The most of the names were however, selected by myself, and adopted by our command. This deference was awarded to my selections because I was actively interested in acquiring the Indian names and significations, and because I was considered the most interested in the scenery.
I have related in a previous chapter the incident of selecting the name “Yosemite” for the valley, not then knowing its Indian name. As the “High Fall,” near which we were encamped, appeared to be the principal one of the Sierras, and was the fall par excellence, I gave that the name of “Yosemite Falls,” and in so naming it I but followed out the idea of the Indians who called it “Choolook” or “Scholook,” which signifies in this case “The Fall.” A comparison of the Yosemite Falls with those known in other parts of the world, will show that in elements of picturesque beauty, height, volume, color and majestic surroundings, the Yosemite has no rival upon earth. The Zambesi and Niagara are typical of volume, but the Yosemite is sixteen times greater in height than Niagara, and about eight times that of the Victoria Falls. The upper part of the Yosemite is more than twice the height of the Svoringvoss, of Norway, and lacks but thirty feet of being twice as high as the highest of the Southerland waterfalls, of New Zealand. The three falls of the Southerland aggregate but 1,904 feet, 730 less than the Yosemite.
The Ribbon Fall of the El Capitan has a sheer descent of 2,100 feet, but its beauty disappears with the melting snow. The other falls were only designated by the names of the streams upon which they are situated. The river Merced was spoken of as the river of Ah-wah-ne; but the three principal branches were variously designated; the main, or middle, up to the Vernal Fall, as “Yan-o-pah,” the “Water Cloud” branch, and above the Vernal, as “Yo-wy-we-ack,” “the twisting rock branch.”
The north and south branches had their distinctive names; the north, Py-we-ack, meaning the branch of the “Glistening Rocks,” and the south, Too-lool-we-ack, or more definitely, Too-lool-lo-we-ack. The modern interpretations of some of these names may be regarded as quite fanciful, though Major Savage would declare that Indian languages were so full of figures of speech that without imagination they could not be understood.
The strictly literal interpretation of this name would be inadmissable, but it is well enough to say, that to the unconscious innocence of their primitive state, the word simply represented an effort of nature in the difficult passage of the water down through the rocky gorge. It is derived from Too-lool and We-ack, and means, ὁ ποταμὸς, ὃς διὰ πέτρας οὐρεῖ. This name has been published as if by authority to signify. “The Beautiful”—how beautiful, the learned in Greek may judge.
This really beautiful fall was visited by few of our battalion, and owing to the impracticability of following up the cañon above the fall, and the great difficulty of access to it, it was left neglected; the command contenting itself with a distant view. In view of the discoveries of Mr. Muir that there were glaciers at its source, and that the cliff now known as “Glacier Point” may be said to mark the entrance to this “South Cañon,” a name often confounded with “South Fork,” and especially because of the impropriety of translating this Indian name, I think it advisable to call this the Glacier Fall, and, therefore, give it that name in this volume. The name of “Illeuette” is not Indian, and is, therefore, meaningless and absurd. In accordance with the customs of these mountain people of naming their rivers from the most characteristic features of their source, the North or Ten-ie-ya branch of the Merced, which comes down the North Cañon from the glistening glacial rocks at its source, was called Py-we-ack, “the river of glistening rocks,” or more literally, perhaps, “the river-smoothed rocks.” Whether from Pai, a river, or from Py-ca-bo, a spring, I am in doubt. If the first syllable of the name Py-we-ack be derived from Py-ca-bo, then, probably, the name signified to them “the glistening rock spring branch,” as the ice-burnished rocks at the head of Lake Ten-ie-ya stand at the source of the river.
I have never been satisfied with the poetical interpretation given the name, nor with its transfer to “Yan-o-pah,” the branch of the “little cloud,” as rendered by Mr. Travis. But as Py-we-ack has been displaced from Lake Ten-ie-ya and its outlet, it is proper and in accordance with the custom to call the branch Ten-ie-ya also. The name of Ten-ie-ya was given to the lake at the time of its discovery. It was there we captured the remnant of the Yosemite band, as will be explained in the next chapter. The name of Ten-ie-ya Cañon, Ten-ie-ya Fork and Lake Ten-ie-ya, has for this reason superseded the original name of Py-we-ack; but in naming the lake, I preserved an Indian name that represented the central figure in all of our operations.
Wai-ack was the name for “Mirror Lake,” as well as for the mountain it so perfectly reflected. The lake itself was not particularly attractive or remarkable, but in the early morning, before the breeze swept up the cañon, the reflections were so perfect, especially of what is now known as Mt. Watkins, that even our scouts called our attention to it by pointing and exclaiming: “Look at Wai-ack,” interpreted to mean the “Water Rock.” This circumstance suggested the name of “Mirror Lake.” The name was opposed by some, upon the ground that all still water was a mirror. My reply established the name. It was that other conditions, such as light and shade, were required, as when looking into a well, the wall of the Half Dome perfecting the conditions, and that when shown another pool that was more deserving, we would transfer the name. Captain Boling approved the name, and it was so called by the battalion.
The middle or main branch was designated by the Yosemites—from the fork of the Glacial Branch up to the Vernal Fall—as Yan-o-pah, because they were compelled to pass through the spray of the Vernal, to them a “little cloud,” while passing up this cañon. The Indian name of the Nevada Fall, “Yo-wy-we,” or Yo-wy-ye, and that of Too-lool-lo-we-ack, afforded innumerable jests and amusing comments, and when the suggestion of naming these falls was made, it was received with rude hilarity. Names without number were presented as improvements on the originals. These names were indeed more than my own gravity would endure; Yo-wy-we being represented at first to signify the “wormy” water, from the twist or squirm given to the water in falling upon an obstructing rock; and therefore, after consultation with a few of my personal friends, I suggested Vernal, as an English name for Yan-o-pah, and Nevada, for that of Yo-wy-we. The Nevada Fall was so called because it was the nearest to the Sierra Nevada, and because the name was sufficiently indicative of a wintry companion for our spring.
