ten feet below the surface. So perfect was its form that it almost seemed the hand of man had hewn it from the solid rock. Beyond it towered an immense cliff, very high, with broken, rugged sides, picturesque and sublime, which I insist on naming Dutton Cliff, in honor of Capt. Dutton, who has done and is doing so much to make Crater Lake justly famous. This point may be known from the fact that it lies directly opposite Llao Rock, and between the two lowest places in the lake's walls. Immediately north of Dutton Cliff, the elements have worn the sides of the mountain, leaving a harder substance, alternately colored red and yellow, resembling the mansard roof of a cottage, while in one place, tall red chimneys stand aloft, making, all in all, such a scene that Cottage Rock could scarcely be improved on for a name. Lying between the two points above referred to, a break in the wall was found, that is almost perpendicular, but certainly does not exceed five hundred feet in height. This is by far the lowest point in the walls.

No time was lost in getting our soundings under way. The first was made about one hundred yards from shore. It was supposed that we might possibly find as much as one hundred feet of water, but, as the lead ran out, our excitement grew with each succeeding hundred feet, until over one thousand two hundred feet were out. At one thousand two hundred feet the machine stopped, and our pent-up feelings exploded in one wild yell of delight. For a number of days the soundings were continued. The greatest depth recorded was one thousand nine hundred and ninety-six feet, which, making allowance for stretch of wire, would give two thousand and eight feet. Of the whole number made, eighteen are over one thousand nine hundred, thirteen over one thousand eight hundred, eleven over one thousand seven hundred, fifteen over one thousand six hundred, and nineteen over one thousand five hundred. It was found that at the bottom of the northeastern end lies a plain of several square miles, almost perfectly level, while south of the center is a cliff about nine hundred feet high, and west of the center seems to be cinder cone, nearly one thousand two hundred feet in height, with a crater in the center two hundred and fifty feet deep. Its summit is six hundred feet below the surface of the water.

On one occasion our party took five pounds of red fire, which we intended to burn on the summit of Wizard Island, but owing to the fact that the air was so filled with smoke as to destroy the effect, our plan was changed, and we took it to Rogue River Falls on our return. Here we met quite a number of hardy mountaineers, and at 9 o'clock left camp for the falls, about one mile distant. The night was very dark, and a weird sort of a scene it was as we climbed over logs and rocks, lighting our way by tallow candles and a lantern that flickered dimly. At last the bank of the stream was reached, and while the noise of the rushing waters was intense, nothing could be seen but the dim outline of something white far down below us. At this point, the walls are perpendicular, and one hundred and eighty feet high. They are also solid rock from top to bottom. Directly opposite where we stood, Mill Creek falls into Rogue River (one hundred and eighty feet), and this is what we came to see. In order to get the benefit of the red light, it was necessary for some one to climb down to the water. This duty fell to a stranger in the party, who made the descent during the day, and myself. He led the way carrying a dim lantern, and I followed as best I could. The rocks are covered with a remarkably thick layer of moss, which is kept very wet by the rising mist. The path, if such it might be termed, led along the sides of the cliff at an angle of about 45 degrees. As we cautiously climbed from rock to rock, it was a sort of feeling of intensified interest that overcame us, when we realized that a single misstep would precipitate us to the rocks below—and, worst of all, possibly we "never would be missed." The bed of the stream was reached at last, and the fire ignited close to the falls. Ye gods! What a transformation! Suddenly, the canyon, which could not be seen before, was as bright as day, lighted by a fire so brilliant that we could not look upon it. Crimson air and crimson water, crimson walls and crimson everywhere. No magician of the Arabians ever conjured up by a stroke of his wand a spectacle more sublime. It was one of transcendent beauty, upon which the human eye seldom rests, and when it does its possessor is spellbound by the bewildering vision. One almost loses the power of speech in the desperate struggle to see and comprehend the scene, and before it is realized the light dies away and darkness reigns supreme, rendered ten-fold more dense by the splendor of so magnificent a tableau.

Near the base of Dutton Cliff stands a solitary rock, probably one hundred feet high, by two hundred in length and nearly the same breadth, that, while not seen by the present generation of Indians, is nevertheless known to them, and is a special object of superstitious dread. They consider it as a peculiarly ferocious monster, but are unable to describe its characteristics. It stands in the lake entirely alone and about fifty yards from shore. Standing on the cliffs, five miles to the west and looking across the lake, this strange rock is plainly visible in the sunlight its rugged peaks reaching aloft, giving it the appearance of a full rigged ship at anchor. Should a cloud pass before the sun, as the shadow strikes the rock it will pass from view as effectually as though it had ceased to exist. While sounding the lake in 1886, I caused a party of topographical engineers to be landed here for observations, but it was so rugged that the most diligent search failed to reveal a level place large enough to accommodate the tripod attached to their instruments, and we were compelled to resort to a point on shore for the purpose. I have never learned its Indian name, but among the whites it is known as the Phantom Ship.

To those who enjoy the noble sport of hunting, the vicinity of Crater Lake is especially attractive. Great numbers of deer, bear and panther roam through the timber in fancied security, inviting the keen eye and steady nerve of the sportsman. Although passionately fond of such sport myself, the grandeur and sublimity of the surroundings so overcame me with desire to see and prosecute our explorations, that I forgot my love for a running shot, in an inordinate desire to climb over the cliffs and view the wonderful place from every conceivable point. My companions were no less affected, and the result was that we ran out of meat and applied to a native sheep herder for mutton chops. He scowled upon us for a moment, then informed our spokesman that "when he butchered he never saved the heads."

While running a line of soundings from Llao rock to Vidae cliff across the lake one day, a strong wind sprung up from the south accompanied by black clouds and a storm seemed imminent. We had proceeded about three miles across, when we were suddenly startled by a loud noise, as though a multitude of men were savagely beating tin pans. In a very few minutes the southwestern cliffs became white and we could plainly see the "color line" advancing to the north, until all the cliffs to the west seemed covered with snow. To add to so strange a sight, a good-sized water-fall began pouring over Llao rock, and falling to the lake two thousand feet below. Within half an hour from the beginning of the storm, the water-fall ceased, the cliffs became dark again, the wind shifted to the northwest and drove millions of hailstones upon us, sufficiently large to make us wince when struck—especially when struck all over with no possible means of