Close alongside there was a lofty
mountain capped with ice, and from the blue edge of that ice-cap
there were sixteen silvery cascades in a row, falling about four
thousand feet, each one of the sixteen large enough to be heard at
least two miles.
How beautiful was the firelight on the nearest larkspurs and
geraniums and daisies of our garden! How hearty the wave greeting on
the rocks below brought to us from the two glaciers! And how glorious
a song the sixteen cascades sang!
The cascade songs made us sleep all the sounder, and we were so happy
as to find in the morning that the berg waves had spared our canoe.
We set off in high spirits down the fiord and across to the right
side to explore a remarkably deep and narrow branch of the main fiord
that I had noted on the way up, and that, from the magnitude of the
glacial characters on the two colossal rocks that guard the entrance,
promised a rich reward for our pains.
After we had sailed about three miles up this side fiord, we came to
what seemed to be its head, for trees and rocks swept in a curve
around from one side to the other without showing any opening,
although the walls of the canyon were seen extending back
indefinitely, one majestic brow beyond the other.
