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A FEW days later I set out
with Professor Reid's party to visit some of the other large glaciers that
flow into the bay, to observe what changes have taken place in them since
October, 1879, when I first visited and sketched them. We found the upper
half of the bay closely choked with bergs, through which it was exceedingly
difficult to force a way. After slowly struggling a few miles up the east
side, we dragged the whale-boat and canoe over rough rocks into a fine
garden and comfortably camped for the night.
The next day was spent in
cautiously picking a way across to the west side of the bay; and as the
strangely scanty stock of provisions was already about done, and the ice-jam
to the northward seemed impenetrable, the party decided to return to the
main camp by a comparatively open, roundabout way to the southward, while
with the canoe and a handful of food-scraps I pushed on northward. After a
hard, anxious struggle, I reached the mouth of the Hugh Miller fiord about
sundown, and tried to find a camp-spot on its steep, boulder-bound shore.
But no landing-place where it seemed possible to drag the canoe above
high-tide mark was discovered after examining a mile or more of this dreary,
forbidding barrier, and as night was closing down, I decided to try to grope
my way across the mouth of the fiord in the starlight to an open sandy spot
on which I had camped in October, 1879, a distance of about three or four
miles.
With the utmost caution I
picked my way through the sparkling bergs, and after an hour or two of this
nerve-trying work, when I was perhaps less than halfway across and dreading
the loss of the frail canoe which would include the loss of myself, I came
to a pack of very large bergs which loomed threateningly, offering no
visible thoroughfare. Paddling and pushing to right and left, I at last
discovered a sheer-walled opening about four feet wide and perhaps two
hundred feet long, formed apparently by the splitting of a huge iceberg. I
hesitated to enter this passage, fearing that the slightest change in the
tide-current might close it, but ventured nevertheless, judging that the
dangers ahead might not be greater than those I had already passed. When I
had got about a third of the way in, I suddenly discovered that the
smooth-walled ice-lane was growing narrower, and with desperate haste backed
out. Just as the bow of the canoe cleared the sheer walls they came together
with a growling crunch. Terror-stricken, I turned back, and in an anxious
hour or two gladly reached the rockbound shore that had at first repelled
me, determined to stay on guard all night in the canoe or find some place
where with the strength that comes in a fight for life I could drag it up
the boulder wall beyond ice danger. This at last was happily done about
midnight, and with no thought of sleep I went to bed rejoicing.
My bed was two boulders, and
as I lay wedged and bent on their up-bulging sides, beguiling the hard, cold
time in gazing into the starry sky and across the sparkling bay, magnificent
upright bars of light in bright prismatic colors suddenly appeared, marching
swiftly in close succession along the northern horizon from west to east as
if in diligent haste, an auroral display very different from any I had ever
before beheld. Once long ago in Wisconsin I saw the heavens draped in rich
purple auroral clouds fringed and folded in most magnificent forms; but in
this glory of light, so pure, so bright, so enthusiastic in motion, there
was nothing in the least cloud-like. The short color-bars, apparently about
two degrees in height, though blending, seemed to be as well defined as
those of the solar spectrum.
How long these glad, eager
soldiers of light held on their way I cannot tell; for sense of time was
charmed out of mind and the blessed night circled away in measureless
rejoicing enthusiasm.
In the early morning after so
inspiring a night I launched my canoe feeling able for anything, crossed the
mouth of the Hugh Miller fiord, and forced a way three or four miles along
the shore of the bay, hoping to reach the Grand Pacific Glacier in front of
Mt. Fairweather. But the farther I went, the ice-pack, instead of showing
inviting little open streaks here and there, became so much harder jammed
that on some parts of the shore the bergs, drifting south with the tide,
were shoving one another out of the water beyond high-tide line. Farther
progress to northward was thus rigidly stopped, and now I had to fight for a
way back to my cabin, hoping that by good tide luck I might reach it before
dark. But at sundown I was less than half-way home, and though very hungry
was glad to land on a little rock island with a smooth beach for the canoe
and a thicket of alder bushes for fire and bed and a little sleep. But
shortly after sundown, while these arrangements were being made, lo and
behold another aurora enriching the heavens! and though it proved to be one
of the ordinary almost colorless kind, thrusting long, quivering lances
toward the zenith from a dark, cloudlike base, after last night's wonderful
display one's expectations might well be extravagant and I lay wide awake
watching.
On the third night I reached
my cabin and food. Professor Reid and his party came in to talk over the
results of our excursions, and just as the last one of the visitors opened
the door after bidding good-night, he shouted, "Muir, come look here. Here's
something fine."
I ran out in auroral
excitement, and sure enough here was another aurora, as novel and wonderful
as the marching rainbow-colored columns — a glowing silver bow spanning the
Muir Inlet in a magnificent arch right under the zenith, or a little to the
south of it, the ends resting on the top of the mountain-walls. And though
colorless and steadfast, its intense, solid white splendor, noble
proportions, and fineness of finish excited boundless admiration. In form
and proportion it was like a rainbow, a bridge of one span five miles wide;
and so brilliant, so fine and solid and homogeneous in every part, I fancy
that if all the stars were raked together into one windrow, fused and welded
and run through some celestial rolling-mill, all would be required to make
this one glowing white colossal bridge.
After my last visitor went to
bed, I lay down on the moraine in front of the cabin and gazed and watched.
Hour after hour the wonderful arch stood perfectly motionless, sharply
defined and substantial-looking as if it were a permanent addition to the
furniture of the sky. At length while it yet spanned the inlet in serene,
unchanging splendor, a band of fluffy, pale-gray, quivering ringlets came
suddenly all in a row over the eastern mountain-top, glided in nervous haste
up and down the under side of the bow and over the western mountain-wall.
They were about one and a half times the apparent diameter of the bow in
length, maintained a vertical posture all6'the way across, and slipped
swiftly along as if they were suspended like a curtain on rings. Had these
lively auroral fairies marched across the fiord on the top of the bow
instead of shuffling along the under side of it, one might have fancied they
were a happy band of spirit people on a journey making use of the splendid
bow for a bridge. There must have been hundreds of miles of them; for the
time required for each to cross from one end of the bridge to the other
seemed only a minute or less, while nearly an hour elapsed from their first
appearance until the last of the rushing throng vanished behind the western
mountain, leaving the bridge as bright and solid and steadfast as before
they arrived. But later, half an hour or so, it began to fade. Fissures or
cracks crossed it diagonally through which a few stars were seen, and
gradually it became thin and nebulous until it looked like the Milky Way,
and at last vanished, leaving no visible monument of any sort to mark its
place.
I now returned to my cabin,
replenished the fire, warmed myself, and prepared to go to bed, though too
aurorally rich and happy to go to sleep. But just as I was about to retire,
I thought I had better take another look at the sky, to make sure that the
glorious show was over; and, contrary to all reasonable expectations, I
found that the pale foundation for another bow was being laid right overhead
like the first. Then losing all thought of sleep, I ran back to my cabin,
carried out blankets and lay down on the moraine to keep watch until
daybreak, that none of the sky wonders of the glorious night within reach of
my eyes might be lost.
I had seen the first bow when
it stood complete in full splendor, and its gradual fading decay. Now I was
to see the building of a new one from the beginning. Perhaps in less than
half an hour the silvery material was gathered, condensed, and welded into a
glowing, evenly proportioned are like the first and in the same part of the
sky. Then in due time over the eastern mountain-wall came another throng of
restless electric auroral fairies, the infinitely fine pale gray garments of
each lightly touching those of their neighbors as they swept swiftly along
the under side of the bridge and down over the western mountain like the
merry band that had gone the same way before them, all keeping quivery step
and time to music too fine for mortal ears.
While the gay throng was
gliding swiftly along, I watched the bridge for any change they might make
upon it, but not the slightest could I detect. They left no visible track,
and after all had passed the glowing arc stood firm and apparently
immutable, but at last faded slowly away like its glorious predecessor.
Excepting only the vast
purple aurora mentioned above, said to have been visible over nearly all the
continent, these two silver bows in supreme, serene, supernal beauty
surpassed everything auroral I ever beheld.
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