Trudging wearily on, I reached the high camp at sunset, and pitched my tent in the excavation previously occupied. An alpenstock was used for one tent-pole, and snow saturated with water, piled up in a column, for the other; the snow froze in a few minutes, and held the tent securely. The ends of the ridge-rope were then stamped into the snow, and water was poured over them; the edges of the tent were treated in a similar manner, and my shelter was ready for occupation. After cooking some supper over the oil-stove, I rolled myself in a blanket and slept the sleep of the weary. I was awakened in the morning by snow drifting into my tent, and on looking out discovered that I was again caught in a blinding storm or mist of snow. The storm raged all day and all night, and continued without interruption until the evening of the second day. The coal oil becoming exhausted, a can was filled with bacon grease, in which a cotton rag was placed for a wick; and over this "witch lamp" I did my cooking during the remainder of my stay. The snow, falling steadily, soon buried my tent, already surrounded on three sides by an icy wall higher than my head, and it was only by almost constant exertion that it was kept from being crushed in. With a pint basin for a shovel I cleared the tent as best I could, and several times during the day re-excavated the hole leading down to the pond, which had long since disappeared beneath the level plain of white. The excavation of a tunnel in the snow was also begun in the expectation that the tent would become uninhabitable. The following night it became impossible to keep the tent clear in spite of energetic efforts, and early in the morning it was crushed in by a great weight of snow, leaving me no alternative but to finish my snow-house and move in. A tunnel some four or five feet in length was excavated in the snow, and a chamber about six feet long by four feet wide and three feet high was made at right angles to the tunnel. In this chamber I placed my blankets and other belongings, and, hanging a rubber coat on an alpenstock at the entrance, found myself well sheltered from the tempest. There I passed the day and the night following. At night the darkness and silence in my narrow tomb-like cell was oppressive; not a sound broke the stillness except the distant, muffled roar of an occasional avalanche. I slept soundly, however, and in the morning was awakened by the croaking of a raven on the snow immediately above my head. The grotto was filled with a soft blue light, but a pink radiance at the entrance told that the day had dawned bright and clear.

What a glorious sight awaited me! The heavens were without a cloud, and the sun shone with dazzling splendor on the white peaks around. The broad unbroken snow-plain seemed to burn with light reflected from millions of shining crystals. The great mountain peaks were draped from base to summit in the purest white, as yet unscarred by avalanches. On the steep cliffs the snow hung in folds like drapery, tier above tier, while the angular peaks above stood out like crystals against the sky. St. Elias was one vast pyramid of alabaster. The winds were still; not a sound broke the solitude; not an object moved. Even the raven had gone, leaving me alone with the mountains.

As the sun rose higher and higher and made its warmth felt, the snow was loosened on the steep slopes and here and there broke away. Gathering force as it fell, it rushed down in avalanches that made the mountains tremble and awakened thunderous echoes. From a small beginning high up on the steep slopes, the new snow would slip downward, silently at first, and cascade over precipices hundreds of feet high, looking like a fall of foaming water; then came the roar, increasing in volume as the flowing snow involved new fields in its path of destruction, until the great mass became irresistible and ploughed its way downward through clouds of snow-spray, which hung in the air long after the snow had ceased to move and the roar of the avalanche had ceased. All day long, until the shadow of evening fell on the steep slopes, this mountain thunder continued. The echoes of one avalanche scarcely died away before they were awakened by another roar. To witness such a scene under the most favorable conditions was worth all the privations and anxiety it cost.

Besides the streams of new snow, there were occasional avalanches of a different character, caused by the breaking away of portions of the cliffs of old snow, accumulated, perhaps, during several winters. These start from the summits of precipices, and are caused by the slow downward creep of the snow-fields above. The snow-cliffs are always crevassed and broken in much the same manner as are the ends of glaciers which enter the sea, and occasionally large masses, containing thousands of cubic yards, break away and are precipitated down the slopes with a suddenness that is always startling. Usually the first announcement of these avalanches is a report like that of a cannon, followed by a rumbling roar as the descending mass ploughs its way along. The avalanches formed by old snow are quite different from those caused by the descent of the new surface snow, but are frequently accompanied by surface streams in case there has been a recent storm. The paths ploughed out by the avalanches are frequently sheathed with glassy ice, formed by the freezing of water produced by the melting of snow on account of the heat produced by the friction of the moving mass. A third variety of avalanches, due to falling stones, has already been noticed.

The floor of my snow-chamber was the surface of the old snow on which we had pitched our tents at the time we first reached that camping place. On this hard surface, and forming the walls of the cell, there were thirty inches of clear white snow, the upper limit of which was marked by a blue layer of ice about a quarter of an inch thick. This indicated the thickness of snow that fell during the first storm. Its surface had been melted and softened during the days of sunshine that followed its fall, and had frozen into clear ice. Above the blue band which encircled the upper portion of my chamber was the soft, pure white snow of the second storm. The stratification of snow which I had seen fall rendered it evident that my interpretation of the stratification observed in the sides of crevasses was correct. The snow when it fell was soft and white, and composed of very fine crystals; but under the influence of the air and sunshine it changed its texture and became icy and granular, and then resembled the névé snow so common in high mountains.

The day following the storm was bright and beautiful; the sunlight was warm and pleasant, but the temperature in the shadows was always below freezing. The surface of the snow did not melt sufficiently during the day to freeze and form a crust during the night. It thus became more and more apparent that the season was too far advanced to allow the snow to harden sufficiently for us to be able to climb the mountain. The snow settled somewhat and changed its character, but even at midday the crystals on the surface glittered as brilliantly in the sunlight as they did in the early morning. Although the snow did not melt, its surface was lowered slightly by evaporation. The tracks of the raven, at first sunken a quarter of an inch in the soft surface, after the first day of sunshine stood slightly in relief, but were still clearly defined.

On the sixth day after separating from my companions, judging that they must have returned at least to the camping place where we had separated, I packed my blankets and what food remained, abandoned the tent and oil-stove, and started to descend the mountain. The snow had settled somewhat, but was still soft and yielding and over six feet deep. Tramping wearily on through the chaff-like substance, I slowly worked my way downward, and again threaded the maze of crevasses, now partially concealed by the layer of new snow, with which we had struggled several times before. Midway to the next camping place I met my companions coming up to search for me. Instead of meeting three men, as I expected, I saw five tramping along in single file through the deep snow. The sight of human beings in that vast solitude was so strange that I watched them for some time before shouting. Glad as I was to meet my companions once more, I could not help noticing their rough and picturesque appearance. Each man wore colored glasses and carried a long alpenstock, and two or three had packs strapped on their backs. Several weeks of hard tramping over moraines and snow-fields had made many rents in their clothes, which had been mended with cloth of any color that chanced to be available. Not a few rags were visible fluttering in the wind. To a stranger they would have appeared like a dangerous band of brigands.

The reason for the presence of five men instead of three was this: Lindsley and Stamy, when they left us at Rope cliff to return for additional rations, were obliged to go back to Camp 12 in order to get a tent and an oil-stove. On reaching that place the temptation to return to Blossom island was so great that Lindsley could not resist it and went back to the base-camp, where he reported that Kerr and I were storm-bound in the mountains and in need of assistance. Three men, Partridge, Doney, and White, started at once, and found Stamy, who had waited for their arrival at Camp 12. A day was thus lost, which increased Mr. Kerr's hardship and might have proved disastrous. The party then returned to Rope cliff and joined Kerr on the evening of August 29. On this occasion, as on several others, I found myself indebted to Stamy for willing assistance when others hesitated.

During my imprisonment at the highest camp, Mr. Kerr was detained under similar circumstances at the camp below Rope cliff. On endeavoring to rejoin me with the supply of coal oil, so very valuable under the circumstances, he was caught in the storm and was unable to reach the rendezvous appointed. He reached Rope cliff late in the afternoon of the first day of the storm, climbed the precipice, and found his way through the gathering darkness, along the nearly obliterated trail beneath the avalanche cliffs, and up the steps cut in the snow-cliff, to the site of our bivouac camp. Finding nothing there, and being unable to proceed farther through the blinding storm, he abandoned the attempt and returned to the camp below Rope cliff. In descending the rope, he found that its lower end had become fast in the snow. The taut line, sheathed with ice, was an uncertain help in the darkness. Midway in the descent his hands slipped and he slid to the bottom; but the cushion of new snow broke the fall and prevented serious injury. Alone, without fire, without blankets, having only a canvas cover and a rubber cloth for shelter, and with but little food, he passed three anxious days and nights before the arrival of the camp hands.

Deciding that the ascent of Mount St. Elias could not be accomplished through the new snow, which refused to harden, it was decided to abandon the attempt and return to Blossom island. Our retreat was none too soon. Storm succeeded storm throughout September. Each time the clouds lifted, the mantle of new snow was seen to have descended lower and lower. Our last view showed the wintry covering nearly down to timber-line.

On the night of August 31 we slept at the camp beneath Rope cliff, but had a most uncomfortable night. Six men sleeping in a tent measuring seven by seven feet, with but little protection from the ice beneath, certainly does not seem inviting to one surrounded by the comforts of civilization. A large part of the night was occupied by Doney in preparing breakfast over our oil-stove. An early start was welcome to all; we were disappointed at not being able to reach the top of St. Elias, and were anxious to return to more comfortable quarters. Kerr concluded to return at once to Blossom island to recuperate, while I made an excursion up the Seward glacier, with the hope of gaining the upper ice-fall and seeing the amphitheatre beyond.

We left Rope cliff about six in the morning, and found the snow hard and traveling easy for several hours. After descending the lower ice-fall, however, the snow became soft, and a change in the atmosphere indicated the approach of another storm. Kerr and Doney pressed on and were soon lost to sight, while the rest of the party were delayed, owing to Partridge having become snow-blind and almost helpless. As the crevasses were exceedingly numerous and the snow-bridges soft and uncertain, the task of conducting a blind man to a place of safety was by no means light. Partridge bore up bravely under his affliction, however, and did not hesitate in crawling across the treacherous snow-bridges with a rope fastened about his body and a man before and behind to assist his movements. Late in the day we reached our camping place at the eastern border of the Agassiz glacier, while Kerr and Doney crossed Dome pass and spent the night in a tent that had been left standing at the first camping east of the pass. We pitched a tent on our old camping place at Camp 16, and had the luxury of a rocky bed to sleep on that night. As Partridge's blindness still continued, White was sent ahead to tell Kerr and Doney to wait for us in the morning, so that Partridge could accompany them to Blossom island. Rain continued all that night and all the next day. As Partridge's eyes were still unserviceable in the morning, I concluded to wait a day before allowing him to start for Blossom island.

Toward evening on September 2 we moved our camp across Dome pass, and pitched our tent on the high ridge beside the one occupied by Kerr and Doney. In the morning, although the storm still continued, our party divided, Kerr, Doney, and Partridge starting early for Blossom island, while Stamy, White, and myself, after following their tracks for a few miles, turned to the left and worked our way northeastward among the crevasses of the Seward glacier. Toward evening we reached the northwestern spur of Mount Owen, but found the cliffs rising abruptly from the glacier and too favorable for avalanches to admit of our camping near them. Again we were forced to go into camp on the open glacier, and were less comfortable than previously on similar occasions, owing to the fact that we had been exposed to the rains for three successive days and our blankets and clothes were wet. Rain continued all night and all the next day, and on the following night changed to snow.

On the morning of September 4 we awoke to find the skies clear, but the mountains all about us were white with snow. Before the sun rose, White and I started for the top of the high ridge above us, determined to have at least a distant view of the amphitheatre which we wished to explore. The snow about our camp was only six or eight inches deep, but as we ascended the mountain it grew more and more troublesome, and at a height of a thousand feet above camp was thirty inches deep. On gaining the summit of the ridge a magnificent view was obtained of the upper portion of the Seward glacier and of Mount Irving and Mount Logan, and many bold, tapering mountains farther northeastward. The whole landscape was snow-covered, and as the sun rose clear in the east became of the most dazzling brilliancy. An icy wind swept down from the northeast and rendered it exceedingly difficult to take photographs or to make measurements. On endeavoring to use my prismatic compass, I found that, having been soaked with moisture during the previous days of storm, it froze solid and refused to move, on being exposed to the air. Making what observations I could, we started back to camp with the intention of abandoning all further attempts to work in the high mountains.

On the steep slope now exposed to the full sunshine several avalanches had gone down, and there was great danger of others. Selecting a point where an avalanche had already swept away the new snow, we worked our way downward in a zigzag course and reached the bottom safely, although an avalanche starting near at hand swept by within a few yards. When nearly at the bottom my attention was attracted by a noise above, and on looking up I saw two rocks bounding down the slope and coming straight for me. To dodge them on the steep slippery slope was difficult and dangerous. Allowing one to pass over my right shoulder, I instantly moved in that direction and allowed the other to pass over my left shoulder. They shot by me like fragments of shells, but did no injury. Reaching camp, we found that Stamy had dried our blankets and clothes.

Resuming our packs, we slowly threaded our way downward to Camp 14, at the western end of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. We there found cans of rations left several days before and, pitching our tent, passed the night. We knew by the signs found there that Kerr and his companions, after taking lunch, had renewed their journey toward Blossom island. Our camp was just at the lower limit of the new snow. To the northward all was of the purest white, but southward, down the glacier, the snow-fields were yellow and much discolored. Many changes had taken place in the Seward glacier since we first saw it; the pinnacles, snow-tables, and crevasses in the rapids were less striking than formerly, and had evidently suffered greatly from the summer's heat. About the bases of the cliffs there were dark, irregular patches of débris, where a month previously all was white. As nearly as could be judged, the surface of the glacier had been lowered by melting and settling during our absence about fifty feet.

The following morning, September 5, we started for Blossom island, the weather still continuing thick and stormy. On crossing Pinnacle pass we found over a foot of new snow which had fallen since our companions passed that way. Toward nightfall the lower limit of snow on the Marvine glacier was reached, and at night we camped on the first moraines which appeared below the névé. The day following, September 6, we reached Blossom island about noon, and found that Kerr and his party had arrived there safely, and that Partridge had recovered from his snow-blindness.

Our stay above the snow-line had lasted thirty-five days, and we were extremely glad to see the light of a camp-fire and have the trees and flowers about us once more. The vegetation indicated that the season was already far advanced. Most of the flowers had faded, and autumn tints gave brilliancy to the lower mountain slopes; salmon berries and huckleberries were in profusion, and furnished an exceedingly agreeable change in our diet. After a bath in one of the small lakelets on the island and a good night's rest on a luxuriant bed of spruce boughs, we felt fully restored and ready for another campaign.

As Kerr was anxious to get back to Port Mulgrave, it was arranged that Lindsley and Partridge should go with him, and that the rest of the men should remain. Kerr took his departure on the morning of September 7, and on the following day Christie, Doney, and myself crossed the Marvine glacier to the southern end of the Hitchcock range, and the following day made an excursion out upon the Malaspina glacier. The day of our excursion was bright and beautiful, and the mountains to the northward revealed their full magnificence. The level plateau of ice formed a horizontal plain, from which the mountain rose precipitously and appeared grander and more majestic than from any other point of view. St. Elias rose clear and sharp, without a cloud to obscure its dizzy height, and appeared to be one sheer precipice. It is doubtful if a more impressive mountain face exists anywhere else in the world. After learning all we could concerning the Malaspina glacier we returned to our camp at the end of the Hitchcock range, and the following day tramped across the extremely rough moraine-covered surface back to Blossom island.

The following morning, September 12, we started on our return trip to Yakutat bay. Two small tents and many articles for which we had no further use were abandoned, so as to make our packs light as possible. We crossed the Hayden glacier, and at night camped at the foot of Floral pass. After making two intermediate camps, traveling each day in the rain, we reached the shore of Yakutat bay on September 15.

Doney and I halted at Dalton's cabin for the purpose of seeing what we could of the openings there made for coal, while the rest of the party pressed on to our old camping place on the shore. There they found Kerr and his party still encamped, but ready to leave for Port Mulgrave early the next morning.

September 18 was occupied by us in catching salmon and trout. We were abundantly successful, as every man returned to camp with all that he could carry. These were spread out on a rack over our camp-fire and smoked for further use, as we did not know how long our stay would be extended. On the next day Stamy and Lindsley returned from Port Mulgrave, where they had left Kerr, quite recovered from his exposure on the mountain. Stormy weather continued, and a gale from the northeast piled the ice high on the beach and threatened to sweep away our tents, as has already been briefly described in earlier pages.

On September 20, our tents having been beaten in by a violent storm and our camping place overflowed by the waters from a lake above us, we removed our goods to a place of safety and went to Dalton's cabin, where we awaited better weather. The morning of September 23 dawned clear and bright, and after drying our clothes around a blazing camp-fire, we started back to our camping place on the shore. Before reaching there, however, we were rejoiced to see the Corwin coming up the bay. It took us but a short time to get on board, where Captain C. L. Hooper, her commander, did everything in his power to make us welcome and comfortable. To him we are indebted for a delightful voyage back to civilization.

After steaming up Disenchantment bay nearly to the ice-cliffs of the Hubbard glacier, and obtaining a fine view of the glaciers about Disenchantment bay, the Corwin returned to Port Mulgrave and, on September 25, put to sea. After a splendid ocean passage, we arrived at Port Townsend on October 2.

During our stay in Alaska not a man was seriously sick and not an accident happened. The work planned at the start was carried out almost to the letter, with the exception that snow-storms and the lateness of the season did not permit us to reach the summit of Mount St. Elias.

Should another attempt be made to climb Mount St. Elias, the shortest and most practicable route from the coast would be to land at Icy bay and ascend the Agassiz glacier. The course taken by us in 1890 could be intersected just north of where the tributary glacier from Dome pass joins the main ice-stream; and from there the route followed last summer would be the most practicable. A camp should be established on the divide between Mount St. Elias and Mount Newton, from which excursions to either of these peaks could be made in a single day.

In the preceding narrative many details have been omitted. One of these is that tents, together with blankets, rations, etc., were left at two convenient points between Blossom island and the Agassiz glacier, and were used by the men in bringing up supplies. In attempting to ascend Mount St. Elias from Icy bay by the route suggested, at least three such relay stations should be established between the Chaix hills, where wood for camp-fires can be obtained (as is known from the reports of the New York Times and Topham expeditions), and the high camp on the divide. The relay camps suggested should be one day's march apart, and would serve not only for stopping places while carrying rations during the advance, but would furnish a line of retreat. A party making this journey should be provided with snow-shoes, which unfortunately we did not take with us.

All rations intended for use above the snow-line should be packed in tin cans, each of sufficient size to hold between fifty and sixty pounds, and each should be securely soldered. All articles packed in this way should be thoroughly dry and should be packed in a dry, warm room. When secured in this manner they are about as easy to carry as if packed in bags, and can be "cached" anywhere out of the reach of floods and avalanches, with the certainty of being serviceable when wanted. The more perishable articles to be used where camp-fires are possible should also be secured in tin cans. Sacks of flour, corn-meal, etc., should be protected by an outer covering of strong canvas. The experience of last summer showed that the cans of rations intended for use above the snow-line should each contain about the following ration, which may be varied to suit individual taste:

Our experience with oil-stoves showed that they are serviceable. While on the march they can be carried as hand packs in gunny-sacks. Rectangular cans holding about a gallon each, with small screw-tops, were found convenient for carrying coal oil. The experience of Arctic explorers indicates that alcohol would perhaps be better than coal oil to use in snow-camps.

Among the most important articles to be provided are strong shoes or boots; of these each man should have at least two pairs. Strong hip-boots, with lacings over the instep, are exceedingly serviceable. When sleeping on the ice the boot-legs may be spread beneath one's blankets and the feet used as a pillow. The long legs are serviceable alike in the thick brush on the shore and in the deep snow on the high mountains. With their protection, many streams can be waded without getting wet. Leather, waxed ends, awls, etc., for repairing boots, and tallow mixed with bees-wax for greasing them, should be taken and distributed in part through the cans of rations. Heavy woolen socks are indispensable, and an effort should be made to have a dry pair always at hand. This may be arranged, even under the most unfavorable conditions, by drying a pair as thoroughly as is convenient and carrying them in the bosom of one's shirt.

Long alpenstocks are always necessary. My own choice is a stiff one of hickory, about six feet long and an inch and a quarter in diameter, provided with a spike and hook at one end and a chisel about two inches broad at the other. Ice axes are desirable while climbing in the high mountains, but even more serviceable are light axes of the usual pattern, but with handles about fourteen inches long; these supplement the alpenstock, and when not actually in use are carried in the packs.

Each man should be provided with a water-tight match-box, and should have, besides, a bundle of wax matches wrapped in oil-cloth and sewed in the collar of his shirt, to be held as a last reserve. Each man should also have a small water-tight bag in which to carry salt enough to last a week or ten days, in case he has to live by hunting or fishing. A heavy hunting knife is very convenient, and can be used not only in cutting trails through thick brush, but in cases of necessity is serviceable in making steps in ice. Heavy woolen clothing is preferable to furs. Sleeping bags were not used during our expedition, but are highly recommended by others. For protection at night, a thick woolen blanket with a light canvas cover and a sheet of light rubber cloth to protect it are all that is necessary. Our tents were of cotton drilling, seven feet square and about six feet high, and provided with ridge-ropes. Alpenstocks were used for tent poles. "Sou'westers" and strong water-proof coats are indispensable in a climate like that of Alaska, and at night may be used as a substratum on which to sleep. While traveling over the snow-line we used colored glasses to protect the eyes, and also found that a strip of dark mosquito netting tied across the face below the eyes afforded great protection. Some of the party found relief from the glare of the snow by blacking their faces with grease and burnt cork, but one experiment with that method is usually enough. While camping below timber-line during the months of June to September fine mosquito netting is indispensable. In carrying packs, hemp "cod-line" of the largest size was found to answer every requirement, and is preferred by expert packers to pack-straps.

It has been suggested that experienced Swiss guides are necessary to ensure success in climbing Mount St. Elias. Having never followed a guide in the mountains, I am not able to judge of their efficiency, but it must be remembered that no one can guide in a region that has never been traversed. The "guide" as understood in Europe is unknown in America. In the exploration of this country by engineers, geologists, etc., the camp hands have followed their leaders and have not shown them the way. In every frontier town there are hunters, trappers, miners, prospectors, cow-boys, voyageurs, etc.—men who have passed their lives on the plains or among "the hills" and are enured to hardship and danger. This is the best material in the world from which to recruit an exploring party. A foreigner engaging the services of such men must take into account the independent spirit that animates them and is the secret of their usefulness. They are not servants, but retainers; that too in regions far beyond the reach of civil law. They will follow their leader anywhere, support him in all dangers, and do their work faithfully so long as their rights as men are respected.

By taking proper precautions while traveling across crevassed snow and ice, and guarding against avalanches and snow-blindness, an excursion can be made above the snow-line with as little danger as in better known and more frequented regions.

PART III.

SKETCH OF THE GEOLOGY OF THE ST. ELIAS REGION.

In the preceding narrative, many references have been made to the character of the rocks and to the geological structure of the region explored. It was not practicable during the journey to carry on detailed geological studies, but such facts as were noted are of interest, for this reason, if for no other: they relate to a country previously unknown.

My reconnoissance enabled me to determine that there are three well-defined formations in the St. Elias region. These are—

1. The sandstones and shales about Yakutat bay and westward along the foot of the mountain to Icy bay, named the Yakutat system.

2. A system of probably later date, composed of shale, conglomerate, limestone, sandstone, etc., best exposed in the cliffs of Pinnacle pass and along the northern and western borders of the Samovar hills, and named the Pinnacle system.

3. The metamorphic rocks of the main St. Elias range, called the St. Elias schist.

The rocks of this system are of gray and brown sandstones and nearly black shales. They are uniform in lithological character over a large area, and are usually greatly crushed and seamed. So great has been the crushing to which they have been subjected that it is difficult to work out a hand specimen with fresh surfaces. Fragments broken out with a hammer are almost invariably bounded by plains of previous crushing, and are usually somewhat weathered.

These rocks form the bold shores of Yakutat and Disenchantment bays, and were the only rocks seen along our route from Yakutat bay to Pinnacle pass. The whole of the Hitchcock range is composed of rocks of this series, as are also the Chaix hills and the hills west of Icy bay and the southern portion of the Samovar hills. North of Pinnacle pass there are rocks undistinguishable lithogically from those about Yakutat bay. These are exposed in Mount Owen and on each side of Dome pass; they also form the bold spurs about the immediate bases of Mount Augusta, Mount Malaspina, and Mount St. Elias. In the three instances last named these rocks dip beneath the schist forming the crest of the St. Elias range, and it is probable that a great overthrust there took place before the formation of the faults to which the present relief of the mountains is due.

All the mountain spurs of Mount Cook, so far as is known, are composed of sandstones and shales of the Yakutat series, with the exception of the Pinnacle pass cliffs. Nearly all the débris on the glaciers from Disenchantment bay to the Seward glacier, and probably beyond, is derived from the rocks of this system. The distribution of the rocks from which the débris was derived may be ascertained in a general way by tracing out the sources of the glaciers. Medial moraines on the Hayden and Marvine glaciers, however, have their sources on the northern slope of Mount Cook, and are composed of gabbro and serpentine. These rocks were not seen in place, and their relation to the Yakutat series can only be conjectured.

Although the rocks of this system are stratified, it is impossible to determine their thickness, for the reason that they have been greatly crushed and overthrust. This is well illustrated in the Hitchcock range, which, as already explained, trends about northeast and southwest, and is composed of strata of shale and sandstone, having a nearly east-and-west strike and a uniform dip toward the northeast. Were the rocks in normal position their thickness would be incredible. In addition to this negative evidence, there is the crushed condition of the strata to show that movement has taken place all through their mass; and in a few instances thrust faults were distinguished, dipping northeastward at about the same angle as the lines of bedding. In the crushing to which the rocks have been subjected the shales have suffered more than the sandstones, and have been drawn out into wedge-shaped masses, the sharp edges of which usually point toward the northeast, which is presumably the direction from which the crushing force acted.

The hypothesis that the rocks in the St. Elias region have been crushed and overthrust explains many otherwise inharmonious facts, and accounts for the superposition of the St. Elias schist upon rocks of the Yakutat system.

Coal has been discovered in the rocks of the Yakutat system about two miles west of the southern end of Disenchantment bay, and is reported to be of workable thickness. I saw thin lignite seams at the surface at this locality, but as the shafts were filled with water I was unable to examine the coal in the openings, and cannot vouch for its thickness. Samples obtained from the mine show it to be a black lignite which would apparently be of value for fuel. Fossil leaves are reported to occur in connection with the lignite, but these have never been seen by any one who could identify them.

The rocks of the Yakutat system, wherever seen, dip northeastward, except when greatly disturbed near fault-lines. East of Disenchantment bay the inclination of the beds is from 15° to 20°; farther westward the dip increases gradually all the way to the Hitchcock range, where the prevailing inclination is from 30° to 40°, and frequently still greater. Beneath Mount Malaspina and Mount St. Elias the Yakutat sandstones dip northeastward at an angle of about 15°, and in the hills west of Icy bay the dip is about the same. Exceptions to the prevailing dips occur along the immediate shore of Yakutat bay, northwest of Knight island, and at the southern extremity of each of the mountain spurs between Yakutat bay and Blossom island. At these localities the rocks are frequently vertical or nearly so, owing their high dip to the proximity of lines of displacement. The faults indicated by these unusual dips also mark the boundary between the mountains and the seaward-stretching plateau of alluvium and ice.

The crushing, overthrusting and faulting that has affected the rocks of this system render it doubtful whether the coal seams which occur in it, even if of requisite thickness, can be worked to advantage. Some of the samples of coal obtained at the openings made near Yakutat bay were slickensided, showing that movements in the coal seam had there taken place.

As already stated, the rocks of the Yakutat series are remarkably uniform in character throughout the extent now known, and offer but little variety. The sandstones are intersected in every direction by thin quartz seams, which stand in relief on the weathered surfaces, giving the rocks a peculiar and characteristic appearance. The first important change in the geology along the route traversed by us was met on reaching Pinnacle pass.

The rocks of this system, as already stated, are best exposed in the great fault-scarp forming the northern wall of Pinnacle pass. They are more varied in composition and have preserved a better record of the conditions under which they were deposited than the sandstones and shales of the Yakutat system.

Only an approximate section of the rocks exposed in the Pinnacle-pass cliff was obtained.

There is also a compact, crystalline, gray limestone near the upper portion of the series, which escaped notice in the cliffs. At the end of the Pinnacle-pass cliffs, however, where the rocks are turned northward by the great fault which decides the course of the Seward glacier, and dip eastward at a high angle, the limestone is well exposed, and has a thickness of about 50 feet. In many places the surfaces of the layers are covered with fragments of large Pecten shells. Associated with the limestone there are reddish shales, much crushed and broken, and a peculiar conglomerate. The pebbles in the conglomerate are of many varieties, and were observed at places along the Pinnacle pass cliffs. Their most marked peculiarity lies in the fact that they have been sheared by a movement in the rocks and sometimes broken into several fragments which have been reunited, probably by pressure. These faulted pebbles are characteristic of the strata from which they were derived. Similar pebbles were afterward obtained in the Marvine glacier near its junction with the Malaspina glacier, thus indicating that there are other outcrops of the conglomerate about Mount Cook, near where the Marvine glacier has its source. Two quartz pebbles from the conglomerate of Pinnacle pass are shown in the accompanying illustrations. The larger pebble (shown in figure 7) is of bluish-gray quartz, and the smaller one (depicted in figure 8) is of white quartz. The fragments into which they have been broken are now firmly united. The engravings are photo-mechanical (Moss process) reproductions from the objects.

The presence of a Pecten (P. caurinus (?) Gld.) in the limestone of the Pinnacle series has already been mentioned. Other fossils were obtained from sandstones and shales at the crest of the cliffs above Pinnacle pass at an elevation of 5,000 feet. These were submitted to Dr. W. H. Dall, who kindly identified them as follows:

Mya arenaria, L.;
Mytilus edulis, L.;
Leda fossa, Baird, or L. minuta, Fabr.;
Macoma inconspicua, B. and S.;
Cardium islandicum, L.;
Litorina atkana, Dall.

All of these species are stated by Dall to be still living in the oceanic waters of Alaska. The very recent age of the rocks in which they occur is thus established.

In strata closely connected with the layers in which these shells were found there occur many fine leaf impressions, a few of which were brought away. These have been examined by Professor L. F. Ward, who has identified them with four species of Salix, closely resembling living species. The report on these interesting fossils forms Appendix D.

The age indicated by both invertebrates and plants is late Tertiary (Pliocene) or early Pleistocene. This determination is of great significance when taken in connection with the structure of the region, and shows that the mountains in the St. Elias region are young.

Not only was a part, at least, of the Pinnacle system deposited during the life of living species of mollusks, but also the whole of the Yakutat series, the stratigraphic position of which is, if my determination is correct, above the Pinnacle system. After the sediments composing the rocks of these two series were deposited in the sea as strata of sand, mud, etc., they were consolidated, overthrust, faulted, and upheaved into one of the grandest mountain ridges on the continent. Then, after the mountains had reached a considerable height, if not their full growth, the snows of winter fell upon them, and glaciers were born; the glaciers increased to a maximum, and their surfaces reached from a thousand to two thousand feet higher than now on the more southern mountain spurs, and afterward slowly wasted away to their present dimensions. All of this interesting and varied history has been enacted during the life of existing species of plants and animals.

The relative age of the Yakutat and Pinnacle series is the weakest point in the history sketched above. The facts on which it rests are as follows: At Pinnacle pass the sandstones and shales forming the southern wall belong to the Yakutat system and are much disturbed, while the northern wall, or the heaved side of the fault, is composed of the rocks of the Pinnacle system, inclined northward at an angle of 30° or 40°. North of this fault-scarp, in the foothills of Mount Owen, sandstones and shales, seemingly identical with those of the Yakutat system, again occur, although their direct connection with the rocks south of Pinnacle pass was not observed, owing to the snow that obscured the outcrops. Again at Dome pass a similar relation seems evident, but cannot be directly established. The immediate foothills of Mounts Augusta, Malaspina, and St. Elias are also of sandstone, lithologically the same as the Yakutat series. The conclusion that the Yakutat system is younger than the Pinnacle-pass rocks was reached in the field after many other hypotheses had been tried and found wanting, and to my mind it explains all the observations made. Even should the supposed relations of the two series under discussion be reversed, it would still be true that a very large part of the rocks of the St. Elias region were deposited since the appearance of living species of mollusks and plants, and that the prevailing structure of the region was imposed at a still later date. This will appear more clearly after examining the structure of the region.