LETTER No. XII.
The Yellowstone National Park—"The New Wonderland"—"The Devil's Slide"—The stage driver—Story of a corpse—Driving a circus coach—Circus Bill "appropriates" a coat—Stealing their own blankets—Start for the Park—Mammoth Springs—Forest of dead pines—The Lake of the Woods—Norris Hot Springs and Geysers—"Hell's Half-acre"—A perilous drive—Fire Hole River—Lower Geyser Springs—"Old Faithful"—"The Bee Hive"—The Grand Cañon—Rough roads—Return—"The Golden Gate"—"By Jove! it's Frank!"
Frank's Ranche, Oct., 1885.
The Yellowstone National Park lies partly in the territory of Wyoming and partly in that of Montana. It is sixty-five miles north and south, by fifty-five miles east and west; it comprises 3,575 square miles, and is throughout its extent 6,000 feet or more above the level of the sea. The mountain ranges that hem in the valleys on every side rise to a height of from 10,000 to 12,000 feet, and are covered with perpetual snow.
The Yellowstone Park is a perfect little world of wonders. They call it the "New Wonderland," and there are as many strange things to be found in it as "Alice" saw in her fairy realm.
On reaching Livingston, we take a train which runs southward to within six miles of the entrance to the Park. Soon after leaving the station we pass through a grand cañon of towering rocks called "The Gate of the Mountains," and then through pleasant valleys, always near the beautiful Yellowstone river.
We then pass, on our right, Cinnabar Mountain, which rises to a height of about 2,000 feet above the river; a broad streak of red down the mountain is called "The Devil's Slide," and suggests at the same time that his black majesty in sliding down must have had a rough time of it.
The terminus of the line is at a place called Cinnabar City, which at present contains about twelve shanties; several of these are drinking saloons. From Cinnabar we take a stage-coach and six horses for the drive, through some very grand scenery, to the "Mammoth Springs Hotel." The driver of this stage is a fellow of infinite wit, and tells marvellous stories in a manner which kept us on a roar the whole way. I wish I could give you, in his own style and words, the story of a corpse which he once carried on his coach.
"THE GATE OF THE MOUNTAINS."
"Once," said he, "I was driving a coach down in Utah—a sixty-mile drive. One night a corpse came along, packed in a leaden coffin, and then in a wooden one, and then in a box. They fixed him on the top of the stage. Of course we had no passengers; who would want to travel with a corpse if they could help it? It was a bitter cold and pitchy dark night, sometimes snowing and raining, with lightning and thunder. The way that blessed corpse kept rolling backwards and forwards on the top of the coach was, I tell you, pretty scaring. For about thirty miles the road ran along the side of a mountain. You bet I whipped them horses along, and my off-wheels travelled in the air most of the way. I got to the end of my journey two hours quicker than I ever done that journey before. I am not a bit superstitious; but driving a corpse all alone over the mountains on a night like that isn't very lively. If I had known the party in the box it might have been different, but we were strangers. Next time a corpse comes along wanting a ride with me, I guess he'll have to walk. I never want to drive another."
Charlie told us that he was once the driver of a circus coach—
"And I tell you," said he, "that was an experience! The pay wasn't much, a hundred dollars a month or so; the rest was made up by appropriation! I had a trunk full of things when I started, but I hadn't been driving a week before everything was gone out of it, and then they stole the trunk. I had nothing left but what I stood up in, and I asked a fellow-driver what I was to do. 'Do?' says he; 'why don't you take a coat?' The next hotel we stopped at, 'Circus Bill,' that was his name, stood round and unhooked a splendid buffalo coat. I wore that coat all winter, and then sold it in the spring to a Mormon in Salt Lake City for seventy-five dollars, which about repaid me for the loss of my own trunk. I once knew two of them fellows who got drunk and stole their own blankets, and were locked up for it!"
Pulpit Terrace, Mammoth Hot Springs
As we were going along be pointed out an eagle's nest on the top of a pinnacle of the mountain. Presently we arrived at Gardener City, a flourishing place of a dozen dwellings. It was now getting towards sundown. "Won't you have a lantern, colonel, for the rest of the road?" "No, thanks," said our driver; "the brightness of my face and the brilliancy of my wit are quite sufficient to light up the road."
The Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel is large and commodious, and for a summer resort fairly comfortable; it is capable of accommodating 400 guests. In the hall is a splendid specimen of a mountain lion, bearing in his mouth the significant inscription, "Meet me by moonlight alone!" The hotel faces the famous Mammoth Springs, of which the accompanying sketch gives but a very imperfect idea. The hill is about 200 feet high, composed of the chalky deposit of the hot springs, and the series of terraces present a marvellous scene; but they do not, however, exhibit that beautiful clear snowy whiteness which some enthusiasts claim for them; they have rather the appearance of dirty, crumbling, whitey-brown chalk.
Next morning we started off on a coach and four to view the Park. First we came to "The Golden Gates," an immense cañon through which a small stream runs between enormously high limestone rocks. The road, which is here a splendid one, winds up along one side of the cañon; it is cut out of the solid rock, and it gradually rises to such a height that to a nervous person the look down into the gulch below must be rather alarming, especially if one had not the fullest confidence in the driver. Then we passed through an extraordinary forest of pines, all dead, stripped entirely of their bark, even to the gnarled and curled branches. There must be millions of these naked-burnt trees standing, and the ground is also strewed with them in every direction. Here and there the upturned roots present a very weird and curious appearance. One made a strong impression on me from its marked resemblance to that wonderful griffin which now commemorates the spot where once stood Temple Bar.
"THE OBSIDIAN CLIFFS."
We crossed the Gardener river, then passed below an extraordinary range called "The Obsidian Cliffs." They are composed of glass—perpendicular cliffs of solid glass; I picked up several small blocks for paperweights, but unluckily lost them. The range extends for probably 1,500 feet, and the height may be 250 or 300 feet.
A little farther on we came to the "Lake of the Woods." On this lake is a beaver-dam and house, and there are said to be a few beavers about there, but I have met with no one who has seen them. On the lake were large flocks of wild geese and ducks. The interest of this Park is somewhat diminished by the distance one has to travel from one remarkable point to another. After passing "The Lake of the Woods" we must have travelled about fifteen miles or more, wholly through a green pine forest, over hill and down dale, but all pine. Then we came to "Norris Hot Springs and Geysers." Here we found a number of boiling and bubbling hot springs; some send up small jets, others are great lakes of boiling water. One, called "The Emerald," is a circular hole of perhaps thirty feet in circumference. The water is of the clearest emerald green, so transparent that one could see right down into it for many yards. Within a few feet was another hot spring of quite a different character. In this the stuff that bubbled up was of a thick leaden colour; others were pouring forth streams of red, green, and yellow, all pervaded with a strong smell of sulphur. A spring called "The Paint Pot" is a great cauldron of perhaps 150 feet in circumference. On one side the deposit thrown out is of a bright salmon colour. This is a lake of pure creamy boiling paint, like liquid plaster of Paris.
"THE FAIRY FALLS."
After lunching in a temporary hotel, consisting of several tents, we drove on till we came to "The Fairy Falls," which can only be seen by following a steep path down the side of the cañon—a difficult path, but quite worth taking. Shortly afterwards we came upon a scene which probably cannot be paralleled on this earth. They call it, not inappropriately, "Hell's Half-acre." Here our coachman turned out of the road on to a wide expanse of white, chalky formation, which seemed to me like the upper crust of an immense honeycomb; out of this bubbled innumerable small and large hot springs. Driving over this great crust, which covered a boiling lake, struck me as being rather risky, for I could see no reason why it might not give way under the weight of a coach and four at any moment. Suddenly we came upon a great opening which had fallen in. Just imagine an apple-pie a dozen acres in size, and on it you come suddenly upon a place where half an acre or so has been cut out with a knife; or you may picture the crust as having fallen in. The coach drives close up to the edge of this place, and you look down upon a great roaring, boiling cauldron at least half an acre in size, sending up great rolls of sulphurous steam hundreds of feet into the air.[[4]] The terror of it is quite indescribable. I was glad when the coach got back on the hard road again. The boiling water is of a most brilliant transparent green, and it boils up great globes of various coloured gems like potatoes in a pot.
[4]. Lord Dunraven says, "The crust feels as if it might break through at any moment and drop you into fire and flames beneath, and the animals tread gingerly upon it.... It is dangerous ground; I have not heard of any accident up to this time; no modern Korah, Dathan, and Abiram as yet have been engulfed alive; but the visits to these regions have been, like those of angels, few and far between."
Last week, a wild duck flying over the scalding steam was sucked into the cauldron and immediately shot out again cooked and ready for table—so said our coachman. As to the cooking there can be no question, for the temperature is over 200°.
Passing along Fire Hole River, we could see at intervals small and large springs, boiling hot, rising right out of the banks of the river. So you see how perfectly practicable it is to catch a fish in the river and cook it in the boiling water without moving a yard.
On we went till we came to the Lower Geyser Springs, and after a look at them, we drove on to the hotel at the Upper Geysers, completing a distance of fifty-eight miles. We had been jolted on the stage since seven o'clock in the morning. This is the scene of the Great Geysers, and one of them, called the "Riverside," which flings itself up at intervals of twenty-four hours, did us the honour of starting just as we came to it; it springs from the banks of the river, where the bridge spans it, and made a grand display for us as we crossed over.
"THE RIVERSIDE."
Close by the hotel is another marvellous geyser, which, from his extreme punctuality, has earned the name of "Old Faithful." He rises once every sixty-five minutes to a second.[[5]] We walked up over the lava, or chalky bed, to examine his abode. There we could look down into the circular crater, from which jets of steam were rising, and great agitated bubbles of water were struggling to get free. Presently, without a minute's warning, up shot an enormous column of boiling water, it may be six feet in diameter, straight into the sky, a hundred and fifty feet or more, then spread out into a beautiful vase-like shape, and came down in hot showers all round. Of course we managed to get outside the range of the spray, but we had some difficulty in steering clear of the little rivers of hot water which were streaming all round us. The eruption lasts for about five minutes.
[5]. When Lord Dunraven saw "Old Faithful," ten or eleven years ago, his time was "every three-quarters of an hour." The landlord now quotes it as I have stated, and he is confirmed by my own observation; but we only saw him twice.
We saw "Old Faithful's" performances just as the sun was setting most brilliantly over the far-off western mountains. There are scores of other geysers continually bubbling, boiling, and seething on this great white plain, which is hemmed in on all sides by pine or fir-clad hills, forming a scene not to be described by me. The principal geysers have all names attached to them. "The Giantess" only shows off her powers once in fourteen days. Then there are "The Castle," "The Lion," "The Lioness," and her two cubs, "The Grand," "The Comet," &c. One of the most curious and eccentric is called "The Bee-Hive." She is very uncertain in her movements; but when she does go off she throws a strange, solid column of water straight up into the air for 220 feet, which is then diffused in brilliant colours, like rockets at a Crystal Palace display of fireworks. We did not see her—her times are irregular; but there is a small one at her foot called "The Indicator," which, when it goes off, gives half an hour's warning that "The Bee-Hive" is coming. Then there is a strange commotion at the hotel, for she sometimes bursts out at midnight. A watchman on the look-out shouts, "The Bee-Hive! the Bee-Hive!" and people rush out of their beds wrapped up in blankets, or whatever clothing they can find, and off they go; there is no time to dress, for the grand display is as brief as it is magnificent.
"OLD FAITHFUL."
We could not give time (two days or more) to travel fifty miles farther in order to see the grandest scene of all in this park of wonders—the Grand Cañon. I am told by everyone who has seen it that it is quite impossible by words or paint-brush to give any idea of its grandeur.
As, however, any description of the Park which omits the Grand Cañon would be like omitting Hamlet from the play, I will give you this quotation from Professor F. V. Haydon's report to Congress:—
"No language can do justice to the wonderful grandeur and beauty of the cañon below the lower falls, the very nearly vertical walls slightly sloping down to the water's edge on either side, so that from the summit the river appears like a thread of silver foaming over its rocky bottom; the variegated colours of the sides—yellow, red, brown, white—all intermixed and shading into each other; the gothic columns of every form standing out from the sides of the walls with greater variety and more striking colours than ever adorned a work of human art.... A celebrated artist exclaimed, with a kind of regretful enthusiasm, that these beautiful tints were beyond the reach of human art.... After the waters of the Yellowstone roll over the upper descent, they flow over the apparently flat rocky bottom ... until near the lower falls, where the channel contracts, and the waters seem to gather themselves into one compact mass, and plunge over the descent of 350 feet in detached drops of foam as white as snow, some of the larger globules of water shooting down like the contents of an exploded rocket. It is a sight far more beautiful, though not so grand or impressive as that of Niagara Falls."
The next morning we started back again by another route, on the other side of the Fire Hole River, and when we came opposite to "Hell's Half-acre," we saw great streams of boiling sulphur water pouring down the rocks from the cauldron I have already mentioned, into the river, where I am told the boiling water runs alongside the cold a long distance before mixing with it. The fish to be found in this and other lakes and rivers in the Park are quite uneatable, being wormy, and sulphurous in flavour.
I am aware that I have utterly failed to convey anything like an adequate picture of what I have seen myself in this "region of wonder, terror, and delight." The geysers are said far to surpass both in number and in size those of Iceland or New Zealand.
I must leave it to others to explain the physical causes which produce these phenomena. It is said by the learned that the entire region was, at a comparatively recent geological period, the scene of remarkable volcanic activity, and that its last stages are visible in these hot springs and geysers.
At present the roads are, for the most part, terribly rough and unformed; but the government is active, and the work already done, both on the roads and bridges, is admirable. Sixteen miles of splendid roads had already been completed on the route we travelled over. The hotel accommodation cannot be commended. The food one gets is simply execrable; but doubtless all this will soon be changed. I am told that a wealthy company has now obtained leases for hotels, and the public may hope next year to be better fed and better lodged than they have been in the past. The hotel charges at present are four dollars a day.
The stage-coaches are not bad, and the teams are for the most part excellent. The drivers are very intelligent, civil fellows, and when once stirred up they tell most amusing stories.
The proprietors employ about two hundred and fifty horses in the Park, and as we left on the last day of the season, I was curious to know what became of the horses during the winter. I was told that they are all turned loose on the prairie, to paw up their living from under the snow on the foothills where it lies thin, and in the spring they are brought in fatter and stronger than when they went out.
Now that nearly all the buffaloes in the country have been killed, very strict game laws have been put in force for their preservation. I am told that within the Park there is now very little game of any kind. A man was recently fined 100 dollars and costs and imprisoned for six months for killing two elk and eight beaver within the Park, whilst a premium of ten dollars is given for the destruction of a bear.
Let me add that there is some capital trout fishing in the Yellowstone River, just outside the Park, and we had made arrangements to spend a day there and to sleep at "Yankee Jim's," who keeps a small inn by the riverside. Jim is a well-known character throughout the country, but our experience of him did not encourage us to take up our abode in his little shanty. When sober we are told he is a highly respectable character; but when drunk (and he happened to be in that condition when we made his acquaintance) he is a madman, and a spiritualist able to see through mountains, to boot. On the whole, we did not care to cultivate Jim's acquaintance, so we had to give up our day's fishing in the Yellowstone. We may do better by-and-by in the West Gallatin River.
Just before sundown, and as we were passing through "The Golden Gate," I saw a pedestrian coming up the road at a rapid pace. I was sitting on the box-seat, and I said to the driver—
"Where can yonder fellow be going in this direction at this time of day; there is not a house of any kind within twenty miles?"
"It is curious," said he.
When we came up to the pedestrian, "By Jove! it's Frank!" I shouted. "Pull up, driver! Jump up, my boy!" He was looking strong and well, and almost as brown as a red Indian, and he soon explained to me the mystery of my not hearing from him. He had sent a telegram to Chicago, which I never received, requesting me to go straight on to Bozeman, and he had driven in to Bozeman five days successively, twenty-four miles each day, to meet us, and of course was as much bewildered about me as I had been about him. The passenger agent at Bozeman had put wrong initials on the telegram I had sent from St. Paul, and the post-master had refused to give it up for two or three days; when by chance Frank met the passenger agent, who told him about the telegram and explained his mistake to the post-master. At last he got the message, and he then started off at once for Livingston and the Park, and met us coming out of it, instead of accompanying us through it, as I had planned.
In due time we reached Bozeman, and by seven o'clock in the evening of the day after our first meeting we were safely housed in Frank's little log hut.
