Nature in Poetic Moods.—Is there Lurking Danger?—A Sanitarium.—The Liberty Cap.—The Giant’s Thumb.—Singular Caves.—Falls of the Gardiner River.—In the Saddle.—Grand CaÑon of the Yellowstone.—Far-Reaching Antiquity. Obsidian Cliffs.—A Road of Glass.—Beaver Lake.—Animal Builders.—Aborigines of the Park.—The Sheep-Eaters.—The Shoshones and other Tribes.

How unapproachable is Nature in her poetic moods! how opulent in measure! how subtle in delicacy! No structure of truest proportions reared by man could equal the beauty of this lovely, parti-colored terrace. It recalled—being of kindred charm—that perfection of Mohammedan architecture the Taj-Mahal at Agra, as seen under the deep blue sky and blazing sun of India. Since the late sweeping destruction by earthquake and volcanic outburst of the similarly formed pink and white terraces in the Hot Lake district of New Zealand, at Tarawera, these of the Yellowstone Park have no longer a known rival. We may therefore congratulate ourselves in possessing a natural formation which is both grand and unique. In the far-away southern country referred to, there were no more symptoms foretelling the awful convulsion of nature which buried a broad, deep lake, together with an entire valley and native village, beneath lava and volcanic ashes, than there is exhibited in our own reservation at this writing. What signifies it that the Yellowstone Park has probably remained in its present comparatively quiet condition for many, many ages? The liability to a grand volcanic outburst at any moment is none the less imminent. History repeats itself. It has ever been the same with all great throes of Nature. Centuries of comparative quiet elapse, and then occurs, without any obvious predisposing cause, a great and awful explosion. The catastrophe of Pompeii is familiar to us all, which, in its turn, repeated the story of Herculaneum.

The Mammoth Hot Springs of the Yellowstone Park are not only beautiful in the tangible forms which they present, and the kaleidoscopic combinations of color which they produce, though their seeming crystal clearness is indescribable, but they have also remarkable medicinal virtues which enhance their interest and practical value. It is on this account that the place is gradually becoming a popular sanitarium, drawing patients from long distances at suitable seasons, especially those who suffer from rheumatic affections and skin diseases. Persistent bathing in the waters accomplishes many remarkable cures, if current statements can be credited, and there is ample reason for such a result. The pure air of this altitude must also be of great benefit to invalids generally, but more especially to those suffering from malarial poison and nervous prostration. The chemical properties of each spring are distinctive, most of them having been carefully analyzed, and the invalid is thus enabled to choose the one which is presumably best adapted to his special ailment.

Groups of pines, or single trees, find sufficient nutriment in the calcareous deposit to support life, and thus a certain barrenness is robbed of its depressing effect, while the whole is partially framed by densely wooded hills which serve to throw the terraces strongly into the foreground. When we last looked upon the scene the sun was setting amid a canopy of gold and orange hues, as the evening gun of the military encampment in the valley echoed again and again in sonorous tones among the everlasting hills, and died away in the distant gorges of the Yellowstone.

A lady visitor who entered the Park at the same time with the author, on the first day of her arrival placed a pine cone in one of the springs near to the hotel. So rapid is the action of the mineral deposit which is constantly going on that at the close of the eighth day the cone was taken from the spring crystallized, as it were, being encrusted with a silicious deposit nearly the sixteenth of an inch in thickness. Branches of fern, acorns, and other objects are treated in a similar manner, often producing very charming and peculiar ornaments which serve as pleasing souvenirs of the traveler’s visit.

In sight of the hotel piazza there is a curious and interesting object, built up by a spouting spring long since extinct, and which has been named the Liberty Cap. It is a little on one side but yet in front of the terraces, and appears to be composed entirely of carbonate of lime. With a diameter of about fifteen feet at the base, it gradually tapers to its apex forty feet from the ground. This prominent formation, though remarkable, is yet no mystery. It was produced by the waters of a spring, probably forced up by hydrostatic pressure, overflowing and precipitating its sediment around the vent, until finally, the cause ceasing, the pressure become exhausted and the cone was thus formed. It may have required ages of activity in the spring thus to erect its own mausoleum,—no one can safely conjecture how long. Still nearer to the terraces is a similar formation called the Giant’s Thumb. Both are slowly becoming disintegrated by atmospheric influences; we say slowly, since they may still exist, slightly diminished in size, a hundred years hence. There is manifestly a tendency in the springs which are now active in other parts of the neighborhood to build just such tall cylinders of sinter about their vents. Some of the partially formed cones in the vicinity are perfect, as far as they have accumulated, while others present a broken appearance, as if shattered by a sudden explosion.

There are several caves in the neighborhood of the terraces daintily ornamented with stalactites of snowy whiteness, where springs which have long since become exhausted were once as active as those which now render this place so interesting. From one of these caves there issues a peculiar gas, believed to be fatal to animal life. A bird, it is said, flying across the entrance close enough to inhale the vapor will drop lifeless to the ground. We are not prepared to vouch for this,—indeed we very much doubt the guide’s story,—but it naturally recalled the Grotto del Cane, near Naples, where it will be remembered the guides are only too ready to sacrifice a dog for such visitors as are cruel enough to permit it, by causing the animal to inhale the poisonous gas which settles to the lower part of the cave so named.

There is another cave not far from the hotel very seldom resorted to, and which appears to have once been the operating sphere of a large geyser, but which is now only a dark hole. Into this one descends by a ladder. It is a weird, uncanny place, requiring torches in order to see after entering its precincts. Aroused by the artificial light, myriads of bats drop from the ceiling, until the place seems alive with them. Now and then in their gyrations one touches the visitor’s hand or cheek with its cold, damp body, causing an involuntary shudder. Verily, the Bats’ Cave is not an inviting place to visit.

One of the first places which the stranger seeks after enjoying the attractions of the terraces and a few curiosities near to the hotel is the Middle Falls of the Gardiner River, situated three or four miles away in a southerly direction. Here we look down into a broad, dark caÑon considerably over a thousand feet deep, and whose rough, precipitous sides are nearly five hundred feet apart at the summit, gradually narrowing towards the bottom. The Gardiner River flows through the gorge, having at one place an unbroken fall of a hundred feet; also presenting a mad, roaring, rushing series of cascades of three hundred feet descent. The aspect and general characteristics of this turmoil of waters recalled the famous Falls of TrolhÄtta, in Sweden. The hoarse music of the waters, rising through the branches of the pines which line the gorge, pierce the ear with a thrilling cadence all their own, while the dark caÑon stretches away for many miles in its wild and sombre grandeur. It is well to visit this spot before going to greater distances from the hotel. Impressive as it is sure to prove, there is yet a much superior feature of the Park, of similar character, which remains to be seen. We refer to the Grand CaÑon of the Yellowstone River, where an immense cataract is formed by the surging waters near the head of the gorge, which here narrows to about one hundred feet. The volume of water is very great at the point where it rushes over a ledge nearly four hundred feet in height, at one bold leap. This is known as the Lower Fall, there being another half a mile above it, called the Upper Fall, which is one hundred and fifty feet high. These falls are more picturesque, but less grand than the Lower. They are presented to our view higher up among the green trees, where lovely wild flowers and waving ferns cling to the rocks, and under the inspiring rays of the sunlight add to their brightness and crystal beauty. A waterfall, like an oil-painting, may be hung in a good or a disadvantageous position as to light, and both are largely dependent upon this contingency for their inspiring charm.

The Great or Lower Fall of the Yellowstone CaÑon is twice as high as Niagara, while the beautiful blazonry on the walls of the deep gorge, like some huge mosaic, all aglow with matchless color, marvelous in opulence, adds a fascinating charm unknown to the mammoth fall just named. These varied hues have been produced by the snow and frost, vapor and sunshine, the lightning and the rain of ages, acting upon certain chemical constituents of the native rock. This is said to be the most wonderful mountain gorge, when all of its belongings are taken into consideration, yet discovered. It is over twenty miles long, and is in many places from twelve to fifteen hundred feet deep. The author has visited the imposing caÑons of Colorado, the thrilling gorges of the Yosemite, and some of still greater magnitude in the Himalayan range of northern India, but never has he seen the equal of this Grand CaÑon of the Yellowstone, or beheld so high a waterfall of equal volume.

A safe platform has been erected at the edge of the fall, where one can stand and witness its amazing plunge of over three hundred and fifty feet. The stranger instinctively holds his breath while watching the irresistible volume of water as it advances, and follows it with the eye into the profound depth of the caÑon. The best view of the gorge, however, is that obtained from Lookout Point, situated about a mile south of the Lower Fall. A half mile farther in the same direction, and at the same elevation, lies Inspiration Point, from whence a more comprehensive outlook may be enjoyed. The grouping of crags, pinnacles, and inaccessible points is grand and inexpressibly beautiful. Eagles’ nests with their young are visible at eyries quite out of reach, save to the monarch bird itself. On other isolated points, far below us, are seen the nests of fish-hawks, whose builders look like swallows in size as they float upon the air, or dart for their prey into the swift, tumultuous stream that threads the valley. Gazing upon the scene, the vastness of which is bewildering, a sense of reverence creeps over us,—reverence for that Almighty hand whose power is here recorded in such unequaled splendor. At last it is a relief to turn away from looking into the sheer depth and reach a securer basis for the feet. Still we linger until the sunset shadows lengthen and pass away, followed by the silvery moonlight. Every hour of the day has its peculiar charm of light and shade as seen upon the caÑon and its churning waters.

The excursion out and back from the hotel to view the principal points of interest in the neighborhood covers a distance of about seven miles through the woods and along the threatening brink of the gorge. A rude Indian trail affords the only means of reaching the several outlooks. Saddle-horses are supplied for the excursion by the hotel proprietor, and visitors generally avail themselves of this mode of transportation. The horses employed for the service are remarkably sagacious and sure-footed. Understanding exactly what is required of them, they overcome the deep pitches and abrupt rises of the narrow, tortuous way with great ingenuity and caution. At times one is borne so near the brink of the awful chasm as to make the passage rather exciting. It must be admitted that a single misstep on the part of the animal which bears him would hurl horse and rider two thousand feet down the caÑon to instant destruction. There is no barrier between the cliff and the few inches of earth forming the path. Visitors are cautioned at starting to give the horses their heads, and not attempt to guide them as they would do under ordinary circumstances. The intelligent animals fully comprehend the exigencies of the situation. On the occasion of the writer’s visit the equestrian party consisted of nine persons, including the guide; of these, two ladies and one gentleman abandoned the saddles after the first mile, finding the seeming danger too much for their nerves, and completed the long tramp on foot.

“What wonderful majesty and beauty are hidden here from an unconscious world,” said an experienced member of our little party whom chance had brought together at the brink of the gorge. “Everybody visits Niagara,” he continued, “but few, comparatively, participate in the glory and loveliness of this place, and yet how superior in attraction it is to those lines of summer travel, the Natural Bridge of Virginia, the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, or even the justly famed Yosemite Valley;”—a sentiment which all heartily indorsed.

In these pages we pass rapidly from one great attraction to another, because we have only a limited space in which to speak of them, but the intelligent and appreciative visitor will be more leisurely in his examination. Hours may be profitably occupied in the careful observation and thorough enjoyment of each locality, the interest growing by what it feeds upon. One hardly realizes the passage of time when occupied in the contemplation of such strange and absorbing objects, and is apt to linger thoughtfully until he is warned by the business-like suggestion of the guide.

Another interesting spot which the stranger will hasten to visit is the Obsidian Cliffs, situated about a dozen miles from the hotel. These singular and, so far as we know, unique cliffs are formed of volcanic glass, and measure a thousand feet in length by nearly two hundred in height, recalling in general effect the Giant’s Causeway in the north of Ireland. They rise in almost vertical columns from the eastern shore of Beaver Lake. The color of the glass is dark green, like that of which cheap quart bottles are made, and though the glass glistens like jet it is opaque. A carriage road has been provided,—a glass road,—a quarter of a mile long, running by the base of the cliffs. To construct this road large fires were built upon the obsidian mass, which, when thoroughly heated, was dashed with cold water, causing it to crack and crumble to pieces. It was a tedious undertaking, but an available roadway was at last the result.

Close at hand is Beaver Lake, of artificial origin, having been created by the industrious animal after which it is named. A colony have here built a series of thirty dams, thus forming a sheet of water of considerable depth, half a mile in width, and two miles long, framed by tall, straight pines, and covered near the shore with aquatic flowers. As we passed the lake, in its shady corners were seen flocks of ducks in gaudy colors and of many different species, while on the far side representatives of the beaver tribe were kind enough to exhibit themselves for our amusement. The series of dams which these little creatures have constructed hereabouts have falls of from three to six feet each, extending for a distance of nearly two miles. The lily plants which bordered Beaver Lake were of a curious amber color, growing here and there in groups of great density. At a snap of the driver’s whip a bevy of wild ducks rose, but lazily settled again upon the water close at hand. “They have read the printed regulations of the Park,” said the driver, “and know that no one will attempt to shoot them.” Beyond the lake are broad patches of level meads, sprinkled with lovely wild flowers, in which yellow, purple, and white prevailed. The delicate little phlox, modestly clinging to the ground, was fragrant above all the rest. Occasional spots bordering the pine woods showed the exquisite enamel of the blue violets, which emitted their familiar and welcome fragrance. These were dominated by a tall, regal flower, clustering on one stem, whose name we know not, but which formed great masses of purple bloom.

Close to the curious and interesting Obsidian Cliffs is a pleasant resort called Willow Park, a cool, shady spot, where a clear stream of good water flows through a stretch of rich pasture land, forming a delightful rural picture, full of peaceful and poetic suggestiveness. This is a favorite camping ground for those who adapt that mode of visiting the several sections of the Park.

The stranger looks about him in silent amazement, wondering how long Nature has been displaying her erratic moods after the fashion exhibited here, now smiling with winning tenderness, and now frowning with implacable sternness. He sees everywhere evidences of great antiquity, and beholds objects which must date from time incalculably remote, but there is no recorded history extant of this strange region. The original Indian inhabitants of the Park were a very peculiar people,—a sort of gnome race,—a tribe individually of Liliputian size, who lived in natural caves, of which there are many in the hills, where rude and primitive implements of domestic use belonging to the aborigines have been found. They do not seem to have possessed even the customary legends of savage races concerning their surroundings and their origin. This tribe, the former dwellers here, were called the Sheep-eating Indians, because they lived almost solely upon the flesh, and clothed themselves in the skins, of the big-horn sheep of these mountains,—an animal which is found running wild in more or less abundance throughout the whole northern range of the Rocky Mountains, even where it reaches into Alaska. These natives are represented to have been a timid and harmless people, without iron tools or weapons of any sort, except bows and arrows, to which may be added hatchets and knives formed of the flint-like volcanic glass indigenous to the Park. They were an isolated people from the very nature of their country, which was nearly inaccessible at all seasons, and entirely so during the long and severe winters.

Other native tribes were debarred from this region through superstitious fear, induced by the incomprehensible demonstrations of Nature exhibited in boiling springs, spouting geysers, and the trembling earth, accompanied by subterranean explosions. This seemed to them to be evidence of the wrath of the Great Spirit, angered, perhaps, by their unwelcome presence. The Sheep-eaters, born among these scenes, gave no special heed to them, and rather fostered an idea which prevented others from interfering with the surrounding game, and which also gave them immunity from the otherwise inevitable oppression of a stronger and more aggressive people than themselves. As civilization advanced westward, or rather as the white man found his way thither, this Yellowstone tribe gradually dwindled away or became united with the Shoshones of Iowa. Their individuality seems now to have been entirely lost, not a trace of them, even, being discernible, according to more than one intelligent writer upon the subject.

No Indians of any tribe are now permitted in the reservation, otherwise, lazy as these aborigines are, they would soon make reckless havoc among the fine collection of wild animals which is gathered here. The Indians are all in the annual receipt of money and ample food supplies from the government; and the killing of extra game and selling the hides would furnish them with only so many more dollars to be expended for whiskey and tobacco. These tribes have no idea of economy, or care for the future. The reliance they place upon government supplies promotes a spirit of recklessness and extravagance. If their potato crop fails, or partial famine sets in from some extraordinary cause, it finds them utterly unprepared to meet the exigency. Oftentimes it is found that the government rations and supplies have been sold, and the money received therefor lavishly squandered.