clothed with a deep veil of mystery, and is the abode of all manner of demons and unshapely monsters. Once inhabited by the Great Spirit, it has now become the sheol of modern times, and it is certain death for any proud savage to behold it. This feeling has, to a certain extent, instilled itself in the mind of such whites as have made it their Mecca, until every stray log that floats upon the water is imagined to possess life, and may possibly be a monster. Exaggerated accounts of different points have been given and implicitly believed without a question or reflection. It has been claimed that the crater was eight hundred feet deep, while by actual measurement we found it to be scarcely a hundred. The island was said to be fifteen hundred feet high, but an accurate measurement placed it at just eight hundred and forty-five feet.

From Allen Davey, Chief of the Klamath tribe, I gleaned the following in reference to the discovery of Crater Lake:

A long time ago, long before the white man appeared in this region to vex and drive the proud native out, a band of Klamaths, while out hunting, came suddenly upon the lake and were startled by its remarkable walls and awed by its majestic proportions. With spirits subdued and trembling with fear, they silently approached and gazed upon its face; something within told them the Great Spirit dwelt there, and they dared not remain, but passed silently down the side of the mountain and camped far away. By some unaccountable influence, however, one brave was induced to return. He went up to the very brink of the precipice and started his camp fire. Here he laid down to rest; here he slept till morn—slept till the sun was high in air, then arose and joined his tribe far down the mountain. At night he came again; again he slept till morn. Each visit bore a charm that drew him back again. Each night found him sleeping above the rocks; each night strange voices arose from the waters; mysterious noises filled the air. At last, after a great many moons, he climbed down to the lake and there he bathed and spent the night. Often he climbed down in like manner, and frequently saw wonderful animals, similar in all respects to a Klamath Indian, except that they seemed to exist entirely in the water. He suddenly became hardier and stronger than any Indian of his tribe because of his many visits to the mysterious waters. Others then began to seek its influence. Old warriors sent their sons for strength and courage to meet the conflicts awaiting them. First, they slept on the rocks above, then ventured to the water's edge, but last of all they plunged beneath the flood and the coveted strength was theirs. On one occasion, the brave who first visited the lake, killed a monster, or fish, and was at once set upon by untold numbers of excited Llaos (for such they were called), who carried him to the top of the cliffs, cut his throat with a stone knife, then tore his body in small pieces, which were thrown down to the waters far beneath, where he was devoured by the angry Llaos—and such shall be the fate of every Klamath brave, who, from that day to this, dares to look upon the lake.

My first visit to Crater Lake was in 1885, at which time the thought was suggested by Capt. C. E. Dutton, of having the lake and environs drawn from the market. Promptly acting on the suggestion, my friend, Hon. Binger Hermann, was sought and a movement started looking to the formation of a National Park. In response to a petition forwarded to Washington and ably advocated by Congressman Hermann, the United States Geological Survey, under Capt. Dutton, was ordered to examine the lake and surroundings during the summer of 1886. In this expedition it was my good fortune to have charge of the sounding, which afforded me a pleasure unsurpassed in all my mountain experience.

That an idea may be had of the difficulties to be overcome, suffice it to say, boats had to be built for the purpose in Portland, transported to Ashland, three hundred and forty-one miles by rail, and carried from there to the lake on wagons, one hundred miles into the mountains, where they were launched over cliffs one thousand feet high.

On the first day of July, I boarded the train for Ashland, where I met Capt. Dutton, and we were joined immediately afterward by Capt. Geo. W. Davis, one of the most eminent engineers of America, and ten soldiers. On the 7th, we started for the lake, preceded by Capts. Dutton and Davis, who were followed by a four mule team, bearing a first-class lap streak boat, which in turn was followed by three double teams, horsemen and pack train. Of our largest boat, the Cleetwood, we all felt justly proud, as it was certainly a beautiful model, four-oared, twenty-six feet long and competent to ride almost any sea.

When passing through Phœnix, the typical and irrepressible critic came to the surface, in the shape of a lean, lank, awkward, ignorant country boy of, say, eighteen summers. With hands in his pockets, he aided the single suspender delegated to hold his breeches in place, and when shifting a monstrous chew of tobacco over his tongue, informed his audience (of half a dozen small urchins) that "That 'ere boat won't live in Crater Lake half an hour if a storm comes up. It ain't shaped right. Jist see for yourself how sway-backed it is. It must have been made by some feller as never seed a boat afore." This brings to mind the fact that a critic is a person who finds fault with something of which he is densely ignorant.

The entire distance from Ashland—ninety-seven miles—was accomplished by slow, easy marches, every precaution being taken to provide against a mishap, and no incident occurred of special importance. Soon after reaching the foothills, we encountered sliding places and short turns in the road. As the wagon containing the Cleetwood was top heavy and coupled twenty feet long, it was impossible to turn on an ordinary curve, hence it became necessary at times to drive as far as possible, then let ten or fifteen men lift the hind end of the wagon around by main strength. When a sliding place was reached, the men would hang on the upper side, or attach ropes to the top and hold it, thus preventing an upset. On Tuesday we succeeded in reaching the foot of the last grade, and on Wednesday morning began the ascent. Here was the rub. The hill is about a mile and a half long, very steep, sliding, rocky, and filled with roots and stones, added to which were great banks of snow, packed solid by constant thawing. Progress was slow and tedious, a roadway having to be cut in places, while men with picks, axes and shovels dug up rocks, cut down trees and shoveled snow, besides building up or cutting down one side of the roadway. At 10 o'clock on Wednesday the 14th, the boats were landed on the walls of the lake, having traveled four hundred and forty miles from Portland, with scarcely a scratch to mar the paint.

Thursday morning the work of launching was commenced by covering the bottom of each skiff with inch boards, firmly secured, as also a shield in front of the bow. They were carried to the lowest place to be found in the cliffs, probably about nine hundred feet, vertical measurement, where a canyon descends at an angle of thirty-five or forty degrees, when a three-quarter inch rope was attached and in turn passed around a tree on the summit, where a man was stationed to manage it, directed by signals below. One was lowered at a time, accompanied by four men to guide and handle it. Besides this, men were stationed at different points to signal to the top, and thus regulate the paying out of rope. Every effort was made to send all loose stones on ahead, to prevent accident from above, yet, before the first boat had proceeded three hundred