Some ages after the mountain had burned out, and its fires had passed away, they must have revived and tried again to be fearfully revengeful, but they only succeeded in throwing up within the crater, about three miles from the western wall, a mimic volcano about a quarter of a mile high, perfect in form–an unblemished pyramid clad with hemlock to the very apex, and with a distinct crater upon its summit. A lava flow reaches from its base for several miles toward the western shore. So vast is the lake that this island and volcano play a part that is highly picturesque, but not the least monopolizing the importance of the scene. My friend, Mr. O. C. Applegate, once assisted to place a skiff on the lake, and explored its waters. Its depth is said to have been sounded for 1,350 feet without reaching the bottom.
Of course, this wonderful lake furnishes a vast amount of mystery for Indian tradition. Here their medicine men still come, as they always came in the olden time, to study spiritual wisdom and learn the secrets of life from the Great Spirit. In the solitude of these wilds they fasted and did penance; to the shores of the weird lake they ventured with great danger, to listen to the winds that came from no one knew where–borne there to roam the pent-up waters and bear the mysterious whispers of unseen beings, whose presence they doubted not, and whose words they longed to understand. They watched the shifting shadows of night and day, the hues of sunlight, moonlight and starlight, saw white sails glisten on the moonlit waters, caught the sheen of noiseless paddles as they lifted voiceless spray, and having become inspired with the supernal, they bore back to their tribes charmed lives and souls fenced in with mystery. It is by such inspiration that the Indian medicine men become infused with the superstitious belief that they are more wise than they are mortal.
