Chapter 6

ACROSSSEWARDGLACIER TODOMEPASS.

Stormy weather and the necessity of bringing additional supplies from Blossom island detained us at Camp 14 until August 13. We rose at three o'clock on the morning of that day, and, after a hasty breakfast, prepared to cross the Seward glacier. The morning was cold but clear, and the air was bracing. Each peak and mountain crest in the rugged landscape stood out boldly in the early light, although the sun had not risen. Soon the summit of St. Elias became tipped with gold, and then peak after peak, in order of their rank, caught the radiance, and in a short time the vast snow-fields were of dazzling splendor.

The frost of the night before had hardened the snow, which made walking a pleasure. We crossed a rocky spur projecting northward from Point Glorious into the Seward glacier, and had to lower our packs down the side of the precipice with the aid of ropes. Our course led at first up the border of the great glacier to a point above the head of the rapids already referred to, then curved to the westward, and for a mile or two coincided with the general trend of the crevasses. We made good progress, but at length we came to where the Augusta glacier pours its flood of ice into the main stream and, owing to its high grade, is greatly broken. Skirting this difficult area, we passed a number of small blue lakelets and reached the western border of the Seward glacier. We found a gently rising snow-slope leading westward through a gap that could be seen in hills a few miles in advance. But little difficulty was now experienced, except that the snowhad become soft under the summer's sun, and walking over it with heavy loads was wearisome in the extreme. We could see, however, that the way ahead was clear, and that encouraged us to push on. Toward night we found a camping place on a steep ridge of shale and sandstone projecting eastward from a spur of Mount Malaspina. This ridge rises about five hundred feet above the surrounding glacier, and has steep roof-like slopes. The summer sun had melted nearly all the snow from its southern face, but the northern slope was still heavily loaded. The snow on the northern side stood some thirty or forty feet higher than the rocky crest of the ridge itself, and between the rock crest and the snow crest there was a little valley which afforded ample shelter for our tent and was quite safe from avalanches. The melting of the snow-bank during the warm days supplied us with water.

The formation of crests of snow standing high above the rocky ridges on which they rest is a peculiar and interesting feature of the mountains of the St. Elias region. A north-and-south section through the ridge on which Camp 15 was situated, exhibiting the double crests, one of rock and the other of snow, is shown atain figure 6.bis a section through a similar ridge with a still higher snow crest. The remaining figures in the illustration are sketches of mountain peaks, as seen from the south, which have been increased in height by a heavy accumulation of snow on their northern slopes. These sketches are of peaks among the foothills of Mount Malaspina, and show snow pinnacles from fifty to more than a hundred feet high. In some instances, domes and crests of snow were seen along the western sides of the ridges and peaks, but as a rule these snow-tips on the mountains are confined to their northern slopes. The edges and summits of the snow-ridges are sharply defined and clearly cut. The southern slope exposed above the crest of rock is often concave, while the northern slopes are usually convex.

In climbing steep ridges the double crests are frequently of great assistance. Safe footing may frequently be found in the channels between the crests of rock and snow, by the aid of whichvery precipitous peaks may be climbed with ease. In case the ascent between the two crests is not practicable, the even snow-slope itself affords a sure footing for one used to mountain climbing.

After establishing Camp 15, Lindsley and Stamy returned to one of the lower camps for additional supplies, while Kerr and I explored a way for farther advance.

Hitchcock Range

Our camp occupied a commanding situation. From the end of the ridge on which it was located there was a splendid view of glaciers and mountains to the eastward. The illustration forming plate 18 is from a photograph taken from that station. Toward the north, and only a few miles away, rose the bare, rugged slope of Mount Malaspina. In a wild, high-grade gorge on its western side, a glacier, all pinnacles and crevasses, tumbles down into the broad white plain below. On account of its splendid ice-fall this was named theCascade glacier. Beyond the white plain, stretching eastward for fifteen or twenty miles, there rise the foothills of Mount Cook. Farther south, the rugged, angular summits of the Hitchcock range are in full view, and toward the north standsMount Irving,32which rivals even Mount Cook in the symmetrical proportions of its snow-covered slopes.

32Named in honor of Professor Roland Duer Irving, U. S. geologist.

The surface of the vast snow-plain near at hand is gashed by many gaping fissures, but the distance is so great that these minor details disappear in a general view. Looking down over the snow, one may see the crevasses as in a diagram. They look as if the white surface had been gashed with a sharp knife, and then stretched in such a way as to open the cuts. That the snow of the névés may be stretched, at least to a limited extent, is shown by the character of these fissures. The crevasses are widest in the center and come to a point at their curving extremities. Two crevasses frequently overlap at their ends and leave a sliver of ice stretching across diagonally between them. It is by means of these diagonal bridges that one is enabled to thread his way through the crevasses.

On returning to camp in the evening, weary with a hard day's climb, a never-failing source of delight was found in the matchless winter landscape to the eastward. The evenings following days of uninterrupted sunshine were especially delightful. The blue shadows of the western peaks creeping across the shining surface were nearly as sharp in outline as the peaks that castthem. When the chill of evening made itself felt, and the dropping water and the indefinite murmurs from the glacier below were stilled, the silence became oppressive. The stillness was so profound that it seemed as though the footsteps of the advancing shadows should be audible.

On warm sunny days, however, there are noises enough amid the mountains. The snow, partially melted and softened by the heat, falls from the cliffs in avalanches that make the mountains tremble and, with a roar like thunder, awaken the echoes far and near. During our stay at Camp 15 the avalanches were sometimes so frequent on the steep mountain faces toward the north that the roar of one falling mass of snow and rocks was scarcely hushed before it was succeeded by another.

On the southward-facing cliffs of Mount Augusta, composed of schist which disintegrates rapidly, there are frequent rock avalanches. A rock or a mass of comminuted schist sometimes breaks away even in midday, although these avalanches occur most frequently when the moisture in the rocks freezes. The midday avalanches, I fancy, may be started by the expansion of the rocks owing to the sun's heat. A few stones dislodged high up on the cliffs fall, and, loosening others in their descent, soon set in motion a train of dirt and stones, which flows down the steep ravines with a long rumbling roar, at the same time sending clouds of dust into the air. If the wind is blowing up the cliffs, as frequently happens on warm days, the dust is carried far above the mountains, and hangs in the air like clouds of smoke.

It has been frequently stated that St. Elias is a volcano, and sea captains sailing on the Pacific have seen what they supposed to be smoke issuing from its summit. As its southern face is composed of the same kind of rocks and is of the same precipitous nature as the southern slope of Mount Augusta, it appears probable that what was supposed to be volcanic smoke was in reality avalanche dust blown upward by ascending air currents.

The disintegration of the mountain summits all through the St. Elias region is so great that one constantly wonders that anything is left; yet, except late in the fall, the snow surfaces at the bases of even the steepest cliffs are mostly bare of débris. The absence of earth and stones on the surfaces of the névé fields is mainly due, of course, to the fact that these are regions of accumulation where the winter's snow exceeds the summer's melting.Thus each year the surface is renewed and made fresh and clean, and any débris that may have previously accumulated is concealed.

There is another reason, however, why but little débris is found at the bases of the steep precipices. The snows of winter are banked high against these walls, but when the rocks are warmed by the return of the summer's sun the snow near their dark surfaces is melted, and leaves a deep gulf between the upward-sloping banks of snow and the sides of the cliffs. These black chasms are frequently 150 or 200 feet deep, and receive all the débris that falls from above. In this way very large quantities of earth and stones are injected, as it were, into the glacier, and only come to light again far down toward the ends of the ice-streams, where the summer's melting exceeds the winter's supply.

Mt. St. Elias

On August 14, Kerr and I made an excursion ahead to the border of the Agassiz glacier. The snow-slope south of our camp led westward up a gentle grade to a gap in the hills between two bold, snow-covered domes. The gap through which the snow extended, uniting with a broad snow-field sloping westward, was only a few hundred feet wide, and formed a typical mountain pass, designated on our map asDome pass. Its elevation is 4,300 feet. When near the summit of the pass a few steps carried us past the divide of snow, and revealed to our eager eyes the wonderland beyond. St. Elias rose majestically before us, unobstructed by intervening hills, and bare of clouds from base to summit. We were greatly encouraged by the prospect ahead, as there were evidently no obstacles between us and the actual base of the mountain. A photograph of the magnificent peak was taken, from which the illustration forming plate 19 has been drawn. To the right of the main mountain mass, as shown in the illustration, risesMount Newton,33one of the many separate mountain peaks crowning the crest of the St. Elias range. Our way led down the snow-slope in the foreground to the border of the Agassiz glacier, which comes in view between the foot-hills in the middle distance and the sculptured base on which the crowning pyramid of St. Elias stands. After reaching the Agassiz glacier we turned to the right, and made our way to theamphitheatre lying between Mount St. Elias and Mount Newton. On the day we discovered Dome pass, we pressed on down the western snow-slope and reached the side of the Agassiz glacier, which we found greatly crevassed; selecting a camping place on a rocky spur, we returned to Camp 15, and two days later established camp at the place chosen.

33Named for Henry Newton, formerly of the School of Mines of Columbia college and author of a report on the geology of the Black hills of Dakota.

Camp 16 was similar in many ways to Camp 14. It had about the same altitude; it was at the western end of a rugged mountain spur, and on the immediate border of a large southward-flowing glacier. On the lower portions of the cliffs, near at hand, there were velvety patches of brilliant Alpine flowers mingled with thick bunches of wiry grass and clumps of delicate ferns. Most conspicuous of all the showy plants, so bright and lovely in the vast wilderness of snow, were the purple lupines. Already the flowers on the lower portions of their spikes had matured, and pods covered with a thick coating of wooly hairs were beginning to be conspicuous. There are no bees and butterflies in these isolated gardens, but brown flies with long-pointed wings were abundant. A gray bird, a little larger than a sparrow, was seen flitting in and out of crevasses near the border of the ice, apparently in quest of insects. Once, while stretched at full length on the flowery carpet enjoying the warm sunlight, a humming bird flashed past me. Occasionally the hoarse cries of ravens were heard among the cliffs, but they seldom ventured near enough to be seen. These few suggestions were all there was to remind us of the summer fields and shady forests in far-away lands.

UP THEAGASSIZGLACIER.

From Camp 16 Kerr and I made an excursion across the Agassiz glacier, while Stamy and Lindsley returned to a lower camp for additional supplies. We found the glacier greatly crevassed and the way across more difficult than on any of the ice-fields we had previously traversed; but by dint of perseverance, and after many changes in our course, we succeeded at last in reaching the western bank, and saw that by climbing a precipice bordering an ice-cascade we could gain a plateau above, which we knew from previous observations to be comparatively little broken. We returned to camp, and on August 18 began the ascent of the glacier in earnest. We were favored in the task by brilliant weather.

After reaching the western bank of the glacier, we made our way to the base of the precipice up which we had previously wished to climb. In order to reach it, however, we had to throw our packs across a crevasse over which there was no bridge, and followed them by jumping. The side of the crevasse from which we sprang was higher than its opposite lip, and left us very uncertain as to how we were to return; but that was a matter for the future; our aim at the time was to ascend the glacier, and the return was of no immediate concern.

Reaching the base of the cliff at the side of the glacier, we ascended it without great difficulty, and came out upon the broad plateau of snow above. Thinking that the way onward would be easier along the steep snow-slope bordering the glacier, we made an effort to ascend in that direction, and spent two or three precious hours in trying to find a practicable route. Although the crevasses were fewer than on the glacier proper, yet they were of larger size and had but few bridges. At last we came to a wide gulf on the opposite side of which there was a perpendicular wall of snow a hundred feet high, and all further advance in that direction was stopped. Although obliged to turn back, our elevated position commanded a good view of the glacier below and enabled us to choose a way through the maze of crevasses crossing it. Descending, we plodded wearily on in an irregular zigzag course; but the crevasses became broader and deeper as we advanced, and at length we found ourselves traversing flat table-like blocks of snow, bounded on all sides by crevasses so deep that their bottoms were lost to view. We made our way from one snow-table to another by jumping the crevasses where they were narrowest, or by frail snow-bridges spanning the profound gulfs. Night came on while we were yet in this wild, broken region, and no choice was left us but to pitch our tent in the snow and wait until morning. The night was clear and cold, and a firm crust formed on the snow before morning. Although the temperature was uncomfortable, we were cheered by the prospects of a firm snow surface on the morrow.

We continued our march at sunrise and found the walking easy; but the sun soon came out with unusual brilliancy and softened the snow so much that even the slowest movements were fatiguing. We endeavored to force our way up the center of the glacier through the crevasses and pinnacles of a second ice-fall; but after several hours of exhausting experience we wereobliged to change our plan, and endeavored to reach a mountain spur projecting from the western border of the glacier. The sunlight reflected from the snow was extremely brilliant, and the glare from every surface about us was painful to our eyes, already weakened by many days' travel over the white snow. Each member of the party was provided with colored glasses, but in traversing snow-bridges and jumping crevasses these had to be dispensed with. The result was that all of us were suffering more or less from snow-blindness.

About noon we reached the base of the mountain spur toward which our course was bent. It projects into the western border of Agassiz glacier. It is the extension of this cliff underneath the glacier that caused the ice-fall which blocked our way. To go round the end of the cliff with our packs was impracticable, but there seemed a way up the face of the cliff itself, which one could scale by taking advantage of the joints in the rocks. I ascended the snow-slope to the base of the precipice, but found the way upward more difficult than anticipated; and, as the light was very painful to my eyes when not protected by colored glasses, I decided to postpone making the climb until I was in better condition, and in the meantime to see if some other route could not be found. We decided to camp on a small patch of débris near the base of the cliff, and there left our loads. Kerr and Lindsley, taking a rope and alpenstocks, went around the end of the rocky spur and worked their way upward with great difficulty to the top of the cliff immediately above where I had essayed to climb it. A rope was made fast at the top, and our way onward was secured. This place was afterward calledRope cliff. The remainder of the afternoon I rested in the tent, with my eyes bound up with tea-leaves, and when evening came found the pain in my head much relieved.

Our tent that night was so near the brink of a crevasse that in order to stay the tent one end of the ridge-rope was made fast to a large stone, which was lowered into the gulf to serve as a stake. Above us rose a precipice nearly a thousand feet high, from which stones were constantly falling; but a deep black gulf intervened between the position we had chosen and the base of the cliffs, and into this the stones were precipitated. Not one of the falling fragments reached the edge of the snow slope on which we were camped, but many times during the night we heard the whiz and hum of the rocks as they shot down from the cliffs.The noise made by each fragment in its passage through the air increased rapidly in pitch, thus indicating that they were approaching us; but they always fell short of our camp. The bombardment from above was most active just after the shadows fell on the cliffs, showing that the stones were loosened by the freezing of the water in the interstices of the rock.

The next day, August 20, Stamy and Lindsley went back to Camp 16 for more rations, while Kerr and I remained at Camp 18 nursing our eyes and resting. The day passed without anything worthy of note, except the almost constant thunder of avalanches on the mountains. About sunset a dense fog spread over the wintry landscape and threatened to delay the return of the men. When the sun went down, however, the temperature fell several degrees, the mist vanished, and a few stars came out clear and bright. Just as we were about to despair of seeing the men that night we heard a distant shout announcing their return. We had a cup of hot coffee for them when they reached the tent, which they drank with eagerness; but they were too tired to partake of food. Rolling themselves in their blankets, they were asleep in a few minutes.

CAMP ON THENEWTONGLACIER.

On August 21 we climbed the cliff above Camp 18 by means of the rope already placed there, and found the snow above greatly crevassed. We traveled upward along the steep slope bordering the glacier, but soon came to a deep crevasse which forbade further progress in that direction. Returning to a lower level, we undertook to smooth off an extremely narrow snow-bridge so as to make it wide enough to cross, but found the undertaking so hazardous that we abandoned it. By this time it was midday, and we prepared a cup of hot coffee before renewing our attack on the cliffs. After luncheon and a short rest, feeling very much refreshed, we began to cut a series of steps in a bluff of snow about fifty feet high, and made rapid progress in the undertaking. After an hour's hard work one of us reached the top and, planting an alpenstock deep in the snow, lowered a rope to those below. The packs were drawn up one at a time and we were soon ready to advance again.

We found ourselves in a vast amphitheatre bounded on all sides excepting that from which we had come with rugged,snow-covered precipices. The plain was crossed by huge crevasses, some of which were fully a mile in length; but by traveling around their ends or crossing snow-bridges we slowly worked our way onward toward St. Elias. Threading our way through the labyrinth of yawning gulfs, we at last, after the sun had gone down behind the great pyramid toward the west, found a convenient place on the snow, near a blue pond of water, on which to pass the night. Everything was snow-covered in the vast landscape except the most precipitous cliffs, and these were dangerous to approach, owing to the avalanches that frequently fell from them. The weather continued fine. The night was clear and the stars were unusually brilliant. Everything seemed favorable for pushing on. The way ahead presented such even snow-slopes and seemed so free from crevasses that we decided to leave our tent and blankets in the morning and, taking with us as little as possible of impedimenta, endeavor to reach the summit of St. Elias.

HIGHESTPOINT REACHED.

Rising at three o'clock on the morning of August 22, we started for the summit of St. Elias, taking with us only our water-proof coats, some food, and the necessary instruments. The higher mountain summits were no longer clearly defined, but in the early light it was impossible to tell whether or not the day was to be fair. From the highest and sharpest peaks, cloud banners were streaming off towards the southeast, showing that the higher air currents were in rapid movement. Vapor banks in the east were flushed with long streamers of light as the sun rose, but soon faded to a dull ashen gray, while the cloud banners between us and the sun became brilliant like the halo seen around the moon when the sky is covered with fleecy clouds. This was the first time in my experience that I had seen colored banners waving from the mountain tops.

We found the snow-surface hard, and made rapid headway up the glacier. Our only difficulty was the uncertainty of the early light, which rendered it impossible to tell the slope of the uneven snow-surfaces. The light was so evenly diffused that there were no shadows. The rare beauty of that silent, wintry landscape, so delicate in its pearly half tones and so softly lighted, was unreal and fairy-like. The winds were still; butstrange forebodings of coming changes filled the air. Long, waving threads of vapor were woven in lace-work across the sky; the white-robed mountains were partially concealed by cloud-masses drifting like spirits along their mighty battlements; and far, far above, from the topmost pinnacles, irised banners were signaling the coming of a storm.

We made rapid progress, but early in the day came to the base of a heavy cloud bank which enshrouded all the upper part of St. Elias. Then snow began to fall, and it was evident that to proceed farther would be rash and without promise of success. After twenty days of fatigue and hardship since leaving Blossom island, with our goal almost reached, we were obliged to turn back. Hoping to be able to renew the attempt after the storm had passed, Mr. Kerr left his instruments on the snow between two huge crevasses and we returned to our tent, where we passed the remainder of the day and the night following. The snow continued to fall throughout the day, and the storm increased in force as night came on. When we awoke in the morning the tempest was still raging. We were in the midst of the storm-cloud; the dense vapor and the fine drifting snow-crystals swept along by the wind obscured everything from view; the white snow surface could not be distinguished from the vapor-filled air; there was no earth and no sky; we seemed to be suspended in a white, translucent medium which surrounded us like a shroud. The snow was already more than three feet deep about our tent, and to remain longer with the short supply of provisions on hand was exceedingly hazardous, as there seemed no limit to the duration of the storm. A can of rations had been left at Rope cliff, and we decided to return to that place if possible. Resuming our packs, we roped ourselves together and began to descend through the blinding mist and snow which rendered the atmosphere so dense that a man could not be distinguished at a distance of a hundred feet. With only an occasional glimpse of the white cliff around to guide us, we worked our way downward over snow-bridges and between the crevasses. Our ascent through this dangerous region had been slow and difficult, but our descent was still more tedious. All day long we continued to creep slowly along through the blinding storm, and as night approached believed ourselves near the steps cut in a snow-cliff during the ascent, but darkness came before we reached them. Shoveling the snow away as best we could with our hands andbasins, we cleared a place down to the old snow large enough for our tent and went into camp.

In the morning, August 24, the storm had spent its force and left the mountains with an immaculate covering, but still partially veiled by shreds of storm-clouds. We found ourselves on one of the many tables of snow, bounded on all sides by crevasses of great depth, but not far from the snow-cliff where we had cut steps. The steps were obliterated by the new snow, but by means of a rope and alpenstocks we made the descent without much difficulty. The last man to go down, not having the help of the rope, used two alpenstocks, and descended by first planting one firmly in the snow and lowering himself as far as he could, still retaining a firm hold, and then planting the other in the snow at a lower level and removing the higher one. By slowly and carefully repeating this operation he descended the cliff safely and rejoined his companions. Passing on beneath the cliffs, dangerous on account of avalanches, we reached in safety the precipice where we had left our rope. A heavy avalanche had swept down from the heights above during our absence and sent its spray over the precipice we had to descend. The cliff of ice towering above the place where our rope was fastened had become greatly melted and honey-combed, and threatened every moment to crash down and destroy any one who chanced to be beneath. To stand above the precipice in the shadow of the treacherous snow-cliffs while the men were descending the rope was exceedingly trying to one's nerves; but the avalanches did not come, and the previous camping place below Rope cliff was reached with safety.

The following day, August 25, after some consultation, it was decided to once more attempt to reach the top of Mount St. Elias. Lindsley and Stamy, who had shared without complaint our privations in the snow, volunteered to descend to a lower camp for additional rations, while Kerr and myself returned to the higher camp in the hope that we might be able to ascend the peak before the men returned, and, if not, to have sufficient rations when they did rejoin us to continue the attack. The men departed on their difficult errand, while Kerr and I, with blankets, tents, oil-stoves, and what rations remained, once more scaled the cliff where we had placed a rope, and returned on the trail made the day previously. About noon we reached the excavation in the snow where we had bivouacked in the storm,and there prepared a lunch. It was then discovered that we had been mistaken as to the quantity of oil in our cans; we found scarcely enough to cook a single meal. To attempt to remain several days in the snow with this small supply of fuel seemed hazardous, and Mr. Kerr volunteered to descend and overtake the men at the lower camp, procure some oil, and return the following day. We then separated, Mr. Kerr starting down the mountain, leaving me with a double load, weighing between sixty and seventy pounds, to carry through the deep snow to the high camp previously occupied.

ALONE IN THE HIGHESTCAMP.

Trudging wearily on, I reached the high camp at sunset, and pitched my tent in the excavation previously occupied. An alpenstock was used for one tent-pole, and snow saturated with water, piled up in a column, for the other; the snow froze in a few minutes, and held the tent securely. The ends of the ridge-rope were then stamped into the snow, and water was poured over them; the edges of the tent were treated in a similar manner, and my shelter was ready for occupation. After cooking some supper over the oil-stove, I rolled myself in a blanket and slept the sleep of the weary. I was awakened in the morning by snow drifting into my tent, and on looking out discovered that I was again caught in a blinding storm or mist of snow. The storm raged all day and all night, and continued without interruption until the evening of the second day. The coal oil becoming exhausted, a can was filled with bacon grease, in which a cotton rag was placed for a wick; and over this "witch lamp" I did my cooking during the remainder of my stay. The snow, falling steadily, soon buried my tent, already surrounded on three sides by an icy wall higher than my head, and it was only by almost constant exertion that it was kept from being crushed in. With a pint basin for a shovel I cleared the tent as best I could, and several times during the day re-excavated the hole leading down to the pond, which had long since disappeared beneath the level plain of white. The excavation of a tunnel in the snow was also begun in the expectation that the tent would become uninhabitable. The following night it became impossible to keep the tent clear in spite of energetic efforts, and early in the morning it was crushed in by a great weight of snow,leaving me no alternative but to finish my snow-house and move in. A tunnel some four or five feet in length was excavated in the snow, and a chamber about six feet long by four feet wide and three feet high was made at right angles to the tunnel. In this chamber I placed my blankets and other belongings, and, hanging a rubber coat on an alpenstock at the entrance, found myself well sheltered from the tempest. There I passed the day and the night following. At night the darkness and silence in my narrow tomb-like cell was oppressive; not a sound broke the stillness except the distant, muffled roar of an occasional avalanche. I slept soundly, however, and in the morning was awakened by the croaking of a raven on the snow immediately above my head. The grotto was filled with a soft blue light, but a pink radiance at the entrance told that the day had dawned bright and clear.

What a glorious sight awaited me! The heavens were without a cloud, and the sun shone with dazzling splendor on the white peaks around. The broad unbroken snow-plain seemed to burn with light reflected from millions of shining crystals. The great mountain peaks were draped from base to summit in the purest white, as yet unscarred by avalanches. On the steep cliffs the snow hung in folds like drapery, tier above tier, while the angular peaks above stood out like crystals against the sky. St. Elias was one vast pyramid of alabaster. The winds were still; not a sound broke the solitude; not an object moved. Even the raven had gone, leaving me alone with the mountains.

As the sun rose higher and higher and made its warmth felt, the snow was loosened on the steep slopes and here and there broke away. Gathering force as it fell, it rushed down in avalanches that made the mountains tremble and awakened thunderous echoes. From a small beginning high up on the steep slopes, the new snow would slip downward, silently at first, and cascade over precipices hundreds of feet high, looking like a fall of foaming water; then came the roar, increasing in volume as the flowing snow involved new fields in its path of destruction, until the great mass became irresistible and ploughed its way downward through clouds of snow-spray, which hung in the air long after the snow had ceased to move and the roar of the avalanche had ceased. All day long, until the shadow of evening fell on the steep slopes, this mountain thunder continued. The echoes of one avalanche scarcely died away before they wereawakened by another roar. To witness such a scene under the most favorable conditions was worth all the privations and anxiety it cost.

Besides the streams of new snow, there were occasional avalanches of a different character, caused by the breaking away of portions of the cliffs of old snow, accumulated, perhaps, during several winters. These start from the summits of precipices, and are caused by the slow downward creep of the snow-fields above. The snow-cliffs are always crevassed and broken in much the same manner as are the ends of glaciers which enter the sea, and occasionally large masses, containing thousands of cubic yards, break away and are precipitated down the slopes with a suddenness that is always startling. Usually the first announcement of these avalanches is a report like that of a cannon, followed by a rumbling roar as the descending mass ploughs its way along. The avalanches formed by old snow are quite different from those caused by the descent of the new surface snow, but are frequently accompanied by surface streams in case there has been a recent storm. The paths ploughed out by the avalanches are frequently sheathed with glassy ice, formed by the freezing of water produced by the melting of snow on account of the heat produced by the friction of the moving mass. A third variety of avalanches, due to falling stones, has already been noticed.

The floor of my snow-chamber was the surface of the old snow on which we had pitched our tents at the time we first reached that camping place. On this hard surface, and forming the walls of the cell, there were thirty inches of clear white snow, the upper limit of which was marked by a blue layer of ice about a quarter of an inch thick. This indicated the thickness of snow that fell during the first storm. Its surface had been melted and softened during the days of sunshine that followed its fall, and had frozen into clear ice. Above the blue band which encircled the upper portion of my chamber was the soft, pure white snow of the second storm. The stratification of snow which I had seen fall rendered it evident that my interpretation of the stratification observed in the sides of crevasses was correct. The snow when it fell was soft and white, and composed of very fine crystals; but under the influence of the air and sunshine it changed its texture and became icy and granular, and then resembled the névé snow so common in high mountains.

The day following the storm was bright and beautiful; the sunlight was warm and pleasant, but the temperature in the shadows was always below freezing. The surface of the snow did not melt sufficiently during the day to freeze and form a crust during the night. It thus became more and more apparent that the season was too far advanced to allow the snow to harden sufficiently for us to be able to climb the mountain. The snow settled somewhat and changed its character, but even at midday the crystals on the surface glittered as brilliantly in the sunlight as they did in the early morning. Although the snow did not melt, its surface was lowered slightly by evaporation. The tracks of the raven, at first sunken a quarter of an inch in the soft surface, after the first day of sunshine stood slightly in relief, but were still clearly defined.

On the sixth day after separating from my companions, judging that they must have returned at least to the camping place where we had separated, I packed my blankets and what food remained, abandoned the tent and oil-stove, and started to descend the mountain. The snow had settled somewhat, but was still soft and yielding and over six feet deep. Tramping wearily on through the chaff-like substance, I slowly worked my way downward, and again threaded the maze of crevasses, now partially concealed by the layer of new snow, with which we had struggled several times before. Midway to the next camping place I met my companions coming up to search for me. Instead of meeting three men, as I expected, I saw five tramping along in single file through the deep snow. The sight of human beings in that vast solitude was so strange that I watched them for some time before shouting. Glad as I was to meet my companions once more, I could not help noticing their rough and picturesque appearance. Each man wore colored glasses and carried a long alpenstock, and two or three had packs strapped on their backs. Several weeks of hard tramping over moraines and snow-fields had made many rents in their clothes, which had been mended with cloth of any color that chanced to be available. Not a few rags were visible fluttering in the wind. To a stranger they would have appeared like a dangerous band of brigands.

The reason for the presence of five men instead of three was this: Lindsley and Stamy, when they left us at Rope cliff toreturn for additional rations, were obliged to go back to Camp 12 in order to get a tent and an oil-stove. On reaching that place the temptation to return to Blossom island was so great that Lindsley could not resist it and went back to the base-camp, where he reported that Kerr and I were storm-bound in the mountains and in need of assistance. Three men, Partridge, Doney, and White, started at once, and found Stamy, who had waited for their arrival at Camp 12. A day was thus lost, which increased Mr. Kerr's hardship and might have proved disastrous. The party then returned to Rope cliff and joined Kerr on the evening of August 29. On this occasion, as on several others, I found myself indebted to Stamy for willing assistance when others hesitated.

During my imprisonment at the highest camp, Mr. Kerr was detained under similar circumstances at the camp below Rope cliff. On endeavoring to rejoin me with the supply of coal oil, so very valuable under the circumstances, he was caught in the storm and was unable to reach the rendezvous appointed. He reached Rope cliff late in the afternoon of the first day of the storm, climbed the precipice, and found his way through the gathering darkness, along the nearly obliterated trail beneath the avalanche cliffs, and up the steps cut in the snow-cliff, to the site of our bivouac camp. Finding nothing there, and being unable to proceed farther through the blinding storm, he abandoned the attempt and returned to the camp below Rope cliff. In descending the rope, he found that its lower end had become fast in the snow. The taut line, sheathed with ice, was an uncertain help in the darkness. Midway in the descent his hands slipped and he slid to the bottom; but the cushion of new snow broke the fall and prevented serious injury. Alone, without fire, without blankets, having only a canvas cover and a rubber cloth for shelter, and with but little food, he passed three anxious days and nights before the arrival of the camp hands.

THERETURN.

Deciding that the ascent of Mount St. Elias could not be accomplished through the new snow, which refused to harden, it was decided to abandon the attempt and return to Blossom island. Our retreat was none too soon. Storm succeeded storm throughout September. Each time the clouds lifted, the mantleof new snow was seen to have descended lower and lower. Our last view showed the wintry covering nearly down to timber-line.

On the night of August 31 we slept at the camp beneath Rope cliff, but had a most uncomfortable night. Six men sleeping in a tent measuring seven by seven feet, with but little protection from the ice beneath, certainly does not seem inviting to one surrounded by the comforts of civilization. A large part of the night was occupied by Doney in preparing breakfast over our oil-stove. An early start was welcome to all; we were disappointed at not being able to reach the top of St. Elias, and were anxious to return to more comfortable quarters. Kerr concluded to return at once to Blossom island to recuperate, while I made an excursion up the Seward glacier, with the hope of gaining the upper ice-fall and seeing the amphitheatre beyond.

We left Rope cliff about six in the morning, and found the snow hard and traveling easy for several hours. After descending the lower ice-fall, however, the snow became soft, and a change in the atmosphere indicated the approach of another storm. Kerr and Doney pressed on and were soon lost to sight, while the rest of the party were delayed, owing to Partridge having become snow-blind and almost helpless. As the crevasses were exceedingly numerous and the snow-bridges soft and uncertain, the task of conducting a blind man to a place of safety was by no means light. Partridge bore up bravely under his affliction, however, and did not hesitate in crawling across the treacherous snow-bridges with a rope fastened about his body and a man before and behind to assist his movements. Late in the day we reached our camping place at the eastern border of the Agassiz glacier, while Kerr and Doney crossed Dome pass and spent the night in a tent that had been left standing at the first camping east of the pass. We pitched a tent on our old camping place at Camp 16, and had the luxury of a rocky bed to sleep on that night. As Partridge's blindness still continued, White was sent ahead to tell Kerr and Doney to wait for us in the morning, so that Partridge could accompany them to Blossom island. Rain continued all that night and all the next day. As Partridge's eyes were still unserviceable in the morning, I concluded to wait a day before allowing him to start for Blossom island.

Toward evening on September 2 we moved our camp acrossDome pass, and pitched our tent on the high ridge beside the one occupied by Kerr and Doney. In the morning, although the storm still continued, our party divided, Kerr, Doney, and Partridge starting early for Blossom island, while Stamy, White, and myself, after following their tracks for a few miles, turned to the left and worked our way northeastward among the crevasses of the Seward glacier. Toward evening we reached the northwestern spur of Mount Owen, but found the cliffs rising abruptly from the glacier and too favorable for avalanches to admit of our camping near them. Again we were forced to go into camp on the open glacier, and were less comfortable than previously on similar occasions, owing to the fact that we had been exposed to the rains for three successive days and our blankets and clothes were wet. Rain continued all night and all the next day, and on the following night changed to snow.

On the morning of September 4 we awoke to find the skies clear, but the mountains all about us were white with snow. Before the sun rose, White and I started for the top of the high ridge above us, determined to have at least a distant view of the amphitheatre which we wished to explore. The snow about our camp was only six or eight inches deep, but as we ascended the mountain it grew more and more troublesome, and at a height of a thousand feet above camp was thirty inches deep. On gaining the summit of the ridge a magnificent view was obtained of the upper portion of the Seward glacier and of Mount Irving and Mount Logan, and many bold, tapering mountains farther northeastward. The whole landscape was snow-covered, and as the sun rose clear in the east became of the most dazzling brilliancy. An icy wind swept down from the northeast and rendered it exceedingly difficult to take photographs or to make measurements. On endeavoring to use my prismatic compass, I found that, having been soaked with moisture during the previous days of storm, it froze solid and refused to move, on being exposed to the air. Making what observations I could, we started back to camp with the intention of abandoning all further attempts to work in the high mountains.

On the steep slope now exposed to the full sunshine several avalanches had gone down, and there was great danger of others. Selecting a point where an avalanche had already swept away the new snow, we worked our way downward in a zigzag course and reached the bottom safely, although an avalanche startingnear at hand swept by within a few yards. When nearly at the bottom my attention was attracted by a noise above, and on looking up I saw two rocks bounding down the slope and coming straight for me. To dodge them on the steep slippery slope was difficult and dangerous. Allowing one to pass over my right shoulder, I instantly moved in that direction and allowed the other to pass over my left shoulder. They shot by me like fragments of shells, but did no injury. Reaching camp, we found that Stamy had dried our blankets and clothes.

Resuming our packs, we slowly threaded our way downward to Camp 14, at the western end of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. We there found cans of rations left several days before and, pitching our tent, passed the night. We knew by the signs found there that Kerr and his companions, after taking lunch, had renewed their journey toward Blossom island. Our camp was just at the lower limit of the new snow. To the northward all was of the purest white, but southward, down the glacier, the snow-fields were yellow and much discolored. Many changes had taken place in the Seward glacier since we first saw it; the pinnacles, snow-tables, and crevasses in the rapids were less striking than formerly, and had evidently suffered greatly from the summer's heat. About the bases of the cliffs there were dark, irregular patches of débris, where a month previously all was white. As nearly as could be judged, the surface of the glacier had been lowered by melting and settling during our absence about fifty feet.

The following morning, September 5, we started for Blossom island, the weather still continuing thick and stormy. On crossing Pinnacle pass we found over a foot of new snow which had fallen since our companions passed that way. Toward nightfall the lower limit of snow on the Marvine glacier was reached, and at night we camped on the first moraines which appeared below the névé. The day following, September 6, we reached Blossom island about noon, and found that Kerr and his party had arrived there safely, and that Partridge had recovered from his snow-blindness.

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