When he was gone, the old woman snatched up the baby and
hurried off down to the river. As she was hurrying along she
met an old man.

"Where are you going?" said he. Then the old woman saw that it
was the Evil One himself. She was afraid but she did not want
him to know it. She kept the baby covered in the basket and
answered, "I'm going to the river to get wild potatoes!"

"Where are all the girls?" asked the Evil One.

"Oh, they are all over behind the big mountain, playing ball!"

The Evil One went off to find them, because he thought there
were still some left, and the old woman quickly dug a big hole
and hid herself and the baby away in it.

When the Evil One found that the old woman had told him a lie,
he was very angry. He came back and
hunted all day long till sundown for her that he might kill
her. But he could not find any trace of her. He finally went
home and then the old woman took the baby and hid on the top
of a big rock, over near where Sheridan now is.

In the morning the Evil One came back to hunt further, but
without success.

"I guess that the old woman is dead," said he, "or maybe she's
gone across the river." But the Evil One loses his power if he
touches water, so he dare not cross the river to follow her.

The old woman watched him from the top of the rock. Many times
she feared lest he should find her, and she covered the baby
more closely.

At last when he had given up the hunt, she saw him take a
great basket and set it down in the road. Into this basket
he put great bunches of elderberry roots, and as he put each
bunch in, he gave it a name--Washoe, Digger, Paiuti, and so
on. Then he put the lid on tightly and went off through the
forest.

The old woman watched till the Evil One had gone. Creeping
quietly down, she came with the child--she was a little girl
now, not a wee baby any more--and sat down near the basket.

Presently there was a murmuring in the basket. "Oh,
grandmother, what's that noise?" said the little girl.

"Never mind," said the grandmother, "don't you touch the
basket!"

But the little girl kept teasing, "Oh, grandmother, what's in
there?"

And the old woman would say, "Don't you touch it!"

The old woman turned her back just one minute and the little
girl slipped up and raised the lid ever so little. There was
a great whirring noise; the lid flew off and out came all
the Indians. Off through the air they flew--Washoes to Washoe
land; Diggers to Digger land; Paiutis to Nevada--each Indian
to his own home.

The story given above is the one told by Jackson, but his wife,
Susan, tells the same story with these essential differences. In her
narrative there is no Evil One. The old woman scolded the young people
for playing, but they are not all killed. It is the old woman herself
who took a Paiuti water-bottle and after filling it with water, took
wild seeds and placed them in the bottle, naming them the different
Indian tribes. The seeds swelled in the water until they were as big
as eggs and out of these the Indians hatched like chickens, and began
to fight. It is the noise of the fighting that the baby hears.

As in Jackson's story the baby lets them out, but it is the wind that
carries them off to their various homes.

HOW THE INDIANS FIRST GOT FIRE

The Indians were having a "big time" in a great log cabin.
All the birds were there too, for in those days the Indians,
birds, and animals could talk to each other.

They were dancing all around the room and all were merry as
could be. They had a huge wooden drum and, as they passed
this, the dancers kicked it to make music.

Now, among the birds who were there was a big blue-jay. He was
a very saucy fellow, just full of mean tricks. When he came to
the drum, he kicked it so hard that he broke it all to pieces.
Of course this caused a great commotion. Every one was so
provoked by his rudeness that they threw him out of the door.

It was raining hard and the impudence was soon washed out of
Mr. Blue-Jay. He begged at the door in vain, and at last he
huddled up on the branch of a tree, thinking himself greatly
abused.

As he sat there, suddenly, far off, he saw a strange light.
Now the Blue-Jay has an infinite amount of curiosity, so away
he flew to investigate, quite forgetting his troubles.

It was fire which the Indian god had brought down to earth.
The Jay got a piece and soon came flying back to the great
cabin where the dance was still going on.

When he called now at the door, saying that he had something
wonderful to show them, they knew that he was telling the
truth. They let him come in, crowding about him to see this
wonderful thing. They did not know what
to make of this strange new thing. Lest anything should happen
to it, they dug a hole and buried the fire most carefully.

Tired out with the night's dancing the Indians all went off
to rest, leaving the birds to watch the precious fire. But
the birds were tired too, and it was not long before they were
fast asleep. All except the owl. He was wide awake and he,
being very wise, knew that the fire must be put in a safer
place. He went out and calling the yellow snake, the rat, and
the little "hummer" bird, he explained what he wanted them to
do. The snake was to worm his way in under the logs and wait
there till the hummer-bird brought him the fire. The rat was
to go in and chew all the birds' wings so that they should
not be able to catch the little hummer. They were all so fast
asleep that the rat was able to do this very easily.

All went just as they planned. The snake took the fire and
hid a little spark of it in every buckeye tree. And there the
Indians found it when they needed it. For rubbing a piece of
cedar and buckeye together, they very quickly make the spark,
and produce fire.

A LEGEND OF LAKE TAHOE

The following legend was published some years ago in _Sunset
Magazine_. It was written by Miss Nonette V. McGlashan, who heard
it from a Washoe squaw. The story was told with strange gestures and
weird pathos:

The ong was a big bird, bigger than the houses of the white
man. Its body was like the eagle's, and its wings were longer
than the tallest pines. Its face was that of an Indian, but
covered with hard scales, and its feet were webbed. Its nest
was deep down in the bottom of the Lake, out in the center,
and out of the nest rushed all the waters which fill the Lake.
There are no rivers to feed the Lake, only the waters from the
ong's nest. All the waters flow back near the bottom, in great
under-currents, and after passing through the meshes of the
nest are sent forth again. Every plant and bird and animal
that gets into these under-currents, and sometimes the great
trout that are swept into the net-like
nest are there held fast to furnish food for the ong.

He ate everything, he liked everything, but best of all he
liked the taste of human flesh. No one ever heard or saw
anything of such poor mortals as were drowned in these waters,
for their bodies were carried to the ong's nest and no morsel
ever escaped him. Sometimes he would fly about the shores in
quest of some child or woman or hunter, yet he was a great
coward and was never known to attack any one in camp, or when
two or more were together. No arrow could pierce his feathers,
nor could the strongest spear do more than glance from the
scales on his face and legs, yet his coward's heart made him
afraid for his toes had no claws, and his mouth no beak.

Late one fall, the Washoes were making their final hunt before
going to the valleys and leaving the Lake locked in its winter
snows. The chief's daughter was sixteen years old, and before
leaving the Lake he must select the greatest hero in the tribe
for her husband, for such had been the custom of the Washoe
chiefs ever since the tribe came out of the Northland.
Fairer than ever maiden had been was this daughter, and every
unmarried brave and warrior in the tribe wished that he had
performed deeds of greater prowess, that he might be certain
of winning the prize. That last night at the Lake, around the
big council fire, each was to recount to the chief the noblest
achievement of his life, and when all were heard the chief
would choose, and the women join the circle and the wedding
take place. For many years the warriors had looked forward to
this event, and the tribe had become famed because of acts
of reckless daring performed by those who hoped to wed the
chief's daughter.

It was the morning of the final day and much game and great
stores of dried trout were packed ready for the journey. All
were preparing for the wedding festivities, and the fact that
no one knew who would be the bridegroom, among all that band
of warriors, lent intensest excitement to the event. All were
joyous and happy except the maiden and the handsome young
brave to whom she had given her heart. In spite of custom or
tradition her love had long since gone out to one whose feet
had been too young to press the war-path when last the tribe
gave battle to their hereditary foes, the
Paiutis. He never had done deed of valor, nor could he even
claim the right to sit with the warriors around the council
fire. All day long he had been sitting alone on the jutting
cliffs which overhang the water, far away from the laughter
and shouts of the camp, eagerly, prayerfully watching the
great Lake. Surely the Great Spirit would hear his prayer, yet
he had been here for days and weeks in unavailing prayer and
waiting.

The afternoon was well-nigh spent and the heart of the young
brave had grown cold as stone. In his bitter despair he sprang
to his feet to defy the Great Spirit in whom he had trusted,
but ere he could utter the words his very soul stood still
for joy. Slowly rising from the center of the Lake, he saw the
ong. Circling high in the heavens, the monster swept now here,
now there, in search of prey. The young brave stood erect and
waited. When the ong was nearest he moved about slightly to
attract its notice. He had not long to wait. With a mighty
swoop, the bird dashed to earth, and as it arose, the young
brave was seen to be clasped fast in its talons. A great cry
of horror arose from the camp, but it was the sweetest note
the young brave had ever heard. The bird flew straight up into
the sky until Lake and forest and mountains seemed small and
dim. When it reached a great height it would drop its prey
into the Lake and let the current draw it to its nest.
Such was its custom, and for this the brave had prepared
by unwinding from his waist a long buckskin cord and tying
himself firmly to the ong's leg. The clumsy feet could not
grasp him so tightly as to prevent his movements. At last
the great feet opened wide, but the Indian did not fall. In a
mighty rage, the ong tried in vain to grasp him in his teeth,
but the strong web between the bird's toes sheltered him.
Again and again the bird tried to use his horrid teeth, and
each time his huge body would fall through the air in such
twistings and contortions that those who watched below stared
in bewilderment. But what the watchers could not see was that
every time the huge mouth opened to snap him, the young brave
hurled a handful of poisoned arrowheads into the mouth and
down the big throat, their sharp points cutting deep into the
unprotected flesh. The bird
tried to dislodge him by rubbing his feet together, but the
thong held firm. Now it plunged headlong into the Lake, but
its feet were so tied that it could not swim, and though it
lashed the waters into foam with its great wings, and though
the man was nearly drowned and wholly exhausted, the poison
caused the frightened bird such agony that it suddenly arose
and tried to escape by flying toward the center of the Lake.
The contest had lasted long and the darkness crept over the
Lake, and into the darkness the bird vanished.

The women had been long in their huts ere the council fire
was kindled and the warriors gravely seated themselves in its
circle. No such trifling event as the loss of a young brave
could be allowed to interfere with so important an event, and
from most of their minds he had vanished. It was not so very
unusual for the ong to claim a victim, and, besides, the youth
had been warned by his elders that he should not go hunting
alone as had been his habit of late.

But while the warriors were working themselves up into a fine
frenzy of eloquence in trying to remind the old chief of their
bygone deeds of daring, an Indian maiden was paddling a canoe
swiftly and silently toward the middle of the Lake. Nona,
the chief's daughter understood no more than the rest why her
lover had not been dropped into the Lake, nor why the ong had
acted so queerly, but she knew that she could die with her
lover. She took her own frail canoe because it was so light
and easy to row, though it was made for her when a girl, and
would scarcely support her weight now. It mattered nothing to
her if the water splashed over the sides; it mattered nothing
how she reached her lover. She kept saying his name over
softly to herself, "Tahoe! My darling Tahoe!"

When the council was finished, the women went to her hut to
bid her come and hear the decision her father was about to
render. The consternation caused by her disappearance lasted
until the rosy dawn tinged the Washoe peaks and disclosed to
the astounded tribe the body of the ong floating on the
waters above its nest, and beside it an empty canoe. In the
foreground, and gently approaching the shore was the strangest
craft that ever floated on water! It was
one of the great ong's wings, and the sail was the tip of the
other wing! Standing upon it, clasped in each other's arms,
were the young brave, Tahoe, and the daughter of the chief.
In the shouts of the tribe, shouts in which warriors and women
and children mingled their voices with that of the chief,
Tahoe was proclaimed the hero of heroes! The decision was
rendered, but the ong's nest remains, and the drowned never
rise in Lake Tahoe.




CHAPTER V

THE VARIOUS NAMES OF LAKE TAHOE


We have already seen that Frémont, the discoverer of Lake Tahoe, first
called it Lake Bonpland, after Humboldt's scientific co-traveler.
That name, however, never came in general use. When the great westward
emigration began it seemed naturally to be called by its Indian name,
Tahoe.

In _Innocents Abroad_ Mark Twain thus petulantly and humorously
expresses his dislike of the name, Tahoe, and sarcastically defines
its meaning.

"Sorrow and misfortune overtake the legislature that still
from year to year permits Tahoe to retain its unmusical
cognomen! Tahoe! It suggests no crystal waters, no picturesque
shores, no sublimity. Tahoe for a sea in the clouds; a sea
that has character, and asserts it in solemn calms, at times,
at times in savage storms; a sea, whose royal seclusion is
guarded by a cordon of sentinel peaks that lift their frosty
fronts nine thousand feet above the level world; a sea
whose every aspect is impressive, whose belongings are all
beautiful, whose lonely majesty types the Deity!

"Tahoe means grasshoppers. It means grasshopper soup. It
is Indian, and suggestive of Indians. They say it is
Pi-ute--possibly it is Digger. I am satisfied it was named
by the Diggers--those degraded savages who roast their dead
relatives, then mix the human grease and ashes of bones with
tar, and 'gaum' it thick all over their heads and foreheads
and ears, and go caterwauling about the hills and call it
_mourning_. _These_ are the gentry that named the
Lake.

"People say that Tahoe means 'Silver Lake'--'Limpid
Water'--'Falling Leaf.' Bosh! It means grasshopper soup, the
favorite dish of the Digger tribe--and of the Pi-utes as well.
It isn't worth while, in these practical times, for people to
talk about Indian poetry--there never was any in them--except
in the Fenimore Cooper Indians. But _they_ are an extinct
tribe that never existed. I know the Noble Red Man. I have
camped with the Indians; I have been on the warpath with them,
taken part in the chase with them--for grasshoppers; helped
them steal cattle; I
have roamed with them, scalped them, had them for breakfast. I
would gladly eat the whole race if I had a chance.

"But I am growing unreliable."

With all due deference to the wisdom--as well as the humor--of Mark
Twain as applied to Lake Tahoe, I emphatically disagree with him as to
the Indians of the Tahoe region, and also as to the name of the Lake.
Tahoe is quite as good-sounding a name as Como, Lucerne, Katrine or
Lomond. A name, so long as it is euphonious, is pleasing or not, more
because of its associations than anything else. The genuine Indian,
as he was prior to the coming of the white man, was uncorrupted,
uncivilized, unvitiated, undemoralized, undiseased in body, mind and
soul, a nature-observer, nature-lover and nature-worshiper. He was
full of poetic conceptions and fired with a vivid imagination that
created stories to account for the existence of unusual, peculiar or
exceptional natural objects, that, in brilliancy of conception, daring
invention, striking ingenuity and vigor of detail _surpass_, or
at least equal, the best imaginative work of Kipling or _Mark Twain
himself_. It seems to me that his--the Indian's--name for this
Lake--Tahoe--is both euphonious and full of poetic and scientific
suggestion. It is poetic in that it expresses in a word the unequaled
height and purity of so large a body of water, and scientific in that
it is truthful and accurate.

But Frémont, the discoverer, evidently did not ask or seek to know its
Indian name. As stated elsewhere he erroneously conceived it to be the
headquarters of one of the forks of the American river, flowing into
the Sacramento, and he so depicts it on his map, giving to it the two
names "Mountain Lake" or "Lake Bonpland." But neither of these names
was acceptable and they practically dropped out of sight.

When the first actual determination of Tahoe's outlet through the
Truckee River was made is not definitely known, but its approximate
location was well enough established in 1853 to enable the official
map-maker of the new State of California to depict it with reasonable
accuracy, and, for some reason, to name it Lake Bigler, after John
Bigler, the third Governor of California.

Citizens are still living both in Nevada and California who well
remember when the Lake held this name, and the majority of people
undoubtedly used it until 1862. Officially, also, it was known as Lake
Bigler in 1862, for in the Nevada _Statutes_ there is recorded
an Act approved December 19, 1862, authorizing certain parties to
construct a railroad "to be known as the _Lake Bigler and Virginia
Railroad Co_., to commence at a point on the Kingsbury-McDonald
road known as the Kingsbury and McDonald Toll House, thence along the
southern and eastern shores of _Lake Bigler_, and in most direct
practical route, to the divide between Virginia City and Washoe Valley
on east side Washoe Lake, over and through the most practical pass
to Virginia City," and a further right to construct branch road from
Virginia to Carson City, Nevada.

In 1861, however, while Downey was Governor of California (he having
been elected Lieut. Governor, and taking the office on the resignation
of Governor Latham in January 1860), an attempt was made to change the
name from Bigler to the fanciful one of Tula Tulia, but fortunately it
failed and the old name remained in general use.

But in 1862 another effort was made in an entirely different direction
and this time with success. It was brought about through the work
of William Henry Knight, still living in Los Angeles, who has kindly
furnished the following account:

In the year 1859 I was the youngest member of an overland company
which crossed the plains and mountains from St. Joseph, Mo., to
California. Our train was in three divisions and consisted of
about twenty persons, and forty horses and mules.

One morning in the middle of August we left our camp at the
eastern base of the double summit of the Sierra Nevadas and
began our ascent. Mounted on my faithful steed, Old Pete, I
pushed on in advance of the caravan, in order to get the first
view of the already famous mountain lake, then known as Lake
Bigler. The road wound through the defile and around the
southern border of the Lake on the margin of which we camped
for two days.

As I approached the summit I turned from the main road and
followed a trail to the right which led to the top of a
bare rock overlooking the valley beyond and furnishing an
unobstructed view.

Thus my first view of that beautiful sheet of water was from a
projecting cliff 1000 feet above its surface, and it embraced
not only the entire outline of the Lake with its charming bays
and rocky headlands but also the magnificent forests of giant
pines and firs in which it was embosomed, and the dozen or
more lofty mountain peaks thrusting their white summits into
the sky at altitudes varying from 8000 to 11,000 feet above
sea level.

The view was, indeed, the most wonderful combination of
towering mountains, widespreading valley, gleaming lakes,
umbrageous forests, rugged buttresses of granite, flashing
streams, tumbling waterfalls, and overarching sky of deepest
cerulean hue--all blended into one perfect mosaic of the
beautiful, the picturesque, and the majestic, that mortal eye
ever rested upon.

No imagination can conceive the beauty, sublimity and
inspiration of that scene, especially to one who had for weary
months been traversing dusty, treeless and barren plains. The
contrast was overwhelming. Tears filled my eyes as I gazed
upon the fairy scene. I recall the entrancing picture to-day,
in all its splendid detail, so vividly was it photographed
upon my brain.

Since that hour I have crossed the continent ten times, over
various railway routes, visited most of the States of the
Union, and seven foreign countries, heard the testimony of
others whose travels have been world-wide, and I doubt if
another scene of equal enchantment exists on the face of the
globe.

In 1861, two years after my visit to Tahoe, I gathered the
data for compiling the first general map of the Pacific
States, which embraced the region from British Columbia to
Mexico, and from the Rocky Mountains to the coast. It was
ready for the engraver in February, 1862. I had instructed
the draughtsman, V. Wackenreuder, afterward connected with
the State Geological Survey, to omit the name of Lake Bigler,
which was on contemporary maps.

I invited John S. Hittell, editor of the _Alta
California_, a leading San Francisco daily, and Dr.
Henry DeGroot, writer on the _Evening Bulletin_ and
correspondent of the able _Sacramento Union_, to come
round to Bancroft's publishing house and inspect the map.

Dr. DeGroot had just returned from a visit to the Comstock
silver mines in the Washoe district of Western Nevada. He
suddenly turned to me and said: "Why, Knight, you have left
off the name of Lake Bigler." I remarked that many people had
expressed dissatisfaction with that name, bestowed in honor of
a Governor of California who had not distinguished himself by
any signal achievement, and I thought that now would be a good
time to select an appropriate name and fix it forever on that
beautiful sheet of water.

The suggestion met with favor, and several names were
proposed--Washington, Lincoln, then war President, Frémont, an
early explorer, and other historic names. I asked Dr. DeGroot
if he knew what the native Indians called the Lake.

He drew a memorandum from his pocket and read over a list of
Indian names local to that region, and exclaimed: "Here it is;
they call it 'Tahoe,' meaning 'big water,' or 'high water,' or
'water in a high place.' The word rhymes with Washoe."

I did not quite like the name at first mention, but its
significance was so striking that I asked if they--Hittell
and DeGroot--would favor its adoption and back it up with the
support of their newspapers, and they agreed to do so.

They advocated the adoption of the new name in their
respective journals, the country papers almost unanimously
fell into line, I inserted it on the map which bore my
name--William Henry Knight--as compiler, and which was
published by the Bancroft house in 1862.

I immediately wrote to the Land Office at Washington,
reported what I had done, and the sentiment that prevailed in
California, and requested the Federal official to substitute
the name of Tahoe for Bigler on the next annual map to be
issued by his office, and in all the printed matter of the
Department of the Interior thereafter. This was done.

But a curious thing happened. Nevada was under a territorial
government appointed by the Democratic administration of
President Buchanan. The Territorial Legislature was in session
when the subject was agitated by the California newspapers. A
young statesman of that body, thirsting for fame, rose to
his feet and in vociferous tones and with frenzied gestures,
denounced this high-handed action of California in changing
the name of that Lake without consulting the sister
commonwealth of Nevada, as, according to the map, half of
that noble sheet of water was in Nevada, and such action would
require joint jurisdiction. But his impassioned words were
wasted on the desert air of the Sagebrush State. He could not
muster enough votes to enact his indignation into a law,
and the calm surface of Lake Tahoe was unruffled by the
tempestuous commotion raging in legislative halls at Carson
City.

It was thus that the beautiful, euphonious, and significant
name of "Tahoe" was first placed on my own map, and
subsequently appeared on all other maps of the State, because
it was universally accepted as a fitting substitute for the
former name of "Bigler." A traveled writer refers to the Lake
and the name selected in these terms:

"Thus it was that we went to Lake Tahoe, the beautiful 'Big
Water' of the Washoe Indians--Tahoe with the indigo shade of
its waters emphasized by its snow-capped setting. The very
first glance lifts one's soul above the petty cares of the
lower valleys, and one feels the significance of the Indian
title--'Big Water'--not referring to size alone, but to the
greatness of influence, just as the all-pervading Power is the
'Big Spirit.'"

One would naturally think that there had been changes enough. But
no! In spite of the fact that the Federal government had accepted the
change to Tahoe, and that the popular usage had signified the general
approval of the name, the Hon. W.A. King, of Nevada County, during the
Governorship of Haight, in California, introduced into the assembly
a bill declaring that Lake Bigler should be "the official name of
the said lake and the only name to be regarded as legal in official
documents, deeds, conveyances, leases and other instruments of writing
to be placed on state or county records, or used in reports made by
state, county or municipal officers."

Historian Hittell thus comments on this: "The bill, which appears to
have been well modulated to the taste and feelings of the legislature,
went through with great success. It passed the Assembly on February
1, the Senate on February 7; and on February 10 it was approved by
the Governor. It remains a monument, if not to Bigler, at least to the
legislature that passed it; while the name of the Lake will doubtless
continue to be _Tahoe_ and its sometime former designation of
_Bigler_ be forgotten."

Now if Mark Twain really objected to the name Tahoe why did he not
join the Biglerites and insist upon the preservation of that name?

On the Centennial Map of 1876 it was named "Lake Bigler or Lake
Tahoe," showing that some one evidently was aware that, officially, it
was still _Lake Bigler_.

And so, in fact, it is to this date, as far as _official_ action
can make it so, and it is interesting to conjecture what the results
might be were some malicious person, or some "legal-minded stickler
for rigid adherence to the law," to bring suit against those whose
deeds, titles, leases, or other documents declare it to be Lake Tahoe.




CHAPTER VI

JOHN LE CONTE'S PHYSICAL STUDIES OF LAKE TAHOE


In certain numbers (November and December 1883 and January 1884) of
the _Overland Monthly_, Professor John Le Conte, of the State
University, Berkeley, California, presented the results of his
physical studies of Lake Tahoe in three elaborate chapters. From these
the following quotations of general interest are taken:

Hundreds of Alpine lakes of various sizes, with their clear,
deep, cold, emerald or azure waters, are embosomed among the
crags of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The most extensive, as
well as the most celebrated, of these bodies of fresh water is
Lake Tahoe.

This Lake, ... occupies an elevated valley at a point where
the Sierra Nevada divides into two ranges. It is, as it were,
ingulfed between two lofty and nearly parallel ridges, one
lying to the east and the other to the west. As the crest of
the principal range of the Sierra runs near the western margin
of this Lake, this valley is thrown on the eastern slope of
this great mountain system.

The boundary line between the States of California and Nevada
makes an angle of about 131 degrees in this Lake, near its
southern extremity, precisely at the intersection of the 39th
parallel of north latitude with the 120th meridian west from
Greenwich. Inasmuch as, north of this angle, this boundary
line follows the 120th meridian, which traverses the Lake
longitudinally from two to four miles from its eastern
shore-line, it follows that more than two-thirds of its area
falls within the jurisdiction of California, the remaining
third being within the boundary of Nevada. It is only within a
comparatively recent period that the geographical coordinates
of this Lake have been accurately determined.

Its greatest dimension deviates but slightly from a medium
line. Its maximum length is about 21.6 miles, and its greatest
width is about 12 miles. In consequence of the irregularity of
its outline, it is difficult to estimate its exact area; but
it cannot deviate much from 192 to 195 square miles.

The railroad surveys indicate that the elevation of the
surface of its waters above the level of the ocean is about
6247 feet.

Its drainage basin, including in this its own area, is
estimated to be about five hundred square miles. Probably more
than a hundred affluents of various capacities, deriving their
waters from the amphitheater of snow-clad mountains which
rise on all sides from 3000 to 4000 feet above its surface,
contribute their quota to supply this Lake. The largest of
these affluents is the Upper Truckee River, which falls into
its southern extremity.

The only outlet to the Lake is the Truckee River, which
carries the surplus waters from a point on its northwestern
shore out through a magnificent mountain gorge, thence
northeast, through the arid plains of Nevada, into Pyramid
Lake. This river in its tortuous course runs a distance of
over one hundred miles, and for about seventy miles (from
Truckee to Wadsworth) the Central Pacific Railroad follows its
windings. According to the railroad surveys, this river makes
the following descent:

_Fall_
_Distance     Fall     per Mile_
Lake Tahoe to Truckee       15 Miles     401 Ft.  28.64 Ft
Truckee to Boca              8 "         313 "    39.12 "
Boca to State Line          11 "         395 "    35.91 "
State Line to Verdi          5 "         211 "    42.21 "
Verdi to Reno               11 "         420 "    38.18 "
Reno to Vista                8 "         103 "    12.87 "
Vista to Clark's            12 "         141 "    11.75 "
Clark's to Wadsworth        15 "         186 "    12.40 "
Wadsworth to Pyramid Lake   18[1] "      187[1] " 10.39 "
______       _______   _______
Lake Tahoe to Pyramid Lake 103 "        2357 "    23.11 "

[Footnote 1: The elevation of Pyramid Lake above the sea-level
has never, as far as we know, been accurately determined.
Henry Gannet, in his _Lists of Elevation_ (4th ed.,
Washington, 1877, p. 143), gives its altitude above the sea as
4890 feet; and credits this number to the _Pacific Railroad
Reports_. But as this exact number appears in Frémont's
_Report of Exploring Expedition to Oregon and North
California in the Years 1843-44_. (Doc. No. 166, p. 217),
it is probable that the first rude and necessarily imperfect
estimate has been copied by subsequent authorities. This
number is evidently more than 800 feet too great; for the
railroad station at Wadsworth (about eighteen or twenty miles
from the lake), where the line of the railroad leaves the
banks of the Truckee River, is only 4077 feet above the
sea-level. So that these numbers would make Pyramid Lake 813
feet above the level of its affluent at Wadsworth; which,
of course, is impossible. Under this state of facts, I have
assumed the elevation of this lake to be 3890 feet.]

During the summer of 1873, the writer embraced the opportunity
afforded by a six weeks' sojourn on the shores of the Lake to
undertake some physical studies in relation to this largest of
the "gems of the Sierra." Furnished with a good sounding-line
and a self-registering thermometer, he was enabled to secure
some interesting and trustworthy physical results.

(1.) _Depth_. It is well known that considerable
diversity of opinion has prevailed in relation to the
actual depth of Lake Tahoe. Sensational newsmongers have
unhesitatingly asserted that, in some portions, it is
absolutely fathomless. It is needless to say that actual
soundings served to dispel or to rectify this popular
impression. The soundings indicated that there is a deep
subaqueous channel traversing the whole Lake in its greatest
dimension, or south and north. Beginning at the southern end,
near the Lake House, and advancing along the long axis of the
Lake directly north towards the Hot Springs at the northern
end--a distance of about eighteen miles--we have the following
depths:

_Station          Depth in Feet    Depth in Meters_

1  ...............    900                  274.32

2  ...............   1385                  422.14

3  ...............   1495                  455.67

4  ...............   1500                  457.19