A smaller
stump, still firmly rooted, is standing astride of an old crumbling
trunk, showing that at least two generations of trees flourished here
undisturbed by the advance or retreat of the glacier or by its
draining stream-floods. They are Sitka spruces and the wood is mostly
in a good state of preservation. How these trees were broken off
without being uprooted is dark to me at present. Perhaps most of
their companions were up rooted and carried away.
July 7. Another fine day; scarce a cloud in the sky. The icebergs in
the bay are miraged in the distance to look like the frontal wall of
a great glacier. I am writing letters in anticipation of the next
steamer, the Queen.
She arrived about 2.30 P.M. with two hundred and thirty tourists.
What a show they made with their ribbons and kodaks! All seemed happy
and enthusiastic, though it was curious to see how promptly all of
them ceased gazing when the dinner-bell rang, and how many turned
from the great thundering crystal world of ice to look curiously at
the Indians that came alongside to sell trinkets, and how our little
camp and kitchen arrangements excited so many to loiter and waste
their precious time prying into our poor hut.
July 8. A fine clear day. I went up the glacier to observe stakes and
found that a marked point near the middle of the current had flowed
about a hundred feet in eight days.
