It is an interesting fact that outside the present shore line of California there is a submerged strip of the continent varying from ten to one hundred and fifty miles in width. This strip of land is like a bench upon the side of the continent, and is known as the continental plateau. The water over the plateau is comparatively shallow. Upon one side the land rises, while upon the other there is a rapid descent into the deep Pacific. The surface of the plateau is in general fairly smooth, but in places mountains lift their summits above the water and form islands.

There was a time, thousands of years earlier than the period when California was so nearly covered by the waters of the Pacific, when this land stood far higher than it does now. The coast line was then much farther west, near the border of the submarine plateau. The Santa Barbara Islands at that time formed a mountain range upon the edge of the continental land. This fact was established by the discovery upon one of the islands of a large number of bones of an extinct American elephant. These animals could have reached the submerged mountains only at a time when there was dry land between them and the present shore line. We should like to know how it came about that these bones were left where they are. Perhaps the land sank so suddenly that the water cut the elephants off from the mainland and compelled them to spend the remainder of their lives upon these islands.

While the land stood so high, some of the larger streams wore deep channels across what is now the submarine plateau. These channels have been discovered by soundings made from the ships of the United States Coast Survey. The largest of the submerged valleys extends through the Bay of Monterey, and runs so close to the shore that it has offered a favorable location for a wharf.

Before the buried valleys upon the northern coast of California were all known, the presence of one of them led to the wreck of a ship. The shore was obscured by fog, but the soundings made by the sailors showed deep water and led them to believe they were a long distance from land, when suddenly the ship drifted in upon the rocks.

The last significant movement of the land of the Pacific border was a downward one. It flooded the mouths of the streams and formed all the large harbors which are of so great commercial importance.

San Francisco Bay occupies a great stretch of lowland at the meeting of several valleys of the Coast Ranges and forms the outlet for the most important drainage system of California. If this region had been settled before the subsidence of the land which let in the ocean through the Golden Gate, how the farmers would have lamented the flooding of their fertile lands! But we can understand how small the loss would have been, compared with the advantages to be gained from the magnificent harbor which now exists here. If the land had not sunk the history of the Pacific coast would have been far different.



Puget Sound, another very important arm of the ocean, is also a submerged valley, but it has had an entirely different history from that of San Francisco Bay. The valley was at one time occupied by a great glacier which came down from the Cascade Range and moved northwest through the sound and into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, scouring and polishing the rocks over which it passed. A little island near Anacortes (Fig. 36) has been rounded by the action of the ice into a form like a whale's back.



The sinking of the land flooded the lower Columbia River and the mouth of the Willamette, so that ocean ships may now go up as far as Portland. The currents and waves soon threw up bars across the mouths of the smaller streams, and formed lagoons behind them. Ships frequently have difficulty in entering many of the harbors because of the sand bars which have been built up part way to the surface of the water.

It is thought that along some portions of the coast there has recently been a slight upward movement of the land. Figure 37 shows a bit of California coast, near San Juan, where the Santa Fe railroad has laid its tracks for several miles along a strip of abandoned beach, at the base of a cliff against which the waves once beat.



At the northern end of Vancouver island there is a deep arm of the ocean called Quatsino Sound. A limestone cliff upon the shore of this sound (Fig. 38) has been undermined by the dissolving of the limestone, but now the water lacks three feet of rising to the notch which it recently formed.



THE DISCOVERY OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER

The influence exerted by the various features of the land and water upon the settlement of a new region are not always fully appreciated. If the entrance to San Francisco Bay had been broader and more easily discerned by the early navigators who sailed past it, and if the mouth of the Columbia River had not been obscured by lowlands and a line of breakers upon the bar, the history of western America would probably have been very different.

In the seventeenth century the prospect seemed to be that Spain would control the Pacific Ocean. She claimed, by right of discovery, all the lands bordering upon this ocean and the exclusive right to navigate its waters. Every vessel found there without license from the court of Spain was, by royal decree, to be confiscated.

It is interesting, after all these years and with our present knowledge, to look back and see how unreasonable were the claims of Spain. In the fifteenth century the extent of the Pacific ocean was not known. In fact, men's ideas as to the distribution of land and water over the earth were so indefinite that it was at first supposed that the islands which Columbus discovered belonged to the East Indies.

The claims of Spain to the Pacific Ocean were based upon its discovery by Balboa, but she never made any serious efforts to enforce them, for the attempt would have involved her in war with all the maritime nations of Europe. Spain lacked the ability to take advantage of the great discoveries which her navigators and explorers had made, and for that reason she merely looked on, though with jealous eyes, when in the eighteenth century the ships of England, France, Holland, and Russia entered the Pacific Ocean with a view to exploration and conquest.

Determined at last to support their claim to the Pacific coast of North America, the Spaniards began to realize the necessity of exploring it more fully and of founding settlements. It was their plan to take possession of the whole region between Mexico upon the south and the Russian trading posts along the shores of Alaska. As exploration by land was impossible because of mountain ranges and deserts, the Spanish adventurers were forced to rely upon the ocean, with all its uncertainties of storm and contrary winds.

Between 1774 and 1779 voyages were made as far north as Queen Charlotte's Island, in latitude 54 deg.. A station was established and held for many years at Nootka Sound, upon the west coast of Vancouver Island. The first expedition passed the Strait of Juan de Fuca apparently without seeing it, although there was a rumor to the effect that a broad opening into the land had been discovered by a certain Juan de Fuca in 1592, while he was exploring in the employ of Spain. The latitude of this opening, as he gave it, nearly corresponds to that of the strait which now bears his name.

For many years the attempt to discover a passage around the northern part of America engaged the early navigators upon both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Their desire to find an easy route to India spurred them to constant effort. For a time it was believed that such an opening actually existed, and mariners went so far as to give it a name, calling it the Straits of Anian. The reputed discoveries of Juan de Fuca materially strengthened the general belief in a passage to the northward of America.

Vizcaino, in his voyage of 1603, reached latitude 43 deg. north and thought that he had discovered a great river flowing into the Pacific Ocean. This opening, although south of the point supposed to have been reached by Juan de Fuca, was believed for a time to be the entrance to the long-sought Straits of Anian. During the latter part of the seventeenth century California was represented upon the Spanish maps as an island having Cape Blanco, which Vizcaino discovered and named, as its northern point, and separated from the mainland by an extension of the Gulf of California northward.

To return now to the Spanish explorations, in the latter part of the seventeenth century we find that Heceta, following the first expedition, succeeded in getting as far as Vancouver Island, where, having been parted from an accompanying ship by a storm, he turned southward, passing the Strait of Juan de Fuca and keeping close by the shore. In latitude 46 deg. 17' he found an opening in the coast from which a strong current issued. He felt sure that he had discovered the mouth of some large river. Upon the later Spanish maps this was called Heceta's Inlet, or River of San Roque. A glance at the map will show how closely the latitude given corresponds to the mouth of the river which was discovered later by Captain Gray and named, after his ship, the Columbia.

A short time before Heceta's discovery, Captain Jonathan Carver of Connecticut set out on an exploring tour, partly for the purpose of determining the width of the continent and the nature of the Indian inhabitants. He mentions four great rivers rising within a few leagues of one another, "The river Bourbon (Red River of the North) which empties itself into Hudson's Bay, the waters of the St. Lawrence, the Mississippi, and the river Oregon, or River of the West, that falls into the Pacific Ocean at the Straits of Anian." Carver's descriptions are fanciful, and it is not likely that he ever saw the river which is now known as the Columbia, although there is a possibility that he heard stories from the Indians of a great river upon the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and invented for it the name Oregon.

In 1787 Meares, an English trader, visited the coast, and sailing southward from the Strait of Juan de Fuca, attempted to find the river San Roque as it was laid down upon the Spanish charts. Reaching the proper latitude, Meares rounded a promontory and found behind it a bay which he was unable to enter because of a continuous line of breakers extending across it. He became satisfied that there was no such river as the San Roque, and named the promontory Cape Disappointment and the bay Deception Bay. If Meares had entered the bay through the breakers, the English would undoubtedly have made good their claim to the discovery of the Columbia River.

After the Revolution, American trading ships began to extend their operations into the North Pacific. In 1787 two such vessels left Boston, one of them under command of a Captain Gray. After reaching the Pacific, the ships were parted during a storm, and Captain Gray finally touched the American coast near the forty-sixth degree of north latitude. For nine days he tried to enter an opening which was in all probability the one attempted by Meares. After nearly losing his ship and suffering an Indian attack, he sailed north to Nootka Sound.

Captain Gray returned to Boston, but in 1790 started upon another trading expedition in command of the ship Columbia. Arriving safely in the North Pacific, he spent the winter of 1791-1792 upon Vancouver Island.

Vancouver, whose name has been given to the largest island upon the western coast of North America, and who did so much to make known the intricate coast line of the Puget Sound region, arrived upon the scene in 1792. He was authorized to carry on explorations, and to treat with Spain concerning the abandonment of the Spanish claim to Nootka Sound.

Vancouver sailed up the coast, keeping a close lookout for the river San Roque. No opening in the land appeared, although at one spot he sailed through a muddy-colored sea which he judged was affected by the water of some river. Upon reaching the Strait of Fuca, Vancouver expressed the opinion that there was no river between the fortieth and forty-eighth degrees of north latitude, "only brooks insufficient for our vessels to navigate."

Shortly after this time, Vancouver met Captain Gray with his ship Columbia. The disheartened explorer placed no confidence in Captain Gray's report that, upon his former voyage, he had discovered a large river to the south. Vancouver in his narrative says, "I was thoroughly convinced that we could not possibly have passed any safe navigable opening, harbor, or place of security for shipping on this coast from Cape Mendocino to the promontory of Closset" (Cape Flattery).

Captain Gray, however, determined to make further investigations. He sailed southward and entered a port now known as Gray's Harbor, where he spent several days trading with the Indians. From this harbor he ran on south for a few miles past Cape Disappointment, and then sailed through an opening in the breakers into a bay which he supposed formed the mouth of the river of which he was in search. He finally anchored, as he says, "in a large river of fresh water."



Later Captain Gray took the vessel twelve or fifteen miles up the river, and would have gone farther if he had not wandered into the wrong channel. When he left the river he named it the Columbia in honor of his vessel. Thus by the right of actual discovery the United States was at last able to make good its claim to the river.

The English claimed that Gray did not enter the river itself, as the tide sets up many miles farther than the point which his ship reached. They insisted that what he saw was simply a bay. But the truth is that Gray was actually in the mouth of the river. The mere fact that the tide enters the lower portion of the river makes no difference. The actual mouth of the Columbia is marked by the north and south coast line. The entrance of the tide water, and the backing of the current for many miles up stream, is the result of a recent sinking of the land. The same features are presented by the Hudson River.

If the English had discovered and entered the river first it is probable that this stream would have become the boundary line between the United States and British Columbia, in which case the whole northern portion of the Oregon territory would have been lost to us. As it was, the English laid insistent claim to the northern bank of the river and established trading posts at various points. The lowest of these posts stood upon the site of Fort Vancouver, a little above the mouth of the Willamette River.

The famous exploring expedition under Captains Lewis and Clark wintered at the mouth of the Columbia in 1804-1805, in a group of rude log cabins known as Fort Clatsop. The first settlement in the vicinity was made in 1811, when a fur company organized by John Jacob Astor attempted to establish a trading post upon the Columbia. Two parties were sent out from New York. One travelled by water around Cape Horn, while the other, with great difficulty, crossed the continent by the way of the Missouri, Snake, and Columbia rivers. The undertaking proved unsuccessful, for after the War of 1812 began supplies could no longer be sent safely to the post.

The Astor company finally surrendered its establishment to an English company, and in this way the control of the river was transferred to England. With the return of peace the post was restored to the United States, and its location is marked now by the city of Astoria.



What small things sometimes determine the trend of great events! A little more care and energy on the part of Vancouver or Meares would have placed the Columbia River in the hands of the English. The existence of an open river mouth without any breaking bar would have brought about the same result.

The Spaniards came first to the Pacific slope, claiming the whole coast as far north as the Russian possessions. Later the United States, by treaty with Spain and Russia, acquired a right to all that portion of the Pacific coast of North America which lies between California and the Russian possessions. But because of the greater energy of the English, and the failure upon the part of the United States to realize the value of this vast region, a considerable section was again lost by the terms of the treaty which made the forty-ninth parallel the boundary line. The intelligence and energy of Captain Gray alone preserved to us the rich lands of Washington.



THE GREAT BASIN AND ITS PECULIAR LAKES

As our country was slowly being explored and settled, one region was brought to light which Nature seemed to have left unfinished and in a desolate condition. This barren stretch of country was once marked upon the maps as the Great American Desert, and included a large part of the extensive region lying between the Rocky Mountains upon the east and the Sierra Nevada Mountains upon the west. To the south lay the Grand Canon of the Colorado, while upon the north the boundary was formed by the canons of the Snake and Columbia rivers.

After a time it was found that this region, covering about two hundred and twenty-five thousand square miles, not only was extremely dry, but had no outlet to the ocean. A rim of higher land all about made of it so perfect a basin that it became known as the Great Basin. None of the water that falls upon the surface of this basin ever reaches the ocean through surface streams. Some of it soaks into the rocks, but the greater part is evaporated into the dry air.

We have already learned something about the way in which the ridges and hollows of the earth's surface are made. We have learned of the wrinkling of the crust, of the formation of fissures, and of the erosive work of running water. The interesting features of the Great Basin are mainly the result of two causes: the sinking of a portion of the earth's surface, and the lack of rainfall.

Long ago the Wasatch Range of eastern Utah and the Sierra Nevadas of California formed parts of a vast elevated plateau. Then there came a time when the forces holding up the plateau were relaxed, and as the weight of the plateau pressed it down, the solid rocks broke into huge fragments. Some of the blocks thus made sank and formed valleys; others were tilted or pushed up and formed mountains. Thus the north and south mountain ranges and valleys of the Great Basin were born.

We must understand, then, that the Great Basin is not a simple depression with higher land all about. The breaking up of the surface produced many basins, large and small. Some of these basins are six thousand feet above the level of the sea, others are much lower, and one has been dropped below the level of the sea, so that if it were not for barriers the water would flow in. Some of the basins are rimmed all about by steep mountains, others are so broad and flat that it is difficult to tell that they really are basins. Many of the valleys are so connected with one another that if a heavy rainfall should ever occur drainage systems would be quickly established.

The Great Basin now appears like the skeleton of a dried-up world; but if the climate should change and become like that of the Mississippi Valley, the surface of the desert would undergo a wondrous transformation. The hundreds of basins, if fed by streams from the surrounding mountains, would then become lakes. The highest, overflowing, would empty into a lower, and this in turn into a still lower basin, until the water had accumulated in vast inland seas. These seas, overflowing the rim of the Great Basin at its lowest points, would send rivers hastening away to the ocean.



What a region of lakes this would be for a time! Then they would begin to disappear, for lakes are short-lived as compared with mountains. Some would be filled with clay and gravel brought by the streams. Others would be drained by a cutting down of their outlets.

Great Salt Lake, which is the only body of water in the Basin that has ever sent a stream to the ocean, was lowered four hundred feet by the washing away of the rock and earth at its outlet.

We know that the rainfall never has been heavy in this region since the Great Basin was formed, although at one time it was sufficiently great to form two inland seas, one in northwestern Nevada, the other in Utah.

The chief reason for the dryness of the Great Basin is the presence of that lofty barrier, the Sierra Nevada mountain range, between the Basin and the Pacific Ocean. The storms, which usually come from the ocean, are intercepted by this range, and the greater portion of their moisture is taken away. The little moisture that remains falls upon the highlands of the Great Basin, and so relieves its surface from utter barrenness. The adjacent slopes of the Sierra Nevada and Wasatch ranges furnish numerous perennial streams which feed the lakes about the borders of the Basin, such as Great Salt Lake, Pyramid, Walker, Mono, Honey, and Owens lakes. The wet weather streams, flowing down the desert mountains for a short time each year, frequently form broad, shallow lakes which disappear with the coming of the summer sun.

The climate of the Great Basin has changed from time to time. During one period it was much drier than it is now, and the lakes were nearly or quite dried up. It must have been a desolate region then, shunned by animals and forbidden to man.

During the Glacial period, a few thousand years ago, the climate was moister and cooler than it is now. The mountains were covered with deep snows, and glaciers crept down the slopes of the higher peaks. Great Salt Lake covered all northwestern Utah; to this former body of water the name Bonneville has been given, in honor of a noted trapper. Pyramid, Winnemucca, Carson, Walker, and Honey lakes, now separated from one another by sagebrush deserts, were then united in one great lake, to which the name Lahontan has been given, in honor of an early French explorer.



Lake Lahontan covered a large portion of northwestern Nevada and penetrated into California. It was broken into long winding arms and bays by various mountain ranges. The deepest portion of this ancient lake is now occupied by Pyramid Lake, which is, perhaps, the most picturesque of all the Basin lakes. Fish can live in the waters of this lake, although nearly all the others are so salty or so alkaline that they support none of the ordinary forms of life.



Upon the Black Rock Desert, in northern Nevada, there are large springs once covered by Lake Lahontan, in which fish are found. It is thought that the ancestors of these fish must have been left there at the time of the drying up of the water.

After the Glacial period the present arid climate began to prevail in the land. Hundreds of the shallow lakes which had been scattered over this extensive region disappeared. Others contained water for only a portion of each year. A body of water which is not permanent, but comes and goes with the seasons, we call a playa lake. Many of these playa lakes present in summer a hard, yellow-clay floor of many miles in extent and entirely free from vegetation. The beds of others are covered with a whitish crust, formed of the various salts which were in solution in the lake water.



An important feature of the lakes of the Great Basin is the presence of large quantities of such substances as common salt, soda, borax, and nitre. The ocean is salt because it has no outlet, while the rivers of the globe are continually bringing into it various minerals, dissolved from the rocks over which they flow. Lakes with outlets are not salty, because with a continuous change of the water there is no opportunity for the minerals to accumulate, although they are always present in small quantities. Any lake which does not receive enough running water to cause it to overflow the borders of its basin, will in course of time become rich in various kinds of salt.

No two of the lakes of the Great Basin are alike in the composition of their waters. This fact may be due to a difference in the rocks about the lake basin, to the presence of varying mineral springs, or to the drying up of one or more of the lakes at some time so that their former salts were buried under sands and clays when the water again filled the basin.

Great Salt Lake contains little besides common salt. In Mono Lake, soda and salt are equally important constituents, while Owens Lake contains an excess of soda. In other basins borax was present in such quantities that when the waters dried up it formed important deposits. The value of these deposits is now fully understood, and many enterprising companies are at work separating and purifying the borax.

Owens Lake was once fresh, although now it is so strong with soda that it would destroy the skin if a bather should remain in it very long. The former outlet of this lake was toward the south, through a pass separating the Sierra Nevada from the Coso Mountains. For a distance of thirty miles the old river-bed has been transformed into a wagon road, and it is interesting to ride all day along the bed of this dead river, past bold cliffs against which the waters once surged and foamed. The river emptied far to the south, into a broad, shallow lake whose former bed is now white with soda and borax. The old beach lines stand out distinctly upon the slopes of the enclosing mountains.

The lake bed is now the seat of an important industry—the gathering of the borax and its refining. There are extensive buildings at one spot upon its border, and men come and go across the blinding white surface. A twenty-mule team dragging three huge wagons creeps slowly along the base of the distant mountains, but all that can be distinguished is a cloud of dust.



The slow crumbling of the rocks, and the setting free of those constituents which are soluble, the work of the streams in gathering the rock waste into the lakes, the dry air and the heat of the long summer days, have all conspired together to give us these valuable deposits in the dried-up lakes of the Great Basin.

No portion of the earth seems to be without value to man. The great bodies of water are convenient highways. The rich valleys and timbered mountains offer useful products. Even the deserts, where living things of every description find the struggle for existence very hard, become indispensable. If the climate in the Great Basin had been moist, the salts would not have been preserved, but would have been carried away to the ocean, from which only common salt could have been recovered in commercial quantities.



The crossing of the Great Basin was dreaded by the early emigrants on their way to the Pacific coast. In many cases the locations of the few springs and water-courses were unknown, and the journey over the vast barren stretches was fraught with danger.

Stand upon a mountain in the desert some clear day in summer and you will see range after range, with intervening sandy wastes, stretching away to the horizon. The air below is tremulous with heat, and every living thing that can move has sought the shade of some rock or cliff. The plants seem almost dead, for the little springs, hidden at rare intervals in the deep canons, are of no use to them.

What transformations would be wrought upon these desert slopes if it were possible for the soil to receive and retain large quantities of water! Forest-covered mountains, green hillsides, rippling streams, lakes, farms, orchards, and towns would appear as if by magic.



FREMONT'S ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT BASIN

Fremont, "the Pathfinder," did greater service than any other man in making known the geographic features of the Cordilleran region. In the fifth decade of the last century, while California still belonged to Mexico and the pioneers were turning their attention to the Oregon country, Fremont organized and conducted three exploring expeditions under the direction of the government. When in California upon the third expedition he took part in the skirmishes which resulted in the transference of this section to the United States.

A fourth expedition, undertaken by Fremont on his own account, resulted disastrously. The explorers foolishly tried to cross the Rocky Mountains in the middle of winter, but had to give up the attempt after many of the party had died from cold and starvation.

It is hard for us to realize, now, that only sixty years ago the territory lying between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific coast was practically unknown. Try to imagine the feelings of emigrants, bound for the gold-fields of California, who have pushed into the Great Basin without knowing where to look for grass or water. They are camped by a spring of alkaline water scarcely fit to drink; their weary animals nibble at the scanty grass about the spring; far ahead stretches the pathless desert which they must cross; upon their choice of a route their very lives will depend.

Now it is all changed. The whole region is crossed and recrossed by wagon roads and railways. Many mining towns are scattered through the mountains which dot the seemingly boundless expanse of desert, while in every place where water can be found there are gardens, green fields of alfalfa, and herds of cattle.

Before the year 1840 some knowledge had been acquired of the borders of the Great Basin. Trappers and explorers had crossed the Rocky Mountains and had gone down the Columbia River. There were Spanish settlements in New Mexico, Arizona, and along the coast of California.

Fremont's first expedition had taken him to the summit of the Rocky Mountains in northwestern Wyoming. In 1843 he started upon the second expedition. He was at that time commissioned to cross the Rockies, descend the Columbia to Fort Vancouver, and return by a route farther to the south, across the unknown region between the Columbia and the Colorado rivers.

Let us follow the little band of explorers led by Captain Fremont as day after day they made their way across what was then a trackless waste, and see what troubles they encountered because of the inaccuracy of the maps of that period.

Leaving Fort Vancouver, upon the lower Columbia, for the return trip, the party ascended the river to The Dalles and then turned southward along the eastern side of the Cascade Range. They soon entered upon a region never before traversed by white men. At the time when autumn was giving place to winter, without reliable guides or maps, they were to cross the deserts lying between them and the Rocky Mountains.



They met with no great difficulties until they had gone as far south as Klamath Lake. "From this point," Fremont says, "our course was intended to be about southeast to a reported lake called Mary's, at some days' journey in the Great Basin, and thence, still on southeast to the reputed Buenaventura (good chance) River, which has had a place on so many maps, and countenanced the belief in the existence of a great river flowing from the Rocky Mountains to the Bay of San Francisco."

Figure 47 shows one of the maps to which Fremont refers. How interesting it is! Compare it with a good map in your geography and you will readily see that it is very misleading. The Sierra Nevada, one of the greatest mountain ranges in the United States, hardly appears, while traced directly across the map is the great Buenaventura River which Fremont expected to find and follow eastward toward its source near the Rocky Mountains.

If this river had really been where it was mapped, it is likely that Fremont would have had no trouble, for if hard pressed he could have followed the stream down to the ocean. But a wall of snow-covered mountains lying in the way made matters very different.

Winter was coming on when the party entered what is now northwestern Nevada, looking for the Buenaventura River. For several weeks they toiled on, often through the snow. Concerning this part of the journey Fremont says: "We had reached and run over the position where, according to the best maps in my possession, we should have found Mary's lake or river. We were evidently on the verge of the desert, and the country was so forbidding that we were afraid to enter it."

The party then turned south, still hoping that the river might be discovered. After a time they came upon a large lake and travelled for many miles along its eastern shore. One camp was made opposite a tall, pyramid-shaped island, the white surface of which made it conspicuous for a long distance. Fremont was much impressed by the resemblance of the island to the pyramids of Egypt and so named the body of water Pyramid Lake. At the southern end of the lake the travellers found a large stream flowing into it (now known as the Truckee River), and followed along its banks for some distance; but as the river turned toward the west, they left it and struck out across the country.

Fremont says again, "With every stream I now expected to see the great Buenaventura, and Carson (Kit Carson, the famous scout) hurried eagerly to search on every one we reached for beaver cuttings, which he always maintained we should find only on waters which ran to the Pacific."



But all the streams flowed in the wrong direction, until at last the explorers grew weary of hunting for the river which had no existence. Although it was the middle of the winter, Fremont determined to cross the lofty Sierras which rose like a white wall to the west. Once over the mountains, he hoped to gain the American settlements in the Sacramento Valley, where already Sutter's Fort had been established.

The party ascended Walker River, dragging, with great difficulty, a howitzer which they had brought with them. The snows grew deeper as storm succeeded storm. Feeling that they were really lost, the disheartened men at length abandoned the gun, at a spot which has since been named Lost Canon.



When their own provisions were nearly gone, the party obtained some pine nuts and also several rabbits from the Indians. A dog which had been brought along made one good meal for the wayfarers. An Indian who had been persuaded to act as guide pointed out the spot where two white men, one of whom was Walker, a noted frontiersman, had once crossed the mountains; but the guide made them understand that it was impossible to cross at that time of the year, saying, in his own language, "Rock upon rock, snow upon snow."

Although they could advance only by breaking paths through the snow, and were reduced to eating mule and horse flesh, yet the Fremont party pushed on. Finally they reached the summit of the mountains and turned down by the head of a stream flowing westward, which proved to be the American River. After three weeks more of terrible suffering they came out of the mountains at Sutter's Fort, where they obtained supplies and had an opportunity to rest and recruit.



Fremont now recognized the incorrectness of the maps which had so nearly caused the destruction of the party. As he says in his notes: "No river from the interior does, or can, cross the Sierra Nevada, itself more lofty than the Rocky Mountains... There is no opening from the Bay of San Francisco into the interior of the continent."

When the return journey was begun the party did not recross the high Sierras, but turned southward through the San Joaquin Valley and gained the Mohave Desert by the way of Tehachapai pass. The route now led eastward across the deserts and low mountain ranges of California and southern Nevada, until at last Great Salt Lake was reached.



Among the many geographical discoveries of the expedition was the demonstration of the existence of the Great Basin. In his report, Fremont, while speaking of its vast sterile valleys and of the Indians which inhabit them, says: "That it is peopled we know, but miserably and sparsely ... dispersed in single families ... eating seeds and insects, digging roots (hence their name) [Digger Indians], such is the condition of the greater part. Others are a degree higher and live in communities upon some lake or river from which they repulse the miserable Diggers.

"The rabbit is the largest animal known in this desert, its flesh affords a little meat.... The wild sage is their only wood, and here it is of extraordinary size—sometimes a foot in diameter and six or eight feet high. It serves for fuel, for building material, for shelter for the rabbits, and for some sort of covering for the feet and legs in cold weather. But I flatter myself that what is discovered, though not enough to satisfy curiosity, is sufficient to excite it, and that subsequent explorations will complete what has been commenced."



THE STORY OF GREAT SALT LAKE

The most interesting geographical feature of Utah is the Great Salt Lake. Few tourists now cross the continent without visiting the lake and taking a bath in its briny waters. This strange body of water has, however, been slowly growing smaller for some years, and probably will in time disappear. A study of the history of the lake may throw some light upon the important question of its possible disappearance, and it will certainly bring out many interesting facts.

We do not know with certainty who was the first white man to look upon this inland sea, although it is supposed to have been James Bridger, a noted trapper, who in 1825 followed Bear River down to its mouth. He tasted the water and found it salt, a fact which encouraged him in the belief that he had found an arm of the Pacific Ocean.

More than two hundred years ago there were vague ideas about a salt lake situated somewhere beyond the Rocky Mountains. In 1689 Baron Lahontan published an account of his travels from Mackinac to the Mississippi River and the region beyond. He states that he ascended a westerly branch of the river for six weeks, until the season became too late for farther progress. He reports meeting savages who said that one hundred and fifty leagues beyond there was a salt lake, "three hundred leagues in circumference—its mouth stretching a great way to the southward."

This imaginative story aroused interest in the West. In a book published in 1772, devoted to a description of the province La Louisiane, the possibility of water communication with the South Sea is discussed as follows: "It will be of great convenience to this country, if ever it becomes settled, that there is an easy communication therewith, and the South Sea, which lies between America and China, and that two ways: by the north branch of the great Yellow River, by the natives called the river of the 'Massorites' (Missouri), which hath a course of five hundred miles, navigable to its head, or springs, and which proceeds from a ridge of hills somewhat north of New Mexico, passable by horse, foot, or wagon, in less than half a day. On the other side are rivers which run into a great lake that empties itself by another navigable river into the South Sea. The same may be said of the Meschaouay, up which our people have been, but not so far as the Baron Lahontan, who passed on it above three hundred miles almost due west, and declares it comes from the same ridge of hills above mentioned, and that divers rivers from the other side soon make a large river, which enters into a vast lake, on which inhabit two or three great nations, much more populous and civilized than other Indians; and out of that lake a great river disembogues into the South Sea."

In 1776 Father Escalante travelled from Santa Fe far to the north and west. He met Indians who told him of a lake the waters of which produced a burning sensation when placed upon the skin. This was probably Great Salt Lake, but it is not thought that he himself ever saw it. The Escalante Desert, in southern Utah, once covered by the waters of the lake, is named after this explorer.

Nothing more seems to have been learned of the lake after its discovery by Bridger until in 1833 Bonneville, a daring leader among the trappers, organized a party for its exploration. Washington Irving, in his history of Captain Bonneville, says of the party, "A desert surrounded them and stretched to the southwest as far as the eye could reach, rivalling the deserts of Asia and Africa in sterility. There was neither tree, nor herbage, nor spring, nor pool, nor running stream, nothing but parched wastes of sand, where horse and rider were in danger of perishing."



Although decreasing in area so rapidly, Great Salt Lake is still the largest body of water in the western part of the United States, and the largest salt lake within its boundaries. It has a length of seventy miles and a maximum width of nearly fifty miles.

Desolate, indeed, must have appeared the surroundings of the lake, with its salt-incrusted borders, as the Mormon emigrants gained the summit of the Wasatch Range and looked out over the vast expanse to the west. But as the slopes at the foot of the mountains seemed capable of producing food for their support, they stopped and made their homes there. Now in this same region, after half a century, one can ride for many miles through as beautiful and highly cultivated a country as the sun ever looked down upon. In the early days the barren plains were broken only by mountains almost as barren, which rose from them like the islands from the surface of the Great Salt Lake. The only pleasing prospect was toward the east, where stood the steep and rugged Wasatch Range, with its snow-capped peaks. From its deep canons issued large streams of pure, cold water, which flowed undisturbed across the brush-covered slopes, then unbroken by irrigating ditches, and at last were lost in the salt lake.

One might think that streams of water apparently so pure would at last freshen the lake, but in reality they are carrying along invisible particles of mineral matter which add to its saltness day by day. The dry air steals away the water from the lake as fast as it runs in, but cannot take the minerals which it holds in solution.

Great Salt Lake is still considered very large, but at one time it was ten times its present size, while still longer ago there was no lake at all. Without a basin there can be no lake, and at that far-away time, as we have already learned, the Great Basin did not exist, and the streams, if there were any, ran away to the ocean without hindrance.

When the Great Basin was formed by a breaking and bending of the crust of the earth, many a stream lost its connection with the ocean and went to work filling up the smaller basins, thus giving rise to the lakes which have already been described. The largest of these bodies of water, and in some respects the most interesting, is Great Salt Lake.



This lake, lying close to the lofty Wasatch Range, received so much water from numerous streams during the Glacial period that it slowly spread over thousands of square miles, overrunning the desert valleys and making islands of the scattered mountain ranges. It extended from north to south across Utah, into southern Idaho and almost to the Arizona line, until this body of water, which arose from so small beginnings, had become a veritable inland sea, three hundred miles long, one hundred miles wide, and one thousand feet deep.

By the time the lake had covered an area of twenty thousand square miles the lowest point in the rim of the basin was reached and the overflow began. No map will tell you where the outlet was, for no river exists there now. If you could explore the shore lines of this ancient lake, which has been called Bonneville after the noted trapper, you would find two low spots in the mountains which hem the waters in, one upon the south, facing the Colorado River, the other on the north toward the Snake River. The one on the north happened to be a little lower, so that the break occurred there. First as a little, trickling stream, then as a mighty, surging river, the water poured northward down the valley of a small stream, widening and deepening it until, passing the spot where now the town of Pocatello stands, it joined the Snake River.

This old outlet is now known as Red Rock Pass, and it forms an easy route for the Oregon Short Line from Salt Lake City to the plains of southern Idaho. The old river-bed is marked by marshes and fertile farms.

With an outlet established, Lake Bonneville could rise no higher, and its waves began the formation of a well-defined terrace or beach, just as waves are sure to do along every shore. The level of the water could not remain permanently at the same height, for the rocks at the outlet were being worn away by the large volume of water which flowed over them. In the course of years the level of the lake was lowered four hundred feet. The sinking was not uniform, but took place by stages, while at each period of rest the waves made a new beach line. The lake during all this time must have been a beautiful sheet of fresh water filled with fish. Its shores, also, must have been much richer in vegetation than they are now.



The water remained for a long time at the level of four hundred feet below its highest stage. This fact is evident from the width of the wave-cut terrace, which is the most prominent of all those that mark the old levels along the sides of the mountains. Finally, for some reason the climate began to change, the streams supplied less water to the lake, and the evaporation from its surface became greater because the air was drier. As a result the lake was lowered to such an extent that it lost its outlet. The mighty river flowing down through Red Rock Canon grew smaller and at last dried up altogether.

In this manner the lake was again cut off from the ocean, as it had been during its earlier history. The waters still continued to recede, but not at a uniform rate. During periods of greater rain its level remained stationary, so that the waves added new terraces to those already formed.

As the lake had no outlet and was decreasing in volume, the water became salty, for the minerals brought by the streams could no longer be carried away. The fish either died or passed up into the purer waters of the inflowing streams.

The water of the present lake is so salt that in every four quarts there is one quart of salt, and the preparation of this commodity by a process of evaporating the water in ponds has become an important industry. The water is the strongest kind of brine and it is impossible for a bather to sink in it. One floats about upon it almost as lightly as wood does upon ordinary water. After bathing it is necessary to wash in fresh water to remove the salt from the body.

The dry bed of the former Lake Bonneville stretches far to the south and west of the present lake, and forms one of the most barren and arid regions in the United States. It is sometimes called the Great American Desert.

Why is the lake receding now? Some people think that the climate is growing still more arid, and that the lake will eventually disappear. Others think that its shrinkage is the result of irrigation, for a large part of the water from the streams which supply it is now taken out and turned upon the land. There is still another reason which may account for the low water. The lake is known to rise and fall during a series of wet and dry years. When first mapped, in the middle of the last century, it was about as low as it is now. Then it gradually rose for a number of years and lately has again been falling.

The story of Great Salt Lake has been much more complicated than the statement given above, but this is sufficient for our purpose.

Irrigation has made a garden spot of a large part of the old bed of Lake Bonneville, but much of the beauty and attractiveness of this region would be lost if the present lake should give place to a bed of glistening salt. Let us hope that it will remain as it is.



THE SKAGIT RIVER

The Skagit is not one of the great rivers of the world, for very little of its course lies outside the boundaries of a single state. It is, however, none the less interesting. Few rivers with a length of only one hundred and fifty miles present so great a variety of instructive features. We shall certainly learn more from a study of the Skagit than from many a better known and more pretentious river.

Innumerable torrents, fed by the glaciers of the Cascade Range, pour down the rocky slopes and lose themselves in the wooded canons below. The canon streams, of much greater size, flow less impetuously over gentler slopes, and are frequently blocked by boulders and logs. These streams unite in one broad, deep river, which moves on quietly to its resting-place in Puget Sound. Its name, Skagit, is of Indian origin and means wild cat.

By following the Skagit River and a tributary stream, one can go from the bare and snowy summit of the Cascade Range down through dense forests, and come out at last upon a magnificent delta, where a fertile plain is slowly but steadily encroaching upon the waters of the sound. What contrasting scenes are presented along the few short miles of the course of the river! A trip from its source to its mouth will be worth all the trouble it involves, although the trail is often disagreeably wet and sometimes dangerous.

There is no grander scenery in the United States than that of the Cascade Range; nor are there more dense forests than those found upon its western slope. The range is hidden in almost perpetual clouds and storms, and they are fortunate who can reach its summit upon a pleasant day.



The forests of fir and hemlock have gained a foothold nearly to the summit of the range. Upon the little benches and in the protected nooks the trees grow thriftily, and dense groves are found up to an elevation of nearly five thousand feet; but upon the more exposed and rocky slopes stunted trunks show the effect of a constant struggle with the rocks and winds. Upon other slopes, too high for the trees to grow, there are low shrubs and arctic mosses; but above all rise precipitous crags and peaks, utterly bare except for the glaciers nestling among them.

Under the shade of the upland forests the moss is damp and the wood wet, so that it is difficult to make a comfortable camp or to build a fire. But these discomforts are not worthy of consideration in view of the inspiration which one gains by the outlook from some commanding point upon the summit of the mountain range.

All about are jagged, splintered peaks. Upon every gentle slope there rests, within some alcove, a glistening mass of snow and ice. A score of these glaciers are in sight. They are supplied in winter by the drifting snows, and yield in summer, from their lower extremities, streams of ice-cold water. A multitude of streams raise a gentle murmur, broken occasionally by a dull roar as some glacier, in its slow descent, breaks upon the edge of a precipice and its fragments fall into the canon below.

From a position upon the summit above the point where the Skagit trail crosses the mountains may be seen a little lake, on the surface of which remains some of last winter's ice not yet melted by the August sun. If the climate were a little colder, the basin would be occupied by a glacier instead of a lake. All about the lake there are steep, rocky slopes, more or less completely covered with low arctic plants and stunted, storm-beaten hemlocks. From among the trees at the foot of the lake rises the roof of a miner's log cabin, and a few hundred feet beyond a small, dark opening in the face of a cliff shows where the miner is running a tunnel in his search for gold.

Far below, and heading close under the sharp crest of the range, are densely wooded canons. The fair weather is passing, and it is necessary to find the trail and descend. Clouds are sweeping across the ridges and peaks, and soon the whole summit will be covered by them.

From a point a little east of the summit the clouds present a grand sight at the gathering of a storm. Higher and higher they pile upon the ocean face of the mountains. At the bottom they are dark and threatening, but the thunder-heads above can be seen bathed in the bright sunlight. For a time the clouds hang upon the summit as if stopped by some invisible barrier; perhaps they are loath to pass into the drier air of the eastern slope. But finally they move on, and rain or snow soon envelops the whole landscape.

The trail descends rapidly for four thousand feet to Cascade River, a tributary of the Skagit. It is a steep and slippery way, and in many places it is not safe to ride the horses. The sub-arctic climate of the summit is left behind, and one is soon surrounded by dense and luxuriant vegetation. Such a change as this, in a short distance, shows how greatly elevation affects climate and plant growth.

Upon every hand there is the sound of rushing water. From the cliffs ribbon-like cascades are falling. The rivulets unite in one stream, which roars and tumbles down the canon over logs and boulders. The trail crosses and recrosses the torrent until the water becomes too deep for fording, and then it leads one to a rude bridge made of two logs with split planks laid across them.

As the canon widens, the trail leads farther from the river and through dense forests. The woods are so silent that they become oppressive, and the air is damp, for the sunlight is almost excluded. The tall trees, fir, hemlock, and spruce, with now and then a cedar, stand close together. Shrubs of many kinds are crowded among them, while mosses and ferns cover the ground. The fallen trunks are wrapped in moss, and young trees are growing upon them, drawing their nourishment from the decaying tissues. In the more open spots grow the salal bushes with their purple berries, the yellow salmon berries, and the blue-black huckleberries.

It is difficult to get an idea of the density of a Washington forest, or of the character of the streams, unless one has actually taken a trip through the region. If one wishes to escape the forest by following the streams, he will find the path blocked by fallen trees. It is necessary continually to climb over or under obstructions, and the traveller is fortunate if he does not fall into the cold water. Upon the banks it is even worse; one must struggle through dense prickly bushes and ferns, and be tripped every few rods. Though the forest may appear at first to offer an easier way, it will soon be found that creeping and crawling through the undergrowth of bushes and young trees is exceedingly tiresome, and one will gladly return to the muddy trail, thankful for its guidance.

The mountains become less precipitous and the canon widens to a valley, until at last the trail comes out at a clearing where the Cascade River joins the Skagit. At this point, known as Marble Mountain, there is a ferry, also a store and several other buildings. The cleared fields seem a relief after many miles of dense forest, but such openings are infrequent, for few settlers have yet pushed far into the forests of the Skagit valley. To make a clearing of any size, tear out the stumps, and prepare the land for cultivation, requires many years of hard labor.

How silently and yet with what momentum the river sweeps on! The water is clear in summer, but in winter it must be very muddy, for the Skagit is building one of the largest deltas upon Puget Sound.



At Marble Mountain the traveller may, if he wishes, leave his horses, hire an Indian canoe, and float down the river to the nearest railroad station. The ride in the cedar canoe, with an Indian at the stern carefully guiding it past snags and boulders, is one of the pleasantest portions of the trip. The winding river is followed for nearly fifty miles. There is mile after mile of silent forest, the solitude broken only here and there by camps of Indians who are spending the summer by the river, fishing and picking huckleberries. Now and then a call comes from one of these camps, and in spite of the danger of being swamped by the swift current, the canoe is turned toward the shore, but the stop is only for a moment.

At last a new railroad grade comes in sight, with gangs of men at work. The valley of the Skagit contains one of the finest bodies of timber in Washington, and the railroad is being built for the purpose of reaching this timber. There is little other inducement for the building of a railroad; for beside a few summer visitors, the only inhabitants are the scattered prospectors and miners.

We enter the train at a little town in the woods and are soon speeding down the valley toward the mouth of the river. Clearings appear in the forest, and at last the view opens out over extensive meadows which stretch away, almost as level as a floor, to the waters of the sound. Here and there the meadows are broken by forest trees or irregular groups of farm buildings. Rich lands form the delta of the Skagit River. The value of these natural meadows was quickly recognized by the early settlers, for not only was the land exceedingly fertile, but it did not have to be cleared in order to be transformed into productive grain-fields.

For centuries, ever since the melting of the great glaciers which once descended the Cascade Range and crept down the sound, the river has been building this delta. It grew rapidly, for immense accumulations of gravels and clays were left by the retreating glaciers. The delta has already spread westward into the sound, until it has enveloped some of the smaller islands. The forests growing upon these islands, which rise from the surface of the delta plain, are in picturesque contrast to the fields dotted with stacks of grain.

The delta is now practically joined to the eastern side of the San Juan Islands. The railroad reaches the islands by means of a trestle across the intervening tidal flats, delivering its load of logs at the mills and leaving the passengers at the town of Anacortes, where they may take one of the many steamers passing up and down the sound.



Of all the deltas now forming about Puget Sound that of the Skagit is the largest and most interesting. One might think that the forests would so protect the slopes that erosion would not be rapid, but the valleys of all the tributary streams appear deeply filled with rock fragments, which have, for the most part, accumulated from the higher portions of the range, where frost and ice are slowly tearing down the cliffs. At each period of flood some of this material is passed on to the river, which in turn drops it upon the borders of its delta.

The Skagit River, from its source to its mouth, takes the traveller through varying climates and life zones, from the barren crest where the miner is the only inhabitant, down through forests where the lumberman is busy, until it leaves him upon the rich meadows of its delta.



THE STORY OF LAKE CHELAN

Chelan is the largest and most beautiful of our mountain lakes. The lake itself is most attractive, and the basin in which it lies has had an interesting history, so that it is well worth study.

Notwithstanding the beauties of this lake, it is not widely known, for it is situated far away from the main lines of travel, in a remote canon of the Cascade Range. Fortunately the lake and the rugged mountains about it have been included in a forest reserve, so that they will be kept in all their wild natural beauty.

The Columbia River, in its crooked course across the state of Washington, follows for some distance the junction of the vast treeless plateau of the central portion and the rugged, forest-clad slopes of the Cascade Range. We have already learned how the plateau grew to its present extent through the outpouring of successive floods of lava which swept around the higher mountains like an ocean.

Many canons furrow the eastern slope of the Cascade Range, and terminate in the greater canon of the Columbia at the edge of the lava. One of these canons, deeper and longer than the rest, has been blocked by a dam at its lower end. Beautiful Lake Chelan lies in the basin thus formed. It begins only three miles from the Columbia River, but winds for sixty miles among the rugged and steep-walled mountains, terminating almost in the heart of the range.

The lake can be reached either by crossing the mountains from Puget Sound, over a wet and difficult trail, or by ascending the Columbia River from Wenache, the nearest railroad station. The trip can be made from the latter point either upon the stage or river steamer. The wagon road is very picturesque, winding now under lofty cliffs with the river surging below, now along the occasional patches of bottom land where in July the orchards are loaded with fruit.

The first sight of Lake Chelan is disappointing, for at the lower end, where the wagon road stops, there is little to suggest the remarkable scenery farther back in the mountains. Rolling hills, covered with grass and scattered pine trees, slope down to the lake, while here and there farmhouses appear.

One cannot help asking at the first view what there is about Lake Chelan which has made it, next to Crater Lake, the most noted body of water upon the Pacific slope of the continent. But wait a little. Either hire a rowboat and prepare with blankets and provisions for a camping trip about the shores; or if the time is too short for carrying out that plan, take the little steamer which makes tri-weekly trips to the hotel at the head of the lake. Long before you reach the upper end you will begin to appreciate the grandeur of the lake scenery in its setting of steep-walled mountains.

Little of Lake Chelan can be seen at one time, for its course among the mountains to the west is a very crooked one. The noisy steamer leaves the town at the foot of the lake and in the course of ten miles steeper slopes begin to close in upon us. Many little homes are scattered along this portion of the lake, wherever there is a bit of land level enough to raise fruit and vegetables.

Now the mountains become more rugged and rise more steeply from the water's edge. The steamer is very slow; it takes all day to make the sixty miles, but no one is sorry. Occasionally the whistle is sounded and the boat heads in toward the land, where some camping party is on the lookout for mail or a supply of provisions.



The lake averages less than two miles in width, and seems all the narrower for being shut in between gigantic mountains. For some miles we pass under the precipitous cliffs of Goat Mountain, where formerly numerous herds of mountain goats found pasturage.

At every bend in the lake the views become more grand and inspiring. Here is a dashing stream, roaring in a mad tumble over the boulders into the quiet lake—a stream which has its source perhaps a mile above, in some snow-bank hidden from sight by the steep, rocky walls. Next a waterfall comes into view, pouring over a vertical cliff into the lake. Occasionally snow-clad peaks appear, but only to disappear again behind the near mountains. What pleasant spots we notice for camping by the ice-cold streams! They are full of brook trout, while larger fish are to be found in the lake.

At the head of this body of water there is a little hotel for the accommodation of visitors, and the Stehekin River, which is steadily at work filling up the lake, hurries past its doors. Since the melting of the glacier which once filled the canon, the river has built a delta fully half a mile out into the water.

The lake has the appearance of filling an old river valley or canon. Perhaps the latter is the better name because the bed is so narrow and deep. This canon winds among the mountains just like other canons in which rivers are flowing, but it has no outlet at the present time. In some way a dam has been formed, and the canon, filling with water to the top of the dam, has become a lake.

Soundings have shown that the water is fourteen hundred feet deep; that is, a little more than a quarter of a mile. With the exception of Crater Lake, in Oregon, this is the deepest body of water in the United States. It is also interesting to note that the bottom of the lake is fully three hundred feet below the level of the ocean.

How could a river cut a channel for itself so far below the ocean level? Rivers cannot do work of this kind unless they have a swift current; moreover, as they empty into the ocean, their beds must be above sea level. Some people think that the great glacier, which certainly at some time occupied the depression in which the lake lies, dug out the canon. This glacier was over three thousand feet in thickness, for the rocks are grooved and polished to a height of nearly two thousand feet above the surface of the water. It is, nevertheless, improbable that the glacier did anything more than deepen and widen the canon somewhat. It was certainly made, as we at first supposed, by a river which flowed through it at some remote period. At that time the land of our Pacific coast must have stood many hundred feet higher than it does now.



The surface of Lake Chelan is a little more than three hundred feet above the bed of the Columbia River, which flows through a deep canon only three miles distant. If we could remove the dam of glacial boulders and gravel at the lower end of the lake, the water would be lowered only three hundred feet. The lake would not be drained, for it is very much deeper. Now here is another puzzle for us: the bottom of the lake is more than one thousand feet below the level of the Columbia. We shall have to go still farther back into the past to get a satisfactory explanation this time.

Hundreds of thousands of years ago there was no plateau filling central Washington, and no Columbia River crossing it. The Cascade Range stood where we see it to-day, and the region of the plateau was a broad valley, toward which flowed the streams that had already cut canons upon the eastern side of the range. These streams probably united in a river emptying westward into the Pacific by a course now unknown. The shores of the ocean were farther west than at present, for the land stood higher.

The canon of Lake Chelan was made by a river of this period, which through many long years gradually deepened and enlarged its channel. The river worked just as we see rivers working at the present time, for throughout all the history of the earth rivers have not changed their habits. Then came the long period of volcanic eruptions. Our Northwest was flooded by fiery lava, which built up the Columbia plateau and buried under thousands of feet of rock the old river valley into which the canon of Chelan emptied.

Then streams of water began to flow over the plateau from the higher mountains above the reach of the lava. These streams formed the Columbia River, which sought the easiest way to the sea, and finally excavated a canon for hundreds of miles. In a portion of its course the river came close to the edge of the Cascade Range. The ancient canon of Lake Chelan had been dammed up by the lava, and a lake occupied a portion of the former bed of the river. The Columbia could not cut its channel deep enough to drain the lake, and there it remained.



Then another change came: the climate grew cold and heavy snows gathered upon the Cascade Range. The snow did not all melt during the summers, but went on increasing from year to year. The masses of snow moved gradually down the mountain slopes, growing more and more icy until they became true glaciers.

In this manner it came about that a river of ice occupied the canon in which the old lake lay, and, displacing its waters, scraped and ground out the bottom and sides. The moving ice deposited the waste material at the lower end of the canon, where it joined the Columbia River, the canon of which was also occupied by a glacier coming from farther north. When the glacier began to retreat up the Chelan canon, it left a great mass of rock debris, forming a dam between its basin and the Columbia. After the ice had disappeared, water collected in the canon above the dam, and the narrow, deep lake was formed, enclosed within granite walls.

As the snows melted, forests spread over the mountains, the bear, deer, and mountain goats came back again, while the streams, bringing down earth and rocks, began their work of filling up the lake. This task they will succeed in accomplishing some day unless something unforeseen happens to prevent. A valley, composed partly of meadow and partly of boulder-covered slopes, will then have taken the place of the lake.



THE NATIVE INHABITANTS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE

The explorers and early settlers found a native race occupying nearly every portion of our continent. These people had many characteristics in common and were all called Indians. It is believed that they came originally from Asia, but their migration and scattering occurred so long ago that they have become divided into many groups, each having its own language and customs.

In the western portion of the country, where the surface is broken by numerous barriers, such as mountains and deserts, almost every valley was found to be occupied by a distinct group of Indians called a "tribe." The language of each tribe differed so much from the languages of adjoining tribes that they could with difficulty understand one another. These tribes were almost continually at war.

The Indians upon the Pacific slope were generally found to be inferior in most respects to those living in the central and eastern portions of the continent. One might suppose that the tribes possessing the fair and fertile valleys of California would be the most advanced in civilization, but such was not the case. Many of them were among the most degraded upon the continent. They seemed unable to adapt themselves to the white man and his ways, and in the older settled districts they have now nearly disappeared. In the newer portions of the Northwest and along the coast toward Alaska the Indians have not yet come into so direct contact with the white men, and remain more nearly in their primitive condition.

When the Indians of central California were first seen, they wore but little clothing, and knew how to construct only the simplest dwellings for protection from the weather. They did not cultivate the soil, nor did they hunt a great deal, although the country abounded with game. Along the larger streams fish was an important article of food, but in other places, acorns, pine nuts, and roots constituted the main supplies. The acorns were ground in stone mortars and made into soup or into a kind of bread. These Indians have often been called Diggers because they depended so largely for their living upon the roots which they dug.

It would seem natural that about San Francisco Bay the natives should have used canoes, but, according to early travellers, they had none. When they wished to go out upon the water they built rafts of bundles of rushes or tules tied together.

At favorable points along the shore the Indians collected for their feasts, and these spots are now indicated by heaps of shells, in some places forming mounds of considerable size. Many interesting implements have been dug from these mounds, or kitchen middens as they are sometimes called. In the mountains the sites of the villages are marked by chips of obsidian (a volcanic glass used in making arrow-tips) and by holes in the flat surfaces of granitic rocks near some spring or stream. These holes were made for the purpose of grinding acorns or nuts.

Many of the Indian tribes developed great skill in the weaving of baskets, which they used for many different purposes. The baskets are still made in some places, and are much sought after because of their beauty.

The Indians of northern California in building their homes dug round, shallow holes, over which poles were bent in the form of a half-circle, and then tied together at the top. Bark was laid upon the outside, and earth was thrown over the whole structure.



"Sweat houses" were built in much the same manner, and were used chiefly during the winter. When an Indian wished to take a sweat, hot stones were placed in one of these houses, and after he had entered and all openings were closed, he poured water upon the stones until the room was filled with steam. After enduring this process as long as he desired, the Indian came out and plunged into the cold water of a near-by stream. As may be imagined, such a bath often resulted disastrously to the weak or sick.

The fact that the California Indians could support themselves without any great exertion undoubtedly had the effect of making them indolent, while in the desert regions of the Great Basin the struggle for something to eat was so severe that it kept the natives in a degraded condition.



The Indians of the Columbia basin built better houses than those farther south. Where wood was abundant their homes were similar in some respects to those of the coast Indians north of the mouth of the Columbia. Fish was their main article of diet. At certain seasons of the year, when salmon were plentiful, each tribe or group of Indians established its camp near one of the many rapids and waterfalls along the Columbia River. Large numbers of the salmon were caught by the use of traps. After being partly dried they were packed in bales for winter use. The fish thus prepared were considered very valuable and formed an article of trade with the tribes living farther from the river.

The Indians inhabiting the coast northward from the mouth of the Columbia were different in many respects from those farther south or inland. They built better homes, took more pains with their clothing, were skilled in the making of canoes, and showed marked ability in navigating the stormy waters of the channels and sounds.



The Vancouver Island Indians are called Nootkas, from the name of an important tribe upon the west coast. Those of Queen Charlotte Islands, still farther north, are known as Haidas. These two groups are very similar. They live upon the shores of densely wooded, mountainous lands and travel little except by water. Some of the canoes which these tribes construct are over fifty feet long and will easily carry from fifty to one hundred persons. Such a canoe is hewn out of a single cedar log, and presents a very graceful appearance with its upward-curving bow. In these boats the Indians take trips of hundreds of miles.



A ride in one of the large canoes is an interesting experience. When a party starts out to visit the neighboring villages, carrying invitations to a festival, the men are gayly dressed, and shout and sing in unison as they ply their paddles. The great canoe jumps up and onward like a living thing at every stroke of the paddles, which are dipped into the water all at once as the rowers keep time to their songs. But this enthusiasm quickly disappears if a head wind comes up, and the party goes ashore to wait for the breeze to turn in a more favorable direction.

These Indians, as might be supposed, live largely upon fish. Berries are abundant during the summer and are also much used for food. The clothing of the Indians was originally a sort of blanket made of the woven fibres of cedar bark, or more rarely, of the skins of animals, although among the northern tribes skins were used almost exclusively. Matting made of the cedar bark is still in common use in their houses.



Among the Vancouver Island Indians, a few have peculiarly flattened foreheads (Fig. 64). This deformity is produced by binding a piece of board upon the forehead in babyhood and leaving it there while the head is growing.

The villages are located in some protected spot where the canoes can lie in safety. The buildings are strung along the shore close under the edge of the thick forest and just above the reach of the waves at high tide. They are very solidly constructed, for these Indians do not move about as much as those farther south where the forests are less dense. Figure 65 shows the framework of a partially built house, while another stands at one side completed. Large posts are set in the ground at the corners and ends of the building; cross logs are then placed upon the middle posts, and upon these a huge log is placed for a ridge-pole. This is sometimes two feet in diameter and from sixty to eighty feet long. It must require the united strength of many men to roll such a log into position. Upon the framework thus constructed split cedar boards are fastened, and the building is practically finished. Such a house is usually occupied by a number of families. Upon Queen Charlotte Islands there is a dwelling of this kind large enough to hold seven hundred Indians.

The fronts of the houses are ornamented with figures hewn out of wood. These represent men, birds and animals and have a religious significance. Sometimes these figures are mounted upon the tops of tall poles.

The "totem pole" is a most interesting affair. Figure 66 represents the pole at Alert Bay, east of Vancouver Island. It is one of the finest upon the north coast. The figures of animals and birds carved upon it represent the mythological ancestors of the family or clan in front of whose abode the pole stands. The Indians often hunt similar animals to-day, but believe that their ancestors had supernatural power which raised them above the ordinary creatures.

The Chinook Indians live upon the lower Columbia. The name "chinook" has been given to a warm, dry wind which blows down the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains and out upon the Great Plains. This wind is so named because it blows from the direction of the Chinook Indians' country. The "Chinook" jargon is a strange sort of mixed language with which nearly all the tribes of the Northwest are familiar. It is formed of words from the Chinook language, together with others from different Indian languages, French-Canadian, and English. Through the influence of the trappers and traders the "Chinook" has come into wide use, so that by means of it conversation can be carried on with tribes speaking different languages.



Although there are so many different tribes, with great diversities of language, throughout the West, they were probably all derived from the same source. As we go north the similarity between the coast Indians and the inhabitants of eastern Asia becomes more noticeable. It seems almost certain that these American Indians originally came across the narrow strip of water separating Asia from America.

We do not know how long the Indians have occupied our country, but it has probably been several thousand years. Some of the main groups have undoubtedly been here longer than others.

Unless we protect the Indians and permit them so far as possible to lead their own natural lives, most of them will soon disappear.



THE STORY OF LEWIS AND CLARK

In the seventeenth century it appeared likely that France would before long control the northern and interior portion of North America. La Salle discovered the Ohio River, traversed the Great Lakes, and descended the Mississippi River to its mouth. In 1742 other French explorers pushed west from the Great Lakes and sighted the Rocky Mountains. But when the English triumphed at Quebec, France gave up to them all of her possessions east of the Mississippi River, and ceded the province of Louisiana to the Spanish. This province was very much larger than the state which now bears the name. Bounded by the Mississippi River upon the east, and the Spanish possessions upon the southwest, it stretched north and west with very indefinite boundaries, although in the latter direction it was supposed to be limited by the Rocky Mountains.

At one time Napoleon dreamed of founding a great colony in America, and induced Spain to cede Louisiana back to the French; but being unable to carry out his plans, he made a proposition to the United States to take this territory. His offer was accepted, and in 1803, during the presidency of Thomas Jefferson, the vast province was taken into the Union.

It was immediately evident that more definite knowledge should be acquired concerning the great region beyond the Mississippi, particularly the portion about the head of the Missouri River. The unknown region lying between the source of this river and the Pacific should also be explored, for Captain Gray's discovery of the Columbia River gave to the United States a claim upon this part of the continent which must be maintained. If something were not done soon, the territory would be occupied by the English fur companies.

Two young men, Captains Lewis and Clark, were chosen to lead an expedition into the Northwest, which proved to be one of the most remarkable in the history of our country. They were the first white men to cross the Rocky Mountains and to traverse the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific within the present boundaries of the United States.

How interesting it must have been to push into the Rocky Mountains, beyond the farthest point previously reached by white men; to see Nature in her wild state, to note the new plants and animals, and to study the Indians before their contact with Europeans had changed their customs!

Lewis and Clark were particularly instructed to investigate the sources of the Missouri, to learn how the continental divide could be crossed, and to ascertain the nature of the streams which flowed westward to the Pacific. They were also to study the resources of the country, and to examine into the character and customs of all the Indian tribes that they should meet.

The start was made from St. Louis in May, 1804, with two large rowboats and one sail-boat. The latter was to return with news of the party when the farthest outpost upon the Missouri was reached.

Through the summer months and late into the fall the boats toiled up the river against the swift current, finally reaching a village of the Mandan Indians in the present state of North Dakota, where the explorers spent the winter. Thus far they were in a region frequently visited by the traders and trappers from St. Louis.



In the spring they pushed on again in canoes, at length entering an unknown region. The Missouri forked so frequently that it was often difficult to determine which was the main stream. To the surprise of the travellers, the country appeared to be uninhabited, so that they could get no assistance from the Indians. Only a small stock of provisions remained, and as the party numbered about thirty, it was necessary to keep hunters out in advance all the time.

As we are carried swiftly through this region to-day in the cars, no signs of wild creatures are to be seen, and it is difficult for us to believe that game was once abundant. The narrative of the expedition abounds with descriptions of various large animals which the explorers met in herds, such as deer, antelope, buffalo, bears, and wolves. The bears, both white and brown, were very numerous and bold. The white bears in particular were so ferocious that the hunters had many serious encounters with them. They would sometimes enter the camp at night, and at one time a herd of buffalo stampeded through it.

When undecided at one point which branch of the river to follow, Captain Lewis went some distance in advance and discovered the Great Falls of the Missouri. He was greatly impressed and awed by the magnitude and height of the successive falls, which were twenty-four, forty-seven, and eighty feet high respectively, and were connected by a series of cascades.

Many days were spent there in a long and laborious portage, for everything had to be carried a distance of twelve miles before the quiet water above the falls was reached.

How the coming of the white man has changed the region about the falls! The game has disappeared; an important city, supported by the enormous water-power, is growing up; while the smoke rising from extensive plants for reducing the gold, silver, and copper ores mined in the Rocky Mountains floats out over the country.

Proceeding up the river, the party reached the Gate of the Mountains—a picturesque spot where the stream leaves the mountains through a narrow defile between high and jagged cliffs and enters upon its long course across the Great Plains (Fig. 68). Gradually the river became smaller, and at last the travellers came to the point where it divided into three branches, to which they gave the names of Gallatin, Madison, and Jefferson forks. The party made their way up the latter fork, which flowed from a westerly direction.

[Footnote: FIG. 68.—THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS

The Missouri River at the entrance to the Rocky Mountains]

Now they began to look anxiously for the Indians, from whom it would be necessary to get horses to transport their baggage when the river should become too small for the canoes. This region was inhabited by the Shoshones. It may well be asked how it happened that these Indians had horses, since no white people had ever visited them before. Their purchase of horses came about through the processes of trade with the tribes to the south, who in turn came in contact with the Spanish of New Mexico.

One or the other of the leaders kept in advance, on the lookout for the Indians. At last Captain Lewis, while crossing the divide at the head of the stream which they had been following, came suddenly upon several Indians. After overcoming their fear by presents, he accompanied them to their camp and induced them to return with horses to assist the party.

Upon reaching the Pacific side of the continental divide the explorers were in doubt as to which way to proceed. No man had been before them, and the Indians told stories of fearful deserts to the southwest (probably the Snake River plains), and said that the mountains were too steep for the horses, and the rivers too rapid for canoes.

If you will examine a map of the country about the head of the Jefferson fork of the Missouri, you will not wonder that Captains Lewis and Clark were in doubt as to which way they should go in order to reach the Columbia. They first attempted to go down the Salmon River, but soon gave up this project. They turned about and crossed the mountains to the Bitter Root River, which flows north and empties into Lake Pend d'Oreille through Clark's Fork of the Columbia.

After going down the Bitter Root for a short distance they turned west again across the Bitter Root Mountains and came out upon the head waters of the Kooskooskie River. Unable to follow its canons, they wandered to the north among the mountains. At this time their sufferings were intense. Food became so scarce that they were obliged to eat their horses. After many weary days they again reached the stream, but this time at a point where it was navigable. They floated down to its junction with the Lewis or Snake River, where the growing city of Lewiston now stands. At this point they met the Nez Perces Indians, who assisted them in every possible way.



The party continued down the Snake River in canoes until they finally reached the Columbia. The difficulties of navigation were great, for at intervals of every few miles the river was broken by rapids through which it was dangerous to take the canoes. By treating the Indians kindly, the party succeeded in trading with them for such articles of food as horses and dogs. They also obtained some salmon. The presence of this fish in the streams gave them the first assurance that the Pacific slope had been reached. Along the Columbia River salmon was one of the chief articles of food for the Indians.

At Celilo Falls, a short distance above the present city of The Dalles, the travellers found great difficulty in proceeding, as the canoes and loads had to be carried, or "portaged," around the falls. Lewis and Clark called these the Great Falls of the Columbia (Fig. 69).

As the canoes floated down through the magnificent canon by which the Columbia passes the Cascade Range, they encountered another rapid, now known as the Cascades of the Columbia. This rapid is due to a great landslide which has formed a dam across the river. Captain Lewis speaks of the broken trunks of trees rising from the water above the dam, a fact which would lead one to suppose that it had not been very long since the slide occurred.