er to see as
far back as possible into the fountains of the Fairweather Mountains, in
case the clouds should rise. The walking was easy along the margin of
the forest, which, of course, like that on the other side, had been
invaded and crushed by the swollen, overflowing glacier. In an hour or
so, after passing a massive headland, we came suddenly on a branch of
the glacier, which, in the form of a magnificent ice-cascade two miles
wide, was pouring over the rim of the main basin in a westerly
direction, its surface broken into wave-shaped blades and shattered
blocks, suggesting the wildest updashing, heaving, plunging motion of a
great river cataract. Tracing it down three or four miles, I found that
it discharged into a lake, filling it with icebergs.

I would gladly have followed the lake outlet to tide-water, but the day
was already far spent, and the threatening sky called for haste on the
return trip to get off the ice before dark. I decided therefore to go
no farther, and, after taking a general view of the wonderful region,
turned back, hoping to see it again under more favorable auspices. We
made good speed up the ca