Glimpses of America: A Pictorial and Descriptive History of Our Country's Scenic Marvels

In Short

This book serves as a sprawling, patriotic travelogue documenting a grand expedition across the United States and Canada. By deploying a specially outfitted camera car and a corps of photographers, the team traversed mountain ranges, subterranean caverns, and desolate plains to record the "scenic marvels" of North America. It acts as both a visual archive and a nineteenth-century guidebook, blending vivid, hyperbolic descriptions of natural phenomena with reflections on the nation’s history, industry, and the inexorable reach of the railroad into the frontier’s most isolated corners.

The Story

The narrative arc follows the expedition as it moves from the jagged, storm-tossed peaks of the Colorado Rockies to the quiet, ancient ruins of the Southwest, eventually pushing north toward the glacial majesty of Alaska and finishing in the damp, subterranean silence of Indiana’s caves. The journey begins with the sheer, muscle-straining exertion of mountain climbing. The team tracks the transition from the "bleak" summits of Long’s Peak—where the air is thin and the terrain remains the exclusive domain of mountain sheep and pumas—to the strange, wind-eroded sculptures of Monument Park. Here, the prose shifts from geological observation to an imaginative, often eerie personification of rock formations that resemble "ogres" and "hags."

As the expedition moves westward, the story becomes one of industrial triumph over the wilderness. The railroad acts as the primary vehicle for this conquest, carrying the team through dark granite tunnels and over serpentine trestles. The narrative lingers on the engineering feats required to bridge the continent, such as the rotary snow-plows that bore through the perpetual winter of the Sierras and the ropes used to lower workers down the precipitous cliffs of Cape Horn. Along the way, the text pauses to recount the somber, tragic legends of the landscape, such as the cannibalistic starvation of the Donner party or the military bloodletting at Gettysburg.

The middle section of the journey explores the "marvels of the great desert" and the remnants of prehistoric civilizations. By cataloging the ruins of New Mexico and the abandoned cisterns of "prehistoric man," the text draws a line between the ancient, mysterious past and the modern, energetic present. This sense of discovery carries the travelers into the "opalescent gem" of Alaska, where the voyage transitions from overland rail to steamship travel through land-locked, island-strewn channels.

The final leg of the tour descends into the earth. The team explores the crystalline chambers of Wyandotte Cave and the "petrified splendors" hidden beneath the surface of the American heartland. The story concludes with the dissolution of the expedition. The photographers, having captured five thousand images, disperse to their respective homes. The narrative ends on a note of finality and fulfillment, framing the entire endeavor as a patriotic service—an attempt to document a land "kissed by the lips of liberty" for the benefit of the American people, cementing the expedition's legacy as a grand, completed mission.

How It Unfolds

The survey begins The expedition sets out to catalog the United States and Canada, utilizing a custom-built camera car to reach remote locations. The initial focus is on the Rocky Mountains, emphasizing the physical challenge of climbing and the stark, inaccessible nature of high-altitude peaks.

The industrial conquest The focus shifts to the railroads as they slice through the wilderness, turning difficult terrain into accessible scenery. The narrative details how modern machinery, like the rotary snow-plow, conquers the persistent dangers of the Western mountains.

The desert and the ancient The travelers move into the arid plains of Utah and the ruins of New Mexico, contrasting the natural landscape with the remains of early human habitations. These chapters bridge the gap between the geological age of the earth and the cultural history of the continent.

The northern transit The expedition reaches the Pacific Northwest and embarks on a steamer voyage to Alaska, describing the transition from rugged overland travel to the calm of inland water routes. This serves as a climatic shift toward the pristine, glacial beauty of the far north.

The descent into silence The journey concludes in the subterranean depths of Midwestern caves, where the team documents light-refracting stalactites and ancient rock formations. The project ends with the dispersal of the team, leaving behind a permanent record of their extensive travels.

The People

While the book focuses on the landscape, the central figures are the members of the expedition team, led by the author, J. W. Buel. They act less as individuals and more as a collective, specialized eye. Their primary desire is to capture the "sublimely grand" through the lens of the camera, a goal that requires them to endure physical exhaustion, the "mid-summer" snowstorms of the summits, and the mosquitoes of the southern swamps. They represent the era’s restless curiosity and the belief that the wilderness could be brought to the public through the medium of the photograph.

Standing in their way are the "inaccessible heights" of the mountains, the "terror-inspiring" chasms of the Royal Gorge, and the "repulsive" conditions of the stagnant Ocklawaha River. These obstacles serve as foils for the team’s persistence. The explorers, including the photographers and the unnamed guides, emerge at the end of the journey as changed observers. Their return to their "old labor" marks the completion of their transformation from ordinary citizens into curators of the national identity. They are accompanied in the narrative by the ghosts of history—the "braves" of Gettysburg, the "prehistoric" architects of the pueblo ruins, and the tragic emigrants of Donner Lake—all of whom serve as a somber contrast to the vibrant, living landscape the team records.

In Its Own Voice

Its apex, seen from below, bears a striking similitude to an impregnable citadel surrounded by giant ramparts.

The author describes the formidable silhouette of Long’s Peak, emphasizing its fortress-like appearance to the climber.

The colossal peak has been cut in twain; sliced by the persistent waters of the Arkansas, that with remorseless jaws have gnawed through the granite mountain.

This passage illustrates the dramatic, almost violent geological power the team witnessed while traveling through the Royal Gorge.

The 54,000 souls that laid down their arms and answered roll-call the morning of July 4th on the parade-grounds of paradise, were our countrymen.

The author reflects on the solemnity of the Gettysburg battlefield, framing the historical sacrifice as a foundational element of the nation’s geography.

What It's Really About

The book argues that the American landscape is a national asset, a vast treasury of beauty that defines the character of the country. Beneath the descriptions of mountains and geysers lies a profound preoccupation with the concept of "the frontier" and its inevitable transition into an organized, observed, and mapped territory. The text navigates the tension between the sublime, terror-inducing aspects of nature—like the "infernal pit" of geyser basins—and the human drive to categorize and domesticate these wonders. Ultimately, the book asserts that to see the country is to love it; it frames the act of tourism as an act of patriotism, arguing that the true wealth of the nation is found in the diversity of its soil.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of American photography, the nineteenth-century mindset regarding wilderness, or the evolution of travel literature will find this volume a fascinating artifact. It offers a window into a time when the American West was still being "discovered" and packaged for the public imagination. The prose is ornate and brimming with the period’s characteristic grandiosity, which makes it both an evocative, atmospheric read and a challenging one.

Modern readers should be prepared for the author’s occasionally stark, turn-of-the-century attitudes toward the landscape and the indigenous history of the regions visited. The book is not a brisk read; its pace is that of a slow-moving, heavy train, and its vocabulary reflects the flowery, highly descriptive aesthetic of 1894. However, for those who wish to step into the boots of an explorer before the age of mass tourism, there is a distinct pleasure in the author's earnest, unvarnished awe. The feeling of "complete separation from the earth" that the author describes from a mountain summit is the book's greatest gift—a sense of scale that remains just as potent today as it was when the camera car first rolled through the canyons.