
the basin.

South of the Thud Geyser is a large basin 150 feet in diameter,
enclosing a crater twenty-five feet in diameter. From the inner crater
the water is thrown up in a vast column sixty feet high, falling back
in silver-white globules, a natural fountain of marvellous beauty. A
short distance south of this Fountain Geyser is the most remarkable
mud-pot in the Firehole valley. Its surface, forty by sixty feet
in diameter, is covered with large puffs, which, in exploding with
suppressed thuds, throw the hot mud several feet into the air and
spatter the broad rounded rim in every direction. The mud is an
impalpable silicious clay, of every shade of color from the purest
white to a bright pink. Within a few feet of this mud-spring is a
large clear spring sixty feet across, with perhaps fifty centres of
ebullition. It is filled with the rusty, leathery deposit already
described, and all around the basin where the waters overflow is an
extensive deposit of iron.

A quarter of a mile east of the mud-springs, at the northwestern base
of a mountain-spur and extending a thousand yards up a ravine, is a
group of springs occupying a space five hundred yards wide. One of
these, the Fissure Spring, is a hundred feet long and from four to
ten feet wide. Quite a large stream flows from this spring. Many of
the surrounding springs remain full to the rim, and are in constant
ebullition, yet no water flows from them. Others discharge great
quantities of water. In this group are three sulphur springs, the only
ones in the region: the sulphur present however is not very abundant.
Silica and iron seem to be the dominant constituents of nearly all
the deposits. Some of the springs send forth a disagreeable odor, and
deposit a curious black sediment like fine gunpowder. Near the centre
of the group is a small lake 600 feet long and 150 wide. By its eastern
shore is a geyser which spouts very regularly to the height of fifteen
or twenty feet. West of the lake are two small geysers cones incrusted
with a cauliflower-like formation; near them in a fissure are balls of
geyserite coated in the same manner.

A thousand yards further south, in the southeastern corner of the
basin, is a ravine a mile and a half long and three hundred yards wide,
occupied by a most interesting group of springs and geysers. Just below
the mouth of the ravine, on a mound fifteen feet high, is a large cone
twenty-five feet high, probably a geyser. Steam issues steadily from
the top with the sound of a high-pressure engine. It is called the
White Dome Geyser.

In this lower basin there are very few raised craters, the most of the
springs and geysers having funnel-shaped basins, with rims of various
forms, but mostly circular. In this group there is besides the White
Dome a small cone with its top broken off. It is four feet in diameter,
with an aperture eighteen inches across. It is called the Bee-hive,
For several feet around on all sides the surface of the ground is
ornamented with pearly tubercles of silica, from the size of a pea to
three inches in diameter. The spring basins in this group have every
variety of form. One, a fine boiling spring, has an oval rim five
feet by eight, its sides running straight down beyond the reach of
vision. Another is funnel-shaped, tapering to a narrow aperture, with a
scalloped rim, projecting several inches over the water. Some springs
discharge no water; others send forth a stream two feet wide and six
inches deep. In one of the streams, the channel of which is about two
feet wide and one foot deep, the water is filled with a plant with a
pinkish-yellow base, bordered with a very fine green silky fringe,
perpetually vibrating with the flowing waters. "Except that they were
a rich vegetable green, these fringes had the form and texture of the
finest cashmere wool. The luxuriant growth of vegetation in and along
the borders of these little streams," adds Dr. Hayden, "was a wonder of
beauty. The whole view was there superior to anything of the kind I had

In some of the springs Dr. Hayden's assistants found butterflies which
had fallen in and been scalded to death. On taking them out they were
found to be partially petrified, and coated with silica.

At the mouth of the ravine is the principal geyser of the group.
Its basin is circular and about 60 feet in diameter, although the
spring itself, which is in the centre, is only about 15 or 20 feet in
diameter. The incrusted margin is full of sinuses, filled with hot
water, which falls into them whenever the geyser is in operation. These
pockets contain also smooth pebbles of geyserite, varying in size from
that of a pea to a large-sized walnut, rounded by the action of the
water. The water in the spring of the geyser is of a blue color and in
constant agitation, though more violently so just before spouting.
The column of water projected reaches the height of 100 feet, and is
accompanied by immense clouds of steam.

Not far from this geyser is an elegantly scalloped spring, nearly
circular, twenty-five feet in diameter, and with vertical sides to an
unknown depth. The entire mass of the water is most violently agitated
at times, and, overflowing the sides of the basin, passes off in
terrace pools or reservoirs to the main stream, producing a system of
architecture out of silica similar to that of the calcareous springs on
Gardiner's River. The gay colors, from bright pink to delicate rose,
are well shown.

The valley is filled with springs up to its very source; and springs
which burst from the mountain side, eight hundred feet above the level
of the basin, have temperatures ranging from 166° to 180°. Tracing one
exceptionally cool stream up the south side of the cañon, Dr. Hayden
found on the almost vertical side of the mountain a little spring so
imbedded in bright green moss that it could hardly be seen.

"With great difficulty," he says, "we managed to climb up the mountain
side, and, clearing away the moss, obtained the first water that we
could drink for eight hours. In all of our examination during the day
we had not found a drop of water of sufficiently low temperature to
take into our mouths, though there were hundreds of the most beautiful
springs all around us. We were like Coleridge's mariner in the great
ocean, 'Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.'"

Looking back over the valley the morning before his departure for
the Upper Basin, Dr. Hayden saw it literally filled with columns of
steam, ascending from more than a thousand vents. "I can compare the
view," he writes, "to nothing but that of some manufacturing city like
Pittsburgh, as seen from a high point, except that instead of the black
coal smoke, there are here the white delicate clouds of steam. Small
groups or solitary springs that are scattered everywhere in the woods,
upon the mountain-sides, and which would otherwise escape observation,
are detected by the columns of steam. It is evident that some of
these groups of springs have changed their base of operations within
a comparatively recent period; for about midway on the east side of
the lower basin there is a large area covered with a thick, apparently
modern, deposit of the silica, as white as snow, while standing quite
thickly all around are dead pines, which appear to have been destroyed
by the excessive overflow of water and the increased deposition. These
dry trees have a most desolate look; many of them have fallen down
and are incrusted with the silica, while portions that have fallen
into the boiling springs have been reduced to pulp. This seems to be
one of the conditions of silicification, for when these pulpy masses
of wood are permitted to dry by the cessation of the springs, the most
perfect specimens of petrified wood are the result. In one instance a
green pine-tree had fallen so as to immerse its thick top in a large
hot basin, and leaves, twigs, and cones had become completely incrusted
with the white silica, and a portion had entered into the cellular
structure, so that when removed from the water, and dried in the
sun, very fair specimens were obtained. Members of my party obtained
specimens of pine cones that were sufficiently silicified to be packed
away among the collections."

Grasshoppers, and even butterflies, as we have seen, are occasionally
subjected to the same treatment, with the same result. By-and-by,
when the geyser regions become a popular resort, the preparation of
petrifactions to be carried away as mementos, may become quite an item
of entertainment if not of industry.

To obtain a complete view of the Lower Geyser Basin, Colonel Barlow
made a trip to the summit of the Twin Buttes on the west side of
the basin. From this point the valley of Firehole River could be
overlooked for a distance of twenty miles; but nothing new was
discovered except an attractive fall plunging over a precipice a short
distance to the south.

After much severe climbing over rocky ridges, and scrambling through
deep and thickly wooded ravines, he succeeded in reaching the foot of
the fall--the loveliest vision he had ever beheld. "Towering above
my head," he writes, "was a perpendicular cliff, three hundred feet
high, while from a slight depression in its upper edge descended a
sparkling stream, dashed into spray as it impinged against projecting
angles of the rocky wall. On reaching the bottom the mist is gathered
into a shallow basin, forming a pool of clear cold water, delightfully
refreshing in this region of steaming geysers and volcanic heat. After
resting a moment in this quiet retreat, the water slowly finds its way
through the forest, and crossing the geyser valley eventually reaches
Firehole River, some two miles distant."

From the marshy ground about the fall the pines shoot upward to an
astonishing altitude, as though ambitious to overtop the cliff. Colonel
Barlow approached the fall through a natural avenue in these pines, and
as he caught sight of its dancing water, leaping with life-like action
down the face of the overhanging cliff, the thought of fairies was so
strongly suggested that he could think of no name so appropriate as the
Fall of the Fairies.

The extreme north of the Lower Basin is bounded by the East Fork of
Madison River, along whose valley, within the basin and above it,
are numerous groups of interesting springs, though not materially
different from those already described. Near the head of the stream
sulphur springs are abundant, with here and there extensive deposits
of sulphur. Steam-vents are frequent, their orifices lined with
sulphur, and the surrounding crust filled with crystals of a vivid
yellow. The channels of the streams are lined with a delicate veil of
creamy sulphur. In some of the springs, lower down the stream, iron
predominates. Within the basin on the south side of the East Fork are a
hundred springs or more, any one of which, if alone, would be worthy of
elaborate description. In some the fallen leaves of trees are frosted
with silica as white as snow, and the inner surface of the basins are
covered with a delicate bead-like embroidery of marvellous beauty. The
most beautiful of the group is a Prismatic Spring, like those described
in the Upper Basin. "Nothing ever conceived by human art," says Dr.
Hayden, "could equal the peculiar vividness and delicacy of coloring of
these remarkable prismatic springs." About a mile south of the East
Fork, at the head of a little stream that flows into the Firehole, is
another of these brilliant springs. A thin, delicately ornamental rim
of silica surrounds a basin six feet in diameter, filled to the brim
with water of marvellous transparency. When its surface is rippled by
a passing breeze, the reflected sunlight is broken as by a million
prisms. It is called the Rainbow Spring.



In Icelandic speech the word _geyser_ means simply _rager_, and is
applied indiscriminately to all turbulent fountains of water or mud.
The most violent and noisy "rager" on the island being the great
intermittent spouting spring near Haukadal, it naturally gained for
itself the title, The Geyser; and being the earliest known and most
remarkable fountain of the kind, its native common name was adopted in
other languages as the generic name for all springs of its class.

The history of this great, but no longer the greatest geyser, begins
in the early part of the fifteenth century, when its eruptions are
mentioned in Icelandic records. In the middle of the seventeenth
century the Bishop of Skalholt noticed its daily discharges. A hundred
years later Olafsen and Povelsen described it as having three or four
eruptions a day, some of them attaining the height of 300 feet,
including, doubtless, the uprush of vapor. The depth of its tube was
then 72 feet; now it is commonly given as 74, though Commander Forbes,
R. N., claims that it is not so deep by ten feet. In 1774 Von Troil
estimated the height of the ejected column at 92 feet. Seventeen years
later, Stanley gave 96 feet as its greatest height. Forty yards west
of the Geyser this traveller found a rival, called the Strokr, (in
English, the Churn,) playing to the height of 130 feet. The same year,
1789, an earthquake destroyed the mechanism of the Strokr, converting
it into a quiet reservoir of boiling water, whereupon its name was
transferred to the present Strokr, which then became especially active
and noisy. In 1804 the Geyser had regained somewhat of its ancient
power, erupting every six hours to the height of 200 feet; and the
original Strokr had repaired its tube so that it could lift a column
to nearly the same height and sustain it for a much longer period.
During the next five years the power of the Geyser fell off a half,
and its paroxysms became much less frequent--Hooker estimating its
column, in 1809, at 100 feet, and Mackenzie, a year later, at 90 feet,
its eruptions taking place every thirty hours. At the same time the
Strokr played every ten or twelve hours, sixty feet high, for the
space of thirty minutes. In 1815 the periods had changed again, the
Geyser erupting every six hours, to an average height of 80 feet,--the
jets occasionally reaching 150 feet, while the Strokr had prolonged
its quiet intervals to twenty-four hours. Of late years the Geyser's
violent eruptions seldom occur oftener than once in thirty hours,
and do not exceed 100 feet in altitude, and generally averaging 70
or 80 feet. Between these eruptions are usually two minor spirts,
attaining from 30 to 50 feet. The Strokr is exceedingly irregular in
its operation, and generally requires a dose of turf to bring on an

A grand eruption of the Geyser has been admirably described by
Commander Forbes.

"Twice during the night," he says, "I was aroused by the unearthly
complaints of _The_ Geyser; but beyond the vast clouds of vapor which
invariably follow each detonation, and a gentle overflowing of the
basin, they were false alarms. As morning was breaking it sounded an
unmistakable 'reveille,' which would have roused the dead: and I had
barely time to take up my position at the brink of the old 'Strokr'
before full power was turned on. Jet succeeded jet with fearful
rapidity, earth trembled and the very cone itself seemed to stagger
under the ordeal. Portions of its sides, rent with the uncontrollable
fury it had suddenly generated, were ripped off and flew up in volleys,
soaring high above water and steam, whilst the latter rolled away
in fleecy clouds before the light north wind, and catching the rays
of the morning sun just glistening over the Jökul tops in the East,
was lustrous white as the purest snow. Discharge succeeded discharge
in rapid succession for upwards of four minutes, when, apparently
exhausted and its basin empty, I scrambled up to the margin, intending
to have a good look down the tube, which I imagined must also be
empty; but the water was still within a few feet of the brink, and
boiling furiously. Hastening back to my former position, the basin
filled rapidly, and I was just in time to witness the most magnificent
explosion of all. Everything seemed to depend on this superhuman
effort, and a solid, unbroken column of water twenty-five feet in
circumference, was hurled upwards, attaining an altitude very near 100
feet. Here the column paused for a moment before reversing its motion,
then fell listless and exhausted through the volumes which followed
it into its throbbing cup, again to undergo its fiery ordeal at the
threshold of the infernal regions."

Grand as this display must have been, it was but a momentary spasm,
a feeble effort compared with the terrific force which sustains the
Giant's river-volume, with a steady uprush two hundred feet high, for
the space of three hours and a half. There are many, perhaps scores,
of geysers in the Firehole Basin, which--even in midsummer, when their
action is weakest--far surpass the glory of Iceland.

But what is the origin of the power that sustains these wonderful
eruptions? And what is the cause of its intermittent action?
Fortunately these questions are not only answerable, but the answers
are susceptible of demonstration, as Professor Tyndall has shown in his
admirable lectures on heat considered as a mode of motion, wherein he
gives the following lucid description of the mechanism and development
of the Great Geyser of Iceland: in principle the description applies
equally to the geysers of Firehole Basin, and all other springs of the

"It consists of a tube seventy-four feet deep and ten feet in diameter.
The tube is surmounted by a basin which measures from north to south
fifty-two feet across, and from east to west sixty feet. The interior
of the tube and basin is coated with a beautiful smooth silicious
plaster, so hard as to resist the blows of a hammer; and the first
question is, how was this wonderful tube constructed--how was this
perfect plaster laid on? Chemical analysis shows that the water holds
silica in solution, and the conjecture might therefore arise that the
water had deposited the silica against the sides of the tube and
basin. But this is not the case: the water deposits no sediment; no
matter how long it may be kept, no solid substance is separated from
it. It may be bottled up and preserved for years as clear as crystal,
without showing the slightest tendency to form a precipitate. To answer
the question in this way would moreover assume that the shaft was
formed by some foreign agency, and that the water merely lined it. The
geyser basin, however, rests upon the summit of a mound about forty
feet high, and it is evident from mere inspection that the mound has
been deposited by the geyser. But in building up this mound the spring
must have formed the tube which perforates the mound, and hence the
conclusion that the geyser is the architect of its own tube.

If we place a quantity of geyser water in an evaporating basin
the following takes place: in the centre of the basin the liquid
deposits nothing, but at the sides where it is drawn up by capillary
attraction, and thus subjected to speedy evaporation, we find silica
deposited. Round the edge a ring of silica is laid on, and not until
the evaporation has continued a considerable time do we find the
slightest turbidity in the middle of the water. This experiment is the
microscopic representative of what occurs in Iceland. Imagine the
case of a simple thermal silicious spring, whose waters trickle down
a gentle inclosure; the water thus exposed evaporates speedily, and
silica is deposited. This deposit gradually elevates the side over
which the water passes until finally the latter has to take another
course. The same takes place here, the ground is elevated as before,
and the spring has to move forward. Thus it is compelled to travel
round and round, discharging its silica and deepening the shaft in
which it dwells, until finally, in the course of ages, the simple
spring has produced this wonderful apparatus which has so long puzzled
and astonished both the traveller and the philosopher."

The time required for the construction of the Great Geyser tube has
been estimated by Commander Forbes as ten or eleven centuries, on the
following grounds: a bunch of grass, placed under a little fall made by
the ejected water, receives, in twenty-four hours, a coating of silica
the thickness of a thin sheet of paper, or about one five-hundredth
part of an inch. At this rate it would take 1036 years to build up
the 762 inches, which, according to his measurement, is the depth
of the tube. In evidence of the probable truth of this estimate he
makes note of the following facts: first, there is no notice of this
fountain in the early history of the colonization of the island 986
years ago, at which time the tube would have been only three feet deep,
and its eruptions too slight to attract attention; second, 436 years
afterwards, when the tube would have been twenty-six feet deep, and the
eruptions proportionately important, the Geyser is mentioned; third,
accurate records of all occurrences were kept by the early inhabitants,
and if so remarkable a phenomenon had existed at the time, it could not
have been left unnoticed.

The phenomena attending a geyser-eruption--the filling of the basin
with water, the agitation of the water, with deafening detonations,
the escape of steam, and so on--have been sufficiently described in
the preceding chapters. Their causes have been ingeniously explained
by Professor Bunsen, who succeeded in determining the temperature of
the geyser-tube, throughout its entire length, a few minutes before
an eruption. The annexed diagram shows on the left the observed
temperatures of the water at different depths, and on the right
the temperatures at which water would boil, taking into account
the pressure of the atmosphere increased by the presence of the
superincumbent column of water. The degrees have been changed from
Centigrade to our familiar Fahrenheit standard, disregarding fractions.


It will be observed that in no part of the tube does the water reach
the boiling point. The nearest approach to it is at A, thirty feet from
the bottom; out even here the water is some four degrees below the
temperature at which it could boil. How then is an eruption possible?

Professor Tyndall's explanation is in substance this: Suppose that by
the entrance of steam from the ducts near the bottom of the tube the
geyser column is elevated six feet, a height quite within the limits
of actual observation; the water at A is thereby transferred to B.
Its boiling point at A is 255°, and its actual temperature is 251°;
but at B its boiling point is only 249°, hence when transferred from
A to B, the heat which it possesses is in excess of that necessary
to make it boil. This excess of heat is instantly applied to the
generation of steam; the column is thus lifted higher, and the water
below is relieved of pressure, and its boiling point lowered. More
steam is generated; this lifts the column still higher, and compels the
generation of more and more steam, until the whole upper portion of the
column bursts into ebullition, and the water, mixed with steam-clouds,
is projected into the atmosphere, and we have the geyser eruption in
all its grandeur.

One confirmation of this theory of Bunsen's is that small stones
suspended in the lower part of the geyser-tube are not thrown out
during an eruption; and a stronger confirmation lies in the fact that
all the peculiarities of geyser action can be imitated. Professor
Tyndall uses for this purpose an apparatus consisting of a tube of iron
six feet long, surmounted by a basin, and heated by fires underneath.
To imitate, as far as possible, the conditions of the geyser, he
encircles the tube with a second fire, two feet from the bottom. As the
water in the tube becomes heated, the phenomena of geyser eruption
are repeated in miniature with beautiful regularity. By stopping the
mouth of the tube with a cork, the enforced explosions of the Strokr
are reproduced; and by similar simple devices the action of all other
eruptive springs may be accurately imitated.

All through the Firehole Basin and around Yellowstone Lake are many
extinct geysers; sometimes, as in the case of Old Faithful, an active
geyser is surrounded by a number of deserted cones, the remains of
ancient "roarers." What occasions their decline? Earthquakes may, and
no doubt frequently do, derange their mechanism, as observed in the old
Strokr. But most of them probably die a natural death, from old age and

"A moment's reflection," says Professor Tyndall, "will suggest that
there must be a limit to the operations of the geyser. When the tube
has reached such an altitude that the water in the depths below,
owing to the increased pressure, cannot attain its boiling point, the
eruptions of necessity cease. The spring, however, continues to deposit
its silica, and often forms a _Laug_, or cistern. Some of these, in
Iceland, are forty feet deep. Their beauty, according to Bunsen, is
indescribable. Over the surface curls a light vapor; the water is
of the purest azure, and tints with its lovely hue the fantastic
incrustations on the cistern walls; while at the bottom is often seen
the mouth of the once mighty geyser. There are in Iceland vast, but
now extinct geyser operations. Mounds are observed whose shafts are
filled with rubbish, the water having forced a passage underneath and
retired to other scenes of action. We have, in fact, the geyser in its
youth, manhood, old age, and death here presented to us. In its youth
as a simple thermal spring; in its manhood, as an eruptive column; in
its old age, as the tranquil _Laug_; while its death is recorded by
the ruined shaft and mound, which testify the fact of its once active

All that Professor Tyndall describes so eloquently of Iceland,
exists in our Grand National Park in infinitely greater variety, and
magnitude, and splendor. And much more: Iceland has no Gardiner's
River. To find the nearest approach to the marvels of White Mountain
Hot Spring, we must go to the opposite side of the globe--to New
Zealand. In the celebrated Lake District of the North Island is a
region of hot springs, far exceeding in extent and variety all the
others in the world, save those of the Yellowstone. First of all, says
Hochstetter, the most marvellous of the Rotomahana marvels is the Te
Tarata--the Tattooed Rock--with its terraced marble steps projecting
into the lake. The spring lies about eighty feet above the lake, on a
fern-clad hill-slope, in a crater-like excavation, with steep reddish
sides, from thirty to forty feet high, and open only toward the lake.
The basin of the spring is about eighty feet long and sixty wide,
filled to the brim with perfectly transparent water, which in its
snow-white basin appears of a beautiful blue, like the blue turquoise.
Immense clouds of steam curl up from the surface, obstructing the view,
but the noise of boiling and seething is always audible. The water is
slightly salt, but not unpleasant to the taste, chemically neutral,
and possesses petrifying, or rather incrusting qualities, in a high
degree. The deposit is silicious, like that of the Iceland springs and
the springs around Yellowstone Lake, not calcareous, like those of
Gardiner's River; yet the system of terraces built up by the deposit
on the hill-slope has the same appearance of a cataract plunging over
a series of natural shelves and suddenly turned to stone. The deposits
cover an area of about three acres, a mere trifle compared with the
square miles of similar formations on Gardiner's River and in the
Yellowstone Basin.

In the same neighborhood is a system of bubbling mud-pools, miniature
copies of those on the Yellowstone above the falls. The principal
group, lying in a ravine nearly a quarter of a mile long, is described
by Dr. Hochstetter as follows:

"The entrance to the ravine is overgrown with a thicket and rather
difficult of access; it also requires considerable caution, as
suspicious places have to be passed, where the visitor is in danger of
being swallowed up in heated mud. Inside, the ravine has the appearance
of a volcanic crater. The bare walls, utterly destitute of vegetation,
are terribly fissured and torn, and odd-looking rocky serratures,
threatening every moment to break loose, loom up like dismal spectres
from red, white and blue fumarole-clay--evidently the last remains of
decomposed rocks. The bottom of the ravine is of fine mud, scattered
with blocks of silicious deposit, like cakes of floating ice after a
thaw. Here, a big caldron of mud is simmering; there, lies a deep basin
of boiling water; next to this is a terrible hole, emitting hissing
jets of steam, and further on are mud-cones from two to five feet
high, vomiting hot mud from their craters with dull rumblings, and
imitating on a small scale the play of large fire volcanoes." The gay
colors of the Yellowstone mud-springs are frequently exhibited in the
volcanic lake district of New Zealand, and so indeed are most of the
other phenomena we have been studying, though on a far less magnificent
scale. For example, the grandest "Firehole basin" on the island
occupies the Shallow valley of a little stream the Waikato, for the
distance of a mile. It is but a cabinet exhibition comparatively, yet
the learned geologist of the _Novara_ expedition grows eloquent in his
description of it. "In the morning a dense fog lay upon the Waikato,
but it soon vanished, the sun shone brightly into the valley, and
now--what a sight! In its swift course, forming rapids after rapids,
the Waikato was plunging through the deep valley between steep-rising
mountains; its floods whirling and foaming round two small rocky
islands in the middle of the river, were dashing with a loud uproar
through the defile of the valley. Along its banks white clouds of steam
were ascending from hot cascades falling into the river, and from
basins full of boiling water shut in by a white mass of stone. Yonder
a steaming fountain was rising and falling; now there sprung from
another place a second fountain; this also ceased in its turn; then two
commenced playing simultaneously, one quite low at the river bank, the
other opposite on a terrace; and thus the play continued with endless
changes, as though experiments were being made with grand waterworks,
to see whether the fountains were all in perfect order, and whether
the waterfalls had a sufficient supply. I began to count the places
where a boiling waterbasin was visible, or where a cloud of steam
indicated the existence of one. I counted seventy-six points, without,
however, being able to survey the whole region, and among them were
numerous intermittent geyser-like fountains with periodical eruptions
of water."


The picture is admirably drawn, but could the artist have done so
well with the stupendous chasm of the Grand Cañon? or the thousand
volcanic vents of Firehole Basin with their deafening detonations,
their immeasurable evolutions of water and steam? It is possible,
but scarcely probable. The incomprehensible grandeur of the scene
would have awed, astounded, bewildered him, and like our Yellowstone
explorers, he would have despaired of grouping the myriad marvels into
one grand effect, and contented himself with setting down a few details
of form and color.

In following the exploration of the Yellowstone country and Firehole
Basin, the reader has doubtless observed, in the passage from the quiet
springs of Gardiner's River to the erupting fountains further on, that
there is a complete change in the nature of the deposits. The mounds
and terraces built up by the former have for their basis _lime_, those
of the latter _silica_. Dr. Hayden attributes the calcareous deposits
to the deep bed of limestone underlying the springs, but not all
waters have the power of disolving lime so freely, nor could ordinary
water take from the trachytic lavas below the silicious springs around
Yellowstone Lake and in the Firehole Basin, the silica that appears
so abundantly in their deposits. There must be other forces at work.
What are they? "Both kinds of springs," says Dr. Hochstetter, in
his chapter on New Zealand springs, "owe their origin to the water
permeating the surface and sinking through fissures into the bowels
of the earth, where it becomes heated by the still existing volcanic
fires. High-pressure steam is thus generated, which, accompanied by
volcanic gases--such as muriatic acid, sulphurous acid, sulphuretted
hydrogen and carbonic acid--rises again toward the colder surface and
is there condensed into hot water. The overheated steam and the gases
decompose the rock beneath, dissolving certain ingredients which are
deposited on the surface. According to Bunsen's ingenious observations,
a chronological succession takes place in the coöperation of the gases.
The sulphurous acid acts first. It is generated where rising sulphur
vapor comes in contact with glowing masses of rock. Wherever vapors of
sulphurous acid are constantly formed, there acid-springs or solfataras
arise. Incrustations of alum are very common in such places, arising
from the action of sulphuric acid on the alumina and alkali of the
lavas; another product of the decomposition of the lavas is gypsum,
or sulphate of lime, the residuum being a more or less ferruginous
fumarole clay, the material of the mud-pools. After the sulphurous
acid comes sulphuretted hydrogen, produced by the action of steam on
sulphids; and by the mutual decomposition of sulphuretted hydrogen
and sulphurous acid sulphur is formed, the characteristic precipitate
in all solfataras, while the deposition of silica is either entirely
wanting or quite inconsiderable, and the smell of sulphuretted hydrogen
is but rarely noticed. These acid springs have no periodical outbursts
of water.

In course of time the source of sulphurous acid becomes exhausted, and
sulphuretted hydrogen alone remains active. The acid reaction of the
soil disappears, yielding to an alkaline reaction by the formation of
sulphids. At the same time carbonic acid begins to act upon the rocks,
and the alkaline bi-carbonates thus produced dissolve the silica, which
on the evaporation of the water is deposited in the form of opal or
quartz or silicious earth, and thus the shell of the springs is formed,
on the structure of which the periodicity of the outburst depends....
The deposition of silica in quantities sufficient for the formation
of this spring-apparatus in the course of years, takes place only in
the alkaline springs. Their water is either neutral or has a slightly
alkaline reaction. Silica, common salt, carbonates and sulphates are
the chief ingredients dissolved in it. In the place of sulphurous
acid the odor of sulphuretted hydrogen is sometimes observed in these
springs.... By the gradual cooling of the volcanic rocks under the
surface of the earth the hot springs themselves gradually die out,
for they too are but a transient phenomenon in the eternal change of
created things."



On the day that I found myself separated from the company, and for
several days previous, our course had been impeded by the dense growth
of pine forest, and occasional large tracts of fallen timber frequently
rendering our progress almost impossible. Whenever we came to one of
these immense windfalls, each man engaged in the pursuit of a passage
through it, and it was while thus employed, and with the idea that I
had found one, that I strayed out of sight and hearing of my comrades.
We had had a toilsome day. It was quite late in the afternoon. As
separations like these had frequently occurred, it gave me no alarm,
and I rode on, fully confident of soon rejoining the company, or of
finding their camp. I came up with the pack-horse, which Mr. Langford
afterwards recovered, and tried to drive him along. But failing to
do so, and my eyesight being defective, I spurred forward, intending
to return with assistance from the party. This incident tended to
accelerate my speed. I rode on in the direction which I supposed had
been taken, until darkness overtook me in the dense forest. This was
disagreeable enough, but caused me no alarm. I had no doubt of being
with the party at breakfast the next morning. I selected a spot for
comfortable repose, picketed my horse, built a fire, and went to sleep.

The next morning I rose at early dawn, saddled and mounted my horse,
and took my course in the supposed direction of the camp. Our ride of
the previous day had been up a peninsula jutting into the lake, for the
shore of which I started, with the expectation of finding my friends
camped on the beach. The forest was quite dark, and the trees so thick,
that it was only by a slow process I could get through them at all.
In searching for the trail I became somewhat confused. The falling
foliage of the pines had obliterated every trace of travel. I was
obliged frequently to dismount, and examine the ground for the faintest
indications. Coming to an opening, from which I could see several
vistas, I dismounted for the purpose of selecting one leading in the
direction I had chosen, and leaving my horse unhitched, as had always
been my custom, walked a few rods into the forest. While surveying
the ground my horse took fright, and I turned around in time to see
him disappearing at full speed among the trees. That was the last I
ever saw of him. It was yet quite dark. My blankets, gun, pistols,
fishing-tackle, matches--everything, except the clothing on my person,
a couple of knives, and a small opera-glass were attached to the saddle.

I did not yet realize the possibility of a permanent separation from
the company. Instead of following up the pursuit of their camp, I
engaged in an effort to recover my horse. Half a day's search convinced
me of its impracticability. I wrote and posted in an open space several
notices, which, if my friends should chance to see, would inform them
of my condition and the route I had taken, and then struck out into
the forest in the supposed direction of their camp. As the day wore on
without any discovery, alarm took the place of anxiety at the prospect
of another night alone in the wilderness, and this time without food
or fire. But even this dismal foreboding was cheered by the hope that
I should soon rejoin my companions, who would laugh at my adventure,
and incorporate it as a thrilling episode into the journal of our
trip. The bright side of a misfortune, as I found by experience, even
under the worst possible circumstances, always presents some features
of encouragement. When I began to realize that my condition was one
of actual peril, I banished from my mind all fear of an unfavorable
result. Seating myself on a log, I recalled every foot of the way I had
travelled since the separation from my friends, and the most probable
opinion I could form of their whereabouts was, that they had, by a
course but little different from mine, passed by the spot where I had
posted the notices, learned of my disaster, and were waiting for me
to rejoin them there, or searching for me in that vicinity. A night
must be spent amid the prostrate trunks before my return could be
accomplished. At no time during my period of exile did I experience so
much mental suffering from the cravings of hunger as when, exhausted
with this long day of fruitless search, I resigned myself to a couch
of pine foliage in the pitchy darkness of a thicket of small trees.
Naturally timid in the night, I fully realized the exposure of my
condition. I peered upward through the darkness, but all was blackness
and gloom. The wind sighed mournfully through the pines. The forest
seemed alive with the screeching of night birds, the angry barking of
coyotes, and the prolonged, dismal howl of the gray wolf. These sounds,
familiar by their constant occurrence throughout the journey, were now
full of terror, and drove slumber from my eye-lids, but above all
this, however, was the hope that I should be restored to my comrades
the next day.

Early the next morning I rose unrefreshed, and pursued my weary way
over the prostrate trunks. It was noon when I reached the spot where
my notices were posted. No one had been there. My disappointment was
almost overwhelming. For the first time, I realized that I was lost.
Then came a crushing sense of destitution. No food, no fire; no means
to procure either; alone in an unexplored wilderness, one hundred and
fifty miles from the nearest human abode, surrounded by wild beasts,
and famishing with hunger. It was no time for despondency. A moment
afterwards I felt how calamity can elevate the mind, in the formation
of the resolution "not to perish in that wilderness."

The hope of finding the party still controlled my plans. I thought,
by traversing the peninsula centrally, I would be enabled to strike
the shore of the lake in advance of their camp, and near the point of
departure for the Madison. Acting upon this impression, I rose from
a sleepless couch, and pursued my way through the timber-entangled
forest. A feeling of weakness took the place of hunger. Conscious of
the need of food, I felt no cravings. Occasionally, while scrambling
over logs and through thickets, a sense of faintness and exhaustion
would come over me, but I would suppress it with the audible
expression, "This won't do; I _must_ find my company." Despondency
would sometimes strive with resolution for the mastery of my thoughts.
I would think of home--of my daughter--and of the possible chance of
starvation, or death in some more terrible form; but as often as these
gloomy forebodings came, I would strive to banish them with reflections
better adapted to my immediate necessities. I recollect at this time
discussing the question, whether there was not implanted by Providence
in every man a principle of self-preservation equal to any emergency
which did not destroy his reason. I decided this question affirmatively
a thousand times afterwards in my wanderings, and I record this
experience here, that any person who reads it, should he ever find
himself in like circumstances, may not despair. There is life in the
thought. It will revive hope, allay hunger, renew energy, encourage
perseverance, and, as I have proved in my own case, bring a man out of
difficulty, when nothing else can avail.

It was mid-day when I emerged from the forest into an open space at
the foot of the peninsula. A broad lake of beautiful curvature, with
magnificent surroundings, lay before me, glittering in the sunbeams.
It was full twelve miles in circumference. A wide belt of sand formed
the margin which I was approaching, directly opposite to which, rising
seemingly from the very depths of the water, towered the loftiest peak
of a range of mountains apparently interminable. The ascending vapor
from innumerable hot springs, and the sparkling jet of a single geyser
added the feature of novelty to one of the grandest landscapes I ever
beheld. Nor was the life of the scene less noticeable than its other
attractions. Large flocks of swans and other waterfowl were sporting
on the quiet surface of the lake; otters in great numbers performed
the most amusing aquatic evolutions; mink and beaver swam around
unscared, in most grotesque confusion. Deer, elk, and mountain sheep
stared at me, manifesting more surprise than fear at my presence among
them. The adjacent forest was vocal with the songs of birds, chief of
which were the chattering notes of a species of mocking-bird, whose
imitative efforts afforded abundant merriment. Seen under favorable
circumstances, this assemblage of grandeur, beauty, and novelty would
have been transporting; but jaded with travel, famishing with hunger,
and distressed with anxiety, I was in no humor for ecstasy. My tastes
were subdued and chastened by the perils which environed me. I longed
for food, friends, and protection. Associated with my thoughts,
however, was the wish that some of my friends of peculiar tastes could
enjoy this display of secluded magnificence, now, probably, for the
first time beheld by mortal eyes.

The lake was at least one thousand feet lower than the highest point of
the peninsula, and several hundred feet below the level of Yellowstone
Lake. I recognized the mountain which overshadowed it as the landmark
which, a few days before, had received from General Washburn the
name of Mount Everts; and as it is associated with some of the most
agreeable and terrible incidents of my exile, I feel that I have more
than a mere discoverer's right to the perpetuity of that christening.
The lake is fed by innumerable small streams from the mountains, and
the countless hot springs surrounding it. A large river flows from
it, through a cañon a thousand feet in height, in a southeasterly
direction, to a distant range of mountains, which I conjectured to be
Snake River; and with the belief that I had discovered the source of
the great southern tributary of the Columbia, I gave it the name of
Bessie Lake, after the

  "Sole daughter of my house and heart."

During the first two days, the fear of meeting with Indians gave me
considerable anxiety; but, when conscious of being lost, there was
nothing I so much desired as to fall in with a lodge of Bannocks or
Crows. Having nothing to tempt their cupidity, they would do me no
personal harm, and, with the promise of reward, would probably minister
to my wants and aid my deliverance. Imagine my delight, while gazing
upon the animated expanse of water, at seeing sail out from a distant
point a large canoe containing a single oarsman. It was rapidly
approaching the shore where I was seated. With hurried steps I paced
the beach to meet it, all my energies stimulated by the assurance it
gave of food, safety, and restoration to friends. As I drew near to
it it turned towards the shore, and oh! bitter disappointment, the
object which my eager fancy had transformed into an angel of relief
stalked from the water, an enormous pelican, flapped its dragonwings
as if in mockery of my sorrow, and flew to a solitary point farther up
the lake. This little incident quite unmanned me. The transition from
joy to grief brought with it a terrible consciousness of the horrors
of my condition. But night was fast approaching, and darkness would
come with it. While looking for a spot where I might repose in safety,
my attention was attracted to a small green plant of so lively a hue
as to form a striking contrast with the deep pine foliage. For closer
examination I pulled it up by the root, which was long and tapering,
not unlike a radish. It was a thistle. I tasted it; it was palatable
and nutritious. My appetite craved it, and the first meal in four
days was made on thistle-roots. Eureka! I had found food. No optical
illusion deceived me this time; I could subsist until I rejoined my
companions. Glorious counterpoise to the wretchedness of the preceding

Overjoyed at this discovery, with hunger allayed, I stretched myself
under a tree, upon the foliage which had partially filled a space
between contiguous trunks, and fell asleep. How long I slept I know
not; but suddenly I was roused by a loud, shrill scream, like that of
a human being in distress, poured, seemingly, into the very portals of
my ear. There was no mistaking that fearful voice. I had been deceived
by and answered it a dozen times while threading the forest, with the
belief that it was a friendly signal. It was the screech of a mountain
lion, so alarmingly near as to cause every nerve to thrill with
terror. To yell in return, seize with convulsive grasp the limbs of
the friendly tree, and swing myself into it, was the work of a moment.
Scrambling hurriedly from limb to limb, I was soon as near the top as
safety would permit. The savage beast was snuffing and growling below,
apparently on the very spot I had just abandoned. I answered every
growl with a responsive scream. Terrified at the delay and pawing of
the beast, I increased my voice to its utmost volume, broke branches
from the limbs, and, in the impotency of fright, madly hurled them at
the spot whence the continued howlings proceeded.

Failing to alarm the animal, which now began to make the circuit of
the tree, as if to select a spot for springing into it, I shook, with
a strength increased by terror, the slender trunk until every limb
rustled with the motion. All in vain. The terrible creature pursued
his walk around the tree, lashing the ground with his tail, and
prolonging his howlings almost to a roar. It was too dark to see, but
the movements of the lion kept me apprised of its position. Whenever I
heard it on one side of the tree I speedily changed to the opposite--an
exercise which, in my weakened state, I could only have performed
under the impulse of terror. I would alternately sweat and thrill with
horror at the thought of being torn to pieces and devoured by this
formidable monster. All my attempts to frighten it seemed unavailing.
Disheartened at its persistency, and expecting every moment it would
take the deadly leap, I tried to collect my thoughts, and prepare for
the fatal encounter which I knew must result. Just at this moment it
occurred to me that I would try silence. Clasping the trunk of the tree
with both arms, I sat perfectly still. The lion, at this time ranging
round, occasionally snuffing and pausing, and all the while filling the
forest with the echo of his howlings, suddenly imitated my example.
This silence was more terrible, if possible, than the clatter and crash
of his movements through the brushwood, for now I did not know from
what direction to expect his attack. Moments passed with me like hours.
After a lapse of time which I cannot estimate, the beast gave a spring
into the thicket and ran screaming into the forest. My deliverance was

Had strength permitted, I should have retained my perch till daylight,
but with the consciousness of escape from the jaws of the ferocious
brute came a sense of overpowering weakness which almost palsied
me, and made my descent from the tree both difficult and dangerous.
Incredible as it may seem, I lay down in my old bed, and was soon lost
in a slumber so profound that I did not awake until after daylight.
The experience of the night seemed like a terrible dream; but the
broken limbs which in the agony of consternation I had thrown from
the tree, and the rifts made in the fallen foliage by my visitant in
his circumambulations, were too convincing evidences of its reality.
I could not dwell upon my exposure and escape without shuddering and
reflecting that probably like perils would often occur under less
fortunate circumstances, and with a more fatal issue. I wondered what
fate was in reserve for me--whether I would ultimately sink from
exhaustion and perish of starvation, or become the prey of some of
the ferocious animals that roamed these vast fastnesses. My thoughts
then turned to the loved ones at home. They could never know my fate,
and would indulge a thousand conjectures concerning it, not the least
distressing of which would be that I had been captured by a band of
hostile Sioux, and tortured to death at the stake.

I was roused from this train of reflections by a marked change in the
atmosphere. One of those dreary storms of mingled snow and rain, common
to these high latitudes, set in. My clothing, which had been much torn,
exposed my person to its "pitiless peltings." An easterly wind, rising
to a gale, admonished me that it would be furious and of long duration.
None of the discouragements I had met with dissipated the hope of
rejoicing my friends; but foreseeing the delay, now unavoidable, I knew
that my escape from the wilderness must be accomplished, if at all,
by my own unaided exertions. This thought was terribly afflicting,
and brought before me, in vivid array, all the dreadful realities of
my condition. I could see no ray of hope. In this condition of mind I
could find no better shelter than the spreading branches of a spruce
tree, under which, covered with earth and boughs, I lay during the two
succeeding days; the storm, meanwhile, raging with unabated violence.
While thus exposed, and suffering from cold and hunger, a little
benumbed bird, not larger than a snow-bird, hopped within my reach. I
instantly seized and killed it, and, plucking its feathers, ate it raw.
It was a delicious meal for a half-starved man.

Taking advantage of a lull in the elements, on the morning of the
third day I rose early and started in the direction of a large group
of hot springs which were steaming under the shadow of Mount Everts.
The distance I travelled could not have been less than ten miles.
Long before I reached the wonderful cluster of natural caldrons, the
storm had recommenced. Chilled through, with my clothing thoroughly
saturated, I lay down under a tree upon the heated incrustation until
completely warmed. My heels and the sides of my feet were frozen. As
soon as warmth had permeated my system, and I had quieted my appetite
with a few thistle-roots, I took a survey of my surroundings, and
selected a spot between two springs sufficiently asunder to afford heat
at my head and feet. On this spot I built a bower of pine branches,
spread its incrusted surface with fallen foliage and small boughs,
and stowed myself away to await the close of the storm. Thistles were
abundant, and I had fed upon them long enough to realize that they
would, for a while at least, sustain life. In convenient proximity
to my abode was a small, round, boiling spring, which I called my
dinner-pot, and in which, from time to time, I cooked my roots.

This establishment, the best I could improvise with the means at hand,
I occupied seven days--the first three of which were darkened by one of
the most furious storms I ever saw. The vapor which supplied me with
warmth saturated my clothing with its condensations. I was enveloped
in a perpetual steam bath. At first this was barely preferable to the
storm, but I soon became accustomed to it, and before I left, though
thoroughly parboiled, actually enjoyed it.

I had little else to do during my imprisonment but cook, think,
and sleep. Of the variety and strangeness of my reflections it is
impossible to give the faintest conception. Much of my time was given
to devising means for escape. I recollected to have read, at the time
of their publication, the narratives of Lieutenant Strain and Doctor
Kane, and derived courage and hope from the reflection that they
struggled with and survived perils not unlike those which environed
me. The chilling thought would then occur, that they were not alone.
They had companions in suffering and sympathy. Each could bear his
share of the burden of misery which it fell to my lot to bear alone,
and make it lighter from the encouragement of mutual counsel and aid
in a cause of common suffering. Selfish as the thought may seem,
there was nothing I so much desired as a companion in misfortune. How
greatly it would alleviate my distress! What a relief it would be to
compare my wretchedness with that of a brother sufferer, and with him
devise expedients for every exigency as it occurred! I confess to the
weakness, if it be one, of having squandered much pity upon myself
during the time I had little else to do.

Nothing gave me more concern than the want of fire. I recalled
everything I had ever read or heard of the means by which fire could
be produced; but none of them were within my reach. An escape without
it was simply impossible. It was indispensable as a protection against
night attacks from wild beasts. Exposure to another storm like the one
just over would destroy my life, as this one would have done, but for
the warmth derived from the springs. As I lay in my bower anxiously
awaiting the disappearance of the snow, which had fallen to the depth
of a foot or more, and impressed with the belief that for want of fire
I should be obliged to remain among the springs, it occurred to me
that I would erect some sort of monument, which might, at some future
day, inform a casual visitor of the circumstances under which I had
perished. A gleam of sunshine lit up the bosom of the lake, and with
it the thought flashed upon my mind that I could, with a lens from my
opera-glasses, get fire from Heaven. Oh, happy, life-renewing thought!
Instantly subjecting it to the test of experiment, when I saw the smoke
curl from the bit of dry wood in my fingers, I felt, if the whole world
were offered me for it, I would cast it all aside before parting with
that little spark. I was now the happy possessor of food and fire.
These would carry me through. All thoughts of failure were instantly
abandoned. Though the food was barely adequate to my necessities--a
fact too painfully attested by my attenuated body--I had forgotten the
cravings of hunger, and had the means of producing fire. I said to
myself, "I will not despair."

My stay at the springs was prolonged several days by an accident
that befell me on the third night after my arrival there. An unlucky
movement while asleep broke the crust on which I reposed, and the hot
steam, pouring upon my hip, scalded it severely before I could escape.
This new affliction, added to my frost-bitten feet, already festering,
was the cause of frequent delay and unceasing pain through all my
wanderings. After obtaining fire, I set to work making preparations for
as early departure as my condition would permit. I had lost both knives
since parting from the company, but I now made a convenient substitute
by sharpening the tongue of a buckle which I cut from my vest. With
this I cut the legs and counters from my boots, making of them a
passable pair of slippers, which I fastened to my feet as firmly as I
could with strips of bark. With the ravellings of a linen handkerchief,
aided by the magic buckle-tongue, I mended my clothing. Of the same
material I made a fish-line, which, on finding a piece of red tape in
one of my pockets better suited to the purpose, I abandoned as a "bad
job." I made of a pin that I found in my coat a fish-hook, and, by
sewing up the bottoms of my boot-legs, constructed a very good pair of
pouches to carry my food in, fastening them to my belt by the straps.

Thus accountered, on the morning of the eighth day after my arrival
at the springs I bade them a final farewell, and started on my course
directly across that portion of the neck of the peninsula between
me and the southeast arm of Yellowstone Lake. It was a beautiful
morning. The sun shone bright and warm, and there was a freshness
in the atmosphere truly exhilarating. As I wandered musingly along,
the consciousness of being alone, and having surrendered all hope of
finding my friends, returned upon me with crushing power. I felt, too,
that those friends, by the necessities of their condition, had been
compelled to abandon all efforts for my recovery. The thought was full
of bitterness and sorrow. I tried to realize what their conjectures
were concerning my disappearance; but could derive no consolation
from the long and dismal train of circumstances they suggested.
Weakened by a long fast, and the unsatisfying nature of the only food
I could procure, I know that from this time onward to the day of my
rescue, my mind, though unimpaired in those perceptions needful to
self-preservation, was in a condition to receive impressions akin to
insanity. I was constantly travelling in dream-land, and indulging in
strange reveries such as I had never before known. I seemed to possess
a sort of duality of being, which, while constantly reminding me of the
necessities of my condition, fed my imagination with vagaries of the
most extravagant character. Nevertheless I was perfectly conscious of
the tendency of these morbid influences, and often tried to shake them
off, but they would ever return with increased force, and I finally
reasoned myself into the belief that their indulgence, as it afforded
me pleasure, could work no harm while it did not interfere with my
plans for deliverance. Thus I lived in a world of ideal happiness, and
in a world of positive suffering at the same time.

A change in the wind and an overcast sky, accompanied by cold, brought
with them a need of warmth. I drew out my lens and touchwood, but alas!
there was no sun. I sat down on a log to await his friendly appearance.
Hours passed; he did not come. Night, cold freezing night, set in, and
found me exposed to all its terrors. A bleak hill-side sparsely covered
with pines afforded poor accommodations for a half-clad, famishing man.
I could only keep from freezing by the most active exertion in walking,
rubbing, and striking my benumbed feet and hands against the logs. It
seemed the longest, most terrible night of my life, and glad was I
when the approaching dawn enabled me to commence retracing my steps to
Bessie Lake. I arrived there at noon, built my first fire on the beach,
and remained by it, recuperating for the succeeding two days.

The faint hope that my friends might be delayed by their search for
me until I could rejoin them now forsook me altogether. I made my
arrangements independent of it. Either of three directions I might take
would effect my escape, if life and strength held out. I drew upon the
sand of the beach a map of these several courses with reference to my
starting-point from the lake, and considered well the difficulties each
would present. All were sufficiently defined to avoid mistake. One was
to follow Snake River a distance of one hundred miles or more to Eagle
Rock bridge; another, to cross the country between the southern shore
of Yellowstone Lake and the Madison Mountains, by scaling which I could
easily reach the settlements in the Madison Valley; and the other,
to retrace my journey over the long and discouraging route by which
I had entered the country. Of these routes the last mentioned seemed
the least inviting, probably because I had so recently traversed it,
and was familiar with its difficulties. I had heard and read so much
concerning the desolation and elemental upheavals and violent waters
of the upper valley of the Snake, that I dared not attempt to return
in that direction. The route by the Madison Range, encumbered by the
single obstruction of the mountain barrier, was much the shortest, and
so most unwisely, as will hereafter appear, I adopted it.

Filling my pouches with thistle-roots, I took a parting survey of the
little solitude that had afforded me food and fire the preceding ten
days, and with something of that melancholy feeling experienced by
one who leaves his home to grapple with untried adventures, started
for the nearest point on Yellowstone Lake. All that day I travelled
over timber-heaps, amid tree tops, and through thickets. At noon I
took the precaution to obtain fire. With a brand which I kept alive by
frequent blowing, and constant waving to and fro, at a late hour in the
afternoon, faint and exhausted, I kindled a fire for the night on the
only vacant spot I could find amid a dense wilderness of pines. The
deep gloom of the forest, in the spectral light which revealed on all
sides of me a compact and unending growth of trunks and an impervious
canopy of sombre foliage; the shrieking of night-birds; the super
naturally human scream of the mountain lion, the prolonged howl of the
wolf, made me insensible to all other forms of suffering.

The burn on my hip was so inflamed that I could only sleep in a sitting
posture. Seated with my back against a tree, the smoke from the fire
almost enveloping me in its suffocating folds, I vainly tried, amid the
din and uproar of this horrible serenade, to woo the drowsy god. My
imagination was instinct with terror. At one moment it seemed as if, in
the density of a thicket, I could see the blazing eyes of a formidable
forest monster fixed upon me, preparatory to a deadly leap; at another
I fancied that I heard the swift approach of a pack of yelping wolves
through the distant brushwood, which in a few moments would tear me
limb from limb. Whenever, by fatigue and weakness, my terrors yielded
to drowsiness, the least noise roused me to a sense of the hideousness
of my condition. Once, in a fitful slumber, I fell forward into the
fire, and inflicted a wretched burn on my hand. Oh! with what agony I
longed for day!

A bright and glorious morning succeeded the dismal night, and brought
with it the conviction that I had been the victim of uncontrollable
nervous excitement. I resolved henceforth to banish it altogether,
and, in much better spirits than I anticipated, resumed my journey
towards the lake. Another day of unceasing toil among the tree-tops
and thickets overtook me, near sunset, standing upon a lofty headland
jutting into the lake, and commanding a magnificent prospect of the
mountains and valley over an immense area. In front of me, at a
distance of fifty miles away, in the clear blue of the horizon, rose
the arrowy peaks of the Three Tetons. On the right, and apparently in
close proximity to the eminence I occupied, rolled the picturesque
range of the Madison, scarred with clefts, ravines, gorges, and cañons,
each of which glittered in the sunlight or deepened in shadow as the
fitful rays of the descending luminary glanced along their varied rocky
irregularities. Above where I stood were the lofty domes of Mounts
Langford and Doane, marking the limits of that wonderful barrier which
had so long defied human power in its efforts to subdue it. Rising
seemingly from the promontory which favored my vision was the familiar
summit of Mount Everts, at the base of which I had dwelt so long, and
which still seemed to hold me within its friendly shadow. All the vast
country within this grand enclosure of mountains and lake, scarred
and seamed with the grotesque ridges, rocky escarpments, undulating
hillocks, and miniature lakes, and steaming with hot springs, produced
by the volcanic forces of a former era, lay spread out before me like a
vast panorama.

I doubt if distress and suffering can ever entirely obliterate all
sense of natural grandeur and magnificence. Lost in the wonder and
admiration inspired by this vast world of beauties, I nearly forgot
to improve the few moments of remaining sunshine to obtain fire. With
a lighted brand in my hand, I effected a most difficult and arduous
descent of the abrupt and stony headland to the beach of the lake.
The sand was soft and yielding. I kindled a fire, and removing the
stiffened slippers from my feet, attached them to my belt, and wandered
barefoot along the sandy shore to gather wood for the night. The dry,
warm sand was most grateful to my lacerated and festering feet, and for
a long time after my wood-pile was supplied, I sat with them uncovered.
At length, conscious of the need of every possible protection from the
freezing night atmosphere, I sought my belt for the slippers, and one
was missing. In gathering the wood it had become detached and was lost.
Darkness was closing over the landscape, when, sorely disheartened with
the thought of passing the night with one foot exposed to a freezing
temperature, I commenced a search for the missing slipper. I knew I
could not travel a day without it. Fearful that it had dropped into
the lake, and been carried by some recurrent wave beyond recovery, my
search for an hour among fallen trees and bushes, up the hill-side and
along the beach, in darkness and with flaming brands, at one moment
crawling on hands and feet into a brush-heap, another peering among
logs and bushes and stones, was filled with anxiety and dismay. Success
at length rewarded my perseverance, and no language can describe the
joy with which I drew the cause of so much distress from beneath the
limb that, as I passed, had torn it from my belt. With a feeling of
great relief I now sat down in the sand, my back to a log, and listened
to the dash and roar of the waves. It was a wild lullaby, but had no
terrors for a worn-out man. I never passed a night of more refreshing
sleep. When I awoke my fire was extinguished save a few embers, which
I soon fanned into a cheerful flame. I ate breakfast with some relish,
and started along the beach in pursuit of a camp, believing that if
successful I should find directions what to do, and food to sustain me.
The search which I was making lay in the direction of my pre-arranged
route to the Madison Mountains, which I intended to approach at their
lowest point of altitude.

Buoyed by the hope of finding food and counsel, and another night of
undisturbed repose in the sand, I resumed my journey along the shore,
and at noon found the camp last occupied by my friends on the lake.
I struck their trail in the sand some time before I came to it. A
thorough search for food in the ground and trees revealed nothing,
and no notice to apprise me of their movements could be seen. A
dinner-fork, which afterwards proved to be of infinite service in
digging roots, and a yeast-powder can, which would hold half a pint,
and which I converted into a drinking-cup and dinner-pot, were the only
evidences that the spot had ever been visited by civilized man. "Oh!"
thought I, "why did they forget to leave me food!" It never occurred to
me that they might have cached it, as I have since learned they did,
in several spots nearer the place of my separation from them. I left
the camp in deep dejection, with the purpose of following the trail of
the party to the Madison. Carefully inspecting the faint traces left of
their course of travel, I became satisfied that from some cause they
had made a retrograde movement from this camp, and departed from the
lake at a point farther down stream. Taking this as an indication that
there were obstructions above, I commenced retracing my steps along
the beach. An hour of sunshine in the afternoon enabled me to procure
fire, which, in the usual manner, I carried to my camping-place. There
I built a fire, and to protect myself from the wind, which was blowing
violently, lashing the lake into foam, I made a bower of pine boughs,
crept under it, and very soon fell asleep. How long I slept I know
not, but I was aroused by the snapping and cracking of the burning
foliage, to find my shelter and the adjacent forest in a broad sheet
of flame. My left hand was badly burned, and my hair singed closer
than a barber would have trimmed it, while making my escape from the
semicircle of burning trees. Among the disasters of this fire, there
was none I felt more seriously than the loss of my buckle-tongue knife,
my pin fish-hook, and tape fish-line.

The grandeur of the burning forest surpasses description. An immense
sheet of flame, following to their tops the lofty trees of an
almost impenetrable pine forest, leaping madly from top to top, and
sending thousands of forked tongues a hundred feet or more athwart
the midnight darkness, lighting up with lurid gloom and glare the
surrounding scenery of lake and mountains, fills the beholder with
mingled feelings of awe and astonishment. I never before saw anything
so terribly beautiful. It was marvellous to witness the flash-like
rapidity with which the flames would mount the loftiest trees. The
roaring, cracking, crashing, and snapping of falling limbs and burning
foliage was deafening. On, on, on travelled the destructive element,
until it seemed as if the whole forest was enveloped in flame. Afar
up the wood-crowned hill, the overtopping trees shot forth pinnacles
and walls and streamers of arrowy fire. The entire hill-side was an
ocean of glowing and surging fiery billows. Favored by the gale, the
conflagration spread with lightning swiftness over an illimitable
extent of country, filling the atmosphere with driving clouds of
suffocating fume, and leaving a broad and blackened trail of spectral
trunks shorn of limbs and foliage, smoking and burning, to mark the
immense sweep of its devastation.

Resolved to search for a trail no longer, when daylight came I selected
for a landmark the lowest notch in the Madison Range. Carefully
surveying the jagged and broken surface over which I must travel to
reach it, I left the lake and pushed into the midst of its intricacies.
All the day, until nearly sunset, I struggled over rugged hills,
through windfalls, thickets, and matted forests, with the rock-ribbed
beacon constantly in view. As I advanced it receded, as if in mockery
of my toil. Night overtook me with my journey half accomplished. The
precaution of obtaining fire gave me warmth and sleep, and long before
daylight I was on my way. The hope of finding an easy pass into the
valley of the Madison inspired me with fresh courage and determination;
but long before I arrived at the base of the range, I scanned
hopelessly its insurmountable difficulties. It presented to my eager
vision an endless succession of inaccessible peaks and precipices,
rising thousands of feet sheer and bare above the plain. No friendly
gorge or gully or cañon invited such an effort as I could make to scale
this rocky barrier. Oh for the faith that could remove mountains! How
soon should this colossal fabric open at my approach! What a feeling
of helpless despair came over me with the conviction that the journey
of the last two days had been in vain! I seated myself on a rock upon
the summit of a commanding hill, and cast my eyes along the only route
which now seemed tenable--down the Yellowstone. How many dreary miles
of forest and mountain filled the terrible panorama! I thought that
before accepting this discouraging alternative I would spend a day in
search for a pass. Twenty miles at most would take me into the Madison
Valley, and thirty more restore me to friends who had abundance.
Supposing that I should find plenty of thistles, I had left the lake
with a small supply, and that was entirely spent. I looked in vain for
them where I then was.

While I was thus considering whether to remain and search for a passage
or return to the Yellowstone, I experienced one of those strange
hallucinations which many of my friends have misnamed insanity,
but which to me was Providence. An old clerical friend, for whose
character and counsel I had always cherished peculiar regard, in some
unaccountable manner seemed to be standing before me, charged with
advice which would relieve my perplexity. I seemed to hear him say, as
if in a voice and with the manner of authority:

"Go back immediately, as rapidly as your strength will permit. There is
no food here, and the idea of scaling these rocks is madness."

"Doctor," I rejoined, "the distance is too great. I cannot live to
travel it."

"Say not so. Your life depends upon the effort. Return at once.
Start now, lest your resolution falter. Travel as fast and as far as
possible--it is your only chance."

"Doctor, I am rejoiced to meet you in this hour of distress, but doubt
the wisdom of your counsel. I am within seventy miles of Virginia. Just
over these rocks, a few miles away, I shall find friends. My shoes are
nearly worn out, my clothes are in tatters, and my strength is almost
overcome. As a last trial, it seems to me I can but attempt to scale
this mountain or perish in the effort, if God so wills."

"Don't think of it. Your power of endurance will carry you through. I
will accompany you. Put your trust in Heaven. Help yourself and God
will help you."

Overcome by these and other persuasions, and delighted with the idea
of having a travelling companion, I plodded my way over the route I
had come, intending at a certain point to change it so as to strike
the river at the foot of the lake. Stopping after a few miles of
travel, I had no difficulty in procuring fire, and passed a comfortable
night. When I resumed my journey the next day the sun was just rising.
Whenever I was disposed, as was often the case, to question the wisdom
of the change of routes, my old friend appeared to be near with words
of encouragement, but his reticence on other subjects both surprised
and annoyed me. I was impressed at times, during the entire journey,
with the belief that my return was a fatal error, and if my deliverance
had failed should have perished with that conviction. Early this day
I deflected from my old route and took my course for the foot of the
lake, with the hope, by constant travel, to reach it the next day. The
distance was greater than I anticipated. Nothing is more deceptive
than distance in these high latitudes. At the close of each of the two
succeeding days, my point of destination was seemingly as far from me
as at the moment I took leave of the Madison Range, and when, cold
and hungry, on the afternoon of the fourth day, I gathered the first
food I had eaten in nearly five days, and lay down by my fire near the
debouchure of the river, I had nearly abandoned all hope of escape.

At daybreak I was on the trail down the river. The thought I had
adopted from the first, "I will cot perish in this wilderness," often
revived my sinking spirits, when, from faintness and exhaustion, I felt
but little desire for life. Once, while struggling through a field of
tangled trunks which seemed interminable, at one of the pauses I found
myself seriously considering whether it was not preferable to die there
than renew the effort to proceed. I felt that all attempt to escape
was but a bitter prolongation of the agony of dissolution. A seeming
whisper in the air, "While there is life there is hope; take courage,"
broke the delusion, and I clambered on. I did not forget to improve
the mid-day sun to procure fire. Sparks from the lighted brands had
burned my hands and crisped the nails of my fingers, and the smoke from
them had tanned my face to the complexion of an Indian. While passing
through an opening in the forest I found the tip of a gull's wing; it
was fresh. I made a fire upon the spot, mashed the bones with a stone,
and consigning them to my camp kettle, the yeast-powder box, made half
a pint of delicious broth. The remainder of that day and the night
ensuing were given to sleep.

I lost all sense of time. Days and nights came and went, and were
numbered only by the growing consciousness that I was gradually
starving. I felt no hunger, did not eat to appease appetite, but to
renew strength. I experienced but little pain. The gaping sores on my
feet, the severe burn on my hip, the festering crevices at the joints
of my fingers, all terrible in appearance, had ceased to give me the
least concern. The roots which supplied my food had suspended the
digestive power of the stomach, and their fibres were packed in it in a
matted, compact mass.

Not so with my hours of slumber. They were visited by the most
luxurious dreams. I would apparently visit the most gorgeously
decorated restaurants of New York and Washington; sit down to immense
tables spread with the most appetizing viands; partake of the richest
oyster stews and plumpest pies; engage myself in the labor and
preparation of curious dishes, and with them fill range upon range
of elegantly furnished tables until they fairly groaned beneath
the accumulated dainties prepared by my own hands. Frequently the
entire night would seem to have been spent in getting up a sumptuous
dinner. I would realize the fatigue of roasting, boiling, baking, and
fabricating the choicest dishes known to the modern _cuisine_, and in
my disturbed slumbers would enjoy with epicurean relish the food thus
furnished even to repletion. Alas! there was more luxury than life in
these somnolent vagaries.

It was a cold, gloomy day when I arrived in the vicinity of the falls.
The sky was overcast and the snow-capped peaks rose chilly and bleak
through the biting atmosphere. The moaning of the wind through the
pines, mingling with the sullen roar of the falls, was strangely in
unison with my own saddened feelings. I had no heart to gaze upon a
scene which a few weeks before had inspired me with rapture and awe.
One moment of sunshine was of more value to me than all the marvels
amid which I was famishing. But the sun had hid his face and denied me
all hope of obtaining fire. The only alternative was to seek shelter
in a thicket. I penetrated the forest a long distance before finding
one that suited me. Breaking and crowding my way into its very midst, I
cleared a spot large enough to recline upon, interlaced the surrounding
brushwood, gathered the fallen foliage into a bed, and lay down with a
prayer for sleep and forgetfulness. Alas! neither came. The coldness
increased through the night. Constant friction with my hands and
unceasing beating with my legs and feet saved me from freezing. It was
the most terrible night of my journey, and when, with the early dawn, I
pulled myself into a standing posture, it was to realize that my right
arm was partially paralyzed, and my limbs so stiffened with cold as to
be almost immovable. Fearing lest paralysis should suddenly seize upon
the entire system, I literally dragged myself through the forest to
the river. Seated near the verge of the great cañon below the falls,
I anxiously awaited the appearance of the sun. That great luminary
never looked so beautiful as when, a few moments afterwards, he emerged
from the clouds and exposed his glowing beams to the concentrating
powers of my lens. I kindled a mighty flame, fed it with every dry
stick and broken tree-top I could find, and without motion, and almost
without sense, remained beside it several hours. The great falls of
the Yellowstone were roaring within three hundred yards, and the awful
cañon yawned almost at my feet; but they had lost all charm for me. In
fact, I regarded them as enemies which had lured me to destruction, and
felt a sullen satisfaction in morbid indifference.

My old friend and adviser, whose presence I had felt more than seen
the last few days, now forsook me altogether. But I was not alone.
By some process which I was too weak to solve, my arms, legs, and
stomach were transformed into so many travelling companions. Often
for hours I would plod along conversing with these imaginary friends.
Each had his peculiar wants which he expected me to supply. The
stomach was importunate in his demand for a change of diet--complained
incessantly of the roots I fed him, their present effect and more
remote consequences. I would try to silence him with promises, beg of
him to wait a few days, and when this failed of the quiet I desired,
I would seek to intimidate him by declaring, as a sure result of
negligence, our inability to reach home alive. All to no purpose--he
tormented me with his fretful humors through the entire journey. The
others would generally concur with him in these fancied altercations.
The legs implored me for rest, and the arms complained that I gave them
too much to do. Troublesome as they were, it was a pleasure to realize
their presence. I worked for them, too, with right good will, doing
many things for their seeming comfort which, had I felt myself alone,
would have remained undone. They appeared to be perfectly helpless
of themselves; would do nothing for me or for each other. I often
wondered, while they ate and slept so much, that they did not aid
in gathering wood and kindling fires. As a counterpoise to their own
inertia, whenever they discovered languor in me on necessary occasions,
they were not wanting in words of encouragement and cheer. I recall
as I write, an instance where, by prompt and timely interposition,
the representative of the stomach saved me from a death of dreadful
agony. One day I came to a small stream issuing from a spring of mild
temperature on the hill-side, swarming with minnows. I caught some
with my hands, and ate them raw. To my taste they were delicious. But
the stomach refused them, accused me of attempting to poison him, and
would not be reconciled until I had emptied my pouch of the few fish
I had put there for future use. Those that I ate made me very sick.
Poisoned by the mineral in the water, had I glutted my appetite with
them as I intended, I should doubtless have died in the wilderness, in
excruciating torment.


A gradual mental introversion grew upon me as physical weakness
increased. The grand and massive scenery which, on the upward journey,
had aroused every enthusiastic impulse of my nature, was now tame and
spiritless. My thoughts were turned in upon myself--upon the dreadful
fate which apparently lay just before me--and the possible happiness
of the existence beyond. All doubt of immortality fled in the light of
present realities. So vivid were my conceptions of the future that at
times I longed for death, not less as the beginning of happiness than
as a release from misery. Led on by these reflections, I would recall
the varied incidents of my journey--my escape from the lion, from fire,
my return from the Madison Range--and in all of them I saw how much I
had been indebted to that mysterious protection which comes only from
the throne of the Eternal. And yet, starving, foot-sore, half blind,
worn to a skeleton, was it surprising that I lacked the faith needful
to buoy me above the dark waters of despair, which I now felt were
closing around me?

In less serious moods, as I struggled along, my thoughts would revert
to the single being on whom my holiest affections centred--my daughter.
What a tie was that to bind me to life! Oh! could I be restored to her
for a single hour, long enough for parting counsel and blessing, it
would be joy unspeakable! Long hours of painful travel were relieved
of physical suffering by this absorbing agony of the mind, which, when
from my present standpoint I contrast it with the personal calamities
of my exile, swells into mountains.

To return from this digression. At many of the streams on my route I
spent hours in endeavoring to catch trout, with a hook fashioned from
the rim of my broken spectacles, but in no instance with success. The
tackle was defective. The country was full of game in great variety. I
saw large herds of deer, elk, antelope, occasionally a bear, and many
smaller animals. Numerous flocks of ducks, geese, swans, and pelicans
inhabited the lakes and rivers. But with no means of killing them,
their presence was a perpetual aggravation. At all the camps of our
company I stopped and recalled many pleasant incidents associated with

One afternoon, when approaching "Tower Falls," I came upon a large
hollow tree, which, from the numerous tracks surrounding it, and the
matted foliage in the cavity, I recognized as the den of a bear. It
was a most inviting couch. Gathering a needful supply of wood and
brush, I lighted a circle of piles around the tree, crawled into the
nest, and passed a night of unbroken slumber. I rose the next morning
to find that during the night the fires had communicated with the
adjacent forest, and burned a large space in all directions, doubtless
intimidating the rightful proprietor of the nest, and saving me from
another midnight adventure.

At "Tower Falls" I spent the first half of a day in capturing a
grasshopper, and the remainder in a fruitless effort to catch a mess
of trout. In the agony of disappointment, I resolved to fish no more.
A spirit of rebellion seized me. I determined that thistles should
thenceforth be my only sustenance. "Why is it," I asked of myself,
"that in the midst of abundance, every hour meeting with objects which
would restore strength and vigor and energy, every moment contriving
some device to procure the nourishment my wasting frame required, I
should meet with these repeated and discouraging failures?" Thoughts
of the early teaching of a pious mother suppressed these feelings.
Oh! how often have the recollections of a loved New England home, and
the memories of a happy childhood, cheered my sinking spirits, and
dissipated the gathering gloom of despair! There were thoughts and
feelings and mental anguishes without number, that visited me during my
period of trial, that never can be known to any but my God and myself.
Bitter as was my experience, it was not unrelieved by some of the most
precious moments I have ever known.

Soon after leaving "Tower Falls," I entered the open country. Pine
forests and windfalls were changed for sage brush and desolation, with
occasional tracts of stunted verdure, barren hillsides, exhibiting
here and there an isolated clamp of dwarf trees, and ravines filled
with the rocky _debris_ of adjacent mountains. My first camp on this
part of the route, for the convenience of getting wood, was made near
the summit of a range of towering foot-hills. Towards morning a storm
of wind and snow nearly extinguished my fire. I became very cold; the
storm was still raging when I arose, and the ground white with snow. I
was perfectly bewildered, and had lost my course of travel. No visible
object, seen through the almost blinding storm, reassured me, and there
was no alternative but to find the river and take my direction from its
current. Fortunately, after a few hours of stumbling and scrambling
among rocks and over crests, I came to the precipitous side of the
cañon through which it ran, and with much labor, both of hands and
feet, descended it to the margin. I drank copiously of its pure waters,
and sat beside it for a long time, waiting for the storm to abate,
so that I could procure fire. The day wore on, without any prospect
of a termination to the storm. Chilled through, my tattered clothing
saturated, I saw before me a night of horrors unless I returned to
my fire. The scramble up the side of the rocky cañon, in many places
nearly perpendicular, was the hardest work of my journey. Often,
while clinging to the jutting rocks with hands and feet, to reach a
shelving projection, my grasp would unclose and I would slide many feet
down the sharp declivity. It was night when, sore from the bruises I
had received, I reached my fire; the storm, still raging, had nearly
extinguished it. I found a few embers in the ashes, and with much
difficulty kindled a flame. Here, on this bleak mountain side, as well
as I now remember, I must have passed two nights beside the fire, in
the storm. Many times during each night I crawled to the little clump
of trees to gather wood, and brush, and the broken limbs of fallen
tree-tops. All the sleep I obtained was snatched from the intervals
which divided these labors. It was so harassed with frightful dreams as
to afford little rest. I remember, before I left this camp, stripping
up my sleeves to look at my shrunken arms. Flesh and blood had
apparently left them. The skin clung to the bones like wet parchment.
A child's hand could have clasped them from wrist to shoulder. "Yet,"
thought I, "it is death to remain; I cannot perish in this wilderness."

Taking counsel of this early formed resolution, I hobbled on my course
through the snow, which was rapidly disappearing before the rays of
the warm sun. Well knowing that I should find no thistles in the
open country, I had filled my pouches with them before leaving the
forest. My supply was running low, and there were yet several days
of heavy mountain travel between me and Botelers' Ranch. With the
most careful economy, it could last but two or three days longer. I
saw the necessity of placing myself and imaginary companions upon
allowance. The conflict which ensued with the stomach, when I announced
this resolution, required great firmness to carry through. I tried
wheedling and coaxing and promising; failing in these, I threatened to
part company with a comrade so unreasonable, and he made no further

Two or three days before I was found, while ascending a steep hill, I
fell from exhaustion into the sage brush, without the power to rise.
Unbuckling my belt, as was my custom, I soon fell asleep. I have
no idea of the time I slept, but upon awaking I fastened my belt,
scrambled to my feet, and pursued my journey. As night drew on I
selected a camping-place, gathered wood into a heap, and felt for my
lens to procure fire. It was gone. If the earth had yawned to swallow
me I would not have been more terrified. The only chance for life was
lost. The last hope had fled. I seemed to feel the grim messenger who
had been so long pursuing me knocking at the portals of my heart as I
lay down by the side of the wood-pile, and covered myself with limbs
and sage brush, with the dreadful conviction that my struggle for life
was over, and that I should rise no more. The floodgates of misery
seemed now to be opened, and it rushed in a living tide upon my soul.
With the rapidity of lightning, I ran over every event of my life.
Thoughts doubled and trebled upon me, until I saw, as if in vision, the
entire past of my existence. It was all before me, as if painted with a
sunbeam, and all seemingly faded like the phantoms of a vivid dream.

As calmness returned, reason resumed her empire. Fortunately, the
weather was comfortable. I summoned all the powers of my memory,
thought over every foot of the day's travel, and concluded that the
glass must have become detached from my belt while sleeping. Five
long miles over the hills must be retraced to regain it. There was
no alternative, and before daylight I had staggered over half the
distance. I found the lens on the spot where I had slept. No incident
of my journey brought with it more of joy and relief.

Returning to the camp of the previous night, I lighted the pile I had
prepared, and lay down for a night to rest. It was very cold, and
towards morning commenced snowing. With difficulty I kept the fire
alive. Sleep was impossible. When daylight came, I was impressed with
the idea that I must go on despite the storm. A flash--momentary but
vivid--came over me, that I should be saved. Snatching a lighted brand,
I started through the storm. In the afternoon the storm abated and the
sun shone at intervals. Coming to a small clump of trees, I set to
work to prepare a camp. I laid the brand down which I had preserved
with so much care, to pick up a few dry sticks with which to feed it,
until I could collect wood for a camp-fire, and in the few minutes thus
employed it expired. I sought to revive it, but every spark was gone.
Clouds obscured the sun, now near the horizon, and the prospect of
another night of exposure without fire became fearfully imminent. I sat
down with my lens and the last remaining piece of touchwood I possessed
to catch a gleam of sunshine, feeling that my life depended on it. In
a few moments the cloud passed, and with trembling hands I presented
the little disk to the face of the glowing luminary. Quivering with
excitement lest a sudden cloud should interpose, a moment passed before
I could hold the lens steadily enough to concentrate a burning focus.
At length it came. The little thread of smoke curled gracefully up
wards from the Heaven-lighted spark, which, a few moments afterwards,
diffused with warmth and comfort my desolate lodgings.

I resumed my journey the next morning, with the belief that I should
make no more fires with my lens. I must save a brand, or perish. The
day was raw and gusty; an east wind, charged with storm, penetrated my
nerves with irritating keenness. After walking a few miles the storm
came on, and a coldness unlike any other I had ever felt seized me. It
entered all my bones. I attempted to build a fire, but could not make
it burn. Seizing a brand, I stumbled blindly on, stopping within the
shadow of every rock and clump to renew energy for a final conflict
for life. A solemn conviction that death was near, that at each pause
I made my limbs would refuse further service, and that I should sink
helpless and dying in my path, overwhelmed me with terror. Amid all
this tumult of the mind, I felt that I had done all that man could do.
I knew that in two or three days more I could effect my deliverance,
and I derived no little satisfaction from the thought that, as I was
now in the broad trail, my remains would be found, and my friends
relieved of doubt as to my fate. Once only the thought flashed across
my mind that I should be saved, and I seemed to hear a whispered
command to "struggle on." Groping along the side of a hill, I became
suddenly sensible of a sharp reflection, as of burnished steel. Looking
up, through half-closed eyes, two rough but kindly faces met my gaze.

"Are you Mr. Everts?"

"Yes. All that is left of him."

"We have come for you."

"Who sent you?"

"Judge Lawrence and other friends."

"God bless him, and them, and you! I am saved!" and with these words,
powerless of further effort, I fell forward into the arms of my
preservers, in a state of unconsciousness. I was saved. On the very
brink of the river which divides the known from the unknown, strong
arms snatched me from the final plunge, and kind ministrations wooed me
back to life.

Baronet and Prichette, my two preservers, by the usual appliances, soon
restored me to consciousness, made a camp upon the spot, and while
one went to Fort Ellis, a distance of seventy miles, to return with
remedies to restore digestion and an ambulance to convey me to that
post, the other sat by my side, and with all the care, sympathy, and
solicitude of a brother, ministered to my frequent necessities. In
two days I was sufficiently recovered in strength to be moved twenty
miles down the trail to the cabin of some miners who were prospecting
in that vicinity. From these men I received every possible attention
which their humane and generous natures could devise. A good bed was
provided, game was killed to make broth, and the best stores of their
larder placed at my command. For four days, at a time when every day's
labor was invaluable in their pursuit, they abandoned their work to aid
in my restoration. Owing to the protracted inaction of the system, and
the long period which must transpire before Prichette's return with
remedies, my friends had serious doubts of my recovery.

The night after my arrival at the cabin, while suffering the most
excruciating agony, and thinking that I had only been saved to die
among friends, a loud knock was heard at the cabin door. An old man
in mountain costume entered--a hunter, whose life was spent among the
mountains. He was on his way to find a brother. He listened to the
story of my sufferings, and tears rapidly coursed each other down
his rough, weather-beaten face. But when he was told of my present
necessity, brightening in a moment, he exclaimed:

"Why, Lord bless you, if that is all, I have the very remedy you need.
In two hours' time all shall be well with you."

He left the cabin, returning in a moment with a sack filled with the
fat of a bear which he had killed a few hours before. From this he
rendered out a pint measure of oil. I drank the whole of it. It proved
to be the needed remedy, and the next day, freed from pain, with
appetite and digestion reestablished, I felt that good food and plenty
of it were only necessary for an early recovery.

In a day or two I took leave of my kind friends, with a feeling of
regret at parting, and of gratitude for their kindness as enduring as

Meeting the carriage on my way, I preceded to Boseman, where I remained
among old friends, who gave me every attention until my health was
sufficiently restored to allow me to return to my home at Helena.

My heartfelt thanks are due to the members of the expedition, all of
whom devoted seven, and some of them twelve days to the search for me
before they left Yellowstone Lake; and to Judge Lawrence, of Helena,
and the friends who co-operated with him in the offer of reward which
sent Baronet and Prichette to my rescue.

My narrative is finished. In the course of events the time is not far
distant when the wonders of the Yellowstone will be made accessible to
all lovers of sublimity, grandeur, and novelty in natural scenery, and
its majestic waters become the abode of civilization and refinement;
and when that arrives, I hope, in happier mood and under more
auspicious circumstances, to revisit scenes fraught for me with such
thrilling interest; to ramble along the glowing beach of Bessie Lake;
to sit down amid the hot springs under the shadow of Mount Everts; to
thread unscared the mazy forests, retrace the dreary journey to the
Madison Range, and with enraptured fancy gaze upon the mingled glories
and terrors of the great falls and marvellous cañon, and to enjoy, in
happy contrast with the trials they recall, their power to delight,
elevate, and overwhelm the mind with wondrous and majestic beauty.



As soon as Dr. Hayden could make known officially the results of his
exploration of the Yellowstone Basin, action was begun to secure the
reservation of a portion at least of the marvellous scenes which it
embraces, for the undivided benefit, enjoyment and instruction of the
country at large.

A bill to this effect was introduced into the Senate of the United
States, on the 18th of December, 1871, by Hon. S. C. Pomeroy of
Kansas. About the same time a similar bill was offered in the House of
Representatives by Hon. William H. Claggett, delegate from Montana. The
bill was referred to the Committees on Public Lands in both houses, who
after due consideration returned with approbation the following report
prepared by Dr. Hayden:

"The bill now before Congress has for its object the withdrawal from
settlement, occupancy, or sale, under the laws of the United States, a
tract of land fifty-five by sixty-five miles, about the sources of the
Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, and dedicates and sets it apart as a
great national park or pleasure-ground for the benefit and enjoyment
of the people. The entire area comprises within the limits of the
reservation contemplated in this bill is not susceptible of cultivation
with any degree of certainty, and the winters would be too severe for
stock-raising. Whenever the altitude of the mountain districts exceeds
6,000 feet above tide-water, their settlement becomes problematical
unless there are valuable mines to attract people. The entire area
within the limits of the proposed reservation is over 6,000 feet in
altitude, and the Yellowstone Lake, which occupies an area fifteen by
twenty-two miles, or three hundred and thirty square miles, is 7,427
feet. The ranges of mountains that hem the valleys in on every side
rise to the height of 10,000 and 12,000 feet and are covered with snow
all the year. These mountains are all of volcanic origin, and it is
not probable that any mines or minerals of value will ever be found
there. During the months of June, July, and August the climate is
pure and most invigorating, with scarcely any rain or storms of any
kind, but the thermometer frequently sinks as low as 26°. There is
frost every month of the year. This whole region was, in comparatively
modern geological times, the scene of the most wonderful volcanic
activity of any portion of our country. The hot springs and the
geysers represent the last stages--the vents or escape-pipes--of these
remarkable volcanic manifestations of the internal forces. All these
springs are adorned with decorations more beautiful than human art ever
conceived, and which have required thousands of years for the cunning
hand of nature to form. Persons are now waiting for the spring to open
to enter in and take possession of these remarkable curiosities, to
make merchandise of these beautiful specimens, to fence in these rare
wonders, so as to charge visitors a fee, as is now done at Niagara
Falls, for the sight of that which ought to be as free as the air or

In a few years this region will be a place of resort for all classes of
people from all portions of the world. The geysers of Iceland, which
have been objects of interest for the scientific men and travellers
of the entire world, sink into insignificance in comparison with the
hot springs of the Yellowstone and Firehole Basins. As a place of
resort for invalids, it will not be excelled by any portion of the
world. If this bill fails to become a law this session, the vandals
who are now waiting to enter into this wonder-land will, in a single
season, despoil, beyond recovery, these remarkable curiosities, which
have required all the cunning skill of nature thousands of years to

[Illustration: THE GIANTESS.]

"We have already shown that no portion of this tract can ever be made
available for agricultural or mining purposes. Even if the altitude
and the climate would permit the country to be made available, not
over fifty square miles of the entire area could ever be settled. The
valleys are all narrow, hemmed in by high volcanic mountains like
gigantic walls.

The withdrawal of this tract, therefore, from sale or settlement takes
nothing from the value of the public domain, and is no pecuniary loss
to the Government, but will be regarded by the entire civilized world
as a step of progress and an honor to Congress and the nation."

In the Senate the bill was ably advocated by Messrs. Pomeroy, Edmunds,
Trumbull, Anthony and others. In the House the favorable remarks of
Hon. H. L. Dawes were so clear and forcible that the bill was passed
without opposition.

The text of the Act is as follows:

 "_Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United
 States of America in Congress assembled_, That the tract of land in the
 Territories of Montana and Wyoming, lying near the headwaters of the
 Yellowstone River, and described as follows, to wit, commencing at the
 junction of Gardiner's River with the Yellowstone River, and running
 east to the meridian passing ten miles to the eastward of the most
 eastern point of Yellowstone Lake; thence south along said meridian to
 the parallel of latitude passing ten miles south of the most southern
 point of Yellowstone Lake; thence west along said parallel to the
 meridian passing fifteen miles west of the most western point of Madison
 Lake; thence north along said meridian to the latitude of the junction
 of the Yellowstone and Gardiner's River; thence east to the place of
 beginning, is hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy,
 or sale under the laws of the United States, and dedicated and set apart
 as a public park or pleasuring-ground for the benefit and enjoyment of
 the people; and all persons who shall locate or settle upon or occupy
 the same, or any part thereof, except as hereinafter provided, shall be
 considered trespassers and removed therefrom.

 "SEC. 2. That said public park shall be under the exclusive control
 of the Secretary of the Interior, whose duty it shall be, as soon as
 practicable, to make and publish such rules and regulations as he may
 deem necessary or proper for the care and management of the same.
 Such regulations shall provide for the preservation, from injury or
 spoliation, of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities
 or wonders within said park, and their retention in their natural
 condition. The Secretary may, in his discretion, grant leases for
 building purposes for terms not exceeding ten years, of small parcels
 of ground, at such places in said park as shall require the erection
 of buildings for the accommodation of visitors; all of the proceeds of
 said leases, and all other revenues that may be derived from any source
 connected with said park, to be expended under his direction in the
 management of the same, and the construction of roads and bridlepaths
 therein. He shall provide against the wanton destruction of the fish and
 game found within said, park, and against their capture or destruction
 for the purposes of merchandise or profit. He shall also cause all
 persons trespassing upon the same after the passage of this act to be
 removed therefrom, and generally shall be authorized to take all such
 measures as shall be necessary or proper to fully carry out the objects
 and purposes of this act."

This Act was approved March 1, 1872; and shortly after the Hon. N. P.
Langford, whose graphic descriptions of the Wonders of the Yellowstone
first called public attention thereto, was appointed Superintendent of
the Park.

[Illustration: MAP]


[1] Mr. Langford appears to have underestimated this fall. The report
of the U. S. Geological Survey gives the height as 140 feet.

                          TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

--Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.

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