[Illustration]




The Romance of the Colorado River

The Story of its Discovery in 1840, with an Account of the Later
Explorations, and with Special Reference to the Voyages of Powell
through the Line of the Great Canyons.

by Frederick S. Dellenbaugh

Member of the United States Colorado River Expedition of 1871 and 1872

“No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms:
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend’s glowing hoof——”
                    Browning

To my friends and comrades
of the Colorado River Expedition of 1871 and 1872
in grateful remembrance.

Looking up the Bright Angel Trail. Looking up the Bright Angel Trail.
This is one of the modern trails into the Grand Canyon, which at this
point is some 6000 feet deep. From water-color sketch by Thomas Moran,
N.A.




DETAILED CONTENTS

PREFACE

NOTE ON THE AUTHOR’S ITINERARY

CHAPTER I. The Secret of the Gulf—Ulloa, 1539, One of the Captains of
Cortes, Almost Solves it, but Turns Back without Discovering—Alarçon,
1540, Conquers

CHAPTER II. The Unknown River—Alarçon Ascends it Eighty-five Leagues
and Names it the Rio de Buena Guia—Melchior Diaz Arrives at its Banks
Later and Calls it the Rio del Tizon—Cardenas Discovers the Grand
Canyon.

CHAPTER III. The Grand Canyon—Character of the Colorado River—The
Water-Gods; Erosion and Corrasion—The Natives and their Highways—The
"Green River Valley" of the Old Trappers—The Strange Vegetation and
Some Singular Animals

CHAPTER IV. Oñate, 1604, Crosses Arizona to the Colorado—A Remarkable
Ancient Ruin Discovered by Padre Kino, 1694—Padre Garces Sees the Grand
Canyon and Visits Oraibi, 1776—The Great Entrada of Padre Escalante
across Green River to Utah Lake, 1776—Death of Garces Ends the Entrada
Period, 1781.

CHAPTER V. Breaking the Wilderness—Wanderings of the Trappers and Fur
Traders—General Ashley in Green River Valley, 1824—Pattie along the
Grand Canyon, 1826—Lieutenant Hardy, R.N., in a Schooner on the Lower
Colorado, 1826—Jedediah Smith, Salt Lake to San Gabriel, 1826—Pattie on
the Lower Colorado in Canoes, 1827-28

CHAPTER VI. Frémont, the Pathfinder—Ownership of the Colorado—The Road
of the Gold Seekers—First United States Military Post, 1849—Steam
Navigation—Captain Johnson Goes to the Head of Black Canyon

CHAPTER VII. Lieutenant Ives Explores to Fortification Rock—By Trail to
Diamond Creek, Havasupai Canyon, and the Moki Towns—Macomb Fails in an
Attempt to Reach the Mouth of Grand River—James White’s Masterful
Fabrication

CHAPTER VIII. The One-armed Knight—A Bold Attack on the Canyons—Powell
and His Men—The Wonderful Voyage—Mighty Walls and Roaring
Rapids—Capsizes and Catastrophes

CHAPTER IX. A Canyon of Cataracts—The Imperial Chasm—Short Rations—A
Split in the Party—Separation—Fate of the Howlands and Dunn—The Monster
Vanquished

CHAPTER X. Powell’s Second Attack on the Colorado—Green River City—Red
Canyon and a Capsize—The Grave of Hook—The Gate of Lodore—Cliff of the
Harp—Triplet Falls and Hell’s Half-Mile—A Rest in Echo Park

CHAPTER XI. An Island Park and a Split Mountain—The White River
Runaways—Powell Goes to Salt Lake—Failure to Get Rations to the Dirty
Devil—On the Rocks in Desolation—Natural Windows—An Ancient House—On
the Back of the Dragon at Last—Cataracts and Cataracts in the Wonderful
Cataract Canyon—A Lost Pack-Train—Naming the Echo Peaks

CHAPTER XII. Into the Jaws of the Dragon—A Useless Experiment—Wheeler
Reaches Diamond Creek Going Up-stream—The Hurricane Ledge—Something
about Names—A Trip from Kanab through Unknown Country to the Mouth of
the Dirty Devil

CHAPTER XIII. A Canyon through Marble-Multitudinous Rapids—Running the
Sockdologer—A Difficult Portage, Rising Water, and a Trap—The Dean
Upside Down—A Close Shave—Whirlpools and Fountains—The Kanab Canyon and
the End of the Voyage

CHAPTER XIV. A Railway Proposed through the Canyons—The Brown Party,
1889, Undertakes the Survey—Frail Boats and Disasters—The Dragon Claims
Three—Collapse of the Expedition—Stanton Tries the Feat Again,
1889-90—A Fall and a Broken Leg—Success of Stanton—The Dragon Still
Untrammelled

EPILOGUE

APPENDIX




PREFACE


Early in 1871, when Major Powell[1] was preparing for his second
descent through the canyons of the Green and Colorado rivers, he was
besieged by men eager to accompany him; some even offered to pay well
for the privilege. It was for me, therefore, a piece of great good
fortune when, after an interview in Chicago with the eminent explorer,
he decided to add me to his small party. I was very young at the time,
but muscular and healthy, and familiar with the handling of small
boats. The Major remarked that in the business before us it was not so
much age and strength that were needed as “nerve,” and he evidently
believed I had enough of this to carry me through. Certainly in the
two-years, continuous work on the river and in the adjacent country I
had some opportunity to develop this desirable quality. I shall never
cease to feel grateful to him for the confidence reposed in me. It gave
me one of the unique experiences of my life,—an experience which, on
exactly the same lines, can never be repeated within our borders. Now,
these thirty years after, I review that experience with satisfaction
and pleasure, recalling, with deep affection, the kind and generous
companions of that wild and memorable journey. No party of men thrown
together, without external contact for months at a time, could have
been more harmonious; and never once did any member of that party show
the white feather. I desire to acknowledge here, also, my indebtedness
to Prof. A. H. Thompson, Major Powell’s associate in his second
expedition, for many kindnesses.

 [1] I use the title Major for the reason that he was so widely known
 for so long a period by it. He was a volunteer officer during the
 Civil War, holding the rank of Colonel at the end. The title Major,
 then, has no military significance in this connection.


When his report to Congress was published, Major Powell, perhaps for
the sake of dramatic unity, concluded to omit mention of the personnel
of the second expedition, awarding credit, for all that was
accomplished, to the men of his first wonderful voyage of 1869. And
these men surely deserved all that could be bestowed on them. They had,
under the Major’s clear-sighted guidance and cool judgment, performed
one of the distinguished feats of history. They had faced unknown
dangers. They had determined that the forbidding torrent could be
mastered. But it has always seemed to me that the men of the second
party, who made the same journey, who mapped and explored the river and
much of the country roundabout, doing a large amount of difficult work
in the scientific line, should have been accorded some recognition. The
absence of this has sometimes been embarrassing for the reason that
when statements of members of the second party were referred to the
official report, their names were found missing from the list. This
inclined to produce an unfavourable impression concerning these
individuals. In order to provide in my own case against any unpleasant
circumstance owing to this omission, I wrote to Major Powell on the
subject and received the following highly satisfactory answer:

Washington, D. C., January 18, 1888.

My Dear Dellenbaugh:
Replying to your note of the 14th instant, it gives me great pleasure
to state that you were a member of my second party of exploration down
the Colorado, during the years 1871 and 1872, that you occupied a place
in my own boat and rendered valuable services to the expedition, and
that it was with regret on my part that your connection with the Survey
ceased.
Yours cordially, J. W. Powell.


Recently, when I informed him of my intention to publish this volume,
he very kindly wrote as follows:

Washington, January 6, 1902.

Dear Dellenbaugh:
I am pleased to hear that you are engaged in writing a book on the
Colorado Canyon. I hope that you will put on record the second trip and
the gentlemen who were members of that expedition. No other trip has
been made since that time, though many have tried to follow us. One
party, that headed by Mr. Stanton, went through the Grand Canyon on its
second attempt, but many persons have lost their lives in attempting to
follow us through the whole length of the canyons. I shall be very glad
to write a short introduction to your book.
Yours cordially, J. W. Powell.


In complying with this request to put on record the second expedition
and the gentlemen who composed it, I feel all the greater pleasure,
because, at the same time, I seem to be fulfilling a duty towards my
old comrades. The reader is referred to Chapter XIV., and to pages
368-9 for later data on descents. Notwithstanding these the canyons
remain almost terra incognita for each new navigator. There have been
some who appear to be inclined to withhold from Major Powell the full
credit which is his for solving the great problem of the Southwest, and
who, therefore, make much of the flimsy story of White, and even assume
on faint evidence that others fathomed the mystery even before White.
There is, in my opinion, no ground for such assumptions. Several
trappers, like Pattie and Carson, had gained a considerable knowledge
of the general course and character of the river as early as 1830, but
to Major Powell and his two parties undoubtedly belongs the high honour
of being the first to explore and explain the truth about it and its
extraordinary canyon environment. If danger, difficulty, and disaster
mean romance, then assuredly the Colorado of the West is entitled to
first rank, for seldom has any human being touched its borderland even,
without some bitter or fatal experience. Never is the Colorado twice
alike, and each new experience is different from the last. Once
acknowledge this and the dangers, however, and approach it in a humble
and reverent spirit, albeit firmly, and death need seldom be the
penalty of a voyage on its restless waters.

I have endeavoured to present the history of the river, and immediate
environment, so far as I have been able to learn it, but within the
limits of a single volume of this size much must necessarily be
omitted. Reference to the admirable works of Powell, Gilbert, and
Button will give the reader full information concerning the geology and
topography; _Garces_, by Elliott Coues, gives the story of the friars;
and the excellent memoir of Chittenden, _The American Fur Trade of the
Far West_, will give a complete understanding of the travels and
exploits of the real pioneers of the Rocky Mountain country. I differ
with this author, however, as to the wise and commendable nature of the
early trappers’ dealings with the natives, and this will be explained
in the pages on that subject. He also says in his preface that “no
feature of western geography was ever discovered by government
explorers after 1840.” While this is correct in the main, it gives an
erroneous impression so far as the canyons of the Colorado are
concerned. These canyons were “discovered,” as mentioned above, by some
of the trappers, but their interior character was not known, except in
the vaguest way, so that the discovery was much like discovering a
range of mountains on the horizon and not entering beyond the
foothills.

For the titles of works of reference, of the narratives of trappers,
etc., I refer to the works of H. H. Bancroft; to Warren’s _Memoirs_,
vol. i. Pacific Railroad reports; and to the first volume of Lieut.
Geo. M. Wheeler’s report on Explorations West of the 100th Meridian.
The trappers and prospectors who had some experience on the Green and
the Colorado have left either no records or very incomplete ones. It
seems tolerably certain, however, that no experience of importance has
escaped notice. So far as attempts at descent are concerned, they
invariably met with speedy disaster and were given up.

In writing the Spanish and other foreign proper names I have in no case
translated, because such translations result in needless confusion. To
translate “Rio del Tizon” as Firebrand River is making another name of
it. Few would recognise the Colorado River under the title of Red
River, as used, for example, in Pattie’s narrative. While Colorado
means red, it is quite another matter as a _name_. Nor do I approve of
hyphenating native words, as is so frequently done. It is no easier to
understand Mis-sis-sip-pi than Mississippi. My thanks are due to Mr.
Thomas Moran, the distinguished painter, for the admirable sketch from
nature he has so kindly permitted a reproduction of for a frontispiece.
Mr. Moran has been identified as a painter of the Grand Canyon ever
since 1873, when he went there with one of Powell’s parties and made
sketches from the end of the Kaibab Plateau which afterwards resulted
in the splendid picture of the Grand Canyon now owned by the
Government.

I am indebted to Prof. A. H. Thompson for the use of his river diary as
a check upon my own, and also for many photographs now difficult to
obtain; and to Dr. G. K. Gilbert, Mr. E. E. Howell, Dr. T. Mitchell
Prudden, and Mr. Delancy Gill for the use of special photographs. Other
debts in this line I acknowledge in each instance and hence will not
repeat here. I had hoped to have an opportunity of again reading over
the diary which “Jack” Sumner kept on the first Powell expedition, and
which I have not seen since the time of the second expedition, but the
serious illness of Major Powell prevented my requesting the use of it.

 F. S. Dellenbaugh.


New York, October, 1902.



 NOTE.—Since the last edition of this work was published, the inquiries
 of Mr. Robert Brewster Stanton have brought to light among some
 forgotten papers of Major Powell’s at the Bureau of Ethnology in
 Washington the diary of Jack Sumner and also that of Major Powell
 himself. Both begin at the mouth of the Uinta River.

Major Powell, because of his one-armed condition, had the only
life-preserver. The preserver was rubber of the inflating type and is
in the Smithsonian Institution, presented by Mr. Stanton who obtained
it from one of the survivors in 1907.





NOTE ON THE AUTHOR’S ITINERARY IN THE BASIN OF THE COLORADO RIVER AND
ADJACENT TERRITORY

 (Except where otherwise stated journeys were on horseback.)


1871—By boat from the Union Pacific Railway crossing of Green River,
down the Green and Colorado to the mouth of the Paria, Lee’s Ferry.
Numerous side trips on foot. Lee’s Ferry to House Rock Valley, and
across north end of the Kaibab Plateau to the village of Kanab.

1872—Kanab to House Rock Valley and Paria Plateau. To Kanab. To
southern part of Kaibab Plateau. To Kanab _via_ Shinumo Canyon and
Kanab Canyon. To Pipe Spring. To the Uinkaret Mountains and the Grand
Canyon at the foot of the Toroweap Valley. To Berry Spring near St.
George, along the edge of the Hurricane Ledge. To the Uinkaret
Mountains _via_ Diamond Butte. To the bottom of the Grand Canyon at the
foot of the Toroweap. To Berry Spring _via_ Diamond Butte and along the
foot of the Hurricane Ledge. To St. George. To the Virgen Mountains and
summit of Mt. Bangs. To Kanab _via_ St. George. To the Aquarius Plateau
_via_ Potato Valley. To and across the Henry Mountains. To the Colorado
at the mouth of Frémont River. By boat to the mouth of the Paria. To
Kanab and return across the Kaibab. By boat down the Colorado to the
mouth of the Kanab. To Kanab _via_ the Kanab Canyon. To the Uinkaret
Mountains. To Kanab _via_ Pipe Spring.

1873—To Salt Lake City, _via_ Long Valley and the Sevier River.

1875—To terminus of Utah Southern Railway, about at Spanish Forks, by
rail. To Kanab _via_ Sevier River and Upper Kanab. To the Kaibab
Plateau, De Motte Park, and the rim of the Grand Canyon. To the bottom
of the Grand Canyon _via_ Shinumo and Kanab Canyons. To Kanab _via_
Kanab Canyon. To the Uinkaret Mountains _via_ Pipe Spring and the Wild
Band Pockets. To the Grand Canyon at the foot of the Toroweap.

1876—To St. George across the Uinkaret Plateau. To Las Vegas, Nevada,
_via_ Beaver Dam, Virgen River, the Muddy, and the desert. To St.
George, by the desert and the old “St. Joe” road across the Beaver Dam
Mountains. To the rim of the Grand Canyon, _via_ Hidden Spring, the
Copper Mine, and Mt. Dellenbaugh. To a red paint cave on the side of
the canyon, about twenty-five hundred feet down. To St. George _via_
same route. To Ivanpah, California, _via_ the old desert road, the
Muddy, Las Vegas, and Good Spring. To St. George _via_ same route. To
Kanab _via_ Short Creek and Pipe Spring. To the Uinkaret Mountains
_via_ Pipe Spring and Antelope Valley. Across to the Shewits Plateau
and to Ambush Waterpocket south of Mt. Dellenbaugh.[2] To the bottom of
the Grand Canyon on the east side of the Shewits Plateau. To St. George
_via_ Mt. Dellenbaugh and Hidden Spring. To Kanab _via_ Berry Spring
and Pipe Spring. To Salt Lake City _via_ Upper Kanab and the Sevier
Valley.

 [2] This waterpocket, which is a very large one, has, so far as I am
 aware, never had an English name and I do not know the Amerind one. I
 have called it “Ambush” because it was the place where three of
 Powell’s men were shot by the Shewits in 1869.


1884-5—By rail to Ft. Wingate, New Mexico. By rail to Flagstaff. To
Flagstaff _via_ circuit of, and summit of, San Francisco Mountain and
the Turkey Tanks. By rail to the Needles, California. By rail to
Manuelito, New Mexico. To Ft. Defiance. By buckboard to Keam’s Canyon.
To the East Mesa of the Moki. To Keam’s Canyon. By buckboard _via_
Pueblo, Colorado, to Ft. Defiance. To the San Juan River at the “Four
Corners,” _via_ Lukachukai Pass and the summit of the Carisso
Mountains. To Ft. Defiance _via_ the crest of the Tunicha Plateau. By
buckboard to Keam’s and to the East Mesa of the Moki. To Mishongnuvi
and back. By waggon to Keam’s. To Oraibe _via_ Tewa. To Keam’s _via_
Shimopavi and Tewa. To Holbrook by buckboard.

1899—By rail west across Green River Valley. By rail down Price River,
east across Gunnison Valley, up Grand River, and over the Continental
Divide.

1903—By rail to Salt Lake. By rail to Modena. By horse up the Virgen
River to the narrows of Mukoontuweap. Thence _via_ Rockville and Short
Creek to Pipe Springs and Kanab. Thence to De Motte Park, Bright Angel
Spring, and Greenland Point at the Grand Canyon on the Kaibab Plateau.
Thence to Kanab, Panquitch, and Marysvale. Thence by rail to Salt Lake.

1907—By rail to Grand Canyon, Arizona. By horse to Bass Camp, to the
bottom of the Grand Canyon, opposite Shinumo Creek, to Habasu Canyon,
to Grand Canyon Station, and to Grand View. By rail to the Needles.




 THE ROMANCE OF THE COLORADO RIVER




CHAPTER I.


The Secret of the Gulf—Ulloa, 1539, One of the Captains of Cortes,
Almost Solves it, but Turns Back without Discovering—Alarçon, 1540,
Conquers.


In every country the great, rivers have presented attractive pathways
for interior exploration—gateways for settlement. Eventually they have
grown to be highroads where the rich cargoes of development, profiting
by favouring tides, floated to the outer world. Man, during all his
wanderings in the struggle for subsistence, has universally found them
his friends and allies. They have yielded to him as a conquering
stranger; they have at last become for him foster-parents. Their
verdant banks have sheltered and protected him; their skies have smiled
upon his crops. With grateful memories, therefore, is clothed for us
the sound of such river names as Thames, Danube, Hudson, Mississippi.
Through the centuries their kindly waters have borne down ancestral
argosies of profit without number, establishing thus the wealth and
happiness of the people. Well have rivers been termed the “Arteries of
Commerce”; well, also, may they be considered the binding links of
civilisation.


In Glen Canyon. In Glen Canyon.
Walls of homogeneous sandstone 1000 feet high.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colorado River Expedition.


Then, by contrast, it is all the more remarkable to meet with one great
river which is none of these helpful things, but which, on the
contrary, is a veritable dragon, loud in its dangerous lair, defiant,
fierce, opposing utility everywhere, refusing absolutely to be bridled
by Commerce, perpetuating a wilderness, prohibiting mankind’s
encroachments, and in its immediate tide presenting a formidable host
of snarling waters whose angry roar, reverberating wildly league after
league between giant rock-walls carved through the bowels of the earth,
heralds the impossibility of human conquest and smothers hope. From the
tiny rivulets of its snowy birth to the ferocious tidal bore where it
dies in the sea, it wages a ceaseless battle as sublime as it is
terrible and unique. Such is the great Colorado River of the West,
rising amidst the fountains of the beautiful Wind River Mountains of
Wyoming, where also are brought forth the gentler Columbia and the
mighty, far-reaching Missouri. Whirling down ten thousand feet in some
two thousand miles, it meets the hot level of the Red Sea, once the Sea
of Cortes, now the Gulf of California, in tumult and turmoil. In this
long run it is cliff bound nine-tenths of the way, and the whole
country drained by it and its tributaries has been wrought by the
waters and winds of ages into multitudinous plateaus and canyons. The
canyons of its tributaries often rival in grandeur those of the main
stream itself, and the tributaries receive other canyons equally
magnificent, so that we see here a stupendous system of gorges and
tributary gorges, which, even now bewildering, were to the early
pioneer practically prohibitory. Water is the master sculptor in this
weird, wonderful land, yet one could there die easily of thirst.
Notwithstanding the gigantic work accomplished, water, except on the
river, is scarce. Often for months the soil of the valleys and plains
never feels rain; even dew is unknown. In this arid region much of the
vegetation is set with thorns, and some of the animals are made to
match the vegetation. A knowledge of this forbidding area, now robbed
of some of its old terrors by the facilities in transportation, has
been finally gained only by a long series of persistent efforts,
attended by dangers, privations, reverses, discouragements, and
disasters innumerable. The Amerind,[1] the red man, roamed its wild
valleys. Some tribes built stone houses whose ruins are now found
overlooking its waters, even in the depths of the Grand Canyon itself,
or in the cliffs along the more accessible tributaries, cultivating in
the bottoms their crops. Lands were also tilled along the extreme lower
reaches, where the great rock-walls fall back and alluvial soils border
the stream. Here and there the Amerind also crossed it, when occasion
required, on the great intertribal highways which are found in all
districts, but it was neither one thing nor another to him.

 [1] This name is a substitute for the misnomer “Indian.” Its use
 avoids confusion.


Looking into the First Granite Gorge, Grand Canyon foot of Bright Angel
Trail. Looking into the First Granite Gorge, Grand Canyon foot of
Bright Angel Trail.
Canyon 300 miles long. River 1000 feet below point of view. Total depth
between 5000 and 6000 feet.
Photograph by HALL.


So the river rolled on through its solemn canyons in primeval freedom,
unvexed by the tampering and meddling of man. The Spaniards, after the
picturesque conquest of the luckless Aztecs, were eagerly searching for
new fields of profitable battle, and then they dreamed of finding among
the mysteries of the alluring northland, stretching so far away into
the Unknown, a repetition of towns as populous, as wealthy in pure
gold, as those of the valley of Mexico whose despoiled treasures had
fired the cupidity of Europe and had crammed the strong boxes of the
Spanish king. And there might be towns even richer! Who could say? An
Amerind named Tejo, who belonged to Guzman when he was president of New
Spain, that is, about 1530, told of journeys he had made with his
father, when a boy, to trade in the far north where he saw very large
villages like Mexico, especially seven large towns full of
silver-workers, forty days’ journey through the wilderness. This
welcome story was fuel to the fire. Guzman organised a party and
started for these wonderful seven cities, but numerous difficulties
prevented the fulfilment of his plans, and caused a halt after
traversing but a small portion of the distance. Cortes had now also
returned from a visit to Spain, and he and Guzman were at the point of
the sword. Then shortly arrived from the north (1536), after incredible
wanderings between the Mississippi and the Rio Grande, that man of
wonderful endurance, Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca,[2] with his surviving
companions, Dorantes, Maldonado, and Estevan. The latter, a negro, was
afterwards very prominent by his connection with the fatal expedition
sent out under the Friar Marcos to investigate the north country. The
negro, if not the other men, gave a highly colored account of the lands
they had traversed, and especially of what they had heard, so that more
fuel was added to the fire, and the desire to explore the mysteries
burned into execution. Cortes, harassed by his numerous enemies in
Mexico and Spain, determined on a new effort to carry out his cherished
plan of reaping further glories in the fascinating regions of the north
so full of possibilities. There consequently sailed from Acapulco, July
8, 1539, a fleet of three vessels under Francisco de Ulloa. Cortes was
prevented by circumstances from going with this expedition. After many
difficulties Ulloa at length found himself at the very head of the Sea
of Cortes in shallow water.

 [2] For a full account of the experiences of Alvar Nuñez, see the
 translation of Buckingham Smith. Also Bandolier, _Contributions to the
 History of the Southwestern Portions of the United States_.


The Inner Gorge of the Grand Canyon at the foot of Toroweap. The Inner
Gorge of the Grand Canyon at the foot of Toroweap.
Depth from point of view about 3000 feet. Total depth about 4500 feet.
Width about 3500 feet from brink to brink.
Negative 20x24 by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



House Ruins on Cliff of Glen Canyon. House Ruins on Cliff of Glen
Canyon.
There were habitations also under the heavy top ledge.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Geol. Survey.


“And thus sailing [he writes] we always found more shallow water, and
the sea thick, black, and very muddy, and came at length into five
fathom water; and seeing this we determined to pass over to the land
which we had seen on the other side, and here likewise we found as
little depth or less, whereupon we rode all night in five fathom water,
and we perceived the sea to run with so great a rage into the land that
it was a thing much to be marveled at; and with the like fury it
returned back again with the ebb, during which time we found eleven
fathom water, and the flood and ebb continued from five to six hours.
The next day the captain and the pilot went up to the ship’s top and
saw all the land full of sand in a great round compass and joining
itself with the other shore; and it was so low that whereas we were a
league from the same we could not discern it, and it seemed there was
an inlet of the mouths of certain lakes, whereby the sea went in and
out. There were divers opinions amongst us, and some thought that that
current entered into these lakes, and also that some great river there
might be the cause thereof.”[3]

 [3] From Hakluyt’s _Voyages_. The spelling has been modernised.


This seems to have been the very first visit of Europeans to the mouth
of the Colorado, but as Ulloa did not see the river, and only surmised
that there might be one there, it cannot be considered in any way a
discovery. It has been supposed by some that Friar Juan de la
Asumpcion, in 1538, might have reached the Colorado in his deep river
which he could not cross, but this river was more likely a branch of
the Yaqui, for the friar was told that ten days beyond, to the north,
there was another larger river settled by many people, whose houses had
three stories, and whose villages were enclosed. This describes the Rio
Grande and its southern settlements perfectly, so that, had he been on
the Colorado, or even the Gila, the Rio Grande could not have been
described as “ten days to the north.” Ulloa took possession formally,
according to Spanish custom, and then sailed southward again. Though he
had not found the great river, he had determined one important
geographical point: that Lower California was not, as had been
supposed, an island, but was a peninsula; nevertheless for a full
century thereafter it was considered an island. Had Ulloa followed up
the rush of the current he would have been the discoverer of the
Colorado River, but in spite of his marvelling at the fury of it he did
not seem to consider an investigation worth while; or he may have been
afraid of wrecking his ships. His inertia left it for a bolder man, who
was soon in his wake. But the intrepid soul of Cortes must have been
sorely disappointed at the meagre results of this, his last expedition,
which had cost him a large sum, and compelled the pawning of his wife’s
jewels. The discovery of the mouth of a great river would have bestowed
on this voyage a more romantic importance, and would consequently have
been somewhat healing to his injured pride, if not to his depleted
purse; but his sun was setting. This voyage of Ulloa was its last
expiring ray. With an artistic adjustment to the situation that seems
remarkable, Ulloa, after turning the end of the peninsula and sailing
up the Lower Californian coast, sent home one solitary vessel, and
vanished then forever. Financially wrecked, and exasperated to the last
degree by the slights and indignities of his enemies and of the Mendoza
government, Cortes left for Spain early in 1540 with the hope of
retrieving his power by appearing in person before the monarch. As in
the case of Columbus, scant satisfaction was his, and the end was that
the gallant captain, whose romantic career in the New World seems like
a fairy tale, never again saw the scene of his conquests.


Wytfliet-Ptolemy Map of 1597. Wytfliet-Ptolemy Map of 1597.
From BANCROFT’S _History of Arizona and New Mexico_.


Mendoza, the new viceroy of New Spain, a man of fine character but
utterly without sympathy for Cortes, and who was instrumental in
bringing about his downfall, now determined on an expedition of great
magnitude: an expedition that should proceed by both land and water to
the wonderful Seven Cities of Cibola, believed to be rich beyond
computation. The negro Estevan had lately been sent back to the
marvelous northland he so glowingly described, guiding Marcos, the
Franciscan monk of Savoyard birth, who was to investigate carefully, as
far as possible, the glories recounted and speedily report. They were
in the north about the same time (summer of 1539) that Ulloa was
sailing up the Sea of Cortes. The negro, who had by arrangement
proceeded there some days in advance of Marcos, was killed at the first
Pueblo village, and Marcos, afraid of his life, and before he had seen
anything of the wonderful cities except a frightened glimpse from a
distant hill, beat a precipitate retreat to New Galicia, the province
just north of New Spain, and of which Francis Vasquez de Coronado had
recently been made governor. Here he astonished Coronado with a
description of the vast wealth and beauty of the Seven Cities of
Cibola, a description that does credit to his powers of imagination.
Coronado lost no time in accompanying Marcos to Mexico, where a
conference with Mendoza resulted in the promotion of the monk, and the
immediate organisation of the great expedition mentioned. Coronado was
made general of the land forces, and Hernando de Alarçon was placed in
charge of the ships. Having a land march to make Coronado, started in
February, 1540, while Alarçon sailed in May. Coronado proceeded to San
Miguel de Culiacan, the last settlement toward the north, near the
coast, whence he took a direction slightly east of north.


The Ancient Ruin on the Cliff. The Ancient Ruin on the Cliff.
Glen Canyon.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Geol. Survey.


Alarçon, with his ships the _San Pedro_ and the _Santa Catalina_, laid
a course for the haven of Sant Iago. They were caught in a severe storm
which so greatly frightened the men on the _Santa Catalina_, “more
afraid than was need,” remarks Alarçon, that they cast overboard nine
pieces of ordnance, two anchors, one cable, and “many other things as
needful for the enterprise wherein we went as the ship itself.” At Sant
Iago he repaired his losses, took on stores and some members of his
company, and sailed for Aguaiauall, the seaport of San Miguel de
Culiacan, where Coronado was to turn his back on the outposts of
civilisation. The general had already gone when Alarçon arrived, but
they expected to hold communication with each other, if not actually to
meet, farther on; and it seems from this that they must have felt
confidence in finding a river by which Alarçon might sail into the
interior. As early as 1531 there were vague reports of a large river,
the mouth of which was closed by the Amerinds living there by means of
a huge cable stretched across from side to side. There may also have
been other rumours of a large river besides the surmises of the Ulloa
party. At any rate, Alarçon and Coronado fully expected to be in touch
much of the time. This expectation appears absurd to us now when we
understand the geography, but there was nothing out of the way about
the supposition at that time. As it happened, the two divisions never
met, nor were they able to communicate even once. So far as rendering
Coronado any assistance was concerned, Alarçon might as well have been
on the coast of Africa. The farther they proceeded the farther apart
they were, but Alarçon kept a constant and faithful lookout for the
other party the whole time, never losing an opportunity to inquire its
whereabouts.


Western Part United States. Western Part United States.
Relief map by E.E. HOWELL.



Gulf of Calfornia at the Mouth of the Colorado. Gulf of Calfornia at
the Mouth of the Colorado.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


Coronado had left a well-provisioned ship, the _San Gabriel_, at
Aguaiauall, for Alarçon to bring along. These supplies were for the use
of the army when the two parties should meet in the north from time to
time. Alarçon added the vessel to his fleet and proceeded along up the
coast, keeping as near the land as the water would permit, and
constantly on the lookout for signals from the other party, or for
Amerinds who might be able to give information concerning the position
of the general. Thus, at last, he came to the very head of the gulf
where Ulloa had wondered at the rush of waters and had turned away
without investigation. “And when we were come,” he says, “to the flats
and shoals from whence the aforesaid fleet returned, it seemed to me,
as to the rest, that we had the firm land before us, and that those
shoals were so perilous and fearful that it was a thing to be
considered whether with our skiffs we could enter in among them: and
the pilots and the rest of the company would have had us do as Captain
Ulloa did, and have returned back again.” But Alarçon was not of a
retreating disposition; the fierce Colorado had now met its first
conqueror. It must be remembered, for Ulloa’s sake, that there was not
the same incentive for him to risk his ships and the lives of his men
in an attempt to examine the shoals and currents of this dangerous
place. Alarçon was looking for and expecting to meet Coronado at any
time. He knew that Coronado was depending on the supplies carried by
the San Gabriel, and it would have been rank cowardice on the part of
Alarçon to have backed out at the first difficulty. But he had no
intention of retiring from the contest, for he says:

“But because your Lordship commanded me that I should bring you the
secret of that gulf, I resolved that although I had known I should have
lost the ships, I would not have ceased for anything to have seen the
head thereof, and therefore I commanded Nicolas Zamorano, Pilot Major,
and Dominico del Castello that each of them should take a boat, and
lead in their hands, and run in among those shoals, to see if they
could find out a channel whereby the ships might enter in; to whom it
seemed that the ships might sail up higher (although with great travail
and danger), and in this sort I and he began to follow our way which
they had taken, and within a short while after we found ourselves fast
on the sands with all our three ships, in such sort that one could not
help another, neither could the boats succour us because the current
was so great that it was impossible for one of us to come to another.
Whereupon we were in such great jeopardy that the deck of the Admiral
was oftentimes under water; and if a great surge of the sea had not
come and driven our ship right up and gave her leave, as it were, to
breathe awhile, we had there been drowned; and likewise the other two
ships found themselves in very great hazard, yet because they were
lesser and drew less water their danger was not so great as ours. Now
it pleased God upon the return of the flood that the ships came on
float, and so we went forward. And although the company would have
returned back, yet for all this I determined to go forward and to
pursue our attempted voyage. And we passed forward with much ado,
turning our stems now this way, now that way, to seek and find the
channel. And it pleased God that after this sort we came to the very
bottom of the bay, where we found a very mighty river, which ran with
so great fury of a stream, that we could hardly sail against it.”


Alarçon’s Ships Struggling With the Great Bore of the Colorado—1540.
Alarçon’s Ships Struggling With the Great Bore of the Colorado—1540.
Drawing by  F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Here, then, began the acquaintance between the European and the river
now known as the Colorado of the West. The experience of Alarçon was
immediately typical of much that was to follow in the centuries of
endeavour to arrive at an intimate knowledge of this savage torrent.








CHAPTER II.


The Unknown River—Alarçon Ascends it Eighty-five Leagues and Names it
the Rio de Buena Guia—Melchior Diaz Arrives at its Banks Later and
Calls it the Rio del Tizon—Cardenas Discovers the Grand Canyon.


Having triumphed over the fierce tidal bore which renders the mouth of
the Colorado dangerous, Alarçon secured a safe anchorage for his
vessels and began immediate preparations for following up the river
into the distant interior, both to gain a knowledge of it and to seek
for information of the position of Coronado. Leaving one of his small
boats for the use of those who remained in charge of the ships, he took
the other two, and, placing in them some light cannon, prepared them as
well as he could for any emergency that might be encountered. His party
consisted of twenty soldiers, sailors, and helpers, besides his
treasurer, Rodrigo Maldonado, and Gaspar de Castilleia, comptroller.
Alarçon possessed the qualities of a successful explorer. He was bold
yet cautious, determined but not reckless, with safe judgment and quick
adaptability. His first command was that, no matter what happened in
case of meeting with natives, all his company were to remain silent and
inactive. With this wise provision, which kept the control in his own
hands, the party left the ships behind on Thursday, August 26th[1]
(1540), apparently the same day as the arrival. The current was so
strong that the men were obliged to tow the boats from the bank,
rendering progress slow and difficult, but nevertheless they were able,
before night and fatigue compelled a halt, to advance about six
leagues. Though constantly on the lookout for natives in the wide
barren stretches of lowland on each side of the river, none were seen
till early next morning, when, soon after starting, a number of huts
were discovered near the river bank. The occupants rushed forth in
great excitement at the sudden appearance of these singular-looking
people in their equally singular boats, and no wonder! Years and the
ages had slipped away and never yet had any people but their own kind
appeared on their horizon. Opposition was the natural impulse, and they
signed for the Spaniards to go back, threatening attack. The effect of
this on Alarçon was a command to anchor the boats out of reach in the
middle of the river, though the rapidly augmenting numbers of the
people on the shore soon inspired the others of the expedition with a
desire to beat a retreat towards the ships. Alarçon, however, was not
of this mind. The natives were, of course, armed only with the
bow-and-arrow and similar primitive weapons, while the Spaniards,
though few in number, possessed the advantage of firearms, of which the
natives had no comprehension whatever. The interpreter, being a native
from down the coast, understood not a word of this language, but the
presence among the strangers of one of their own kind somewhat pacified
the natives, and Alarçon did all he could by signs to express his
peaceful intentions, throwing his arms to the bottom of the boat and
putting his foot on them, at the same time ordering the boats to be
placed nearer shore. After much manoeuvring they finally brought about
some trifling intercourse and then proceeded up the river, the natives
following along the shore. Repeatedly they signalled for the Spaniards
to land, but Alarçon, fearful of treachery, declined, and spent the
night in the middle of the stream. Nor was the appearance of the
natives reassuring, for they had their faces hideously painted, some
all over and others only half, while still others carried painted masks
before them. In their nostrils they wore pendants, and their ears were
pierced with holes wherein they hung bones and shells. Their only
clothing was a sort of girdle around the waist.

 [1] Hakluyt gives “25th,” but it is a misprint, as this Thursday in
 1540 was the 26th.


Native Ladies of the Colorado. Native Ladies of the Colorado.



Freaks of Erosion. Freaks of Erosion.


Gradually, intercourse increased, and presents of trinkets seemed to
incline all the natives in Alarçon’s favour. At length he discovered
that they reverenced the sun, and without compunction he proclaimed
that he came from that orb. This deception served him well. Henceforth
no service was too great for the natives to perform for these sacred
beings. Everything was placed at their disposal. Alarçon’s word was
their law. They relieved the men entirely of the wearisome task of
towing the boats, striving with each other for the privilege. Without
this help it would have been impossible for Alarçon to have proceeded
far up the river, and he fully appreciated this, though the chief
reward bestowed on the helpers and all the natives was crosses made of
sticks and of paper. These, he informed them by signs, were precious,
and he distributed them in large numbers. The morning after he
proclaimed himself as coming from the sun, many swam out to where the
boat was anchored, contending for the privilege of securing the rope
with which the boat was towed. “And we gave it to them,” says Alarçon,
“with a good will, thanking God for the good provision which He gave us
to go up the river.”


One of the Cocopa Giants. One of the Cocopa Giants. Height, 6 feet, 4
inches.
The costume in early days was “nothing.”
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


The interpreter frequently addressed the natives as he went forward,
and at last, on Tuesday night, a man was discovered who understood him.
This man was taken into the boat, and Alarçon, always true his trust,
asked him whether he had seen or heard of any people in the country
like himself, hoping to secure some clue to Coronado. “He answered me
no, saying that he had some time heard of old men that very far from
that country, there were other white men, and with beards like us, and
that he knew nothing else. I asked him also whether he knew a place
called Cibola and a river called Totonteac, and he answered me no.”


Komohoats. Komohoats.
A Pay Ute Boy—S.W. Nevada.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Sur.


Coronado meanwhile had arrived at Cibola on July 7th (or 10th) and had
therefore been among the villages of the Rio Grande del Norte nearly
two months. The route to these towns from the lower Colorado, that is,
by the great intertribal highway of southern Arizona, followed the Gila
River, destined afterwards to be traversed by the wandering trappers,
by the weary gold-seeker bound for California, and finally, for a
considerable distance, by the steam locomotive. But it was an unknown
quantity at the time of Alarçon’s visit, so far as white men were
concerned. Farther up, Alarçon met with another man who understood his
interpreter, and this man said he had been to Cibola, or Cevola,[2] as
Alarçon writes it, and that it was a month’s journey, “by a path that
went along that river.” Alarçon must now have been about at the mouth
of the Gila, and the river referred to was, of course, the Gila. This
man described the towns of Cibola as all who had seen them described
them; that is, large towns of three- or four-storey houses, with
windows on the sides,[3] and encompassed by walls some seven or eight
feet in height. The pueblos of the Rio Grande valley were well known in
every direction and for long distances. The Apaches, harassing the
villagers on every side, and having themselves a wide range, alone
carried the knowledge of them to the four winds. In every tribe, too,
there are born travellers who constantly visit distant regions,
bringing back detailed descriptions of their adventures and the sights
beheld, with which to regale an admiring crowd during the winter
evenings. Their descriptions are usually fairly accurate from the
standpoint of their own understanding. In this case the native gave a
good description of the Cibola towns, and the Tusayan people had
meanwhile given Cardenas a description of these very natives on the
lower Colorado. A day or two later Alarçon received further information
of Cibola, and this informant told about a chief who had four green
earthen plates like Alarçon’s, except in color, and also a dog like
Alarçon’s, as well as other things, which a black man had brought into
the country. This black man was Estevan, who had been killed about a
year before. The news of this man and his execution had travelled
rapidly, showing frequent intercourse with the pueblos beyond the
mountains. Still farther on he met another man who had been at Cibola,
and who also told him of a great river in which there were crocodiles.
This was the Mississippi, of course, and the crocodiles were
alligators. As Alarçon had never seen an alligator he took the
description to mean crocodile. A little farther and he heard of the
negro Estevan again and the reason why the Cibolans had killed him,
which was to prevent the Spaniards, whom he described, from finding
their way into the Cibola country. This man also described the bison
and a people who lived in painted tents in summer and in winter in
houses of wood two or three storeys high. And thus the expedition
continued up the river, inquiring as they went on all subjects. On
September 6th the old man who had been a particular friend and
interpreter was called on shore by the natives, and there was
immediately an animated discussion which Alarçon discovered related to
himself. Information had come from Cibola that there were there men
like these Spaniards who said they were Christians. These had been
warlike, and it was proposed to kill all of Alarçon’s party to prevent
the others from gaining a knowledge of this country. But the old man
declared Alarçon to be the son of the sun and took his part. Finally it
was decided to ask him whether he were a Christian or the son of the
sun. Alarçon pretended great wonder at men like himself being at
Cibola, but they assured him it was true, as two men who had come from
there reported that they had beards and guns and swords just the same.
Alarçon still insisted that he was the son of the sun. They said the
men at Cibola said the same, to which Alarçon replied that it might
well be, and if so they need have no fear, for the sons of the sun
would be his brothers and would treat them as he had done. This seemed
to pacify them. He inquired now how far it was to Cibola, and they
answered ten days through an uninhabited country, with no account of
the rest of the way because it was inhabited.

 [2] The old Spaniards used “v” and “b” interchangeably, so that Cibola
 and Cevola would be pronounced the same. Other letters were used in
 the same loose way.


 [3] Windows on the sides of the houses, _not_ of the _walls_, as one
 writer has put it. The villages of the lower part of New Mexico had
 these walls of circumvallation, but to the northward such walls appear
 to have been rare.


Professor McGee and a Group of Cocopas. Professor McGee and a Group of
Cocopas.
Originally the Cocopas wore no clothing.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


Alarçon was now more than ever desirous of informing Coronado of his
whereabouts, and tried to persuade some of his men to go to Cibola with
a message, promising fine rewards. Only one, a negro slave, and he with
reluctance, offered to attempt the journey. Alarçon tried to get the
old man to give him guides and provisions, but without success, as the
old man seemed to desire to induce Alarçon to help them fight their
battles with the Cumanas, saying, if he would end this war, he could
have their company to Cibola. Alarçon was determined to go, and sent a
man back to the ships to inform those there of his purpose, but he
changed his mind soon after, concluding to go to the ships himself and
return, leaving there his sick, and rearranging his company. The man
who had been sent to the ships overland was overtaken and brought back
by the natives, but was obliged to remain with them till Alarçon came
up again. The descent from here was made in two and a half days, though
it had taken fifteen to come up. Arriving at the ships all was found to
have gone well except a few minor accidents, and, directing repairs to
be made, Alarçon turned about and started up-river once more, first
calling the whole company together, telling them what he had learned of
Cibola, and that, as Coronado might now have been informed by natives
of his presence, he hoped to find means of reaching him. There was much
objection to this plan, but he proceeded to carry it out, taking all
three boats this time, loaded with “wares of exchange, with corn and
other seeds, with hens and cocks of Castile.” This region he called the
Province of Campanna de la Cruz, and he left orders for the building of
an oratory or chapel to be named the Chapel of Our Lady de la Buena
Guia. The river he called the Rio de Buena Guia (good guidance) from
the motto on the viceroy Mendoza’s coat of arms. It was Tuesday, the
14th of September, when he started, taking with him Nicolas Zamorano,
chief pilot, to record the latitudes. He soon arrived again among the
Quicomas,[4] and then among the Coamas, where he found his man who had
been left behind on the first trip. This man had been so well treated
that he was entirely content to remain till the party should come back
down the river. This was the highest point reached on the first visit.
Everywhere the people were treasuring the crosses which had been given
them, kneeling before them at sunrise. Alarçon kept on up the river
till he “entered between certain very high mountains, through which
this river passeth with a straight channel, and the boats went up
against the stream very hardly for want of men to draw the same.” From
this it may be inferred that the Coamas did not strive with each other
for the privilege of towing the boats of these children of the sun as
those below had done. Now an enchanter from the Cumanas tried to
destroy the party by setting magic reeds in the water on both sides,
but the spell failed and the explorers went on to the home of the old
man who had been so good a friend and guide to them. At this, Alarçon’s
farthest point, he caused a very high cross to be erected, on which
words were carved to the effect that he had reached the place, so that
if Coronado’s men chanced to come that way they might see it. Nothing
is said about burying letters, yet Diaz later mentions finding letters
buried at the foot of a tree, apparently nearer the sea. Deciding that
he could not at this time accomplish his purpose of opening
communication with the army, Alarçon concluded to return to the ships,
but with the intention of trying once more. The second day after
starting down he arrived at the place where the Spaniard had remained.
He told him that he had gone “above thirty leagues into the country”
beyond. It had taken him, before, two and a half days to reach the
river mouth from here, so that it seems he was about four days going
down from his farthest point. Roughly estimating his progress at six
miles an hour for twelve hours a day, in four days the distance covered
would be about 288 miles. He says he went up eighty-five leagues (this
would be fifty-five the first time and thirty more the second), which,
counting in Mexican leagues of two and three quarter miles each, gives
a distance of 233¾ miles, or about one hundred miles above the mouth of
the Gila. This stream he does not mention. He may have taken it for a
mere bayou, but it appears to be certain that he passed beyond it. He
says Ulloa was mistaken by two degrees as to his northernmost point,
and that he sailed four degrees beyond him. The meaning of this may be
that he went four degrees beyond Ulloa’s false reckoning, or actually
two degrees above the shoals where Ulloa turned back. This would take
him to the 34th parallel, and would coincide with his eighty-five
leagues, and also with the position of the first mountains met with in
going up the river, the Chocolate range. Alarçon was not so
inexperienced that he would have represented eighty-five leagues on the
course of the river as equalling four degrees of latitude. Had he gone
to the 36th degree he would have passed through Black Canyon, and this
is so extraordinary a feature that he could not have failed to note it
specially. When Alarçon arrived at the ships again, he evidently had
strong reason for abandoning his intention of returning for another
attempt to communicate with Coronado, and he set sail for home. Another
document says the torredo was destroying the ships, and this is very
probable. He coasted down the gulf, landing frequently, and going long
distances into the interior searching for news of Coronado, but he
learned nothing beyond what he heard on the river.

 [4] The tribes and bands spoken of by Alarçon cannot be identified,
 but these Quicomas, or Quicamas, were doubtless the same as the
 Quiquimas mentioned by Kino, 1701, and Garces, 1775. They were
 probably of Yuman stock. The Cumanas were possibly Mohaves.


The Colorado at the Junction of the Gila. The Colorado at the Junction
of the Gila.
Looking up stream, Gila right hand lower corner. Colorado about 500
yards wide.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


While he was striving to find a way of reaching the main body of the
expedition, which during this time was complacently robbing the
Puebloans on the Rio Grande, two officers of that expedition were
marching through the wilderness endeavouring to find him, and a third
was travelling toward the Grand Canyon. One of these was Don Rodrigo
Maldonado, thus bearing exactly the same name as one of Alarçon’s
officers; another was Captain Melchior Diaz, and the third Don Lopez de
Cardenas, who distinguished himself on the Rio Grande by particular
brutality toward the villagers. Don Rodrigo went in search of the ships
down the river to the coast from the valley of Corazones, but obtained
no information of them, though he met with giant natives and brought
back with him one very tall man as a specimen. The main army of
Coronado had not yet gone from this valley of Corazones, where the
settlement called San Hieronimo had been established, and the best man
in it reached only to the chest of this native giant.


An Arizona Landscape. An Arizona Landscape.
There are Navajo Gardens at the bottom of this canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


The army moved on to another valley, where a halt was made to await
orders from the general. At length, about the middle of September,
Melchior Diaz came back from Cibola, with dispatches, accompanied by
Juan Gallegos, who bore a message for the viceroy. In their company
also was the miserable Friar Marcos, pursuing his dismal return to New
Spain by direction of the general, who considered it unsafe for him to
remain with the army now that the glorious bubble of his imagination
had been exploded. Melchior Diaz was an excellent officer, and already
had an experience in this northern region extending over some four
years. It was he, also, who had been sent, the previous November, as
far as the place called Chichilticalli, in an attempt to verify the
friar’s tale, and had reported that the natives were good for nothing
except to make into Christians. The main army, which was in command of
Don Tristan de Arellano, in accordance with the orders received from
Coronado, now advanced toward Cibola. Maldonado, who had been to the
coast, went with it. Diaz retained eighty men, part of whom were to
defend the settlement of San Hieronimo, and twenty-five were to
accompany him on his expedition in search of Alarçon. He started north
and then went west, following native guides for 150 leagues (412½
miles) in all, and at length reached a country inhabited by giant
natives who, in order to keep warm in the chill autumn air, carried
about with them a firebrand. From this circumstance, Diaz called the
large river he found here the Rio del Tizon. This was the Buena Guia of
Alarçon. The natives were prodigiously strong, one man being able to
lift and carry with ease on his head a heavy log which six of the
soldiers could not transport to the camp. Here Diaz heard that boats
had come up the river to a point three days’ journey below, and he went
there to find out about it, doubtless expecting to get on the track of
Alarçon. But the latter had departed from the mouth of the river at
least two or three weeks before; one writer says two months.[5] The
same writer states that Diaz reached the river thirty leagues above the
mouth, and that Alarçon went as far again above. This coincides very
well with Alarçon’s estimate of eighty-five leagues, for Diaz did not
follow the windings of the stream as Alarçon was forced to do with his
boats. At the place down the river, Diaz found a tree bearing an
inscription: “Alarçon reached this point; there are letters at the foot
of this tree.” Alarçon does not, as before noted, mention burying
letters, and these were found at the foot of a tree, so that Diaz
evidently failed to reach the cross erected at Alarçon’s highest point.

 [5] _Relacion del Suceso_. Alarçon must have reached his highest point
 about October 5th or 6th, and the ships on the return about the 10th.
 Diaz probably arrived at the river about November 1st.


Cocopa Tule Raft. Cocopa Tule Raft.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


Diaz now proceeded up the river again, looking for a place where he
could safely cross to explore the country on the opposite side. After
ascending from the spot where he found the letters for five or six
days, he concluded they could cross by means of rafts. In the
construction of these rafts he invited the help of the natives of the
neighbourhood. He was probably up near the Chocolate Mountains and the
Cumanas, who were hostile to Alarçon, and whose sorcerer had attempted
to destroy him by means of the magic reeds. They had been merely
waiting for an opportunity to attack Diaz, and they perceived their
chance in this assistance in crossing the river. They readily agreed to
help make the rafts, and even to assist in the crossing. But while the
work was in progress a soldier who had gone out from the camp was
surprised to observe a large number of them stealing off to a mountain
on the other side. When he reported this, Diaz caused one of the
natives to be secured, without the others being aware of it. He was
tortured till he confessed that the plan was to begin the attack when
some of the Spaniards were across the river, some in the water, and the
others on the near bank. Thus separated they believed they could easily
be destroyed. The native, as a reward for this valuable confession, was
secretly killed, and that night, with a heavy weight tied to him, was
cast into the deep water. But the others evidently suspected the trick,
for the next day they showered arrows upon the camp. The Spaniards
pursued them and by means of their superior arms soon drove them into
the mountains. Diaz was then able to cross without molestation, his
faithful Amerind allies of another tribe assisting.

Alarçon had conveyed in his letters the nature of the gulf and coast,
so Diaz struck westward to see what he could find in that direction.
The country was desolate and forbidding, in places the sand being like
hot ashes and the earth trembling. Four days of this satisfied them,
and the captain concluded to return to San Hieronimo. The subsequent
fate of Diaz is another illustration of how a man may go the world
round, escaping many great dangers, and then be annihilated by a simple
accident that would seem impossible. A dog belonging to the camp
pursued the little flock of sheep that had been driven along to supply
the men with meat, and Diaz on his horse dashed toward it, at the same
time hurling a spear. The spear stuck up in the ground instead of
striking the dog, and the butt penetrated the captain’s abdomen,
inflicting, under the conditions, a mortal wound. The men could do
nothing for him except to carry him along, which for twenty days they
did, fighting hostile natives all the time. Then he died. On the 18th
of January they arrived without their leader at the settlement from
which they had started some three months before.

Cardenas with twelve men had meanwhile gone from Cibola to a place
called Tusayan, or Tucano, situated some twenty or twenty-five leagues
north-westerly from Cibola, from whence he was to strike out toward the
great river these natives had described to Don Pedro de Tobar, who
recently had paid them a visit, and incidentally shot a few of them to
invite submission. Cardenas was kindly received by the people of
Tusayan, who readily supplied him with guides. Having lived in the
country for centuries, they of course knew it and the many trails very
well. They knew the highway down the Gila to the Colorado, and they
told Cardenas about the tall natives living in the lower part of it,
the same whom Alarçon and Diaz had met. In the direction in which
Cardenas was to go they said it was twenty days’ journey through an
unpopulated country, when people would again be met with. After the
party had travelled for twenty days they arrived at a great canyon of
the Colorado River, apparently not having met with the people
mentioned. If Cardenas started from the Moki towns, as has generally
been believed, where would he have arrived by a journey of twenty days,
when an able-bodied man can easily walk to the brink of Marble Canyon
from there in three or four days? Why did the guides, if they belonged
in the Moki towns, conduct Cardenas so far to show him a river which
was so near? The solution seems to be that he started from some
locality other than the present Moki towns. That is to say, there has
been an error, and these Moki towns are not Tusayan. Where Cardenas
reached the great canyon the river came from the _north-east_ and
turned to the _south-south-west_. There are but two places where the
canyoned river in Arizona conforms to this course, one at Lee’s Ferry,
and the other the stretch from Diamond Creek to the Kanab Canyon. The
walls being low at Lee’s Ferry, that locality may be excluded, for
where Cardenas first looked into the canyon it was so deep that the
river appeared like a brook, though the natives declared it to be half
a league wide. Three of the most agile men, after the party had
followed along the rim for three days hunting for a favourable place,
tried to descend to the water, but were unable to go more than
one-third of the way. Yet from the place they reached, the stream
looked very large, and buttes that from above seemed no higher than a
man were found to be taller than the great tower of Seville. There can
be no doubt that this was the gorge we now call the Grand Canyon. No
other answers the description. Cardenas said the width at the top, that
is, the “outer” gorge with its broken edge, was three or four leagues
or more in an air line.[6] This is the case at both great bends of the
river. The point he reached has usually been put, without definite
reason, at about opposite Bright Angel River, say near the letter “L”
of the word “Colorado” on the relief map, page 41 _op_., but here the
river comes from the _south-east_ and turns to the _north-west_,
directly the reverse of what Cardenas observed. The actual place then
must have been about midway of the stretch referred to, that is, near
the letter “A” of the word “Cañon” on the relief map. Where he started
from to arrive at this part of the canyon cannot be discussed here for
want of space, but the writer believes the place was some three hundred
miles south-east, say near Four Peaks on the new Mexican line.[7]
Cardenas was, therefore, guided along the southerly edge of the great
Colorado Plateau, through the superb Coconino Forest, where he had
wood, water, and grass in abundance. The locality he reached was very
dry, and they were obliged to go each night a long distance back from
the brink to procure water. For this reason, Cardenas gave up trying to
follow the canyon, and returned again, by way of Tusayan, to Cibola,
passing on the way a waterfall, which possibly was in the Havasupai
(Cataract) Canyon. Castañeda, the chief chronicler of the Coronado
expedition, says the river Cardenas found was the Tizon, “much nearer
its source than where Melchior Diaz crossed it,” thus showing that its
identity was well surmised, if not understood, at that time. Nothing,
however, was known of its upper course; at least there is no evidence
of any such knowledge, though the natives had doubtless given the
Spaniards some information regarding it. The special record of the
Cardenas expedition was kept by one Pedro de Sotomayor, but it has
apparently never been seen in modern times. It is probably in the
archives of Spain or Mexico, and its discovery would throw needed light
on the location of Tusayan and the course Cardenas followed.[8] The
distance of this whole region from a convenient base of supplies, and
its repellent character, prevented further operations at this period,
and when these explorers traced their disappointed way homeward, the
Colorado was not seen again by white men for over half a century; and
it was more than two hundred years before European eyes again looked
upon the Grand Canyon.

 [6] “A las barrancas del rio que puestos a el bado [lado?] de ellas
 parecia al otro bordo que auia mas de tres o quatro leguas por el
 ayre.”—Castañeda, in Winship’s monograph. Fourteenth Ann. Rep. Bureau
 of Ethnology, p. 429.


 [7] For the author’s views on Coronado’s route see the Bulletin of the
 American Geographical Society, December, 1897. Those views have been
 confirmed by later study, the only change being the shifting of Cibola
 from the Florida Mountains north-westerly to the region of the Gila.
 See map p. 115, Breaking the Wilderness.


 [8] It may be noted here with reference to the location of Cibola,
 Tiguex, Tusayan, etc., that too much heretofore has been _assumed_.
 The explanations presented are often very lame and unsatisfactory when
 critically examined. So many writers are now committed to the errors,
 on this subject that it will be a hard matter to arrive at the truth.


The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Hotel. The Grand Canyon from Bright
Angel Hotel.
12 miles to opposite rim.
Total depth here between 5000 and 6000 feet.
Photograph by HALL.


Coronado proceeded eastward to about the western line of Missouri, and,
finding colonisation anywhere in the regions visited out of the
question, he returned in 1542 to Mexico, with his entire army excepting
a couple of padres.






CHAPTER III.


The Grand Canyon—Character of the Colorado River—The Water-Gods;
Erosion and Corrosion—The Natives and their Highways—The “Green River
Valley” of the Old Trappers—The Strange Vegetation and Some Singular
Animals.


The stupendous chasm known as the Grand Canyon, discovered by Cardenas
in the autumn of 1540, is the most remarkable feature of this
extraordinary river, and at the same time is one of the marvels of the
world. Though discovered so long ago that we make friends with the
conquistadores when we approach its history, it remained, with the
other canyons of the river, a problem for 329 years thereafter, that
is, till 1869. Discovery does not mean knowledge, and knowledge does
not mean publicity. In the case of this gorge, with its immense length
and countless tributary chasms, the view Cardenas obtained was akin to
a dog’s discovery of the moon. It has practically been several times
re-discovered. Indeed, each person who first looks into the abyss has a
sensation of being a discoverer, for the scene is so weird and lonely
and so incomprehensible in its novelty that one feels that it could
never have been viewed before. And it _is_ rather a discovery for each
individual, because no amount of verbal or pictorial description can
ever fully prepare the spectator for, the sublime reality. Even when
one becomes familiar with the incomparable spectacle it never ceases to
astonish. A recent writer has well said: “The sublimity of the Pyramids
is endurable, but at the rim of the Grand Canyon we feel outdone.”[1]
Outdone is exactly the right word. Nowhere else can man’s
insignificance be so burned into his soul as here, where his ingenuity
and power count for naught.

 [1] Harriet Monroe, _Atlantic Monthly_, June, 1902.


The Grand-Marble Canyon Region. The Grand-Marble Canyon Region.
Scale about 30 miles to the inch.
This is not as accurate as the map opposite page 41, but is given as an
aid to the understanding of that. Compare also map on page 12.


Cardenas, after all, was only one of the discoverers. He was merely the
first _white_ man who saw it. When was it that the first _man_ recoiled
from the edge of that then actually unknown masterpiece of the
Water-gods, who so persistently plied their tools in the forgotten
ages? He was the real discoverer and he will never be known. As applied
to new countries—new to our race—the term “unknown” is relative. Each
fresh explorer considers his the deed that shall permanently be
recorded, no matter who has gone before, and the Patties and the
Jedediah Smiths are forgotten. In these later years some who have dared
the terrors of the merciless river in the Grand Canyon spoke of it as
the “Great Unknown,” forgetting the deed of Powell; and when Lieutenant
Wheeler laboriously succeeded in dragging his boats up to the mouth of
Diamond Creek, he said: “_Now_ the exploration is completed.” _He_
forgot the deed of Powell. A recent writer mentions the north-western
corner of Arizona as a “mysterious wilderness.”[2] He forgot that it
was thoroughly explored years ago. Wilderness it may be, if that means
sparsely settled, but mysterious?—no. It is all known and on record.

 [2] Ray Stannard Baker, _Century Magazine_, May, 1902.


The Work of Erosion. The Work of Erosion.
The Witch of Endor and Cerberus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



The Work of Corrasion. The Work of Corrasion.
Paranuweap Canyon of the Virgen River, Southern Utah. 20 to 30 feet
wide and 1500 feet deep and 18 miles long.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


The Grand Canyon may be likened to an inverted mountain range. Imagine
a great mountain chain cast upside down in plaster. Then all the former
ridges and spurs of the range become tributary canyons and gulches
running back twenty or thirty miles into the surrounding country,
growing shallower and shallower as the distance increases from the
central core, just as the great spurs and ridges of a mountain range,
descending, melt finally into the plain. Often there are parts where
the central gorge is narrow and precipitous, just as a mountain range
frequently possesses mighty precipices. But it is an error to think of
great canyons as mere slits in the ground, dark and gloomy, like a deep
well from whose depths stars may be sighted at midday. Minor canyons
sometimes approach this character, as, for example, the canyon of the
upper Virgen, called Parunuweap, fifteen hundred feet deep and no more
than twenty to thirty feet wide, with vertical walls, but I have never
been in a canyon from which stars were visible in daylight, nor have I
ever known anyone who had. The light is about the same as that at the
bottom of a narrow street flanked by very high buildings. The walls may
sometimes be gloomy from their colour, or may seem so from the
circumstances under which one views them, but aside from the fact that
any deep, shut-in valley or canyon may become oppressive, there is
nothing specially gloomy about a deep canyon. The sun usually falls
more or less in every canyon, no matter how narrow or deep. It may fall
to the very bottom most of the day, or only for an hour or two,
depending on the trend of the canyon with reference to the sun’s
course. At the bottom of the Kanab where it joins the Grand, the
sunlight in November remains in the bottom just two hours, but outside
in the main gorge the time is very much longer.


The Grand Canyon and Terrace Plateau Region. The Grand Canyon and
Terrace Plateau Region.
This covers an area in Southern Utah and Northern Arizona 144 miles
square, containing more marvels than any other part of the globe of
equal extent. In the lower right-hand comer are the Yosemite Valley and
the Gorge of Niagara on the same scale. The scale of this reduction is
about 14 miles to one inch. The vertical and horizontal scales are the
same. The black ribbon on the left at Virgen and Beaver Dam Mountains
is to represent Archæan formation. The Shiwits Plateau and Uinkaret
Mts. are basaltic. The Kaibab and the Colorado Plateau are
Carboniferous. Paria Plateau and Vermilion Cliffs are Triassic. The
Markagunt and Paunsagunt Plateaus are Tertiary. Cardenas reached the
canyon about at letter “A” of the word “Cañon.” Tourists now come to
the river about half way between the letters “L” and “O” of the word
“Colorado.” The largest settlement is the charming little Mormon city
of St. George, on the Virgen, north of the letter “A” of the word
“Arizona.” Grand and Marble Canyons form a continuous gorge about 300
miles long, a complete barrier to travel for this distance as its walls
are precipitous and reach a height of between 5000 and 6000 feet—4000
being about the average. The lowest portion is toward Lee’s Ferry,
upper right-hand side of the map, where the walls begin at a couple of
hundred feet and rise very rapidly, the river cutting down also. The
relief map from which this photograph was made was modelled by E.E.
HOWELL for the U.S. Geological Survey and is 6 x 6 feet.


The walls of a great canyon, and usually a small one, are terraced;
seldom are they wholly vertical for their entire height, though
occasionally they may approach this condition on one side or the other,
and more rarely on both sides at once, depending on the geological
formations of the locality. Owing to the immense height of the walls of
such canyons as those on the Colorado, the cliffs frequently appear
perpendicular when they are far from it, just as a mountain peak often
seems to tower over one’s head when in reality it may be a considerable
distance off. In the nature of the formation and development of
canyons, they could not long retain continuous vertical walls. What
Powell calls the “recession of cliffs” comes into play. The erosive and
corrasive power of water being the chief land sculptors, it is evident
that there will be a continual wearing down of the faces of the
bounding cliffs. The softer beds will be cut away faster than the
harder, and where these underlie the harder the latter will be
undermined and fall. Every canyon is always widening at its top and
sides, through the action of rain, frost, and wind, as well as
deepening through the action of its flowing stream. _Erosion_ is this
power which carves away the cliffs, and _corrasion_ the one which saws
at the bottom, the latter term, in geological nomenclature, meaning the
cutting power of running water.[3] This cutting power varies according
to the declivity and the amount of sediment carried in suspension. It
is plain that a stream having great declivity will be able to carry
more sediment than one having little, and in a barren country would
always be highly charged with sand, which would cut and scour the bed
of the channel like a grindstone. As Dutton says, a river cuts,
however, only its own width, the rest of a canyon being the “work of
the forces of erosion, the wind, frost, and rain.” That is why we have
canyons. The powers of erosion are far slower than those of corrasion,
especially in an arid region, because they are intermittent. Where
rocks take a polish, as in Marble Canyon, the scouring and polishing
work of corrasion is seen in the shining bright surface as far as the
water rises. This all belongs to the romance of the Water-gods, those
marvellous land sculptors.

 [3] The introduction of this subject may seem unnecessary to the
 general reader, but no just comprehension of this river can be reached
 without some knowledge of the forces creating its chasms.


The “Hole in the Wall,” near Ft. Defiance, Arizona. The “Hole in the
Wall,” near Ft. Defiance, Arizona.
This kind of sandstone has the peculiarity of weathering in this way,
sometimes producing larger arches, alcoves, etc.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.


To produce canyons like those of the Colorado, peculiar and unusual
conditions are necessary. There must exist a vast region lying high
above sea-level. This region must be arid. Out of it must rise
separated mountain masses to such heights that they shall be well
watered. These most elevated regions alone having abundant rain and
snowfall, torrential streams are generated and poured down upon the
arid wastes, where they persistently scour their beds, ploughing deep
channels below the level of their surroundings. The perpendicularity of
the walls of these channels, or canyons as they are called, depends on
the volume and continuity of the flowing stream, on the aridity of the
country through which they are cut, and on the rock-formation. A fierce
and continuous torrent, where the rainfall is at the minimum, will so
speedily outrival the forces of erosion that the canyon will have
vertical walls. An example is seen in those frequent “mud” canyons
found in arid regions, where some brook, having its source in
highlands, cuts a channel through clay or dry earth with vertical
sides, that stand for years. As long as the surface of the adjacent
lands is undisturbed, it acts like a roof, throwing off the water that
falls upon it into the main stream.[4] Thus the foundations of these
walls are not assailed from _behind_, which is their weakest point. If
the land surface is broken up, permitting the rains to soak in and
saturate the clay or earth, the whole mass becomes softened and will
speedily fall and slide out into the canyon.[5] The sides of all
canyons in an arid region are more or less protected in the same way.
That is, the rains fall suddenly, rarely continuously for any length of
time, and are collected and conducted away immediately, not having a
chance to enter the ground. Homogeneous sandstone preserves its
perpendicularity better than other rocks, one reason being that it does
not invite percolation, and usually offers, for a considerable distance
on each side of the canyon, barren and impervious surfaces to the
rains. Where strata rest on exposed softer beds, these are undermined
from the front, and in this way recession is brought about.

 [4] Just as wheat flour getting wet on the surface protects the
 portion below from dampness. The rainfall is often so slight, also,
 that a surface is unchanged for years. I once saw some wagon tracks
 that were made by our party _three_ years before. From peculiar
 circumstances I was able to identify them.


 [5] Robert Brewster Stanton explained this very clearly in his
 investigations for the Canadian Pacific Railway into the causes of
 land-slides on that line.


Looking down upon Glen Canyon. Looking down upon Glen Canyon.
Cut through homogeneous sandstone.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


In the basin of the Colorado are found in perfection all the
extraordinary conditions that are needed to bring forth mammoth
canyons. The headwaters of all the important tributaries are
_invariably in the highest regions_ and at a long distance from their
mouths, so that the flood waters have many miles of opportunity to run
a race with the comparatively feeble erosive forces of desert lands.
The main stream-courses are thus in the lower arid regions and in
sedimentary formations, while their water-supply comes from far away.
The deepest gorges, therefore, will be found where the rainfall is
least, unless diminishing altitude interferes. Thus the greatest gorge
of the whole basin, the Grand Canyon, is the one farthest from the
sources of supply, and in the driest area, but one, of the whole
drainage system. It ends abruptly with the termination of the high arid
plateau which made it possible, but had this plateau extended farther,
the Grand Canyon would also have extended a similar distance. It is
plain then that the cutting of these canyons depends on the amount of
water (snow is included) which may fall in the high mountains, the
canyons themselves being in the drier districts. It is also clear that
if, by some chance, the precipitation of the high sources should
increase, the corrasion of the stream-beds in the canyons would
likewise increase and outrun with still greater ease the erosion of
their immediate surroundings. On the other hand, if the precipitation
in the arid surroundings should increase, the wearing down of the side
walls would for a time—till covered by débris and vegetation—go on more
rapidly till, instead of Canyons of the Colorado River type, there
would be deep, sharp valleys, or wide valleys, according to the amount
of difference between the precipitation of the low lands and the high.
Where the two were nearly the same, that is, a balance of
precipitation,[6] the slopes might be rounded and verdure-clad, though
this would depend on the _amount_ of precipitation. On lower Snake
River a change seems to be going on. The former canyon-cliffs are
covered by débris and vegetation, but in places the old dry cliff-lines
can be discerned beneath like a skeleton. The precipitation there has
not been great enough to destroy the old lines—only enough to mask
them.

 [6] There could be a balance of precipitation and still very little
 snow- or rainfall, or they might be very great.


Pinnacle in the Canyon the Chelly. Pinnacle in the Canyon the Chelly.
About 1500 feet high. It is much wider from the side.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.



Bad Lands on Black’s Fork of Green River. Bad Lands on Black’s Fork of
Green River.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.


The “inner gorge” of the Grand Canyon appears to have been cut far more
rapidly than the outer one, and at a much later period; were this not
the case there would be no inner gorge. It is a singular fact that some
side canyons, the Kanab, for example, while now possessing no running
water, or at best a puny rivulet, and depending for their corrasion on
intermittent floods, meet on equal terms the great Colorado, the giant
that never for a second ceases its ferocious attack. Admitting that the
sharper declivity of the Kanab would enhance its power of corrasion,
nevertheless we should expect to see it approach the Grand Canyon by
leaps and bounds, like the Havasupai farther down, but, on the
contrary, there are parts that appear to be at a standstill in
corrasion, or even filling up, and its floor is a regular descent,
except for the last three or four miles where the canyon is clogged by
huge rocks that seem to have fallen from above. The maximum height of
its present flood-waters is about six feet, proved by a fern-covered
calcareous deposit, projecting some fifteen feet, caused by a spring
(Shower-Bath Spring) on the side of the wall, seven or eight miles
above the mouth, which is never permitted by the floods to build nearer
the floor of the canyon. A suspicion arises, on contemplating some of
these apparent discrepancies, that the prevailing conditions of
corrasion are not what they were at some earlier period, when they were
such that it was rendered more rapid and violent; that there was
perhaps an epoch when these deep-cut tributary canyons carried
perennial streams, and when the volume of the Colorado itself was many
times greater, possessing a multiplied corrasive power, while the
adjacent areas were about as arid as now. At such a time, perhaps, the
Colorado performed the main work of the inner gorge, the Kanab, and
similar affluents, their deep now rather evenly graded canyons. Such an
increase of volume, if we suppose the aridity to remain as now, could
have come about only by an increase of precipitation on the mountain
summits. During the Glacial Epoch, the Rocky Mountain summits were
considerably glaciated, the amount varying according to altitude and
latitude. The general topography of the Colorado River was about as it
is to-day, and the rainfall in the valleys probably nearly the same, or
at least only a little greater. In other words, the conditions were
those of to-day intensified. In summer, then, the amount of water
seeking outlet by these drainage channels to the sea was enormously
multiplied, and the corrasive power was correspondingly augmented. When
the ice caps finally began to permanently diminish, the summer floods
were doubtless terrific. The waters of the Colorado now rise in the
Grand Canyon, on the melting of the snows in the distant mountains,
from forty to one hundred feet; the rise must then have amounted to
from one hundred to four hundred or more. The Kanab heads in two very
high regions—the Pink Cliffs and the Kaibab. Though probably not high
enough to be heavily glaciated they were high enough to receive an
increased snowfall and to hold it, or a portion of it, over from one
year to another. Thus the canyons having their origin on these high
regions would be given perennial streams, with torrential floods each
summer, compared with which anything that now comes down the Kanab
would be a mere rivulet. The summit of the Kaibab is covered with
peculiar pocket-like basins having no apparent outlets. These were
possibly glacial sinks, conducting away some of the surplus water from
the melting snow and ice by subterranean channels. It seems probable,
therefore, that glacial flood-waters were an important factor in the
formation of the canyons of the Colorado. If this supposition is
correct it would account, at least in a measure, for that distinct
impression of arrested activity one receives from the present
conditions obtaining there.[7]

 [7] Some canyon floors, where there is no permanent large stream,
 appear to have altogether ceased descending. Dutton says of those
 which drain the Terrace Plateaus: “Many of them are actually filling
 up, the floods being unable to carry away all the sand and clay which
 the infrequent rains wash into them.”—_Tertiary History_, p. 50. See
 also pp. 196 and 228 _Ib_.


In Lower Kanab Canyon. In Lower Kanab Canyon.
Width about 75 feet, depth 2500 to 3000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.



The Pink Cliffs. The Pink Cliffs.
Southern end of High Plateaus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


The drainage at the edges of most canyons is back and away from the
gorge itself. The reason is that the rains cannot flow evenly over a
canyon brink, owing to irregularities of surface, and once an irregular
drainage is established, the water seeks the easiest road. A side
canyon is formed, draining a certain area. Another is formed elsewhere,
and another, and so on till all drainage is through these tributaries
and _away_ from the brink, by more or less circuitous channels to the
main stream. This backward drainage leaves the immediate brink, or
“rim,” till the last, in its work of erosion and corrasion, and the rim
consequently is left higher than the region away from it. This effect
of a backward drainage is very plain on both sides of the Grand Canyon,
though it is somewhat assisted, on the north at least, by the backward
dip of the strata. It may be modified by other conditions, so that it
would not always be the case.


Towers at Short Creek. Southern Utah. Towers at Short Creek. Southern
Utah.
This is a part of the great line of the Vermillion Cliffs. The region
here represented possesses some of the most magnificent scenery of the
whole West.
Outline drawing by W.H. HOLMES.





The basin of the Colorado, excepting that part below the mouth of the
Virgen and a portion among the “parks” of the western slope of the
Rocky Mountain range, is almost entirely a plateau region. Some of the
plateaus are very dry; others rise above the arid zone and are well
watered. The latter are called the “High Plateaus.” They reach an
altitude of eleven thousand feet above the sea. They are east of the
Great Basin, and with the other plateaus form an area called by Powell
“The Plateau Province.” Eastward still the plateaus merge into the
“parks.” The High Plateaus, as a topographical feature, are a southern
continuation of the Wasatch Mountains. They terminate on the south in
the Markagunt, the Paunsagunt, and the Aquarius Plateaus. The extreme
southern extremities of the two former are composed of mighty
precipices of columnarly eroded limestone called the Pink Cliffs. Here
is the beginning of the Terrace Plateaus, likewise bounded by vertical,
barren cliffs. Between the High Plateaus and the parks, the plateaus
may be called, for convenience, Mesa Plateaus, as they are generally
outlined by vertical cliffs. This is the case also south of the end of
the High Plateaus where, stepping down the great terraces, we arrive at
the region immediately adjacent to the Grand Canyon, composed of four
plateaus, three of them of mesa character, the Shewits, Uinkaret,
Kanab, and Kaibab; and up at the head of Marble Canyon a fifth, the
Paria, while still farther to the north-eastward is the Kaiparowitz.
The edges of these Mesa Plateaus, precipitous cliffs, stretch for many
miles across the arid land like mountain ranges split asunder. This
region, lying between the High Plateaus, the Grand Wash, the Henry
Mountains, and the Colorado, is perhaps the most fascinating of all the
basin. The relief map at page 41 gives the larger part of it. In the
basin there are also great mountain masses, the fountainheads of the
waters which have carved the canyons. These are Uinta, Zuñi, San
Francisco, Henry, Pine Valley, Uinkaret, Beaver Dam, Virgen, Navajo, La
Sal, and others, some reaching an altitude of more than twelve thousand
feet. The highest peaks of these, and of course those of the
Continental Divide on the east, which furnish a large proportion of the
water of the Colorado, and the Wind River Mountains on the extreme
north, have snow-banks throughout the summer. To show how dependent the
Colorado is on the high peaks for its flood-waters, I will mention that
it is not till the snows of these high altitudes are fiercely attacked
by the sun in May and June that the river has its annual great rise. It
would take only a slight lowering of the mean annual temperature now to
furnish these peaks with ice caps. The rainfall in the lower arid
regions is from three to ten inches, increasing northward to fifteen
and twenty-five. On the peaks, of course, it is much greater. Almost
any climate can be had, from the hot arid to the wet frigid. On the
lower stretches, from Mohave down, the thermometer in summer stands
around 112 degrees F. a great deal of the time, and reaches 118 degrees
F. Yet Dr. Coues said he felt it no more than he did the summer heat of
New York or Washington.[8] In winter the temperature at the bottom of
the Grand Canyon is very mild, and flowers bloom most of the time. One
November I descended from the snow-covered top of the Kaibab to the
Grand Canyon at the mouth of the Kanab, where I was able to bathe in
the open air with entire comfort.

 [8] I was at the Needles one summer for a brief time, and the air
 seemed very oppressive to me.


Gray’s Peak, 14,341 feet. Torrey’s Peak, 14,336 feet. Gray’s Peak,
14,341 feet. Torrey’s Peak, 14,336 feet.
Tip-top of the Continental Divide whence the Colorado derives flood
waters.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.



Balanced Rock. Balanced Rock.
On Trail from House Rock Valley to Lee’s Ferry.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.



Outline Sketch of the Grand Canyon from Point Sublime. Outline Sketch
of the Grand Canyon from Point Sublime.
Drawn by W.H. HOLMES.


There are six chief topographical features, canyons, cliffs, valleys,
mesa plateaus, high plateaus, mountains. There are two grand divisions:
the lowland or desert, below the Virgen, and the plateau, but the
topography of the immediate river course separates itself into four
parts, the Green River Valley, the canyon, the valley-canyon, and the
alluvial. The canyon part is the longest, occupying about two-thirds of
the whole, or about 1200 miles. It is cut mainly through the plateaus.
The last of these southward is the Colorado, a vast upheaval reaching
from the lower end of the Grand Canyon south-east to about where the
34th parallel crosses the western line of New Mexico. Lieutenant
Wheeler several times claims the honour of naming it (1868-71), but the
name occurs on Lieutenant Ives’s map of 1858. This plateau breaks
sharply along its south-west line to the lowland district, and on its
north-westerly edge slopes to the Little Colorado. It bears a noble
pine forest, and from its summit rise to over 12,000 feet the volcanic
peaks of the San Francisco Mountains. Its northern edge is the Grand
Canyon, which separates it from its kindred on the other side. These
and the Colorado Plateau rise to from 6000 to 8000 feet above
sea-level, and it is through this huge mass that the river has ground
out the Grand Canyon, by corrading its bed down tremendously, the
bottom at the end being only 840 feet above the sea, whereas the start
at the mouth of the Little Colorado is 2690. Yet here it is already
3500 feet below the surface at the end of Marble Canyon, which,
separated only by the deep canyon of the Little Colorado, is
practically a northward continuation of the Grand Canyon itself. As the
river runs, the Grand Canyon is 217½ miles long. To this may be added
the 65½ miles of Marble, giving a continuous chasm of 283 miles, the
longest, deepest, and most difficult of passage in every direction of
any canyon in the world. The depth begins with a couple of hundred feet
at Lee’s Ferry (mouth of the Paria), the head of Marble Canyon, and
steadily deepens to some 3500 feet near the Little Colorado, where the
sudden uplift of the Kaibab lends about 2000 feet more to the already
magnificent gorge. Along the end of the Kaibab the walls, for a long
distance, reach their greatest height, about 6000 feet, but the other
side is considerably lower than the north all the way through. At the
mouth of the Kanab the altitude of the river-bed is 1800 feet above the
sea, showing a fall in the interval of 890 feet. The greatest declivity
is about 210 feet in 10 miles, in what is termed the Kaibab division,
extending from a point 10 miles below the Little Colorado to a point 58
miles farther down. Here the smooth stretches of river are long, the
rapids short and violent. Here, also, is the “granite,” making the
walls sombre, as the colour is slaty to black. At the mouth of Diamond
Creek the river is still 1300 feet higher than the sea, giving a fall
of 500 feet from the Kanab. There is another descent of 460 feet to the
Grand Wash, and then 149 to the mouth of the Virgen. Next to the Kaibab
division of the Grand Canyon, the greatest declivity occurs in the
Uinta region, in the Canyon of Lodore. The profile of the river in
these two districts is approximately given on page 57. The average
depth of the Grand Canyon is about 4000 feet. Its width at the top
varies from 4½ to 12 miles. This is the extreme outer cliff-line. The
inner gorge is much narrower, at the Toroweap being only about 3500
feet. The river varies in width from 500 or 600 feet to 75 or 100. In
this canyon is water-power enough to run the machinery of the world,
and there is as much more in the canyons above.


Character of the Mountains and High Plateau Regions of the Basin of the
Colorado. Character of the Mountains and High Plateau Regions of the
Basin of the Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.



Profile of the Colorado through the Grand Canyon. Profile of the
Colorado through the Grand Canyon.
Horizontal Scale: One Inch = 40 miles—Vertical: One Inch = 2000 feet.
The altitude of Grand Wash is given about 60 feet too high.



Looking across the Grand Canyon (Inner Gorge) near the Foot of the
Toroweap. Looking across the Grand Canyon (Inner Gorge) near the Foot
of the Toroweap.
Depth 3000 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


Joining Marble Canyon on the north is Glen, 149 miles long, from the
Paria to Frémont River. It has but one rapid of consequence. At high
water, with the exception of this rapid, the tide sweeps smoothly and
swiftly down with a majestic flow. The walls are homogeneous sandstone,
in places absolutely perpendicular for about a thousand feet. I have
stood on the brink and _dropped_ a stone into the river. The highest
walls are 1600 feet. Next is Narrow Canyon, about 9 miles long, 1300
feet deep, and no rapids. It is hardly more than the finish of
Cataract, a superb gorge about 40 miles long with a depth of 2700 feet,
often nearly vertical. The rapids here are many and violent, the total
fall being about 450 feet. At its head is the mouth of the Grand River.
The altitude of the junction is 3860 feet.[9] Following up the Green,
we have first Stillwater, then Labyrinth Canyon, much alike, the first
42¾ and the second 62½ miles in length. The walls of sandstone are 1300
feet. Their names well describe them, though the stillwater of the
first is very swift and straight. There are no rapids in either. All
these canyon names, from Green River Valley to the Grand Wash, were
applied by Powell. Between Labyrinth and the next canyon, Gray, so
called from the colour of its walls, 2000 feet high, is Gunnison
Valley, where the river may first be easily crossed. Here the
unfortunate Captain Gunnison, in 1853, passed over on his way to his
doom, and here, too, the Old Spanish Trail led the traveller in former
days toward Los Angeles. The Denver and Rio Grande Western Railway has
taken advantage of the same place to cross. The 36 miles of Gray are
hardly more than a continuation of the Canyon of Desolation’s 97 miles.
Desolation is a fine chasm, whose walls are 2400 feet. The view on page
206 gives an excellent idea of their average character. The mouth of
the Uinta River, not far above its head, is 4670 feet above the sea,
while Gunnison Valley is 4083, showing a descent for the river, in
Desolation and Gray, together of 587 feet. Desolation is full of
rapids, some of them bad. Wonsits Valley, which succeeds Desolation, is
the longest of the few valleys, being about 87 miles, with a width of 6
or 8 miles. There is a considerable amount of arable land, and along
the river bank large groves of cottonwood trees. The river course is
winding, the current sluggish, the width being 600 to 800 feet. At the
head of this valley is Split-Mountain Canyon, 8 miles long, with
ragged, craggy walls 2700 feet high. It contains a number of medium
rapids. Island Park separates it from Whirlpool Canyon. It is a
charming little valley, full of islands, a mere expansion of the walls,
9 miles long,—9 miles of rainbow, for the surrounding rocks and marls
are of every hue. Whirlpool, 2400 feet deep, is about 14 miles in
length and contains a number of rapids, but the whirlpools depend on
the stage of water. Then comes the beautiful little Echo Park, really
only the head of Whirlpool. Its name is derived from a wonderful echo
of ten words returned from the smooth wall seen in the cut on page 203.
It is only a mile long with walls of 600 feet. At its head enter the
Yampa River and Canyon, which mark the foot of Lodore, the most
striking gorge, next to the Grand Canyon, on the whole river. Lodore is
only 20 miles long, but it is 20 miles of concentrated water-power
energy and grandeur, the fall being about 400 feet, the walls 2700.
Never for a moment does it relax its assault, and the voyager on its
restless, relentless tide, especially at high water, is kept on the
alert. The waters indeed come rushing down with fearful impetuosity,
recalling to Powell the poem of Southey, on the Lodore _he_ knew, hence
the name. The beginning of the gorge is at the foot of Brown’s Park
through what is called the Gate of Lodore, an abrupt gash in the Uinta
Mountains 2000 feet deep. In viewing this entrance the ordinary
spectator is at a loss to comprehend how the stream could have begun
its attack upon this precipitous ridge. The theory that the river was
there before the upheaval formed the mountain does not entirely
satisfy, for it would seem in that case that the canyon walls would
long ago have become much more broken down than they are. But the walls
have a strikingly fresh look, as if formed recently, compared with the
time of the original upheaval. It seems possible that there may have
been in this region some great lake which lifted the waters up to the
top of the ridge to begin their work of corrasion. Such lakes did
exist; but lack of space forbids the further pursuit of this discussion
here.

 [9] The character of the Grand River is similar to that of the Green,
 but the canyons above the mouth of the Dolores are not so long nor so
 deep. The river also carries less water.


Pinnacles in Split Mountain Canyon. Pinnacles in Split Mountain Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Head of the Canyon of Lodore just inside the “Gate”. Head of the Canyon
of Lodore just inside the “Gate”.
Walls 2500 feet high; river 300 feet wide.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Pot-hole in Intermittent Water Course, Glen Canyon. Pot-hole in
Intermittent Water Course, Glen Canyon.
Homogeneous sandstone. These holes are often 10 to 15 feet deep, with
the stones which ground them lying in the bottom.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Brown’s Park, originally called Brown’s Hole, after one of the early
trappers, is a fine valley about 35 miles long and 5 or 6 miles wide.
It is, like the few other valleys, an expansion of the canyon walls.
There is considerable arable land, and the place possesses a remarkable
climate. Though its general level is so high, around 5500 feet, it
receives hardly any snow, and for this reason was long a favourite
place for wintering cattle on the drive from Texas to California. It
was a great rendezvous, also, for the early trappers and traders, and
here stood Fort Davy Crockett, in those days famous. It was one of
those necessary places of refuge and meeting, established when the
trappers were pursuing their extermination of the beaver, which once
were so numerous in all the Western country. The river enters this park
from the solitudes of Red Canyon, a splendid chasm, 25 miles long, 2500
feet deep, and abounding in plunging waters. The name is from the
colour of the sandstone walls. Above it are three short canyons,
Kingfisher, Horseshoe, and Flaming Gorge, aggregating about 10 miles.
There are there no rapids worth mentioning, but the scenic beauty is
entrancing. The walls are from 1200 to 1600 feet, in places extremely
precipitous. Flaming Gorge, with walls 1300 feet, is particularly
distinguished by being the beginning of the long series of close
canyons. The river enters suddenly from Green River Valley, repeating
on a smaller scale the conditions at the entrance to Lodore. From here
on up to the Wind River Range the stream is flanked by occasional
cliffs and buttes, but the country is comparatively open, and the many
tributaries often have fine grassy bottoms. This was the locality of
the great rendezvous of the period from 1825 to 1835, and even later.


Looking up Green River Valley from below Union Pacific Railway Bridge.
Looking up Green River Valley from below Union Pacific Railway Bridge.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.



Specimen of a Navajo. Specimen of a Navajo.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



Young Warriors of the North. Young Warriors of the North.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


Green River Valley is an elevated region, from six thousand to seven
thousand feet above sea. It stretches from the Wind River Mountains on
the north to the Uintas on the south, and is bounded westwardly by the
Wyoming Range, and on the east merges into the Laramie Plains. The
drainage exit is through the Uintas, as noted, by means of the canyons
heading at Flaming Gorge. There are here opportunities for extensive
farming by irrigation. The only other chance for agriculture on the
river, except Wonsits Valley, Brown’s Park, and a few minor places, is
below Black Canyon, in the stretches I have called the alluvial and the
canyon-valley divisions. In the latter short canyons separate extensive
valleys with wide alluvial bottoms capable of high cultivation, though
often subject to overflow. Almost anything will grow there. Vast groves
of cottonwood and mesquite exist. In the alluvial division, the last
stretch of the river, from the Gila down, cotton and sugar cane would
probably grow. This is the only division where the water of the river
can be extensively diverted. At the mouth of the Gila an old emigrant
road to California crossed, and another here in this Green River
Valley. A third route of travel was by way of Gunnison’s Crossing; and
a fourth, though this was seldom traversed, was by the Crossing of the
Fathers, some thirty-five miles above the present Lee’s Ferry. In Green
River Valley, Bonneville built his Fort Nonsense, and the region was
for many years the best known of any place beyond the mountains. The
routes of trappers and prospectors frequently followed aid native
trails, which crossed and recrossed the country in every direction,
except where the canyons of the Green and Colorado were approached,
when few lines of traverse were open across, and none along the course
of the water.


The Joshua Tree. The Joshua Tree.
Clistoyucca Arborescens. Southern Nevada.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


On the headwaters of Green River lived the Crows, who called it the
Seedskedee Agie or Prairie Hen River. The Snakes and Utes living
farther down called it the Bitter-root. Frémont called it the Rio Verde
of the Spaniards, but apparently without good authority. It was also
spoken of as Spanish River, from the report that Spaniards occupied its
lower valleys. Colorado was also one of its names, and this is what it
should have remained. The commonest appellation was Green, supposed to
have been derived from a trapper of that name. Just when the term
“Colorado” was first applied to the lower river is not now known. It
bore several names, but finally Colorado took first place because of
its appropriateness. Both the walls and the water are usually red,
though the name is undoubtedly derived from the colour of the water.
Green River is frequently as red as any river could be. After a storm
in the headwaters of Vermilion Creek I have seen the Green a positively
bright vermilion.


A Pai Ute Family at Home. A Pai Ute Family at Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The Arapahos were said to range into Brown’s Park; the Utes were all
along the Wonsits Valley and below it on both sides of the river. Then
came the Navajos, ranging up to the San Juan and above.[10] On the
north side, below the San Juan, were the various bands of Pai Utes,
while on the south were the Puebloan tribes, with the Apaches, Suppais,
Wallapais, etc., while still below came the Mohaves, Cocopas, and
Yumas, with, on the Gila, the Pimas, Papagos, and Maricopas. The
250,000 square miles of the basin were variously apportioned amongst
these tribes, but their territorial claims were usually well defined.

 [10] For notes on the distribution of tribes see the _Seventh Ann.
 Rep, Bu. Ethnology; Wheeler’s Report_, vol. i.; _Report of Lieut.
 Ives, Works of H. H. Bancroft_, and _Garces_, by Elliott Coues.


The Barrel Cactus. The Barrel Cactus.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


The vegetation of the area, especially that of the lower half,
possesses singular characteristics quite in keeping with the
extraordinary topography. Here flourishes the cactus, that rose of the
desert, its lovely blossoms red, yellow, and white, illuminating in
spring the arid wastes. The soft green of its stems and the
multiplicity of its forms and species, are a constant delight. It
writhes and struggles across the hot earth, or spreads out
silver-spined branches into a tree-like bush, or, in the great
pitahaya, rises in fierce dignity like a monitor against the deep blue
sky. And the yuccas are quite as beautiful, with their tall central
rods so richly crowned with bell-like blossoms, the fantastic
_Clistoyucca arborescens_, or Joshua tree, being more in harmony with
the archaic landscape than any other plant there. As the traveller
crosses one of the open forests of this tree, which is often
twenty-five feet high, the more distant ones appear to beckon like some
uncanny desert octopus yearning to draw him within reach of those
scrawny arms. The blossom of this monstrous growth is a revelation, so
unexpected is it. A group as large as one’s head, pure white, on the
extremity of a dagger-covered bough, it is like an angel amidst
bayonets. The pitahaya, often more than thirty feet high and twelve to
twenty-four inches diameter, is a fit companion for the Joshua, with an
equally startling blossom.


Vegetation of the Southwest. Vegetation of the Southwest.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


“To go out on the desert... and meet these cacti is like whispering
into the ear of the Sphinx, and listening at her locked lips,... and to
go out in April and see them suddenly abloom is as though the lips of
the Sphinx should part and utter solemn words. A bunch of white flowers
at the tip of the obelisk, flowers springing white and wonderful out of
this dead, gaunt, prickly thing—is not that Nature’s consummate
miracle, a symbol of resurrection more profound than the lily of the
fields.”[11]

 [11] Harriet Monroe, _Atlantic Monthly_, June, 1902.


Then there is the glorious ocotillo, waving its long, slender wands
from the ground-centre, each green with its myriad little lance-shaped
leaves, and bursting at the end into a scarlet flame of blossoms
dazzling in the burning sunlight. Near by springs up the Barrel cactus,
a forbidding column no one dares touch. A little farther is the “yant”
of the Pai Ute, with leaves fringed with teeth like its kind, the
Agaves. This is a source of food for the native, who roasts the
asparagus-like tip starting up in the spring, and he also takes the
whole head, and, trimming off the outer leaves, bakes it in pits,
whereby it is full of sweetness like thick molasses. The inner pulp is
dried in sheets and laid away. Near by, the Pinyon tree in the autumn
sheds its delicious nuts by the bushel, and meanwhile there are many
full, nutritious grass seeds, the kind called “ak” by the Pai Utes
almost equalling wheat in the size of its kernel. In the lowlands grows
the stolid mesquite tree, more underground than above, whose roots
furnish excellent firewood,—albeit they must be broken up with a sledge
hammer, for no axe will stand the impact. Near it may be seen huge
bunches of grass (or perhaps straw would describe it better), which the
white man gathers for hay with a huge hoe. Then there is the
ever-present, friendly sage-brush, miniature oak trees, with branch and
trunk, so beautiful. It grows, as a rule, about two feet high, but I
have seen it higher than my head; that is, at least six feet. Beneath
its spreading shade in the south lurks the Gila Monster, terrible in
name at any rate, a fearful object to look upon, a remnant of
antediluvian times, a huge, clumsy, two-foot lizard. The horned toad is
quite as forbidding in appearance, but he is a harmless little thing.


A Kaibab Pai Ute. A Kaibab Pai Ute.
Posed by THOMAS MORAN.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


Here we are in the rattlesnake’s paradise. Nine species are found along
the Mexican border; and no wonder. The country seems made for them,—the
rocks, cliffs, canyons, pitahayas, Joshuas, and all the rest of it.
Notwithstanding their venom they have beauty, and when one is seen at
the bottom of some lonely, unfrequented canyon, tail buzzing, head
erect, and defiant, glistening eyes, a man feels like apologising for
the intrusion. Above in the limpid sunlight floats the great eagle,
deadly enemy of the rattlesnake; from a near-by bush the exquisite song
of the mocking-bird trills out, and far up the rocks the hoof-strokes
of the mountain sheep strike with a rattle of stones that seems music
in the crystal air. Yonder the wild turkey calls from the pine trees,
or we hark to the whir of the grouse or the pine-hen. Noisy magpies
startle the silence of the northern districts, and the sage-hen and the
rabbit everywhere break the solitude of your walk. Turn up a stone and
sometimes you see a revengeful scorpion: anon the huge tarantula comes
forth to look at the camp-fire. As one sits resting on a barren ledge,
the little swifts come out to make his acquaintance. Whistle softly and
a bright-coated fellow will run up even upon your shoulder to show his
appreciation of the Swan Song. Antelope dart scornfully away across the
open plains, and the little coyote halts in his course to turn the
inquisitive gaze of his pretty bright eyes upon this new animal
crossing his path. The timber wolf, not satisfied with staring,
follows, perhaps, as if enjoying company, at the same time occasionally
licking his chaps. When the sun goes down his long-drawn bark rolls out
into the clear winter sky like a song to the evening star, rendering
the blaze of the camp-fire all the more comfortable. Under the
moonlight the sharper bark of the coyote swells a chorus from the
cliffs, and the rich note of the night-storm is accentuated by the long
screech of the puma prowling on the heights. In daylight his brother,
the wild-cat, reminds one of Tabby at home by the fireside. There is
the lynx, too, among the rocks; and on the higher planes the deer, elk,
and bear have their homes. In Green River Valley once roamed thousands
of bison. The more arid districts have the fewest large animals, and
conversely the more humid the most, though in the latter districts the
fauna and flora approach that of the eastern part of the continent,
while as the former are approached the difference grows wider and
wider, till in the southern lowlands there is no resemblance to eastern
types at all. Once the streams everywhere had thousands of happy
beaver, with their homes in the river banks, or in waters deepened by
their clever dams. Otter, too, were there. The larger rivers are not
favourable for fish on account of the vast amount of sediment, but in
the smaller, especially in the mountain streams, trout were abundant.
In Green River occurs a salmon-trout attaining a length of at least
four feet. This is also found in the Colorado proper, where another
fish, with a humpback, is to be caught. I do not know the name of this,
but imagine it the same as has in latter days been called “squaw-fish.”


Side Canyon of Glen Canyon. Side Canyon of Glen Canyon.
Homogeneous Sandstone.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



All over the region the rocks are seamed by mineral veins. Some of
these have already poured forth millions of dollars, while others await
a discoverer. On the river itself gold is found in the sands; and the
small alluvial bottoms that occur in Glen Canyon, and a few gravel bars
in the Grand, have been somewhat profitably worked, though necessarily
on a small scale. The granite walls of the Grand Canyon bear
innumerable veins, but as prospecting is there so difficult it will be
many a long year before the best are found. The search for mineral
veins has done much to make the farther parts known, just as the
earlier search for beaver took white men for the first time into the
fastnesses of the great mountains, and earlier the effort to save the
souls of the natives marked their main trails into the wilderness.

This sketch of the Basin of the Colorado is most inadequate, but the
scope of this volume prevents amplification in this direction. These
few pages, however, will better enable the reader to comprehend the
labours of the padres, the trappers, and the explorers, some account of
whose doings is presented in the following chapters.[12]

 [12] In connection with the subject of erosion and corrasion the
 reader is advised to study the following works, which are the
 standards: _The Exploration of the Colorado of the West_, and the
 _Geology of the Uinta Mountains_, by J. W. Powell; _The Henry
 Mountains_, by G. K. Gilbert; _The Geology of the High Plateaus of
 Utah_, and _The Tertiary History of the Grand Canyon District_, by C.
 E. Dutton.






CHAPTER IV.




Oñate, 1604, Crosses Arizona to the Colorado—A Remarkable Ancient Ruin
Discovered by Padre Kino, 1694—Padre Garces Sees the Grand Canyon and
Visits Oraibi, 1776—The Great Entrada of Padre Escalante across Green
River to Utah Lake, 1776—Death of Garces Ends the Entrada Period, 1781.


In the historical development of the Basin of the Colorado four, chief
epochs are apparent. The discovery of the river, as already outlined in
previous chapters, is the first; second, the entradas of the padres;
third, the wanderings of the trappers; and fourth, the expeditions of
the explorers. These epochs are replete with interesting and romantic
incidents, new discoveries; starvations; battles; massacres; lonely,
dangerous journeys, etc., which can only be touched upon in a volume of
the present size. Dr. Coues placed the diary of Garces, one of the
chief actors of this great four-act life-drama, in accessible shape,
and had not his lamented death interfered he would have put students
under further obligation to him.


Entrance to Acoma, N.M. Entrance to Acoma, N.M.
The town is on top of a mesa, and was a prominent point on the highway
from the Rio Grande to Zuñi.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.


Preliminary to the entradas of the padres, Don Antonio de Espejo, in
1583, went from the Rio Grande to Moki and westward to a mountain,
probably one of the San Francisco group, but he did not see the
Colorado. Twenty-one years elapsed before a white man again ventured
into this region. In 1604, Don Juan de Oñate, the wealthy governor of
New Mexico, determined to cross from his headquarters at the village of
San Juan on the Rio Grande, by this route to the South Sea, and,
accompanied by thirty soldiers and two padres, he set forth, passing
west by way of the pueblo of Zuñi, and probably not seeing at that time
the celebrated Inscription Rock,[1] for, though his name is said to be
first of European marks, the date is 1606. From Zuñi he went to the
Moki towns, then five in number, and possibly somewhat south of the
present place. Beyond Moki ten leagues, they crossed a stream flowing
north-westerly, which was called Colorado from the colour of its
water,—the first use of the name so far traced. This was what we now
call the Little Colorado. They understood it to discharge into the
South Sea (Pacific), and probably Oñate took it for the very headwaters
of the Buena Guia which Alarçon had discovered over sixty years before.
As yet no white man had been north of Moki in the Basin of the
Colorado, and the only source of information concerning the far
northern region was the natives, who were not always understood,
however honestly they might try to convey a knowledge of the country.

 [1] This is a quadrangular mass of sandstone about a mile long,
 thirty-five miles east of Zuñi. On its base at the eastern end are a
 number of native and European inscriptions, the oldest, of the
 European dates according to Simpson, being 1606, recording a visit by
 Oñate. The rock, or, more properly, mesa, is also called the Morro.
 Chas. F. Lummis has also written on this subject.


Skirting the southern edge of the beautiful San Francisco Mountain
region, through the superb forest of pine trees, Oñate finally
descended from the Colorado Plateau to the headwaters of the Verde,
where he met a tribe called Cruzados, because they wore little crosses
from the hair of the forehead, a relic, no doubt, of the time when
Alarçon had so freely distributed these emblems among the tribes he
encountered on the Colorado, friends probably of these Cruzados. The
latter reported the sea twenty days distant by way of a small river
running into a greater, which flowed to the salt water. The small river
was Bill Williams Fork, and on striking it Oñate began to see the
remarkable pitahaya adorning the landscape with its tall, stately
columns; and all the strange lowland vegetation followed. The San
Andreas, as he called this stream, later named Santa Maria by Garces,
he followed down to the large river into which it emptied, the
Colorado, which he called the Rio Grande de Buena Esperanza, or River
of Good Hope, evidently deciding that it merited a more distinguished
title than had been awarded it at the supposed headwaters. He appears
to have well understood what river this was, and we wonder why he gave
it a new name when it had already received two. Sometimes in new lands
explorers like to have their own way. They went down the Colorado,
after a party had examined the river a little above the mouth of the
Bill Williams Fork, meeting with various bands of friendly natives,
among whom we recognise the Mohaves and the Cocopas. Not far below
where Oñate reached the Esperanza he entered the Great Colorado Valley
and soon crossed the highest point attained by Alarçon in 1340,
probably near the upper end of the valley. He now doubled Alarçon’s and
presently also Melchior Diaz’s paths, and arrived at the mouth of the
river on the 25th of January, 1605, the first white man in over sixty
years. A large harbour which struck his fancy was named in honour of
the saint’s day, Puerto de la Conversion de San Pablo, for the sun
seldom went down without a Spaniard of those days thus propitiating a
saint. We are more prone to honour the devil in these matters. The Gila
they called Rio del Nombre de Jesus, a name never used again. So it
often happens with names bestowed by explorers. The ones they regard
most highly vanish, while some they apply thoughtlessly adhere forever.


Across the House Tops of Zuñi. Across the House Tops of Zuñi.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.


All the tribes of this region, being familiar with the Californian
coast, described it in a way that caused Oñate to believe that the gulf
was the South Sea, extending indefinitely beyond the mouth of the
Colorado northwards, and thus the persistent error that Lower
California was an island received further confirmation. Without going
across to the sea beyond the mountains, which would have dispelled the
error, Oñate returned to the Rio Grande by the outward route, suffering
so greatly for food that the party were forced to eat some of their
horses, a source of relief often resorted to in future days in this
arid country. A few years after Oñate’s expedition Zalvidar (1618),
with Padre Jiminez and forty-seven soldiers, went out to Moki, and from
there fifteen leagues to the Rio de Buena Esperanza, but they evidently
encountered Marble Canyon, and soon returned.


Ruin called Casa Grande, Arizona. Ruin called Casa Grande, Arizona.
From a photograph by COSMOS MINDELEFF, U.S. Bu. Eth.


Another name closely linked with the early history of the Colorado is
that of Padre Eusibio Francisco Kino,[2] an Austrian by birth and a
member of the Jesuit order. This indefatigable enthusiast travelled
back and forth, time and again, over the whole of northern Sonora and
the southern half of Arizona, then comprised in Pimeria Alta, the upper
land of the Pimas, and Papagueria, the land of the Papagos. His base of
operations was a mission he established in Sonora; the mission of
Dolores, founded in 1687. For some thirty years Kino laboured in this
field with tireless energy, flinching before no danger or difficulty.
He was the first white man to see the extraordinary ruin called Casa
Grande, near the present town of Florence, and on the occasion of his
first visit he took advantage of the structure to say mass within its
thick adobe walls. This is probably the most remarkable ancient
building within the limits of the United States, For a long time it was
called the House of Montezuma, though, of course, Montezuma never heard
of it. A similar ruin, called Casas Grandes, exists in Sonora. The
construction is what is called cajon, that is, adobe clay rammed into a
box or frame, which is lifted for each successive course as the work
advances. In the dry air of that region such walls become extremely
hard, and will endure for ages if the foundations are not sapped.[3]
Kino paid a second visit to the ruin of Casa Grande in 1697, this time
accompanied by Captain Juan Mateo Mange, an officer detailed with his
command to escort the padres on their perilous journeys.

 [2] The name is written Kühn, Kühne, Quino, and in several other ways.
 Humboldt used Kühn, and either this or Kühne is probably the correct
 form, but long usage gives preference to Kino.


 [3] See _The North Americans of Yesterday_, by F. S. Dellenbaugh, p.
 234; and for complete details see papers by Cosmos Mindeleff,
 _Thirteenth An. Rep, Bu. Eth._ and _Fifteenth An. Rep. Bu, Eth.;_ also
 Font’s description in Coues’s _Garces_, p. 93.


Padre Kino’s Map of 1701. Padre Kino’s Map of 1701.
The first map giving the head of the Gulf correctly.
From BANCROFT’S _History of Arizona and New Mexico_.



A Lateral Canyon of Escalante River. A Lateral Canyon of Escalante
River.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The method of the authorities was to establish a military post, called
a presidio, at some convenient point, from which protection would be
extended to several missions. The soldiers in the field wore a sort of
buckskin armour, with a double-visored helmet and a leathern buckler on
the left arm. Kino was as often without as with the guardianship of
these warriors, and seems to have had very little trouble with the
natives. The Apaches, then and always, were the worst of all, In his
numerous entradas he explored the region of his labours pretty
thoroughly, reaching, in 1698, a hill from which he saw how the gulf
ended at the mouth of the Colorado; and the following year he was again
down the Gila, which he called Rio de los Apostoles, to the Colorado,
now blessed with a fourth name, the Rio de los Martires. “Buena Guia”
“del Tizon,” “Esperanza,” and “los Martires,” all in about a century
and a half, and still the great Dragon of Waters was not only untamed
hut unknown. Kino kept up his endeavours to inaugurate somewhere a
religious centre, but without success. The San Dionisio marked on his
map at the mouth of the Gila was only the name he gave a Yuma village
at that point, and was never anything more. On November 21, 1701, Kino
reached a point only one day’s journey above the sea, where he crossed
the river on a raft, but he made no attempt to go to the mouth. At
last, however, on March 7, 1702, he actually set foot on the barren
sands where the waters, gathered from a hundred mountain peaks of the
far interior, are hurled against the sea-tide, the first white visitor
since Oñate, ninety-eight years before. Visits of Europeans to this
region were then counted by centuries and half-centuries, yet on the
far Atlantic shore of the continent they were swarming in the cradle of
the giant that should ultimately rule from sea to sea, annihilating the
desert. But even the desert has its charms. One seems to inhale fresh
vitality from its unpeopled immensity. I never could understand why a
desert is not generally considered beautiful; the kind, at least, we
have in the South-west, with all the cacti, the yucca, and the other
flowering plants unfamiliar to European or Eastern eyes, and the lines
of coloured cliffs and the deep canyons. There is far more beauty and
variety of colour than in the summer meadow-stretches and hills of the
Atlantic States. So the good Padre Kino, after all, was perhaps to be
congratulated on having those thirty years, interesting years, before
the wilds could be made commonplace.


The Moki Town of Wolpi, Arizona. The Moki Town of Wolpi, Arizona.
700 feet above the valley.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


Arizona did not seem to yield kindly to the civilisers; indeed, it was
like the Colorado River, repellent and unbreakable. The padres crossed
it and recrossed it on the southwestern corner, but they made no
impression. After Kino’s death in 1711 there was a lull in the entradas
to the Colorado, though Ugarte, coming up along the eastern coast of
Lower California, sailed to the mouth of the river in July, 1721.
Twenty-four years later (1744) Padre Jacobo Sedelmair went down the
Gila from Casa Grande to the great bend, and from there cut across to
the Colorado at about the mouth of Bill Williams Fork, but his journey
was no more fruitful than those of his predecessors in the last two
centuries. It seems extraordinary in these days that men could traverse
a country, even so infrequently, during two whole centuries and yet
know almost nothing about it. Two years after Sedelmair touched the
Colorado, Fernando Consag, looking for mission sites, came up the gulf
to its mouth, and when he had sailed away there was another long
interval before the river was again visited by Europeans. This time it
was over a quarter of a century, but the activity then begun was far
greater than ever before, and the two padres who now became the
foremost characters in the drama that so slowly moved upon the mighty
and diversified stage of the South-west, were quite the equals in
tireless energy of the Jesuit Kino. These two padres were Garces and
Escalante, more closely associated with the history of the Basin of the
Colorado than any one who had gone before. Francisco Garces, as well as
Escalante, was of the Franciscan order, and this order, superseding the
Jesuit, was making settlements, 1769-70, at San Diego and Monterey, as
well as taking a prominent part in those already long established on
the Rio Grande. There was no overland connection between the California
missions and those of Sonora and the Rio Grande, and the desire to
explore routes for such communication was one of the incentives of both
Garces and Escalante, in their long entradas. But it seemed to be the
habit of those days, either never to seek information as to what had
previously been accomplished, or to forget it, for the expedition of
Oñate might as well never have been made so far as its effect on
succeeding travels was concerned. He had crossed Arizona by the very
best route, yet Escalante, 172 years afterward, goes searching for one
by way of Utah Lake! Coming from the west, the Moki Towns were ever the
objective point, for they were well known and offered a refuge in the
midst of the general desolation. Garces had his headquarters at the
mission of San Xavier del Bac, or Bac, as it was commonly called, nine
miles south of the present town of Tucson. Here Kino had begun a church
in 1699, and at a later period another better one was started near by.
This was finished in 1797 and to-day stands the finest monument in the
South-west of the epoch of the padres. It is a really beautiful
specimen of the Mexico-Spanish church architecture of that time. No
better testimony could there be of the indefatigable spiritual energy
of the padres than this artistic structure standing now amidst a few
adobe houses, and once completely abandoned to the elements. Such a
building should never be permitted to perish, and it well merits
government protection. Its striking contrast to Casa Grande, the
massive relic of an unknown time, standing but a few leagues distant,
will always render this region of exceptional interest to the artist,
the archaeologist, and the general traveller.


Church of San Xavier del Bac, near Tucson. Church of San Xavier del
Bac, near Tucson.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH, after a photograph.


From Bac, under the protection of the presidio of Tubac, some thirty
miles farther south, later transferred (1776) to the present Tucson,
Garces carried on his work. He made five great entradas from the time
of his arrival in June, 1768. The first was in that same year, the
second in 1770, but in these he did not reach the Colorado, and we will
pass them by. In the third, 1771, he went down the Gila to the Colorado
and descended the latter stream along its banks perhaps to the mouth.
On the fourth, 1774, he went with Captain Anza to the Colorado and
farther on to the mission of San Gabriel in California, near Los
Angeles, and in his fifth, and most important one, 1775-76, he again
accompanied Captain Anza, who was bound for the present site of San
Francisco, there to establish a mission. Padre Font was Anza’s
chaplain, and with Garces’s aid later made a map of the country.[4] At
Yuma Garces left the Anza party, went down to the mouth of the
Colorado, and then up along the river to Mohave, and after another trip
out to San Gabriel, he started on the most important part of all his
journeys, from Mohave to the Moki Towns, the objective point of all
entradas eastward from the Colorado. The importance attached at that
time to the towns of the Moki probably seems absurd to the reader, but
it must not be forgotten that the Moki were cultivators of the soil and
always held a store of food-stuffs in reserve. They were also builders
of very comfortable houses, as I can testify from personal experience.
Thus they assumed a prominence, amidst the desolation of the early
centuries, of which the railway in the nineteenth speedily robbed them.

 [4] Font says of Garces: “He seems just like an Indian himself... and
 though the food of the Indians is as nasty and disgusting as their
 dirty selves the padre eats it with great gusto.” Dr. Coues had
 planned to publish a translation of Font’s important diary. See
 _Garces_, by Elliot Coues, p. 172, Font meant his remark as praise.


Cocopa Woman Grinding Corn. Cocopa Woman Grinding Corn.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


Garces, like most of his kind, was an enthusiast on the subject of
saving the souls of the natives. “It made him sick at heart,” says
Coues, “to see so many of them going to hell for lack of the three
drops of water he would sprinkle over them if only they would let him
do it.” With this idea ever in mind he toiled up and down the lower
Colorado, and received assistance from a Yuma chief called Captain
Palma. Once when he came up the river to Yuma, where he had left Padre
Eisarc, the report the latter gave was so encouraging that Garces
exclaims: “I gave a thousand thanks to God to hear them sing psalms
divine that the padre had taught them.” He further declared that
Captain Palma would put to the blush for observing the forms of piety,
“many veteran Christians, by the reverence and humility with which he
assisted at the holy sacrifice.” But alas for the padre’s fond hopes!

The Yumas called the Colorado Javill or Hahweel according to Garces;
and he also says the name Colorado was given because, as the whole
country is coloured, its waters are tinged in the month of April, when
the snows are melting, but that they are not always red, which is
exactly the case. The name is also said to be a translation of the
Piman title “buqui aquimuti.”

Leaving Mohave June 4, 1776, Garces struck eastward across Arizona,
guided by some Wallapais, but with no white companion. These people had
told him about the distance to Moki and the nature of the intervening
region. Heading Diamond Creek[5] on his mule, Garces made for the
romantic retreat of the Havasupais in the canyon of Cataract Creek, a
tributary from the south of the Grand Canyon. He was the first white
man, so far as known, to visit this place, and in reaching it he passed
near the rim of the great gorge, though he did not then see it. This
was the region of the Aubrey cliffs and the place in all probability
where Cardenas approached the Grand Canyon, 236 years before. Garces
arrived among the Havasupai or Jabesua, as he called them, by following
a trail down their canyon that made his head swim, and was impassable
to his mule, which was taken in by another route. At one place a ladder
was even necessary to complete the 2000 feet of descent to the
settlement, where a clear creek suddenly breaks from the rocks, and,
rapid and blue, sweeps away down 2000 or more feet to the Colorado,
falling in its course at one point over a precipice in three cataracts
aggregating 250 feet, from which it takes its name. Here are about 400
acres of arable land along the creek, on which the natives raise corn,
beans, squashes, peaches, apricots, sunflowers, etc. There are now
about 200 of these people, and they are of Yuman stock. Garces was well
treated and rested here five days.

 [5] This name, by the way, has no connection with the notorious
 “Arizona” diamond swindle of more recent years. It bore this name in
 Ives’s time and the swindle was much later—1872. The alleged diamond
 field also was not in Arizona at all, but in north-western Colorado.


The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Trail. The Grand Canyon from Bright
Angel Trail.
Painting by THOMAS MORAN.


Soon after leaving this retreat he “halted at the sight of the most
profound canones which ever onward continue, and within these flows the
Rio Colorado.”

“There is seen [he continues] a very great Sierra which in the distance
looks blue, and there runs from the southeast to the north-west a pass
open to the very base, as if the sierra were cut artificially to give
entrance to the Rio Colorado into these lands. I named this singular
pass Puerto de Bucareli,[6] and though to all appearances would not
seem to be great the difficulty of reaching thereunto, I considered
this to be impossible in consequence of the difficult canones which
intervened. From this position said pass bore east northeast.”

 [6] After the viceroy.


The padre is standing in admiration before the long line of the Kaibab
seen as a great sierra from this position on the south-east, and as the
land on the south rises toward the rim it probably appeared to him as
if the sierra were really a continuation of the San Francisco Mountains
on his right, and was cut in twain by the great gorge of the river.
From his standpoint he looked up Marble Canyon, and all the directions
he mentions are exactly correct. They saw smokes on the north, which
his guides said were made by the Payuches (Pai Utes) living on the
other side. The Kaivavitz band of Pai Utes in summer occupy their lands
on the summit of the Kaibab, hunting deer and camping in the lovely
open glades surrounded by splendid forest. This same day his guides
pointed out some tracks of Yabipai Tejua, who go this way to see and
trade with their friends, “those who live, as already said, on the
other side of the Rio Colorado.” It was one of the intertribal
highways. Just where it crossed the canyon is hard to say. There were
several old trails, and one came down from the north, reaching the
river a few miles below the Little Colorado, but where it came out on
the south side I do not know. There was once another trail which came
from the north down the canyon of Kanab Creek and found a way across to
the Coconinos or Havasupai; at least Jacob Hamblin[7] told me he was so
informed by the Pai Utes. The “Hance” trail, I believe, was built on
the line of an old native one, and probably this was the one the
Yabipais were heading for.

 [7] Jacob Hamblin, whom I knew very well, was the “Leather-stocking”
 of Utah—a man who knew the Amerinds of Utah and northern Arizona
 better than any one who ever lived.


The Moki Town of Mishongnuvi, Arizona. The Moki Town of Mishongnuvi,
Arizona.
The hill surmounted by the town lies itself on top of a mesa.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


Garces had a good understanding of the topography, for he says when he
reached the Rio Jaquesila de San Pedro, as he called the Little
Colorado, that it joined the main stream just above his Puerto de
Bucareli. Coues thought it probable that Cardenas on his way to the
Grand Canyon, followed from Moki the same trail Garces is now taking to
reach that place, and that therefore the first view Cardenas had of the
canyon was from near the same place as that of Garces—that is, he saw
the Puerto de Bucareli. This is hardly probable, as Garces was only
five days reaching Moki from here, and Cardenas travelled twenty from
Tusayan to the canyon. As I pointed out on a previous page, so far as
the data go, Cardenas reached the Grand Canyon opposite the east side
of the Shewits plateau.

Of the Little Colorado Garces said: “The bed of this river as far as
the confluence is a trough of solid rock, very profound, and wide about
a stone’s throw.” That this was an accurate statement the view on page
95 amply proves. Indeed, the accuracy of most of these early Spaniards,
as to topography, direction, etc., is extraordinary. As a rule where
they are apparently wrong it is ourselves who are mistaken, and if we
fully understand their meaning we find them to be correct. Garces found
his way down to the Little Colorado by means of a side canyon and got
out again on the other side in the same way. Finally, on July 2nd, he
arrived at the pueblo of Oraibi, his objective point, and when he and
his tired mule had climbed up on the mesa which bears the town, the
women and children lined the housetops to get a glimpse of the singular
stranger.

Spaniards were something of a novelty, though by no means unheard of,
just as even I was something of a novelty when I visited Oraibi one
hundred years after the Padre Garces, because the Oraibis never
encouraged white visitors.[8] The first missions were established among
the Moki in 1629, when Benavides was custodian of the Rio Grande
district, and included Zuñi and Moki in his field. Three padres were
then installed at Awatuwi, one of the towns, on the mesa east of what
is now called the “East” Mesa. Four were at work amongst the various
towns at the time of the Pueblo uprising in 1680, and as one began his
labours at Oraibi as early as 1650, a priest was not an unknown object
to the older people. All the missionaries having been killed in 1680,
and Awatuwi, where a fresh installation was made, having been
annihilated in 1700 by the Moki, for three-quarters of a century they
had seen few if any Spaniards. Therefore the women and children were
full of curiosity. Padre Escalante had been here from Zuñi the year
before, looking over the situation with a view to bringing all the Moki
once more within the fold. At that time Escalante also tried to go on
to what he called the Rio de los Cosninos, the Colorado, but he was
unable to accomplish his purpose. Had he once had a view of the Grand
Canyon it would undoubtedly have saved him a good many miles of weary
travel in his northern entrada of this same year that Garces reached
Oraibi.

 [8] A year or two after my visit, James Stevenson, of the Bureau of
 Ethnology, was driven away from Oraibi. Thomas Keam and he then went
 there with a force of Navajos and compelled the surrender of the
 chiefs who had been most obnoxious. They took them to Ream’s Canyon
 and confined them on bread and water till they apologised.


The Canyon of the Little Colorado. The Canyon of the Little Colorado.
Photograph by C. BARTHELMESS.


Garces was not permitted to enter the house where his Yabipai guide
intended to stop, and he therefore made his way to a corner formed by a
jutting wall, and there unsaddled his faithful mule, which the Yabipai
took to a sheep corral. The padre remained in his corner, gathering a
few scattered corn-stalks from the street, with which he made a fire
and cooked a little atole. All day long the people came in succession
to stare at him. I can testify to the sullen unfriendliness of the
Oraibi, and I have seen few places I have left with greater pleasure
than that I felt when, in 1885, I rode away from this town. Garces was
not able to make a favourable impression, and after, considering the
feasibility of going on to Zuñi, and deciding against it, he thought he
would visit the other towns with a hope of being better received, but a
few yells from some herders sent him back to his Yabipai guide and
several friendly Zuñis at Oraibi, where he occupied his corner again.
In the morning he perceived a multitude approaching, some bedecked with
paint and feathers, and when four of these came forward and ordered him
to leave he held up his crucifix and assured them of his desire to do
good to them. They made wry faces and cried “No, no,” so that he called
for his mule and departed, smiling upon them as he went. He returned by
the same route. It was the 4th of July when Garces was expelled by the
Oraibis, a declaration of independence on their part which they have
maintained down to the present day. That other Declaration of
Independence was made on this same day on the far Atlantic coast. The
Colonies were engaged in their battle for freedom, but no sound of that
strife then reached New Mexico, yet its portent was great for that
region where, three-quarters of a century later, the flag of the Great
Republic should float triumphant over all, Garces reached the Colorado
once more on July 25th, his arduous journey absolutely fruitless so far
as missionary work was concerned. He arrived at his mission of Bac
September 17, 1776.


A Court in Wolpi, Arizona. A Court in Wolpi, Arizona.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


On July 29, 1776, another even greater entrada was begun at Santa Fé by
the Fray Padre Francisco Silvestre Velez Escalante,[9] in his search
for a route to Monterey, unaware that Garces had just traversed, next
to that of Oñate, the most practicable short route to be found. Garces
had written to Escalante, ministro doctrinero of Zuñi, a letter from
Oraibi, but as the ministro had already departed for Santa Fé, leaving
Fray Mariano Rosate in charge at Zuñi, the letter probably did not
reach him till his return. The northern country, notwithstanding
several small entradas and the considerable one of Juan Maria Ribera in
1761, who went as far as Gunnison River, was still a terra incognita,
and the distance to the Pacific was also an uncertain quantity.
Escalante believed a better road existed to Monterey by way of the
north than by the middle route, and a further incentive to journey that
way was probably the rumours of large towns in that direction, the same
will-o’-the-wisp the Spaniards for nearly three centuries had been
vainly pursuing. The authorities had urged two expeditions to Alta
California, to establish communication; Garces and Captain Anza had
carried out one, and now Escalante was to execute the other.

 [9] H. H. Bancroft gives a map of the route as he understands it,
 _History of the Pacific States_, p. 35, vol. xxv., also a condensation
 of the diary. Philip Harry gives a condensation in Simpson’s _Report_,
 Appendix R., p. 489. Some river names have been shifted since Harry
 wrote. What we call the Grand, upper part, was then the Blue.


A Zuñi Home. A Zuñi Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



The Governors of Zuñi. The Governors of Zuñi.
Shows well the genreal type of the Puebloans of the Basin of the
Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.



Upper Waters of Rio Virgin. Upper Waters of Rio Virgin.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


Besides the ministro Escalante, there were in the party eight persons,
Padre Francisco Dominguez, Juan Pedro Cisneros, alcalde of Zuñi,
Bernardo Miera y Pacheco, capitain miliciano of Sante Fé, Don Juan
Lain, and four other soldiers. Lain had been with Ribera and was
therefore official guide. They went from Sante Fé by way of Abiquiu and
the Chama River to the San Juan about where it first meets the north
line of New Mexico, and thence across the several tributaries to the
head of the Dolores River, which they descended for eleven days. I am
at a loss to exactly follow the route, not having been able to consult
either the copy or the original of Escalante’s diary. The party made
its way across Grand River, the Book Plateau, White River, and finally
to the Green, called the San Buenaventura, which was forded, apparently
near the foot of Split-Mountain Canyon. Here they killed one of the
bisons which were numerous in the valley. Following the course of the
river down some ten leagues, they went up the Uinta and finally crossed
the Wasatch, coming down the western side evidently by way of what is
now known as Spanish Fork, to Utah Lake, then called by the natives
Timpanogos. Here they heard of a greater lake to the north, but instead
of seeking it they turned their course south-westerly in what they
considered the direction of Monterey through the Sevier River Valley,
the Sevier being called the Santa Isabel, and kept down along the
western edge of the High Plateaus. It being by this time the 7th of
October, Escalante concludes that it will be impossible to reach
Monterey before winter sets in and persuades his companions that the
best thing to do is to strike for the Moki towns. They cast lots to
determine this, and the decision is for Moki. Evidently he thought this
would be an easy road. When he was at Moki the year before, had he not
failed to go to the Colorado he would have better understood the nature
of the undertaking he now set for his expedition.


Pai Ute Girls, Southern Utah, Carrying Water. Pai Ute Girls, Southern
Utah, Carrying Water.
The jugs are wicker made tight with pitch.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Going on southward past what is now Parowan, they came to the
headwaters of a branch of the Virgen, in Cedar Valley, and this they
followed down to the main stream which they left flowing
south-westerly. The place where they turned from it was probably about
at Toquerville.[10] They were now trying to make their general course
south-east. Could I but see the original I certainly could identify the
route from here on, having been over the region so often. As Escalante
was obtaining what information he could from the natives, it seems to
me that his first course “south-east” was to Pipe Spring along the foot
of the Vermilion Cliffs, then his “north-east” was up toward Kanab and
through Nine-Mile Valley to the head of the Kaibab, where a trail led
him over to House Rock Valley, on his “south-east” tack, skirting the
Vermilion Cliffs again. But they lost it and struck the river at Marble
Canyon, through a misunderstanding of the course of the trail, which
bore easterly and then northerly around the base of the cliffs to what
is now Lee’s Ferry, where there was an ancient crossing. Another trail
goes (or did go) across the north end of the Paria Plateau and divides,
one branch coming down the high cliffs about three miles up the Paria
from the mouth, by a dizzy and zig-zag path, and the other keeping on
to the south-east and striking the river at the very point for which
Escalante was evidently now searching. Perhaps the Pai Utes had told
him of this trail as well as the one he tried to follow, which would
have taken him to the Lee’s Ferry crossing about thirty-five miles
below. He seems to have reached the brink of Marble Canyon, perhaps
half-way between the Paria and the Little Colorado,[11] and followed
up-stream first north and then (beyond Paria) north-east, hunting for a
ford. Twice he succeeded in descending to the water, but both times was
unable to cross. They had now become so reduced in food that they were
obliged to eat some of their horses. With great difficulty they climbed
over the cliffs, and at the end of twelve days from their first arrival
at the river they found the ford, which ever since has been called El
Vado de los Padres. This was the 8th of November, 1776. The entrance to
the river from the west, the side of their approach, is through a small
canyon in the homogeneous sandstone, no more than ten feet wide. The
course is then about half a mile down the middle of the river over a
long bar or shoal to the opposite side, where the exit is made upon a
rocky slope. It is a most difficult ford. The trail through the water
at the low stage, when, only, fording is possible, is marked by piles
of large stones. There is no ford at the Lee’s Ferry crossing.

 [10] From here to the California mission of San Gabriel would hardly
 have been as difficult as the route taken, excepting perhaps the
 matter of water, and little if any further than the distance to Santa
 Fé, but the Pai Utes could give him no information of the distance to
 the sea.


 [11] There was an old crossing near there, also.


Ashtishkel, a Navajo Chief. Ashtishkel, a Navajo Chief.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


From this Crossing-of-the-Fathers, just above where the river enters
Arizona, to the Moki Towns Escalante had a plain trail, and a much
simpler topography, and had no difficulty in arriving there. The
remainder of his road, from Moki to Zuñi and around to Santa Fé, was
one he had travelled before, and the party soon completed the circuit
of more than 1500 miles mainly through unknown country, one of the most
remarkable explorations ever carried out in the West. It is sometimes
stated that Escalante crossed the Grand Canyon, but, as is perfectly
plain from the data, he did not; in fact, he could not have done it
with horses.

Garces was not yet finished with his labours on the lower Colorado, and
we will return to him. The authorities had decided to establish there
two nondescript settlements, a sort of cross between mission, pueblo,
and presidio. Captain Palma, the Yuma chief, whose devotions and piety
had so delighted the good Father, was eager to have missions started,
and constantly importuned the government to grant them. Garces,
therefore, went to Yuma again in 1779 to prepare the way, and in 1780
two of the hybrid affairs were inaugurated, one at what is now Fort
Yuma, called Puerto de la Purisima Concepcion, after the little canyon
hard by, so named by Garces previously, a canyon fifty feet deep and a
thousand feet long; the other, about eight miles down, called San Pedro
y San Pablo de Bicuner. There were four padres; Garces and Barraneche
at the upper station, and Diaz and Moreno at the lower. Each place had
eight or ten soldiers, a few colonists, and a few labourers. The
Spaniards were obliged to appropriate some of the best lands to till
for the support of the missions, and this, together with the general
poverty of the establishments when he had expected something fine,
disgusted Palma and exasperated him and the other Yumas. In June, 1781,
Captain Moncada, lieutenant-governor of Lower California, arrived with
soldiers and recruits en route for California settlements, and encamped
opposite Yuma. After some of these people had been sent forward or back
as the plans demanded, Moncada remained at the camp with a few of his
soldiers. No one suspected the tornado which was brewing. All the life
of the camp, of the missions, and of the Yumas went on with the same
apparent smoothness, but it was only a delusion suddenly and horribly
dispelled on the fateful 17th of July. Without a sign preliminary to
the execution of their wrath, Captain Palma and all his band threw
piety to the winds, and annihilated with clubs Moncada’s camp and most
of the men in the two missions. Garces and his assistant, Barraneche,
were at first spared. Even the conscience of Talma hesitated to murder
the good and amiable Garces, who had never been to him and his people
anything but a kind and generous friend, but the rabble declared these
two were the worst of all, and under this pressure Palma yielded. It
was the last terrible scene of this act in the life-drama we are
following. The lights were out, the curtain down. Military expeditions
were sent to avenge the massacre, but they might as well have chased
the stars. The missions on the Colorado were ended. Never again was an
attempt made to found one. The desert relapsed into its former complete
subjection to the native tribes, and the indifferent Colorado swept on
to the conflict with the sea-waves as if neither white man nor Amerind
had ever touched its waters. Nearly half a century passed before the
face of a white man was again seen at the mouth of the river, and all
the toil of Kino, Garces, and the rest was apparently as completely
wasted as if they had tried to stop the flow of the Colorado with a
broom.






CHAPTER V.




Breaking the Wilderness—Wanderings of the Trappers and Fur
Traders—General Ashley in Green River Valley, 1824—Pattie along the
Grand Canyon, 1826—Lieut. Hardy, R.N., in a Schooner on the Lower
Colorado, 1826—Jedediah Smith, Salt Lake to San Gabriel, 1826—Pattie on
the Lower Colorado in Canoes, 1827-28.


As the “sweet Afton” of old gently flowing among its green braes
compares with the fierce Colorado, so do those earnest padres who so
faithfully tried to plant their cross in the waste places, as sketched
in the chapter just closed with the martyrdom of Garces, compare with
the new set of actors that now appear, as the development of this drama
of the wilderness continues. The former fitted well into the strange
scenery; they became apart of it; they fraternised with the various
tribes native to the land, and all things together went forward with
pictorial harmony. They were like a few mellow figures blended
skilfully into the deep tones of an ancient canvas. But now the
turbulent spirit of the raging river itself pervades the new-comers who
march imperiously upon the mighty stage with the heavy tread of the
conqueror, out of tune with the soft old melody; temporising with
nothing; with a heedless stroke, like the remorseless hand of Fate,
obliterating all obstacles to their progress. Not theirs the desire to
save natives from perdition; rather to annihilate them speedily as
useless relics of a bygone time. They are savages among savages; quite
as interesting and delightful in their way as the older occupants of
the soil. It became in reality the conflict of the old and the new, and
then was set the standard by which the native tribes have ever since
been measured and dealt with.

The inevitable was simply coming to pass: one more act in the
world-play of continental subjugation to the European. The United
States, born in privation and blood, were growing into a nation eager
for expansion, and by 1815 they had already ventured beyond the
Mississippi, having purchased from France all territory north of Red
River, the Arkansas, and the 42nd parallel, as far as the unsettled
British boundary and the disputed region of Oregon. Naturally, then,
Americans wanted to know what was to be found in this vast tract
unknown to them, and when a few bold spirits pushed out to the great
mountains it was discovered that fur-bearing animals existed in
multitude. In the trapping of these and the trading in their pelts a
huge industry sprang up. In this trade future millionaires laid their
foundations.

The beaver were then the most profitable of all, and they were the most
abundant. The pelts were estimated by “packs,” each of which consisted
of about eighty skins, weighing one hundred pounds, and worth in the
mountains from three hundred to five hundred dollars. The profits were
thus speedy and very great. In the search for the richest rewards the
trapper continually pushed farther and farther away from the “States,”
encroaching at length on the territory claimed by Spain, a claim to be
soon (1821) adopted by the new-born Mexican Republic. Trespassing on
the tribal rights of Blackfoot, Sioux, Ute, or any other did not enter
into any one’s mind as something to be considered. Thus, rough-shod the
trapper broke the wilderness, fathomed its secret places, traversed its
trails and passes, marking them with his own blood and more vividly
with that of the natives. Incidentally, by right of their discoveries
and occupation of the wilderness, much of it became by the law of
nations a part of the lands of the United States, though still
nominally claimed by Mexico. Two years after the return of the famous
Lewis-and-Clark expedition, Andrew Henry “discovered” South Pass
(1808), and led his party through it into the Green River[1] Valley.
His discovery consisted, like many others of the time, in following up
the bison trails and the highways of the natives. The latter, of
course, knew every foot of the whole country; each tribe its own
special lands and more or less into and across those of its neighbours.

 [1] The name Green River was used as early as 1824, and was probably
 derived from the name of the early trapper. Till about 1835 it was
 usually called by the Crow name, Seedskeedee.


Map of Green River through the Uinta Mountains. Scale of this reduction
about 8 miles to 1 inch.



>Flaming Gorge, Green
River. Beginning of the Canyons. Flaming Gorge, Green River. Beginning
of the Canyons.
Picture just taken inside the entrance. Walls 1300 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Red Canyon at Low Water. Red Canyon at Low Water.
Length 25 miles. Walls 1800 to 2500 feet high. Average width of river,
250 feet.


By the time the third decade of the nineteenth century was fairly begun
the trappers were crossing in considerable numbers from the headwaters
of the Missouri and the Platte into the valley of the Colorado and the
Columbia, and as early as 1824 one of the most brilliant figures of
this epoch, General Ashley,[2] having previously organised a
fur-trading company in St. Louis, then the centre of all Western
commerce, had established himself in Green River Valley with a large
band of expert trappers which included now famous names like Henry,
Bridger, Fitzpatrick, Green, Sublet, and Beckwourth. Provo (or Provost)
was already encamped in Brown’s Hole. One of Ashley’s principal camps
was what they called the “rendezvous” (there were a great many
French-Canadians engaged in the fur business, and hence numerous French
words were in common use among the trappers of the period), just above
“The Suck,” on Green River. This Suck was at the entrance to Flaming
Gorge, as it has since been named. Beckwourth says of this: “The
current, at a small distance from our camp, became exceedingly rapid,
and drew toward the centre from each shore.” The river here narrows
suddenly and attacks a high ridge. Doubling around a point to the left
and then as suddenly to the right, the swift water or “Suck” slackens
up in the quieter reach of Flaming Gorge. In their journeys after
beaver the Ashley party had been able to go into this gorge and the two
following ones, Horseshoe and Kingfisher, and had doubtless trapped in
them. Here were many beaver, and Ashley drew the inference that as many
existed below in the deeper canyon. Though he had discovered the
dangerous character of the river he decided to build boats and set
forth on the current in order to trap the canyon, the length of which
he did not know and underestimated. A purpose of reaching St. Louis by
this route has been attributed to Ashley, but as Hunt and others some
years before understood this to be a stream on whose lower waters
Spaniards lived, Ashley doubtless had the same information, and from
that he would have known that it was no practicable route to St. Louis.
Beckwourth, who relates the story of the trip,[3] makes no suggestion
of any far-off destination, nor does he say they took their packs
along, as they would have done if going to a commercial centre. It
seems to have been purely a trapping expedition, and was probably the
very first attempt to navigate Green River. They took along few
provisions, expecting to find beaver plentiful to the end of the
canyon, but after a few miles the beaver were absent, and, having
preserved none of the meat, the party began to suffer for food. They
were six days without eating, and, the high precipitous walls running
ever on and on, they became disheartened, or, in Western phrase,
“demoralised,” and proposed to cast lots to find which should make food
for the others, a proposition which horrified Ashley, and he begged
them to hold out longer, assuring them that the walls must soon break
and enable them to escape. They had not expected so long a gorge. Red
Canyon is twenty-five miles and, with the three above, the unbroken
canyon is about thirty-five miles. Under the circumstances the canyon
seemed interminable and the cliffs insurmountable. The latter grow more
precipitous toward the lower end, and scaling would be a difficult feat
for a man well fed and strong, though well-nigh hopeless for any
weakened by lack of proper food. At last, however, an opening appeared.
Here they discovered Provo encamped with an abundance of provisions, so
their troubles were quickly over. The opening they had arrived at was
probably Brown’s Hole. There is only one other place that might be
called an opening, and this is a small park-like break on the right
side of the river, not far above Brown’s Hole, formerly called Little
Brown’s Hole and also Ashley Park. The Ashley men would have had a hard
climb to get out of this place, and it is not probable that Provo would
have climbed into it, as no beaver existed there. It seems positive,
then, that Ashley came to Provo in Brown’s Hole. Thus he did not “make
his perillous way through Brown’s Hole,” as one author says, because he
ended his journey with the beginning of that peaceful park. They lost
two of their boats and several guns in Red Canyon, and Ashley left
there a mark to identify the time of his passage. He wrote his name and
the date, 1825, on a large rock above a sharp fall, which was (later,
1869,) named in his honour. I saw this inscription in 1871 and made a
careful copy of it, which is given here. See also the illustration of
Ashley Falls on page 113. The location of it is just west of C in the
words “Red Cañon” on the map, page 109. In the canyon of Lodore, at the
foot of Disaster Falls, we found some wreckage in the sand, a
bake-oven, tin plates, knives, etc., which Powell first saw in 1869,
but these could not have belonged to Ashley’s party, for plainly Ashley
did not enter Lodore at all. It was evidently from some later
expedition which probably started from Brown’s Park, in the days of
Fort Davy Crockett.

 [2] Wm. Henry Ashley, born in Virginia, 1778; went to Missouri 1802;
 general of militia; elected first governor 1820; went into fur trade
 1822 with Andrew Henry; elected to Congress 1831; twice re-elected;
 continued in office till March 4, 1837.—Chittenden.


 [3] _Life and Adventures of James P. Beckwourth_, edited by T. D.
 Bonner. Beckwourth was always called “Beckwith” in the mountains, but
 this was probably only a perversion of the original, though Chittenden
 seems to think he only assumed the former spelling on publishing his
 book.




Provo had plenty of horses, and Ashley and his men joined him going out
to Salt Lake, where Provo had come from.


Ashley Falls, Red Canyon, Green River. Ashley Falls, Red Canyon, Green
River.
General Ashley wrote his name on a rock about half way up the picture,
on the right, in 1825.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The year following Ashley’s attempt to trap Green River was a most
eventful one in the history of the Colorado. Time appeared to be ripe
for great journeys. The Mexicans outside of California were more
amiably inclined, and granted privileges to trappers in New Mexico. Two
men who were among the first to push their way into New Mexico were
James O. Pattie and his father, and the narrative of their experiences
as told by the younger Pattie is one of the most thrilling and
interesting books of Western adventure ever published.[4] They had
trapped on the Gila, or “Helay,” as they called it in 1825, and the
next year they went back there with a party, trapping the Gila and its
tributaries with gratifying success.[5] Working their way down the
Gila, they eventually reached its junction with what they called Red
River, the Great Colorado. Following up the Colorado, probably the
first white men to travel here since the time of Garces, they rode
through a camp of Coco-Maricopas, who ran frightened away, and the
Pattie party, passing them by as if they were mere chaff, camped four
miles farther on, where they were visited by about one hundred, “all
painted red in token of amity.” Farther up they entered the Mohave
country. When they met some of the inhabitants they “marched directly
through their village, the women and children screaming and hiding
themselves in their huts.” Three miles above, the Patties camped, and a
number of the Mohaves soon came to see them. They did not like the
looks of the chief, who made signs that he wanted a horse as payment
for the privilege of trapping in his domain. As the trappers recognised
no rights on the part of the natives, they peremptorily refused,
whereat the chief drew himself erect with a stern and fierce air and
sent an arrow into a tree, at the same time “raising his hand to his
mouth and making their peculiar yell.” The captain of the Pattie band
replied by taking his gun and shooting the arrow in two. Driven out of
the camp the following day, the chief shot a horse as he rode past it
and was himself instantly pierced with four rifle balls.

 [4] _The Personal Narrative of James O. Pattie, of Kentucky_, etc.,
 edited by Timothy Flint. Cincinnati, E. H. Flint, 1833. There is a
 copy in the Astor Library, New York.


 [5] There were two classes of trappers, the free and those in the
 employ of some company. The Patties belonged to the former class.


The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Trail looking East. The Grand Canyon
from Bright Angel Trail looking East.
Point of view 1000 feet above the water. Total depth between 5000 and
6000 feet.
Photograph by ROSE.


A band of his followers, armed, of course, with only bows and arrows,
next day made a concerted attack, but were cut down by the rifles and
fine marksmanship of the Americans. As these Mohaves had been good
friends to Garces, and afterwards treated Americans well till they were
instigated by the Spaniards to fight, it is probable that a somewhat
more conciliatory approach might have avoided the trouble this party
experienced.


Entrance to Black Canyon, first seen by James O. Pattie. Entrance to
Black Canyon, first seen by James O. Pattie.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.


Farther up they reached the “Shuenas,” who had apparently never before
heard the report of a gun, and on the 25th of March they arrived at
what we now call Bill Williams Fork. A party was sent up this stream to
trap. As they did not return next day according to the plan, scouts
were dispatched, who found the bodies cut to pieces and spitted before
a great fire.

On the 28th of March they came to a place on the river where “the
mountains shut in so close upon its shores that we were compelled to
climb a mountain and travel along the aclivity, the river still in
sight, and at an immense depth beneath us.” This was probably Black
Canyon; they are the first white men on record to reach it. They now
took a remarkable journey of fourteen days, but unfortunately little
detail is given, probably because Pattie’s editor considered a cut
across the country of little importance. They travelled, they thought,
one hundred leagues along these canyons, with the “river bluffs on the
opposite shore never more than a mile” from them.[6] Thus they
evidently did not see the Grand Canyon at its widest part. By April
10th they arrived “where the river emerges from these horrid mountains,
which so cage it up as to deprive all human beings of the ability to
descend to its banks and make use of its waters. No mortal has the
power of describing the pleasure I felt when I could once more reach
the banks of the river.” They had suffered for food on this journey,
but now they were again in a beaver country and also killed plenty of
elk, the skins of which they dressed for clothing. They had made the
first extended trip on record along the Grand Canyon and the other
canyons of the Colorado, but whether they passed up by the north or the
south I am unable to determine. My impression is that they passed by
the north, as they would otherwise have met with the Havasupai in their
Canyon, with the Little Colorado, and with the Moki. They would also
have struck the San Juan, but the first stream mentioned as coming in
is from the north, which they reached three days after arriving at the
place where they could get to the water. Three days after leaving this
they met a large body of Shoshones. They appear now to be somewhere on
Grand River. They had a brush with the Shoshones, whom they defeated,
and then compelled the women to exchange six scalps of Frenchmen whom
the Shoshones had killed on the headwaters of the Platte, for scalps of
members of their own party of whom the Patties had killed eight; They
also took from them all the stolen beaver-skins, five mules, and their
dried buffalo meat. After this interchange of civilities the trappers
went on to where the river forked again, neither fork being more than
twenty-five or thirty yards wide. The right-hand-fork pursued a
north-east course, and following it four days brought them (probably in
Middle Park) to a large village of the “Nabahoes.” Of these they
inquired as to the pass over the mountains (Continental Divide) and
were informed they must follow the left-hand fork, which they
accordingly did, and on the thirty-first day of May, 1826, came to the
gap, which they traversed, by following the buffalo trails through the
snow, in six days. Then they descended to the Platte, and went on north
to the Yellowstone, making in all a traverse of the whole Rocky
Mountain region probably never since surpassed, and certainly never
before approached.

 [6] “It is perhaps this very long and formidable range of mountains,”
 says Pattie, “which has caused that this country of Red River has not
 been more explored,” p. 98.


A few months later a lieutenant of the British Navy, R. W. H. Hardy,
travelling in Mexico, chartered in the port of Guaymas a
twenty-five-ton schooner, the _Bruja_ or _Sea Witch_, and sailed up the
Gulf of California. Encountering a good deal of trouble in high winds
and shoals he finally reached a vein of reddish water which he surmised
came from “Red River,” and at two o’clock of the same day he saw an
opening ahead which he took to be the mouth of the river. An hour later
all doubt was dispelled, and by half-past six he came to anchor for the
night at the entrance, believing the tide to be at nearly low water.
“In the middle of the night,” he says, “I was awakened by the dew and
the noise of jackals. I took this opportunity of examining the lead
which had been left hanging alongside, to see what water we had. What
was my astonishment to find only a foot and a half. The crew was sound
asleep. Not even the sentinel was able to keep his eyes open.” They got
off without damage at the rise of the tide, but the next day misfortune
awaited the schooner. The helmsman neglecting his duty for a moment as
they were working up the stream, the vessel lost headway, and the
fierce current immediately swept her, stern foremost, into the bank and
broke the rudder. After much labour the _Bruja_ was finally again
placed in the stream, where they waited for slack water, expecting then
to ship the rudder. “But in the Rio Colorado,” he declares with
italics, “_there is no such thing as slack water_. Before the ebb has
finished running the flood commences, boiling up full eighteen inches
above the surface and roaring like the rapids of Canada.” Had he known
what we now know he might have found a simile nearer his position at
the moment. Finding he could make no further progress with the a
schooner, he took a small boat and continued his voyage in it, though
not for any great distance, as he returned to the vessel at night. Five
or six thousand Yumas were seen, but they were entirely friendly. He
thought the mouth of the Gila was below his stranded vessel, but he was
mistaken in this, for it was in reality a great many miles farther up.
What he took for the Gila was the main Colorado itself, and what he
thought was the Colorado was only a bayou or flood-water channel. It
being midsummer the river was at flood. The bayou is still called the
False or Hardy’s Colorado.


The Navajo Type. The Navajo Type.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


After eight days of waiting they at last got their rudder shipped, the
vessel on the tide, and went back down the stream, one of the Yuma
women swimming after them till taken on board. She was landed at the
first opportunity. The interpreter told Hardy his was the first vessel
that had ever visited the river, and that they took it for a large
bird. The lieutenant was evidently not posted on the history of the
region, and the Yuma was excusable for not having a memory that went
back eighty years.[7] Hardy gave some of the names that still hold on
that part of the river, like Howard’s Reach, where his _Bruja_ was
stranded, Montague and Gore Islands, etc.

 [7] Fernando Consag entered the river, 1746, looking for mission
 sites, and two centuries before that was Alarçon.


The same month that Hardy sailed away from the mouth of the Colorado,
August, 1826, Jedediah Smith started from Salt Lake (the 22d), passed
south by Ashley’s or Utah Lake, and, keeping down the west side of the
Wasatch and the High Plateaus, reached the Virgen River near the
south-western corner of Utah. This he called Adams River in honour of
the President of the United States. Following it south-west through the
Pai Ute country for twelve days he came to its junction with what he
called the Seedskeedee, knowing it to be the same stream so called in
the north. This was the Colorado. Proceeding down the Colorado to the
Mohaves he was kindly received by them and remained some time
recuperating his stock. It may seem strange that the Mohaves should be
so perverse, killing one set of trappers and treating another like old
friends, but the secret of the difference on this occasion, perhaps,
lay in the difference of approach. Jedediah Smith was a sort of
reincarnation of the old padres, and of all the trappers the only one
apparently who allowed piety or humanitarianism to sway his will. His
piety was universally known. It was not an affectation, but a genuine
religion which he carried about with him into the fastnesses of the
mountains. Leaving the Mohaves he crossed the desert to the Californian
coast, where he afterwards had trouble with the authorities, who seemed
to bear a grudge against all American trappers, and who seized every
opportunity to maltreat and rob them. This, however, did not prevent
Smith from returning again after a visit to the northern rendezvous.
But while crossing the Colorado, the Mohaves, who had meanwhile been
instigated to harass Americans by the Spaniards (so it is said),
attacked the expedition, killing ten men and capturing everything.
Smith escaped to be afterwards killed on the Cimarron by the Comanches.


Upper Valley of the Virgen. Upper Valley of the Virgen.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


Pattie and his father again entered the Gila country in the autumn of
1827, with permission from the governor of New Mexico to trap. After
they had gone down the Gila a considerable distance the party split up,
each band going in different directions, and after numerous adventures
the Patties and their adherents arrived at the Colorado, where their
horses were stampeded by the tribe living at the mouth of the Gila, the
“Umeas.” They were left without a single animal, a most serious
predicament in a wild country. The elder Pattie counselled pursuit on
foot to recapture the horses or die in the attempt. But the effort was
fruitless. They then made their way back to their camp, devoured their
last morsel of meat, placed their guns on a raft, and swam the river to
annihilate the village they saw on the opposite bank. The Yumas,
however, had anticipated this move, and the trappers found there only
one poor old man, whom they spared. Setting fire to every hut in the
village, except that of the old man, they had the small satisfaction of
watching them burn. There was now no hope either of regaining the
horses or of fighting the Yumas, so they devoted their attention, to
building canoes for the purpose of escaping by descending the Colorado.
For this they possessed tools, trappers often having occasion to use a
canoe in the prosecution of their work. They soon had finished eight,
dugouts undoubtedly, though Pattie does not say so, and they already
had one which Pattie had made on the Gila. Uniting these by platforms
in pairs they embarked upon them with all their furs and traps, leaving
their saddles hidden on the bank.

On the 9th of December (1827)[8] they started, probably the first
navigators of this part of the river since Alarçon, 287 years before.
That night they set forty traps and were rewarded with thirty-six
beaver. Such good luck decided them to travel slowly with the current,
about four miles an hour, “and trap the river clear.” The stream was
about two hundred to three hundred yards wide, with bottoms extending
back from six to ten miles, giving good camp-grounds all along. With
abundance of fat beaver meat and so many pelts added to their store
they forgot their misfortunes and began to count on reaching the
Spanish settlements they thought existed near the mouth of the river.
Sometimes their traps yielded as many as sixty beaver in a night, and
finally they were obliged to halt and make another canoe. So they went
slowly down, occasionally killing a couple of hostile natives, or deer,
panthers, foxes, or wild-cats. One animal is described as like an
African leopard, the first they had ever seen. At length they came to a
tribe much shorter of stature than the Yumas, and friendly. These were
probably Cocopas. Not a patch of clothing existed in the whole band,
and Pattie’s men gave the women some old shirts, intimating, as well as
they could, that they ought to wear some covering. These people were
well formed, and many of the women had exceptionally fine figures if
the judgment of the trappers can be trusted in this respect. When a gun
was fired they either fell prostrate or ran away, so little did they
know about firearms. The chief had a feast of young dog prepared for
his guests, who partook of it with reluctance. All communication was by
signs, and when the chief imitated the beating of surf and drew a cow
and a sheep in the sand, pointing west, they thought they were at last
nearing the longed-for Spanish settlements, and went on their way
joyfully. Little did they imagine that the settlements the chief
described were far off on the Californian coast.

 [8] The reader may think I introduce too many year-dates but I have
 found most books so lacking in this regard that I prefer to err on the
 other side.


The “Navajo Church,” a Freak of Erosion near Ft. Wingate, N.M. The
“Navajo Church,” a Freak of Erosion near Ft. Wingate, N.M.
The Basin of the Colorado is full of such architectural forms. See
Dellenbaugh Butte, p. 269. Gunnison Butte, p. 271. “Hole in the Wall,”
p. 41, etc.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.


The new year, 1828, came in and still they were going down the river,
taking many beaver. As a New Year’s greeting a shower of arrows from a
new tribe, the Pipis, fell amongst them. The trappers killed six of
them at one volley, and the rest ran away, leaving twenty-three
beautiful longbows behind. The only clothing the dead men had on was
snail-shells fastened to the ends of their long locks of hair. The
trappers now began to seek more anxiously for the mythical settlements.
“A great many times each day,” says Pattie, “we bring our crafts to the
shore and go out to see if we cannot discover the tracks of horses and
cattle.” On the 18th they thought some inundated river entering was the
cause of a slackening of the current, and finally they began to rig
oars, thinking they would now be obliged to work to get on down-stream,
but presently, to their surprise, the current doubled its rate and they
were going along at six miles an hour. None of them had ever had any
experience with tides, and they therefore failed to fathom the real
cause of these singular changes of speed. Suddenly, as they were
descending, people of the same tribe they had fired on stood on the
shore and shouted, making signs for them to land, that their boats
would be capsized, but, thinking it a scheme for robbery and murder,
they kept on, though they refrained from shooting. Late in the evening
they landed, making their camp on a low point where the canoes with
their rich cargoes were tied to some trees. Pattie’s father took the
first watch, and in the night, hearing a roaring noise that he thought
indicated a sudden storm, he roused his companions, and all was
prepared for a heavy rain, when, instead, to their great consternation,
the camp was inundated by “a high ridge of water over which came the
sea current combing down like water over a mill-dam.” The canoes were
almost capsized, but this catastrophe was averted by rapid and good
management. Even in the darkness, in the face of a danger unexpected
and unknown, the trappers never for an instant lost their coolness and
quick judgment, which was so often their salvation. Paddling the canoes
under the trees, they clung to the branches, but when the tide went out
the boats were all high and dry. At last the day dawned bright and
fair, enabling them to see what had happened, and when the tide once
more returned, they got the canoes out of the trap.


Cliffs of the Rio Virgin, about 2500 Feet High. Cliffs of the Rio
Virgin, about 2500 Feet High.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


They now proceeded with the ebb tide, stopping with the beginning of
the flood, constantly on the lookout for the Spanish settlements, and
not till the 28th, when they saw before them such a commotion of waters
that their small craft would be instantly engulfed, and wide sandy
stretches, perfectly barren, all round, did they realise what a mistake
they had made.

“The fierce billows,” says Pattie, “shut us in from below, the river
current from above, and murderous savages on either hand on the shore.
We had a rich cargo of furs, a little independence for each one of us
could we have disposed of them among the Spanish people whom we
expected to have found here. There were no such settlements. Every side
on which we looked offered an array of danger, famine, or death. In
this predicament what were furs to us.”

In order to escape they worked their way back up the river as far as
they could by rowing, poling, and towing, but on February 10th they met
a great rise which put a stop to progress. They now abandoned the
canoes, buried the furs in deep pits, and headed for the coast
settlements of California. After many vicissitudes, which I am unable
to relate here, they finally arrived, completely worn out, at the
Spanish mission of St. Catherine.

Now they believed their troubles were over, and that after recuperating
they could go back, bring in their furs, dispose of them handsomely,
and reap the reward of all their privation and toil. Not so, however.
Indeed, the worst of their trials was now to come. Before they
comprehended the intention the Spanish official had seized their rifles
and the men were locked up with only the commonest fare to relieve
their suffering. Cruelty followed cruelty, but they believed it was the
mistake of the minor officers, and appealed to the general in charge at
San Diego, expecting an order from him for release. Instead of this
they were marched under guard to San Diego, where each was confined in
a separate room, frustrating their plan to recapture their arms and
fight their way out. Pattie’s father presently became ill, and no
amount of entreaty was sufficient to gain permission for the son to see
him even for a moment. He died in his cell. After much argument and the
intercession of some of the minor officers, Pattie was permitted
liberty long enough to attend the funeral. At last the men were allowed
to go back for the furs, which no doubt the wily general intended to
confiscate, Pattie himself being retained as a hostage. But the furs
had been ruined by a rise of the river. Smallpox then began to rage on
the coast, and through this fact Pattie finally gained his freedom.
Having with him a quantity of vaccine virus, he was able to barter
skill in vaccinating the populace for liberty, though it was tardily
and grudgingly granted. He was able, at length, to get away from
California, and returned, broken in health and penniless, by way of the
City of Mexico, to his old home near Cincinnati, after six years of
extraordinary travel through the wildest portions of the Rocky Mountain
region and the extreme Southwest.


The “Colob” Country, Southern Utah. The “Colob” Country, Southern Utah.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


In the year 1826, an afterwards famous personage appeared in the valley
of the Colorado, on the Gila branch, being no less than Kit Carson,[9]
one of the greatest scouts and trappers of all. At this time he was but
seventeen years old, though in sagacity, knowledge, and skill soon the
equal of any trapper in the field. In 1827, Ewing Young, another noted
trapper, having been driven away from the Gila by the natives,
organised a company of forty men to go back and punish them, which
meant to kill all they could see, innocent or guilty. Carson was one of
this party. They succeeded in killing fifteen of the offenders, after
which slight diversion they went on down the stream, trapping it as
they went, but finally, running short of provisions, they had to eat
horses. Arriving among the Mohaves, they obtained food from them, and
proceeded across to San Gabriel Mission, to which place after trapping
up the Sacramento Valley, they again returned, in season to assist the
Spaniards to reduce the natives around the settlement to submission.
This was accomplished by the simple method of killing one-third of
them.

 [9] _Life of Kit Carson_, by Charles Burdett. There are several Lives
 by other biographers.


Limited space prohibits my recounting the exploits of even the smaller
part of the trappers of this period, but with what follows I believe
the reader will possess a sufficient picture of the life of the Rocky
Mountain Trapper at this time.[10] A trail from Santa Fé to California
was opened by way of what is now Gunnison Valley on Green River, and
thence west by about the same route that Jedediah Smith followed, that
is, down the Virgen River, by William Wolfskill who went out by this
route to Los Angeles, in 1830.[11] There were trappers now in every
part of the wilderness, excepting always the canyons of the Green and
Colorado, which were given a wide berth as their forbidding character
became better known; and as time went on the stories of those who had
here and there looked into the angry depths, or had essayed a tilt with
the furious rapids at one or two northern points, were enlarged upon,
and, like all unknown things, the terrors became magnified.

 [10] The reader is referred for exact details to the admirable work by
 H. M. Chittenden, _The American Fur Trade of the Far West_.


 [11] H. H. Bancroft says 1831-2.


It was in 1832 that Captain Bonneville entered Green River Valley, but
as his exploits belong more properly to the valley of the Columbia, I
shall not attempt to mention any of them here, referring the reader to
the delightful account by Washington Irving.


In the Canyon of Lodore. In the Canyon of Lodore.
Walls about 2500 feet, width of river about 400 feet.


In May, 1839, a traveller who was a careful observer, Thomas J.
Farnham, went from New Mexico across the mountains to Brown’s Hole en
route for Oregon, and a portion of his narrative[12] is of deep
interest in this connection, because his guide, Kelly, gave him some
account of the Green and Colorado, which reflects the amount of real
knowledge then possessed concerning the canyon-river.

 [12] _Travels in the Great Western Prairies, the Anahuac and Rocky
 Mountains, and in the Oregon Territory_, by Thomas J. Farnham. There
 is a copy in the library of Columbia University, New York.


“The Grand unites with the Seedskeedee or Green River to form the
Colorado of the West. From the junction of these branches the Colorado
has a general course from the north-east to the south-west of seven
hundred miles to the head of the Gulf of California. Four hundred of
this seven hundred miles is an almost unbroken chasm of kenyon, with
perpendicular sides hundreds of feet in height, at the bottom of which
the waters rush over continuous cascades. This kenyon terminates thirty
[should be three hundred] miles above the gulf. To this point the river
is navigable. The country on each side of its whole course is a rolling
desert of loose brown earth, on which the rains and the dews never
fall. A few years since, two Catholic missionaries and their servants
on their way from the mountains to California, attempted to descend the
Colorado. They have never been seen since the morning they commenced
their fatal undertaking.

“A party of trappers and others made a strong boat and manned it well
with the determination of floating down the river to take beaver that
they supposed lived along its banks. But they found themselves in such
danger after entering the kenyon that with might and main they thrust
their trembling boat ashore and succeeded in leaping upon the crags and
lightening it before it was swallowed in the dashing torrent.”

They had a difficult time in getting out of the canyon, but finally, by
means of ropes and by digging steps with their rifle barrels, they
reached the open country and made their way back to the starting-point.
This was, possibly, the expedition which was wrecked in Lodore, after
Ashley’s Red Canyon trip. I have not succeeded in finding any other
account that would fit that place. Arriving at Fort Davy Crockett, in
Brown’s Park, he describes it as “a hollow square of one-storey log
cabins, with roofs and floor of mud. Around these we found the conical
skin lodges of the squaws of the white trappers who were away on their
fall hunt, and also the lodges of a few Snake Indians who had preceded
their tribe to this their winter haunt. Here also were the lodges of
Mr. Robinson, a trader, who usually stations himself here to traffic
with the Indians and white trappers. His skin lodge was his warehouse,
and buffalo robes spread on the ground his counter, on which he
displayed his butcher knives, hatchets, powder, lead, fish-hooks, and
whiskey. In exchange for these articles he received beaver skins from
trappers, money from travellers, and horses from the Indians. Thus, as
one would believe, Mr. Robinson drives a very snug little business.
And, indeed, when all the independent trappers are driven by the
appearance of winter into this delightful retreat, and the whole Snake
village, two thousand or three thousand strong, impelled by the same
necessity, pitch their lodges around the fort and the dances and
merrymakings of a long winter are thoroughly commenced, there is no
want of customers.”


Uinta Utes, Saiar’s Home. Uinta Utes, Saiar’s Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


With this happy picture of frontier luxury in the trapper period I will
close the scene. Unwittingly, but no less thoroughly, the trappers had
accomplished a mission: they had opened the gates of the wilderness.
Two-thirds of these intrepid spirits had left their bones on the field,
but theirs had been the privilege of seeing the priscan glory of the
wilderness.

Note.—Near the emigrant crossing of Green River, in Wyoming, early in
1849, a party bound for California discovered an old scow ferry-boat,
twelve feet long and about six feet wide, with two oars. Deciding to
complete their journey by water they embarked. Later they built canoes.
They were: William Lewis Manly (aged 29); M. S. McMahon; Charles and
Joseph Hazelrig; Richard Field; Alfred Watson; and John Rogers. Manly’s
account appears entirely truthful. He tells of canyons, rapids, etc.,
till near the mouth of Uinta River they met the Ute chief Walker
(Wakar) who explained by signs that the fury of the river below was
worse than above, and all but two gave up. These two, McMahon and
Field, stopped with the Utes, intending to continue. The others went to
Salt Lake. Wakar (whom McMahon calls “the generous old chief”) repeated
his warnings. Field lost courage, and finally McMahon also abandoned
the desire. Manly’s story (first published in the Santa Clara Valley
Weekly) is given in his book Death Valley in ’49. The volume was edited
by the late Henry L. Brainard, head of the San Jose, California,
company which, in 1894, published it. It was Mr. Brainard who secured
the story from Manly for the Weekly. Mrs. Brainard says of Manly: “He
was one of the dearest old men; kind, loving, gentle, as one seldom
meets in this world. It was a pleasure to meet and know him. His
character was unblemished.” At one place which I identify as lower
Disaster Falls, Canyon of Lodore, they came to a deserted camp, “a
skiff and some heavy cooking utensils, with a notice posted on an alder
[box-elder] tree, saying that they had found the river route
impracticable... and were about to start overland to Salt Lake.” Manly
took down the signed names of this party but his diary was later lost
by fire. Apparently the cooking utensils, etc., were the same we saw
twenty-two years later at that place and thought were wreckage (see p.
255). Manly died February 5, 1903, and is buried at Merced, California.






CHAPTER VI.




Frémont, the Pathfinder—Ownership of the Colorado—The Road of the Gold
Seekers—First United States Military Post, 1849—Steam
Navigation—Captain Johnson Goes to the Head of Black Canyon.


The great Western wilderness was now no longer “unknown” to white men.
By the year 1840 the American had traversed it throughout, excepting
the canyons of the Colorado, which yet remained, at least below the
mouth of Grand River, almost as much of a problem as before the fur
trade was born. Like some antediluvian monster the wild torrent
stretched a foaming barrier miles on miles from the mountains of the
north to the seas of the south, fortified in a rock-bound lair, roaring
defiance at conquistadore, padre, and trapper alike.


Kaibab Pai Ute Boys Playing a Game of Wolf and Deer. Kaibab Pai Ute
Boys Playing a Game of Wolf and Deer.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Till now the trappers and fur companies had been the chief travellers
through this strange, weird land, but as the fourth decade of the
century fairly opens, a new kind of pioneer appears suddenly on the
field; a pioneer with motives totally different from those of the
preceding explorers. Proselyting or profit had been heretofore the main
spurs to ambition, but the commanding figure which we now observe
scanning, from the majestic heights of the Wind River range, the
labyrinthian maze of unlocated, unrecorded mountains, valleys, rivers,
and canyons, rolling far and away to the surf of the Pacific, is imbued
with a broader purpose. His mission is to know. The immediately
previous elements drifted across the scene like rifle-smoke on the
morning breeze, making no more impression on the world’s knowledge.
They recorded little, and, so far as information was concerned, they
might almost as well never have set foot in the wilderness. But the new
man records everything: the wind, the cold, the clouds, the trees, the
grass, the mice, the men, the worms, the birds, etc., to the end of his
time and his ability. He is the real explorer, the advance guard of
those many expeditions which followed and whose labours form the fourth
division of our subject. Frémont is the name, since that time called
“Pathfinder,” though, of course, the paths he followed had often before
been travelled by the redoubtable trapper, whose knowledge, like that
of the native, was personal only. Indeed, he was guided in his journeys
by several men now quite as famous as himself—Kit Carson, Fitzpatrick,
Walker, and Godey. But the field was still new to the world and to
science. Quite appropriately, one of the highest peaks from which the
Colorado draws its first waters, is now distinguished by the name of
the earliest scientific observer to enter its basin. Frémont came up
the North Platte and the Sweetwater branch, crossing (1842) from that
stream by the South Pass thirty-four years after Andrew Henry had first
traversed it, over to the headwaters of the Colorado. The ascent to
South Pass is very gradual, and there is no gorge or defile. The total
width is about twenty miles. A day or two later Frémont climbed out of
the valley on the flank of the Wind River Mountains. “We had reached a
very elevated point,” he says; “and in the valley below and among the
hills were a number of lakes at different levels; some two or three
hundred feet above others, with which they communicated by foaming
torrents. Even to our great height the roar of the cataracts came up,
and we could see them leaping down in lines of snowy foam.” Thus are
the rills and the rivulets from the summits collected in these
beautiful alpine lakes to give birth to the Colorado in white cascades,
typical, at the very fountainhead, of the turbulence of the waters
which have rent for themselves a trough of rock to the gulf.[1]
Springing from these clear pools and seething falls, shadowed by sombre
pines and granite crags, its course is run through plunging rapids to
the final assault on the sea, where wide sand-barrens and desolation
prevail. Frémont understood this from his guides and says: “Lower down,
from Brown’s Hole to the southward, the river runs through lofty
chasms, walled in by precipices of red rock.” The descent

“of the Colorado is but little known, and that little derived from
vague report. Three hundred miles of its lower part, as it approaches
the Gulf of California, is reported to be smooth and tranquil; but its
upper part is manifestly broken into many falls and rapids. From many
descriptions of trappers it is probable that in its foaming course
among its lofty precipices, it presents many scenes of wild grandeur;
and though offering many temptations, and often discussed, no trappers
have yet been found bold enough to undertake a voyage which has so
certain a prospect of fatal termination.”

 [1] These mountains, as the glacial accumulations began to permanently
 diminish, must have annually sent a long-continued huge flood of water
 down the rivers heading there.


Canyon of Lodore, Green River. Looking up the Canyon. Canyon of Lodore,
Green River. Looking up the Canyon.
Walls 2000 to 2500 feet. “Wheatstack” in distance.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


He was mistaken about the trappers, not having ventured, for, as we
have seen, there are traces of at least three parties: that of Ashley,
that of the missionaries mentioned by Farnham, the trappers also
mentioned by him, and the one indicated by the wreckage discovered in
Lodore by Powell’s expeditions, though the latter and that mentioned by
Farnham are possibly the same.

The fur trade, which up to about 1835 was principally in beaver skins,
had now somewhat changed, and buffalo robes were the chief article of
traffic. But the buffalo were also beginning to diminish. They were no
longer found on the western slope of the mountains, and no wonder, as
the fur companies _annually_ gathered in about ninety thousand
marketable skins during the ten years ending with 1842, yet it was only
those animals killed in the cold months whose pelts were suitable for
the fur business. The largest number of buffalo were killed in the
summer months for other purposes; therefore one is not surprised that
they were soon exterminated in the Colorado River Valley, where they
never were as numerous as on the plains, and apparently never went west
of the mouth of White River.


Las Vegas, Southern Nevada, on the Old Spanish Trail. Las Vegas,
Southern Nevada, on the Old Spanish Trail.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Frémont went over to the California region, returning through Nevada by
way of the Spanish Trail, past Las Vegas (see cut, page 137), and up
the Virgen, which he called the most dreary river he had ever seen,
till he reached the point where Escalante had turned east. From here he
followed Escalante’s trail back to Utah Lake, passing through Mountain
Meadows (1844), afterward the scene of the terrible massacre of
emigrants by a body of Mormons under John D. Lee.[2] His route was full
of interesting adventures, but it is not possible to give details
here.[3] Passing over the Wasatch by way of Spanish Fork, he again
entered the valley of the Colorado on the head-waters of the Uinta,
pausing briefly at Roubidoux’s Fort on Uinta River. Soon after he left,
the fort and its occupants were annihilated by the Utes. Crossing
Ashley Fork he climbed on the trail high up the mountain, where he had
“a view of the river below shut up amongst rugged mountains;” Whirlpool
Canyon and the Canyon of Lodore. Descending then to Brown’s Hole, he
crossed the river in a skin boat, and camped just above Vermilion
Creek, opposite the remains of an “old fort,” which was doubtless Fort
Davy Crockett. “Here the river enters between lofty precipices of red
rock” (now the Gate of Lodore), “and the country below is said to
assume a very rugged character; the river and its affluents passing
through canons which forbid all access to the water.” After journeying
to the head of the Platte, and south through the Parks, he went east by
the Arkansas, and came again in 1845 to cross the Green a little
farther south on his way to California.

 [2] For an account of this unfortunate affair see _The Rocky Mountain
 Saints_, chapter xliii., by T. B. H. Stenhouse. I knew Lee. Personally
 he was an agreeable man, and to me he disclaimed responsibility in
 this matter.


 [3] See Frémont and ’49 by F. S. Dellenbaugh.


By this time the relations between the United States and Mexico were at
the point of rupture, and in 1846 Kearny’s forces moved on New Mexico
and California, the Mormon Battalion marking out a waggon-road down the
Gila. Frémont, being in California, took an active part (1846) in the
capture of the region, but the story of that episode does not belong
here, and may be found in any history of California. The same year in
which the formal treaty of peace was signed (1848) another event
occurred which was destined to have a vast influence on the whole
country and lead streams of emigrants to the new Dorado across the
broad wastes of the Colorado Valley; gold in enormous quantities was
discovered on Sutler’s California ranch. There were three chief routes
from the “States” across the wilderness of the Colorado River basin:
one down the Gila to the Yuma country, another by South Pass and so on
around Salt Lake and down the Humboldt, and the third also by South
Pass and Salt Lake and thence south, by Mountain Meadows and west by
the Old Spanish Trail. On the northern road Jim Bridger had, in 1843,
established a trading post on Ham’s Fork of Black’s Fork of Green
River, and this now was a welcome stopping-place for many of the
emigrants,[4] while on the southern trail a temporary ferry was
established at the mouth of the Gila by Lieut. Cave J. Coutts, who had
arrived in September, 1849, commanding an escort for some boundary
surveyors under Lieutenant Whipple. For a couple of months he rendered
great assistance to the stream of weary emigrants, who had reached this
point on their long journey to the Golden Country of their dreams. A
flatboat, built on the shore of Lake Michigan, and there fitted with
wheels so that it could be used as a waggon on land, was launched on
the Gila at the Pima villages and came safely down to the Colorado,
bearing its owners. Coutts is said to have purchased this boat and used
it till he left, which was not long after. The junction now began to be
a busy place. The United States troops came and went, occupying the
site of Coutt’s Camp Calhoun, which Major Heintzelman, November, 1850,
called Camp Independence. In March, 1851, he re-established his command
on the spot where the futile Spanish mission of Garces’s time had
stood, and this was named Fort Yuma. It was abandoned again in the
autumn of the year, as had been done with the camps of the previous
seasons, but when Heintzelman returned in the spring of 1852 he made it
a permanent military post.

 [4] Brigham Young and his followers crossed to the Salt Lake Valley in
 1847.


A Canyon in the Cliffs, Southern Nevada. A Canyon in the Cliffs,
Southern Nevada.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Meanwhile a gang of freebooters, who left Texas in 1849, found their
way to this point and acquired or established a ferry two or three
miles below the old mission site. Their settlement was called Fort
Defiance in contempt for the Yumas. They were led by one Doctor Craig.
They robbed the Yumas of their wives and dominated the region as they
pleased. Captain Hobbs,[5] a mountaineer who was at Yuma in 1851, says:

 [5] _Wild Life in the Far West_, by Captain James Hobbs.


“The attack which wiped out this miserable band was planned by two
young Mexicans, who had attempted to cross the ferry with their wives,
and had them taken from them and detained by the Texans. The Mexicans
went down the river and the desperadoes supposed they had gone their
way and left their wives in their hands. But they only went far enough
to find the chief of the tribe who had suffered so horribly at the
hands of this gang, and arrange for an attack on their common enemy.”

By this plan twenty-three out of the twenty-five whites, including the
master scoundrel himself. Dr. Craig, were destroyed with little loss to
the attacking party. Hobbs calls this the best thing the Yumas ever
did. It took place only a month before Hobbs reached the ferry, and
only two or three days before one of the periodical returns of United
States troops, this time a company of dragoons under Captain Hooper,
probably belonging to Heintzelman’s command. To him the two escaped
desperadoes came with a complaint against the Yumas, but the captain
was posted and he put the men in irons to be transported to California
for trial. The Yumas now established a ferry by using an old
army-waggon box which they made water-tight, as the Craig Ferry had
suffered the fate of its owners. Hobbs employed the Yumas to take his
party over, the horses swimming, and the arrangement seems to have
worked very well.


Crossing the Lower Colorado. Crossing the Lower Colorado.
Width 400 to 500 yards.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


According to Hobbs, the first steamboat came up the river while he was
there, frightening the Yumas so that they ran for their lives,
exclaiming the devil was coming, blowing fire and smoke out of his
nose, and kicking back with his feet in the water. It was the
stern-wheel steamboat _Yuma_, and this is the only mention of it I can
find. It had supplies for the troops, but what became of it afterward I
do not know. This was evidently before the coming of the _Uncle Sam_,
usually credited with being the first steamboat on the Colorado, which
did not arrive till a year after the reconnaissance of the river mouth
by Lieutenant Derby of the Topographical Engineers, for the War
Department, seeking a route for the water transportation of supplies to
Fort Yuma, now ordered to be a permanent military establishment. He
came up the river a considerable distance, in the topsail schooner
_Invincible_ and made a further advance in his small boats. The only
guide he had to the navigation of the river was Hardy’s book, referred
to in a previous chapter, which assisted him a good deal. He arrived at
the mouth December 23, 1850. “The land,” he says, “was plainly
discernible on both coasts of the gulf, on the California side bold and
mountainous, but on the Mexican low and sandy.” There could, therefore,
never, have been any doubt in the minds of any of those who had
previously reached this point as to the character of Lower California.
The _Invincible_ sailed daily up the river with the flood tide,
anchoring during the ebb, and they got on very well till the night of
January 1, 1851, when the vessel grounded at the ebb,

“swung round on her heel, and, thumping violently, was carried by the
tide (dragging her anchor) some two or three miles, grounding finally
upon the shoal of Gull Island. At flood tide sail was made on her as
soon as she floated, and we succeeded in getting her back into the
channel. As the vessel grounded at every ebb tide and on the return of
the water was violently swung around, thumping on her bottom and
swinging on her anchor, I began to see that it would be neither
prudent, or in fact possible, to ascend the river much higher, and we
accordingly commenced making preparations for a boating expedition.”[6]

 [6] _Reconnaissance of the Gulf of California and the Colorado River
 made in 1850-51_, by Lieut. G. H. Derby. _Ex. Doc_, 81, 32nd Congress,
 1st Session, Senate.


The ebb tide ran at the rate of five and a half miles an hour, and the
next day they saw, as it was running out, the “bore,” or tidal wave,
booming in to meet and overwhelm it.

“A bank of water some four feet in height, extending clear across the
river, was seen approaching us with equal velocity; this huge comber
wave came steadily onward, occasionally breaking as it rushed over
shoals of Gull and Pelican islands; passing the vessel, which it swung
around on its course, it continued up the river. The phenomenon was of
daily occurrence until about the time of neap tides.”

At Howard’s Point the vessel was anchored while the party continued the
exploration in the small boat. The Cocopas whom they met were entirely
friendly. These people wore no clothing beyond the breechcloth, and
were plastered from head to foot with mud. The width of the river
varied from two hundred yards to half a mile. At one place they passed
a Cocopa village, near which lay an old scow made from waggon-boxes
which had floated down from the ferry at Yuma. On the 13th they met
Major Heintzelman coming down-stream, and as he had taken field notes
Derby considered it unnecessary for him to proceed, and they went back
in company to the ship, arriving there the same afternoon. The vessel
was then worked three miles farther up, where her cargo was discharged
to be taken by teams to the fort. Heintzelman was accompanied by a Dr.
Ogden and a Mr. Henchelwood, “proprietors of the ferry.” The Craig gang
had been destroyed earlier this year, and these men had probably
established a new ferry. While lying at this berth, the vessel was
roughly tumbled about by the tidal wave, till she broke from her anchor
and drifted rapidly up-stream. This was the highest and most powerful
spring tide, and the situation was full of peril. The captain, Wilcox,
calmly took the helm himself, steered toward the bank and ordered his
men to leap to the ground from the jib-boom, carrying the kedge anchor.
By this means the mad rush of the vessel was stopped, and by the use of
logs and cables she was kept a safe distance from the bank. When the
stores were finally landed they turned gratefully but apprehensively
toward the sea, which they happily reached again without serious
mishap.


A Cocopa Dwelling, near Mouth of the Colorado. A Cocopa Dwelling, near
Mouth of the Colorado.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


A little later this same year (1851) George A. Johnson came to the
mouth of the river on the schooner _Sierra Nevada_ with further
supplies for the fort, including lumber for the construction of
flatboats with which to go up to the post. Johnson afterwards ran
steamers on the river for a number of years, but he was not the first
to attempt steam-navigation here, that honour resting with Turnbull who
built the Uncle Sam.


On the Yuma Desert. On the Yuma Desert.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.


Many of the emigrants, dreaming of ease and prosperity as they trudged
their long course across the desolation of the South-west, never lived
to touch the golden sands of wonderful California, but expired by the
way, often at the hands of the Apache or of some other cutthroat tribe.
One of the saddest cases was that of Royse Oatman, who, en route with
his large family, was massacred (1851) on the spot now known as
Oatman’s Flat, not far below the great bend of the Gila. His son, left
for dead, revived and escaped. Two daughters were carried off and
afterwards sold to the Mohaves, among whom one died and the other was
restored by purchase to freedom (1856) by Henry Grinnell, and was sent
to her brother’s home in Los Angeles.[7] Another characteristic example
is related by Hobbs, lit the desert beyond Yuma,

“we came upon the remains of an emigrant train, which a month previous
had attempted to cross this desert in going from the United States to
California. While passing over the desert they had been met by a
sand-storm and lost the road by the sand blowing over it, and had
wandered off into the hills. They had finally got back into the road;
but by that time they were worn out, and they perished of fatigue and
thirst.”

 [7] For the full story see _Capture of the Oatman Girls_, by R. B.
 Stratton.


They had passed the watering-place, a small pool, and as they had
already been two or three days without water, the mistake was fatal.
They had lightened their loads by casting off goods, but it was
useless. A squad of soldiers was sent out from Fort Yuma to bury the
bodies, of which eight were women and children and nine were men. The
desert has no compassion on the human intruder, and he who ventures
there must count only on his own resources.

The crossing of Green River was also difficult, except at low water, on
account of the depth and force of the current. Sometimes the emigrants
utilised a waggon-box as a boat, and the Mormons, who passed in 1847,
established a ferry. Later others operated ferries, and the valley vied
with Yuma in the matter of human activity. Fort Bridger was a place for
rest and repairs, for there was a primitive blacksmith forge and
carpenter shop. Here lived Bridger with his dark-skinned wife, chosen
from a native tribe, and Vasquez, also a famous hunter. The fort was
simply a few log cabins arranged in a hollow square protected by
palisades, through which was a gateway closed by timber doors. Simple
though it was, its value to the emigrant so far away from any
settlement can hardly be appreciated by any who have never journeyed
through such a wilderness as still existed beyond the Missouri. Could
we pause here and observe the caravans bound toward the sunset, we
could hardly find anywhere a more interesting study. There were the
Californian emigrant, and the Mormon with his wives and their
push-carts, there were the trapper and the trader, and there were the
bands of natives sometimes friendly, sometimes hovering about a caravan
like a pack of hungry wolves. There is now barely an echo of this hard
period, and that echo smothered by the rush of the express train as it
dashes in an hour or two so heedlessly across the stretches that
occupied the forgotten emigrant days or weeks. In the search for a
route for the railway much exploration was accomplished, and these
expeditions, together with those in connection with the Mexican
boundary survey, added greatly to the accumulating knowledge of the
desolation enveloping the Colorado and its branches.


A Uinta Ute. A Uinta Ute.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


The treaty of 1848 made the Gila the southern boundary, but the Gadsden
Purchase placed it farther south, as now marked. A number of
expeditions concerned in this and railway surveys traversed Arizona in
the early fifties under Whipple, Sitgreaves, Emory, and others, and the
country began to be scientifically known outside of the canyons and
their surroundings. John R. Bartlett was appointed Boundary
Commissioner, and he spent considerable time along the Gila and
southwards and on the lower Colorado in 1852 to 1854.[8] A few weeks
before he arrived at Fort Yuma eight of the soldiers there had a battle
with the Yumas and the eight were all killed. After this Heintzelman
fought them with so much vigour that they finally came in, begging for
peace. Bartlett’s first view of the Colorado was in the early morning
at a point twelve miles below the fort. “It was much swollen, and
rushed by with great velocity, washing away the banks and carrying with
it numberless snags and trees.” Never is the Colorado tranquil. As they
followed up the stream they suddenly found the road washed away, and
were obliged to cut a new path through the underbrush. This proved a
long task, so with the pack-mules he pushed on, leaving the waggons to
come later. Antoine Leroux was the guide. When they reached the place
he had selected for a camp and had unpacked the mules, it was found
that the water could not be approached because of the abruptness of the
washed-out bank, so they were compelled to saddle again and go on
toward the fort, though they had been riding since one o’clock in the
morning.

 [8] _Personal Narrative of Exploration_, by John Russell Bartlett.


They were finally stopped altogether by a bayou and had to wait for a
boat from the fort with which to cross it. When they came finally to
the crossing of the river itself to the Arizona side they had a slow
and difficult time of it. Sometimes the scow they used failed to reach
the landing-place on the other side and the strong current would then
sweep it two or three miles down the river before the men could get it
to the shore. The next operation would be to tow it back to some low
place, where the animals on it could be put ashore. This is a sample of
the difficulties always encountered in crossing when the river was at
flood. From Yuma looking northward the river can be traced for about
fifteen miles before it is lost in the mountains. See cut on page 26.
Bartlett desired to explore scientifically down to the mouth, but the
government failed to grant him the privilege. He and Major Emory were
not on good terms and there was a great deal of friction about all the
boundary work, arising chiefly from the appointment of a civilian
commissioner. Bartlett mentions Leroux’s “late journey down the
Colorado,” on which occasion he met with some Cosninos, but just where
he started from is not stated, though it was certainly no higher up
than the mouth of the Grand Wash.


“Judy,” a Navajo. “Judy,” a Navajo.
From a photograph by J.K. HILLERS.


In 1852 the steamer _Uncle Sam_ was brought out on a schooner from San
Francisco and put together at the mouth of the river, but after a few
months she most strangely went to the bottom, while her owner,
Turnbull, was on the way from San Francisco with new machinery for her.
Turnbull came in the schooner _General Patterson_, which was bearing
stores for the fort. When the _Patterson_ arrived at the mouth of the
Colorado, she was able to sail easily up the river for thirty-three
miles because Turnbull was met by some of his men who had been left
here to take soundings, and for the first time a vessel was sailing
with some knowledge of the channel. The river, however, was unusually
high, which was an advantage. The wide flatlands on both sides were
inundated to a distance of fifteen miles. The current ran at a seven-
or eight-mile rate and was loaded with floating snags and tree-trunks
to repel the invader. In proceeding in a small boat to the fort,
Turnbull, in a distance of 120 miles, found but two dry spots on the
bank where he could camp.


One of the Parks on the Kaibab. One of the Parks on the Kaibab.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.


A new steamer was soon afloat on this fickle and impetuous tide, the
_General Jesup_, owned by Captain Johnson, who had now had three or
four years’ experience in this navigation had been awarded the contract
for transporting the supplies from the mouth, to the fort. His new
boat, however, exploded seven months later, and it seemed as if the
Fates had joined with the treacherous river to prevent successful steam
navigation here. But Johnson would not give up. Before twelve months
had passed he was stemming the turbulent flood with another steamer,
the _Colorado_, a stern-wheeler, 120 feet long. As if propitiated by
the compliment of having its name bestowed on this craft, the river
treated it fairly well, and it seems to have survived to a good old
age. The _Jesup_ was soon repaired.

The northern part of Arizona was crossed by Captain Sitgreaves, in
1851, about on the trail of Garces, reaching the Colorado in the Mohave
Valley, and following the river down to Fort Yuma. In 1854, another
government expedition under Lieutenant Whipple, with Lieutenant Ives as
chief assistant, explored along the 35th parallel for a railway route,
and when they arrived on the Colorado at the mouth of Bill Williams
Fork, they followed up the river, through the beautiful Mohave Valley
to a point some eight miles above the present railway (A. & P.) bridge,
where they crossed. Their experience was interesting. Lieutenant Ives
directed the operations, using for a ferry-boat a singular combination:
an old rubber pontoon, with the box from a spring waggon attached to
the top of it for a receptacle for the goods. This was arranged at
night. In the morning the pontoon was found in a state of collapse and
the waggon-box filled with water, but the concern was resuscitated by
the skill of Ives, and soon all was ready for crossing. Swimmers
carried a long rope to an island midway, while another was retained on
the shore. By means of these the boat was pulled back and forth. The
first trip was entirely successful, but on the second attempt the
affair was, by the weight of the ropes, upset in midstream.

“During the excitement attending this misfortune, we were advised by an
Indian messenger that another great chief was about to pay us a visit.
Turning around, we beheld quite an interesting spectacle. Approaching
was the dignitary referred to, lance in hand, and apparelled in
official robes. The latter consisted of a blanket thrown gracefully
around him, and a magnificent head-dress of black plumage covering his
head and shoulders, and hanging down his back in a streamer, nearly to
the ground. His pace was slow, his eyes cast downward, and his whole
demeanour expressive of formal solemnity. Upon his right hand was the
interpreter, upon his left a boy acting as page, and following was a
long procession of his warriors, attended by a crowd of men, women, and
children.”

Compliments and presents were exchanged and all was well. Meanwhile the
men who had been capsized with the boat were struggling to disentangle
themselves from the waggon-box, and when freed they gained support on
the rope till the entire combination was pulled back to the shore. The
whole party were finally on the island and then used the same tactics
in crossing the other deeper channel. Here they upset the ferry three
times and two persons came near being drowned. The Mohaves, who are
good swimmers, rendered prompt and efficient assistance in saving the
floating wreckage. They were also supplied with their kind of raft,
made of bundles of rushes tied together with willow twigs (see cut on
page 30), which they handled dexterously. Such rafts were and are in
use all the way from here to the gulf. By night the expedition was safe
on the western bank, the mules having swum over, and the flock of
sheep, being ferried in the boat. Several sheep were drowned, and
these, with two live ones and a couple of blankets, were conferred on
those Mohaves who had helped in the crossing. The landing-place was a
field of young wheat, which was much damaged. The lieutenant willingly
paid the moderate charge the owner made for this, and there was no
trouble; all the intercourse was perfectly amicable. But had he been
imbued with the trapper spirit he would probably have answered the
request for payment with a fatal bullet, and then would have followed a
stampede of the stock, ambush, and all the rest which embroiders the
history of the trappers with such violently romantic colour.


The Ruins in Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, called “Casa Blanca”. The Ruins
in Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, called “Casa Blanca”.
These were once connected.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



The Queen. The Queen.
Pinnacle 200 feet high on Vermillion Creek.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Two or three years after the Whipple expedition, a waggon-road was
surveyed (1837) along the 35th parallel by E. F. Beale. He returned to
the Colorado January 23, 1858, about twelve miles north of Whipple’s
Crossing. He had camped, several miles back from the Colorado, and
starting early met his clerk F. E. Kerlin returning from the river
whither he had been sent to prepare the boat. The clerk had a “joyful
surprise” in news that the steamboat _General Jesup_, Captain George A.
Johnson, was at the crossing and waiting to convey the party across.
Soon after the arrival of Beale’s party the steamboat came up to the
bank, and taking on the men, baggage, and camels landed them on the
opposite or eastern side.[9] The mules were compelled to swim over.
Then the _General Jesup_ continued down stream “towards Fort Yuma, 350
miles below.” Johnson had with him Lieut. James White, 3d U. S.
Artillery, fifteen soldiers and “as many rugged mountain men” as
escort. He had succeeded in navigating with the _General Jesup_ as far
up the river as El Dorado Canyon, about sixty-eight miles below the
mouth of the Virgin—that is, he had gone clear through Black Canyon and
thus holds the record for the first ascent of the Colorado with a
steamboat to the limit of steamboat navigation. This feat he executed
with the avowed purpose of “getting ahead” of Lieutenant Ives who had
arrived December 1, 1857, at Robinson’s Landing at the mouth of the
river, bringing an iron steamboat (as described in the next chapter)
under orders from the War Department to explore the Colorado as far as
possible.

 [9] Beale used camels on this expedition and considered them a
 success.


Johnson had been aware of his presence and intentions having been sent
down from Fort Yuma with two steamboats to transport certain supplies
from the vessel which brought Lieutenant Ives. He had reached the
schooner December 17th. On January 2, 1858, he left Fort Yuma on his
northward run knowing that Ives could not follow him until the
steamboat brought in sections could be completed.

Ives had entirely ignored Johnson, as well as Johnson’s skill in
navigating this river, and also his powerful steamboats. The
appropriation under which Ives was working was one which had originally
been made for Johnson, after a visit of his to Washington, but from
several causes it had been switched over to the War Department. Captain
Johnson, therefore, was determined to rob Ives of the glory of being
the first to take a steamboat to the head of navigation, and he did it
with a steamboat much larger than that of Ives which failed to pass
Black Canyon. The General Jesup, named after the quarter-master general
of the Army, was 108 feet long, 28 feet beam, and drew 2 feet, 6 inches
of water. She had exploded in August, 1854, but had been thoroughly
repaired. On this down trip from the head of steamboat navigation she
met with another accident, running on “a large rolling stone and
sinking just above Chimney Peak” some eighteen miles from Yuma. She was
raised by the Colorado and towed down to the Fort.[10]

 [10] See _Wagon Road from Fort Defiance to the Colorado River_—Edward
 F. Beale, 35th Congress, 2d Session, House of Representatives,
 Document, 124, Washington, 1858. Also _Handbook to Arizona_, pp.
 247-48, R. J. Hinton, 1878. The information as to Johnson’s
 application for an appropriation to explore the Colorado was given me
 by Mr. Robert Brewster Stanton. Johnson also related the story of his
 “getting ahead” of Ives, to Mr. Stanton, who now has the written
 statement as well. I communicated with Johnson in 1904, requesting
 some data, but he declined to give it on the ground that he intended
 himself to publish the story of his exploits. Since then unfortunately
 he has died.






CHAPTER VII.




Lieutenant Ives Explores to Fortification Rock—By Trail to Diamond
Creek, Havasupai Canyon, and the Moki Towns—Macomb Fails in an Attempt
to Reach the Mouth of Grand River—James White’s Masterful Fabrication.


Steam navigation on the Colorado was now successfully established, and
when Lieutenant Ives was planning the exploration of the river there
were already upon it two powerful steamers exactly adapted, through
experience of previous disasters, to the peculiar dangers of these
waters, while Johnson, the chief owner and pilot, had become an expert
in handling a steamboat amid the unusual conditions. He had succeeded
in making a truce with the dragon. And he had secured the friendship of
the tribes of Amerinds living along the banks; his men and his property
were safe anywhere; his steamers often carried jolly bands of Cocopas
or of Yumas from place to place. In arranging a government expedition
to explore to the farthest point practicable for steamboats, the
sensible course would have been to advise with Johnson and to charter
his staunch steamer _Colorado_, together with himself, thus gaining at
the very outset an immense double advantage: a boat perfectly modelled
for the demands to be made upon it, and a guide entirely familiar with
the tricks of the perfidious waters. Especially important would this
have been because Lieutenant Ives, who was instructed to direct this
work, was ordered to accomplish it at the lowest and worst stage of the
stream. Ives had been Whipple’s chief assistant in 1853-54, and
therefore well understood the situation. But he states that the company
was “unable to spare a boat except for a compensation beyond the limits
of the appropriation.” As a boat was spared, however, for the less
important matter of going far up the river to ferry Beale across, it
would appear that either the negotiations were not conducted in a
proper spirit, or that Ives rather preferred a boat of his own. The
cost of building in Philadelphia the boat he used, and sending her in
sections to San Francisco, and thence to the Colorado, must have been
very great. The steamer was ordered June 1, 1857, and had to be at the
mouth of the Colorado by December 1st of the same year. After a trial
on the Delaware, a mill-pond compared with the Colorado, she was
hastily shipped, with all her defects, by way of Panama, there being no
time to make any changes. The chief trouble discovered was radical,
being a structural weakness of the hull. To, in a measure, offset this,
timbers and bolts were obtained in San Francisco, the timbers to be
attached to the _outside_ of the hull on putting the sections together,
there being no room within. It requires little understanding of naval
architecture to perceive that a great handicap was thus imposed on the
little vessel. Yet Lieutenant Ives says, on the trial trip she was
“found satisfactory”! By November 1st, the party was on board the
schooner _Monterey_, bound for the head of the Gulf. Though the vessel
was loaded down with supplies for Fort Yuma, room was made for the Ives
expedition and they arrived, passing through a heavy gale in the gulf,
at Robinson’s Landing on November 30th. The schooner was anchored over
a shoal, and was soon aground, as the fierce tide ran out, a
circumstance that enabled her to stay there and stem the torrent. A
deep booming sound was presently heard, growing louder and nearer, and

“in half an hour a great wave several feet in height, could be
distinctly seen flashing and sparkling in the moonlight, extending from
one bank to the other and advancing swiftly upon us. While it was only
a few hundred yards distant, the ebb tide continued to flow by at the
rate of three miles an hour. A point of land and an exposed bar close
under our lee broke the wave into several long swells, and as these met
the ebb the broad sheet around us boiled up and foamed like the surface
of a cauldron, and then, with scarcely a moment of slack water, the
whole went whirling by in the opposite direction. In a few moments the
low rollers had passed the islands and united again in a single bank of
water, which swept up the narrowing channel with the thunder of a
cataract.”


Part of Map No. 1, by Lieut. J.C. Ives, 1858. Part of Map No. 1, by
Lieut. J.C. Ives, 1858.
From the Gulf to the Mouth of the Gila.
Scale of this reduction is about 12 miles to 1 inch.


This was the great tidal bore once more, which, at the occurrence of
the spring tides, makes the entrance of the river extremely dangerous.
It is due to the narrowing of the Gulf of California forcing the tides
into close quarters, and its violence is augmented by collision with
the equally furious current of the Colorado. The battle between this
tidal wave and the Colorado continues for many miles, till at last the
sea tide gradually loses its power and succumbs to the flood of the
river.[1] The latter falls at the mouth, according to Ives, about
thirty feet in a few hours after the ebb begins. The shallower the
water as the tide rushes in against the ebb, the angrier the wave
becomes, sometimes reaching a height of ten or twelve feet.

 [1] The tide ascends thirty-seven miles. Lowest stage of water about
 three feet, average six feet, and highest about twenty feet.


Robinson’s Landing Robinson’s Landing.
Mouth of the Colorado River. Starting-point of Lieut. Ives’s
Exploration.
Photograph by Lieut. IVES. Redrawn by J.J. YOUNG.


At Robinson’s Landing, a mere mud flat, a camp was established and
preparations made for the voyage to the extreme limit of navigation.
The parts of the steamer were put ashore and a suitable spot selected
whereon to set her up. The high tides were over for a month, and the
mud began to dry, enabling the party to pitch their tents. It was an
uncomfortable spot for expedition headquarters, but the best that could
be had, as the _Monterey_ was not permitted by her owners to venture
farther up the river. But this delay, discomfort, and difficulty, to
say nothing of expense, might have been avoided could a contract have
been made with the existing steamboat company. As the bank on which the
boat was to be reconstructed was not likely to be overflowed more than
a foot by the next high tide, a month later, an excavation was made
wherein to build the steamer that she might certainly come afloat at
the desired time. Sixty holes had to be made in the iron plates so that
the four stiffening timbers could be attached to the bottom to prevent
the craft from breaking in two under the extra-heavy boiler. Inside,
cross timbers were also added to resist the strain. On, December 17th,
two steamers appeared from the fort, in command, respectively, of
Johnson and Wilcox, to transport the army supplies to their
destination. Robinson, after whom the landing was called because he had
a cabin there, was with the steamboats, and, as he knew the river,
especially as far as Yuma, Ives engaged him for pilot.

By the end of the month, the _Explorer_, as the Ives boat was named,
was ready for the expected high tide. She was fifty-four feet long over
all, not quite half the length of Johnson’s Colorado. Amidships she was
open, but the bow was decked, and at the stern was a cabin, seven by
eight feet, the top of which formed an outlook. For armament, she was
supplied on the bow with a four-pound howitzer, though this weapon was
not likely to be of much service. When the anticipated flood arrived on
the night of December 30th, steam was turned on at the critical moment,
the engines worked the stern-wheel, and Lieutenant Ives had the
satisfaction of seeing the _Explorer_, under the bright moonlight,
slowly back out of the pit which had been her cradle into the swirling,
seething current. As the tide continued to rise, Ives feared the whole
flat would soon be inundated, so everything belonging to the expedition
was stowed on board till the _Explorer’s_ gunwales were no more than
six inches above the surface. Through this circumstance, the expedition
came near a disastrous end the next night, when the steamer proceeded
up the river on the flood tide. A squall was met and the boat shipped
water alarmingly, but fortunately the wind died away as quickly as it
had come up. The _Explorer_ was saved, and the journey was continued
over the swiftly gliding torrent.


The Steamer “Explorer” in which Lieut. Ives in 1857 Ascended the
Colorado to Foot of Black Canyon. The Steamer “Explorer” in which
Lieut. Ives in 1857 Ascended the Colorado to Foot of Black Canyon.
Sketch by H.B. MOLLHAUSEN.


As they went on after this in daylight, some Cocopas they met grinned
rather contemptuously, and called this the “chiquito steamboat.” A
considerable amount of stores was left on the bank in their care, to be
picked up by Captain Wilcox, who, going down on one of the fort
steamers, had passed the _Explorer_, and offered to take these extra
stores to the fort on his return. They were placed with the Cocopas by
his direction, an arrangement that better describes the relations of
the steamboat people and the natives than anything that could be said
about them. The fuel used was wood, of which there was great abundance
along the shore, the hard, fine-grained mesquite making a particularly
hot fire. The routine of advance was to place a man with a
sounding-pole at the bow, while Robinson, the pilot, had his post on
the deck of the cabin, but the sounding was more for record purposes
than to assist Robinson, who was usually able to predict exactly when
the water would shoal or deepen. Later, Ives says: “If the ascent of
the river is accomplished, it will be due to his skill and good
management.” Besides the ordinary shifting of the sands by the
restless, current, there was another factor occasionally to guard
against. This was earthquakes. Sometimes they might change the depth of
water on the lower river in the twinkling of an eye. On one occasion, a
schooner lying in a deep part was found suddenly aground in three feet
of water, with no other warning than a rumble and a shock. Heintzelman,
in one of his reconnoissances, discovered the adjacent land full of
cracks, through which oozed streams of sulphurous water, mud, and sand,
and Diaz, in 1540, came to banks of “hot ashes” which it was impossible
to cross, the whole ground trembling beneath his feet. At low water,
even in the lower reaches of the river, a boat is liable to run aground
often, and has to be backed off to try her fortune in another place.
The bottom, however, is soft, the current strong, so no harm is done
and the rush of water helps to cut the boat loose. One does not easily
comprehend how sensitive a pilot becomes to every tremor of the hull in
this sort of navigation. The quality of the boat’s vibration speaks to
his nerves in a distinct language, and the suck of the wheel emphasises
the communication.


Looking down the Grand Canyon from the Mouth of the Kanab. Looking down
the Grand Canyon from the Mouth of the Kanab.
Depth about 4000 feet.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


The _Explorer_ at length arrived at Yuma. Here the remainder of the
party, including Dr. Newberry, having come across country, joined the
expedition, and further preparations were made for the more difficult
task above. The craft was lightened as far as possible, but at the best
she still drew two and one-half feet, while the timbers bolted to the
bottom were a great detriment, catching on snags and ploughing into the
mud of the shoals. There were twenty-four men to be carried, besides
all the baggage that must be taken, even though a pack-train was to
leave, after the departure of the boat, to transport extra supplies to
the end of the voyage, wherever that might be. It is not easy to
understand why so large a party was necessary. Some few miles above
Yuma they came to the first range of mountains that closes in on the
water, suddenly entering a narrow pass several hundred feet deep. Seven
miles farther on, they went through a small canyon where another range
is severed. This was called Purple Hill Pass, while the first one was
named Explorer’s Pass, after the steamer. The first approach to a real
canyon was encountered a short distance above. Emerging from this,
called Canebrake, from some canes growing along the sides, the
_Explorer_ ran aground, resting there for two hours. They had now
passed through the Chocolate Mountains, the same range that Alarçon
mentions, and as he records no other he probably went no farther up
than the basin Ives is now entering, the Great Colorado Valley. Alarçon
doubtless proceeded to the upper part of this valley, about to latitude
thirty-four, where he raised the cross to mark the spot. Two miles
above the head of the canyon, the power of the _Explorer_ was matched
against a stiff current that came swirling around the base of a
perpendicular rock one hundred feet high. With the steam pressure then
on, she was not equal to the encounter and made no advance, whereupon
she was headed for a steep bank to allow the men to leap ashore with a
line and tow her beyond the opposition. Above, the current was milder,
but the river spread out to such an extent that progress was
exceedingly difficult, and Ives expresses a fear that this might prove
the head of navigation, yet he must then have been aware (and certainly
was when he published his report) that Johnson at that very moment was
far beyond this with a steamer larger than the one he was on. It was
now January 17, 1858, and it was on January 23d, that Johnson was at
the point where Beale intended to cross. The steamer was used as a
ferry and then left the same day for Yuma. Captain Johnson with his
steamboat had been to the head of navigation. Ives and Johnson must now
pass each other before the end of this month of December, and the
meeting of the two steamers took place somewhere in this Colorado
Valley, for, under date of January 31st, Ives says: “Lieutenant Tipton
took advantage of an opportunity afforded a few days ago, by our
meeting Captain Johnson, with Lieutenant White and party returning to
the fort, and went back with them in order to bring up the pack-train.”
He does not mention, however, that Johnson was piloting a steamboat
larger than the _Explorer_. Indeed, I have been told that he failed to
reply to Johnson’s salute. Slowly they worked their way up, and on up,
toward their final goal, though the water was exceptionally low. At
last reaching Bill Williams Fork, Ives, who had seen it at the time he
was with Whipple about four years earlier, could not at first find it,
though, on the former occasion, in the same season, it had been a
stream thirty feet wide. It was now a feeble rivulet, the old mouth
being filled up and overgrown with willows. Approaching Mohave Canyon,
a rapid was encountered, necessitating the carrying forward of an
anchor, from which a line was brought to the bow, and this being kept
taut, with the boat under full steam the obstruction was surmounted
without damage. This was the common method of procedure at rapids. This
canyon, Ives, says was a “scene of such imposing grandeur as he had
never before witnessed,” yet it is only a harbinger of the greater
sublimity extending along the water above for a thousand miles. Mohave
Canyon and The Needles soon were left behind, and they were steaming
through the beautiful Mohave Valley, where the patient footsteps of the
padres and the restless tramp of the trappers had so long ago passed
and been forgotten. Probably not one of that party remembered that
Pattie on horseback had covered this same field over thirty years
before, or that rare old Garces guided his tired mule along these very
banks a full half century ahead of Pattie. To-day, the comfortable
traveller on the railway, crossing the river near The Needles, has also
forgotten these things and Lieutenant Ives as well.


Black Canyon—Looking Down. Black Canyon—Looking Down.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.


Many Cocopas, Yumas, Mohaves, and Chemehuevis were met with since the
trip began, but there had been no trouble with any of them. Ives now
began to inquire for a former guide of Whipple’s, whom he pleasantly
remembered and whose name was Ireteba. Fortunately, he soon came across
him and engaged his services. Ireteba was a Mohave, but possessed one
of those fine natures found in every clime and colour. He was always
true and intelligent, and of great service to the expedition. The
_Explorer_ pushed on, encountering many difficulties, some due to the
unfortunate timbers on the bottom, which often became wedged in rocks,
besides increasing the draught by about six inches, a serious matter at
this extremely low stage of water. “It is probable,” says Ives, “that
there is not one season in ten when even the _Explorer_ would encounter
one fourth of the difficulty that she has during the unprecedentedly
low stage of water.” At one rapid, after the boat by hard labour had
been brought to the crest, the line broke and she at once fell back,
bumping over the rocks and finally lodging amidst a mass so firmly that
it required half the next day to pull her out. The second attempt to
surmount the rapid was successful, and they were then rewarded by a
fierce gale from the north, detaining them twenty-four hours, filling
everything with sand, and dragging the steamboat from her moorings to
cast her again upon the rocks. When, at last, they could go on they
came after a short time to a canyon deeper and grander than any they
had yet seen, called Black Canyon, because it is cut through the Black
Mountains. Ives was uncertain, at the moment, whether this was the
entrance to what was called Big Canyon (Grand Canyon) or not. The
_Explorer_ by this time had passed through a number of rapids and the
crew were growing expert at this sort of work, so that another rapid a
hundred yards below the mouth of the canyon was easily conquered. The
current becoming slack, the steamer went gaily on toward the narrow
gateway, where, “flanked by walls many hundreds of feet in height,
rising perpendicularly out of the water, the Colorado emerged from the
bowels of the range.” Suddenly the boat stopped with a crash. The bow
had squarely met a sunken rock. The men forward were knocked completely
overboard, those on the after-deck were thrown below, the boiler was
jammed out of place, the steampipe was doubled up, the wheelhouse torn
away, and numerous minor damages were sustained. The _Explorer_ had
discovered _her_ head of navigation! They thought she was about to
sink, but luckily she had struck in such a way that no hole was made
and they were able by means of lines and the skiff to tow her to a
sandbank for repairs. Here the engineer, Carroll, and Captain Robinson
devoted themselves to making her again serviceable, while, with the
skiff, Ives and two companions continued on up the deep gorge. Though
this was the end of the upward journey, so far as the _Explorer_ was
concerned, Johnson with his steamboat had managed to go clear through
this canyon.

Rations were at a low stage, consisting entirely, for the past three
weeks, of corn and beans, purchased from the natives, but even on this
diet without salt the skiff party, worked its way steadily upward over
many rapids through the superb chasm. “No description,” says Ives, “can
convey an idea of the varied and majestic grandeur of this peerless
waterway. Wherever the river makes a turn, the entire panorama changes,
and one startling novelty after another appears and disappears with
bewildering rapidity.” I commend these pages of Lieutenant Ives, and,
in fact, his whole report, to all who delight in word-painting of
natural scenery, for the lieutenant certainly handled his pen as well
as he did his sword.[2] Emerging from the solemn depths of Black Canyon
(twenty-five miles long) he and his small party passed Fortification
Rock and continued on two miles up the river to an insignificant little
stream coming in from the north, which he surmised might be the Virgen,
though he hardly thought it could be, and it was not. It was Vegas
Wash. This was his highest point. Turning about, he descended to the
steamboat camp and called that place the head of navigation, not that
he did not believe a steamer might ascend, light, through Black Canyon,
but he considered it impracticable. Running now down-stream in the
_Explorer_, the expected pack-train was encountered at the foot of
Pyramid Canyon, and a welcome addition was made to the supplies.

 [2] It may be of interest to state that Lieutenant Ives became an
 officer in the Confederate Army, and was killed in one of the battles
 of the Civil War.


Fortification Rock. Fortification Rock.
Castellated Gravels at the foot. Near the head of Black Canyon.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.



The Canyon of Diamond Creek. The Canyon of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by W.H. JACKSON.


The steamboat was now sent back to the fort and Ives prepared for a
land journey, which led him eastward over much the same route that
Garces had traversed so long ago on his march to Oraibi. Ireteba was
his guide. They went to the mouth of Diamond Creek, where they had
their first view of the Grand Canyon, or Big Canyon, as they called it,
of which Ireteba had before given them some description. The
illustrations given in Ives’s report of both Black and Grand Canyons
are a libel on these magnificent wonder-places, and in no way compare
with the lieutenant’s admirable pen-pictures. Crossing the Colorado
Plateau (which another explorer ten or twelve years later claims the
honour of naming, forgetting that Ives uses the name in his report),
they visited the Havasupai in their deep canyon home, just as Garces
had done, and then proceeded to the towns of the Moki. Ives was deeply
impressed by the repellant nature of the great canyon and the
surroundings, and remarks: “It seems intended by nature that the
Colorado River, along the greater portion of its lonely and majestic
way, shall be forever unvisited and undisturbed.” Late in the same year
that Lieutenant Ives made his interesting and valuable exploration,
another military post was established on the Colorado, and called Fort
Mohave, just about where the California line intersects the stream.
Lower down, Colorado City had been laid out several years before (1854)
under amusing circumstances. The Yuma ferry at that time was operated
by a German, thrifty after his kind, and on the lookout for a “good
thing.” A party of indigent prospectors, returning from the survey of a
mine in Mexico, reached the Arizona bank with no money to pay for the
crossing, and hit upon the ingenious plan of surveying a town site here
and trading lots to the German for a passage. Boldly commencing
operations, the sight of the work going on soon brought the ferryman
over to investigate, and when he saw the map under construction he fell
headlong into the scheme, which would, as they assured him, necessitate
a steam ferry.[3] The result was the immediate sale of a portion of the
town to him and the exchange of a lot for the necessary transportation
to the opposite bank. Afterwards, these parties did what they could to
establish the reality of the project, but up to date it has not been
noted as a metropolis, and the floods of 1861-2 undermined its feeble
strength. Another name for it was Arizona City.

 [3] _Across America and Asia_, by Raphael Pumpelly, p. 60. The portion
 of this admirable work relating to the vicinity of the Colorado River
 will be found of great interest in this connection.


Fort Yuma and the Old Railway Bridge of the Southern Pacific. Fort Yuma
and the Old Railway Bridge of the Southern Pacific.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


The year following the Ives expedition, Captain Macomb (1859) was sent
to examine the junction of the Green and Grand rivers. For a
considerable distance he followed, from Santa Fé, almost the same trail
that Escalante had travelled eighty-three years previously. Dr.
Newberry, the eminent geologist who had been with Ives, was one of this
party, and he has given an interesting account of the journey. The
region lying immediately around the place they had set out for is one
of the most formidable in all the valley of the Colorado. Looking about
one there, from the summit of the canyon walls, it seems an
impossibility for anything without the power of flight to approach the
spot except by way of the river channels. Macomb and Newberry succeeded
in forcing their way to within about six miles of the junction, there
to be completely baffled and turned back. Arriving finally at the brink
of the canyon of Grand River, Newberry says:

“On every side we were surrounded by columns, pinnacles, and castles of
fantastic shapes, which limited our view, and by impassable canons,
which restricted our movements. South of us, about a mile distant, rose
one of the castle-like buttes, which I have mentioned, and to which,
though with difficulty, we made our way. This butte was composed of
alternate layers of chocolate-colored sandstone and shale about one
thousand feet in height; its sides nearly perpendicular, but most
curiously ornamented with columns and pilasters, porticos and
colonnades, cornices and battlements, flanked here and there with tall
outstanding towers, and crowned with spires so slender that it seemed
as though a breath of air would suffice to topple them from their
foundations. To accomplish the object for which we had come so far, it
seemed necessary that we should ascend this butte. The day was
perfectly clear and intensely hot, the mercury standing at 92 degrees
in the shade, and the red sandstone, out of which the landscape was
carved, glowed in the heat of the burning sunshine. Stripping off
nearly all our clothing, we made the attempt, and, after two hours of
most arduous labor, succeeded in reaching the summit. The view which
there burst upon us was such as amply repaid us for all our toil. It
baffles description.”


At the Junction of the Green and Grand on the Surface. At the Junction
of the Green and Grand on the Surface.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


He goes on to say that, while the great canyon, meaning the Grand
Canyon, with its gigantic cliffs, presents grander scenes, they have
less variety and beauty of detail than this. They were here able to see
over an area of some fifty miles diameter, where, hemmed in by lines of
lofty step-like mesas, a great basin lay before them as on a map. There
was no vegetation, “nothing but bare and barren rocks of rich and
varied colours shimmering in the sunlight. Scattered over the plain
were thousands of the fantastically formed buttes to which I have
referred... pyramids, domes, towers, columns, spires of every
conceivable form and size.” There were also multitudes of canyons,
ramifying in every direction, “deep, dark, and ragged, impassable to
everything but the winged bird.” At the nearest point was the canyon of
the Grand, while four miles to the south another great gorge was
discerned joining it, which their Amerind guides pronounced to be that
of Green River. Finding it utterly impossible for them to reach this
place, they returned.

Thus, after all these years of endeavour, the mighty Colorado foamed
away amidst this terrible environment as if no human element yet
existed in the world. And as it continued to baffle all attempts to
probe its deeper mysteries, the dread of it and the fear of it grew and
grew, till he who suggested that a man might pass through the
bewildering chasms and live, was regarded as light-headed. Then came
the awful war of the Rebellion, and for several years little thought
was bestowed on the problem.[4]

 [4] The troops that were so foolishly and feebly sent against the
 Mormons in 1857 had some experience in Green River Valley, but it was
 not directly connected with this story and I will not introduce an
 account of it here.


Some few prospectors for mineral veins began investigations in the
neighbourhood of the lower part of the Grand Canyon, and the gorge was
entered from below, about 1864, by O. D. Gass and three other men. I
met Gass at his home at Las Vegas (see cut, page 137) in 1875, but I
did not then know he had been in the canyon and did not hear his story.
It was not till 1866 that any one tried again to navigate the river
above Mohave. In that year Captain Rodgers, who for four years had been
on the lower Colorado, took the steamboat _Esmeralda_, ninety-seven
feet long and drawing three and one-half feet of water, up as far as
Callville, near the mouth of the Virgen, which was several miles beyond
the highest point attained by Ives in his skiff, but little, if any,
farther than Johnson had gone with his steamboat. He ascended the most
difficult place, Roaring Rapids in Black Canyon, in seven minutes, and
was of the opinion that it could as easily be surmounted at any stage
of water, except perhaps during the spring rise. It does not matter
much now, for it is not likely that any steam craft will soon again
have occasion to traverse that canyon. The completion of the railways
was a death blow to steam navigation on the Colorado, yet, in the
future, when the fertile bottoms are brought under cultivation, small
steamboats will probably be utilised for local transportation.


The Barrel Cactus Compared with the Height of a Man. The Barrel Cactus
Compared with the Height of a Man.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


The journey of the _Esmeralda_ added nothing to what was already known.
The following year, 1867, a man was picked up at Callville, in an
exhausted and famishing condition, by a frontiersman named Hardy. When
he had been revived he told his story. It was that he had come on a
raft through the Grand Canyon above, and all the canyons antecedent to
that back to a point on Grand River. The story was apparently
straightforward, and it was fully accepted. At last, it was thought, a
human being has passed through this Valley of the Shadow of Death and
lived to tell of its terrors. Hardy took him down to Fort Mohave, where
he met Dr. Parry,[5] who recorded his whole story, drawn out by many
questions, and believed it. This was not surprising; for, no man ever
yet having accomplished what White claimed to have done, there was no
way of checking the points, of his tale. “Now, at last,” remarks Dr.
Parry, “we have a perfectly authentic account, from an intelligent
source, from a man who actually traversed its formidable depths, and
who, fortunately for science, still lives to detail his trustworthy
observations of this remarkable voyage.” The doctor was too confiding.
Had I the space I would give here the whole of White’s story, for it is
one of the best bits of fiction I have ever read. He had obtained
somehow a general smattering of the character of the river, but as
there were trappers still living, Kit Carson, for example, who
possessed a great deal of information about it, this was not a
difficult matter. But that he had no exact knowledge of any part of the
river above the lower end of the Grand Canyon, is apparent to one who
is familiar with the ground, and the many discrepancies brand the whole
story as a fabrication. In the language of the frontier, he “pitched a
yarn,” and it took beautifully. Hardy, whom I met in Arizona a good
many years ago, told me he believed the man told the truth, but his
belief was apparently based only on the condition White was in when
rescued. That he was nearly dead is true, but that is about all of his
yarn that is. White was thirty-two years old, and from Kenosha,
Wisconsin. He said that, with two others, he was prospecting in
Southwestern Colorado in the summer of that year, 1867, when, on Grand
River, they were attacked by the Utes. Baker, the leader, fell mortally
wounded. Of course, White and the other man, Strole, stood by their
leader, in the teeth of the enemy’s fire, till he expired. What would
the story have been without this example of devotion and fortitude?
Then, holding the pursuers in check, they slowly retreated down the
side canyon they were in to the main gorge, where they discovered an
abundance of driftwood, and decided to make a raft with which to
escape. This raft consisted of three sticks of cottonwood about ten
feet long and eight inches diameter, tied together with lariats. They
had abandoned their horses above, bringing only their arms, ammunition,
and some food. Waiting for midnight to come so that their pursuers
might not discover their intention, they seized their poles and, under
the waning moon, cast off, and were soon on the tempestuous tide,
rushing through the yawning chasm. “Through the long night they clung
to the raft as it dashed against half-concealed rocks, or whirled about
like a plaything in some eddy.” When daylight came they landed; as they
had a smoother current and less rugged banks, though the canyon walls
appeared to have increased in height. They strengthened their raft and
went on. In the afternoon, after having floated about thirty miles from
the starting point they reached the junction of the Grand and Green. So
far all is well, but here he makes his first break, as he had no
conception of the actual character of the rivers at the junction. He
says the canyon now far surpassed that of either of the forming
streams, which is not so. For five or six miles below the junction
there is little change, yet he describes the walls as being four
thousand feet high, an altitude never attained in Cataract Canyon at
all, the highest being somewhat under three thousand, while at the
junction they are only thirteen hundred. Then he goes on to say that
detached pinnacles appeared to rise “one above the other,” for one
thousand feet more, giving an altitude here of five thousand feet,
clearly an impression in his mind of the lower end of the Grand Canyon,
which he had doubtless become somewhat familiar with in some
prospecting trip. He fancied the “Great Canyon” began at the junction
of the Grand and Green, and he did not appreciate the distance that
intervened between Callville and that point. They tied up at night and
travelled in the day. No mention is made of the terrific rapids which
roar in Cataract Canyon, but he speaks of the “grey sandstone walls”
the lower portion smooth from the action of floods. There exist some
greyish walls; but most are red except in the granite gorges of the
Grand Canyon, where, for a thousand feet, they are black. Below the
junction, forty miles, they came to the mouth of the San Juan! Yet
Cataract Canyon and Narrow together, the first canyons of the Colorado
proper, are fifty miles long and the San Juan comes in at least
seventy-five miles below their end. The walls of the San Juan he
describes as being as high as those of the Colorado, which he has just
been talking about, that is, five thousand feet, yet for these
seventy-five miles he would have actually been passing between walls of
about one thousand feet. He says he could not escape here because the
waters of the San Juan were so violent they filled its canyon from bank
to bank. In reality, he could have made his way out of the canyon (Glen
Canyon) in a great many places in the long distance between the foot of
Narrow Canyon and the San Juan. There is nothing difficult about it.
But not knowing this, and nobody else knowing it at that time, the yarn
went very well. Also, below the San Juan, as far as Lee’s Ferry, there
are numerous opportunities to leave the canyon; and there, are a great
many attractive bottoms all the way through sunny Glen Canyon, where
landings could have been made in a _bona fide_ journey, and birds
snared; anything rather than to go drifting along day after day toward
dangers unknown. “At every bend of the river it seemed as if they were
descending deeper into the earth, and that the walls were coming closer
together above them, shutting out the narrow belt of sky, thickening
the black shadows, and redoubling the echoes that went up from the
foaming waters,” all of which is nonsense. They were not yet, even
taking their own, or rather his own, calculations, near the Grand
Canyon, and the whole one hundred and forty-nine miles of Glen Canyon
are simply charming; altogether delightful. One can paddle along in any
sort of craft, can leave the river in many places, and in general enjoy
himself. I have been over the stretch twice, once at low water and
again at high, so I speak from abundant experience. Naively he remarks,
“as yet they had seen no natural bridge spanning the chasm above them,
nor had fall or cataract prevented their safe advance!” Yet they are
supposed to have passed through the forty-one miles of Cataract
Canyon’s turmoil, which I venture to say no man could ever forget. They
had been only four days getting to a point below the San Juan, simply
drifting; that is about two hundred miles, or some fifty miles a
daylight day. Around three o’clock on the fourth day they heard the
deep roar as of a waterfall in front of them.

 [5] Parry’s first record of White’s story is in _Report of Surveys for
 a Railway across the Continent_ by Wm. J. Palmer, 1868. Dr. C. C.
 Parry was assistant geologist of the Survey.


Canyon of San Juan River Looking West at Honiket Trail, Utah. Canyon of
San Juan River Looking West at Honiket Trail, Utah.
2000 feet deep.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.



A Glen of Glen Canyon. A Glen of Glen Canyon.
These are numerous, hence the name.


“They felt the raft agitated, then whirled along with frightful
rapidity towards a wall that seemed to bar all further progress. As
they approached the cliff the river made a sharp bend, around which the
raft swept, disclosing to them, in a long vista, the water lashed into
foam, as it poured through a narrow precipitous gorge, caused by huge
masses of rock detached from the main walls. There was no time to
think. The logs strained as if they would break their fastenings. The
waves dashed around the men, and the raft was buried in the seething
waters. White clung to the logs with the grip of death. His comrade
stood up for an instant with the pole in his hands, as if to guide the
raft from the rocks against which it was plunging; but he had scarcely
straightened before the raft seemed to leap down a chasm and, amid the
deafening roar of waters, White heard a shriek that thrilled him to the
heart, and, looking around, saw, through the mist and spray, the form
of his comrade tossed for an instant on the water, then sinking out of
sight in a whirlpool.”


Cataract Canyon Rapid at Low Water. Cataract Canyon Rapid at Low Water.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


On the fifth day White lashed himself to the raft. He then describes a
succession of rapids, passing which with great difficulty he reached a
stream that he afterward learned was the Little Colorado. He said the
canyon was like that of the San Juan, but they are totally different.
The current of this stream swept across that of the Colorado, “causing
in a black chasm on the opposite bank a large and dangerous whirlpool.”
He could not avoid this and was swept by the cross current into this
awful place, which, to relieve the reader’s anxiety, I hasten to add,
does not exist. There is no whirlpool whatever at the mouth of the
Little Colorado, nor any other danger. But White now felt that further
exertion was useless, and amidst the “gurgling” waters closed his eyes
for some minutes, when, feeling a strange swinging sensation, he opened
them and found that he was circling round the whirlpool, sometimes
close to the terrible vortex, etc. He thought he fainted. He was
nothing if not dramatic. When he recovered it was night. Then for the
first time he thought of prayer. “I spoke as if from my very soul, and
said: ‘Oh, God, if there is a way out of this fearful place, show it to
me, take me to it.’” His narrator says White’s voice here became husky
and his features quivered. “I was still looking up with my hands
clasped when I felt a different movement of the raft and turning to
look at the whirlpool it was some distance behind (he could see it in
the night!), and I was floating on the smoothest current I had yet seen
in the canyon.” The current was now very slow and he found that the
rapids were past. The terrible mythical whirlpool at the innocent mouth
of the Little Colorado was the end of the turmoil, though he said the
canyon went on, the course of the river being exceedingly crooked, and
shut in by precipices of white sand rock! There is no white “sand-rock”
in the Grand Canyon. All through this terrific gorge wherein the river
falls some eighteen hundred feet, White found a slow current and his
troubles from rapids were over! For 217 miles of the worst piece of
river in the world, he found no difficulty. The gloom and lack of food
alone oppressed him, and he thought of plunging from the raft, but
lacked the courage. Had he really entered the Grand Canyon his raft
would have been speedily reduced to toothpicks and he would not have
had the choice of remaining upon it. Finally, he reached a bank upon
which some mesquite bushes grew, and he devoured the green pods. Then
sailing on in a sort of stupor he was roused by voices and saw some
Yampais, who gave him meat and roasted mesquite beans. Proceeding, he
heard voices again and a dash of oars. It was Hardy and at last White
was saved!


Looking up the Grand Canyon from Mouth of Kanab Canyon. Looking up the
Grand Canyon from Mouth of Kanab Canyon.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


We have seen various actors passing before us in this drama, but I
doubt if any of them have been more picturesque than this champion
prevaricator. But he had related a splendid yarn. What it was intended
to obscure would probably be quite as interesting as what he told. Just
where he entered upon the river is of course impossible to decide, but
that he never came through the Grand Canyon is as certain as anything
can be. His story reveals an absolute ignorance of the river and its
walls throughout the whole course he pretended to have traversed.

NOTE.—Mr. R. B. Stanton in 1907 discovered that White was alive in New
Mexico. With a stenographer Mr. Stanton visited him and concludes that
White was not responsible for the tale, and that Parry’s imagination
filled in the details. Mr. Stanton proves absolutely that White never
went through the Grand Canyon and that his route was from the foot of
the Grand Canyon to Callville.






CHAPTER VIII.




The One-armed Knight—A Bold Attack on the Canyons—Powell and His
Men—The Wonderful Voyage—Mighty Walls and Roaring Rapids—Capsizes and
Catastrophes.


When the Civil War was finally over, the wilds of the Far West again
called in seductive voice to the adventurous and the scientific. The
fur-trade as an absorbing industry was dead, but mining, prospecting,
ranching, and scientific exploring took its place. Among the
naturalists who crossed the Rocky Mountains for purposes of
investigation, fascinated by the broad, inviting field, was a one-armed
soldier, a former officer of volunteers in the Union Army. His right
forearm had remained on the battlefield of Shiloh, but when a strong
head is on the shoulders a missing arm makes little difference, and so
it was with Major Powell. In the summer of 1867, when he was examining
Middle Park, Colorado, with a small party, he happened to explore a
moderate canyon on Grand River just below what was known as Middle Park
Hot Springs, and became enthused with a desire to fathom the Great
Mystery. Consequently, he returned the next year, made his way to the
banks of White River, about 120 miles above its mouth, and there
erected cabins, with the intention of remaining through the snow season
till the following spring should once again unlock the frost-gates of
the range. There being now no bison trails hard-beaten into the snow,
it was a more difficult undertaking to cross, except in summer. Mrs.
Powell was with the party.


John Wesley Powell. John Wesley Powell.
Explorer of the Canyons of the Colorado. Founder and, till his death,
Director of the Bureau of American Ethnology, and long Director of the
U.S. Geological Survey. As he looked during the decade following his
two descents of the Colorado. Taken about 1876 in Washington. Major
Powell died September 23d, 1902.


During this winter of 1868-69, Powell made several important journeys
in connection with his purpose of exploring the great walled river; one
was down toward the south as far as Grand River; a second followed
White River to its junction with the Green, and a third went northward
around the eastern base of the Uinta Mountains, skirting the gorges
afterward named Lodore, Whirlpool, Red Canyon, etc. In these travels he
formed his plans for an attempt to fully explore, by means of a boat
voyage, the remarkable string of chasms which for more than three
centuries had defied examination. He decided that the starting point
must be where the Union Pacific Railway had just been thrown across
Green River, and that the only chance for success was to continue on
the torrential flood till either he should arrive at the end of the
great canyons near the mouth of the Rio Virgen or should himself be
vanquished in the endeavour. It was to be a match of human skill and
muscle against rocks and cataracts, shut in from the outer world,
always face to face with the Shadow of Death. It was to be a duel to
the finish between the mysterious torrent on the one side and a little
group of valiant men on the other. Never had plumed knight of old a
more dreadful antagonist. Like the Sleeping Beauty, this strange
Problem lay in the midst of an enchanted land guarded by the wizard
Aridity and those wonderful water-gods Erosion and Corrasion, waiting
for the knight-errant brave, who should break the spell and vanquish
the demon in his lair. No ordinary man was equal to this difficult
task, which demanded not alone courage of the highest order, but
combined with this courage a master-mind and the strategic skill of a
general. But there comes a time for everything. The moment for
shattering this mystery had apparently arrived and the mortal who was
to achieve this wonderful feat enters upon the scene with the quiet
nerve and perfect confidence of a master. He realised the gravity of
the proposition and therein rested his strength. He knew no ordinary
boat could hope to live in the turmoil of waters that lashed themselves
to fury among the rocks and against the towering and continuous cliffs;
and he knew the party must be self-supporting in every sense of the
term, depending on nothing but their own powers and what they could
carry along.


Character of Green River Valley in the Vicinity of the Crossing of the
U.P. Railway. Character of Green River Valley in the Vicinity of the
Crossing of the U.P. Railway.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Part of a Rapid. Part of a Rapid.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The universal dread of the Colorado and its gorges had by this time
considerably augmented. The public imagination pictured the roaring
flood ploughing its dismal channel through dark subterranean galleries
where human life would not be worth a single drop of tossing spray; or
leaping at a bound over precipices beside which the seething plunge of
Niagara was but a toy. No one could deny these weird tales. No one
knew. But Powell was fortified by Science, and he surmised that nowhere
would he encounter any obstruction which his ingenuity could not
surmount.

I remember one morning, on the second voyage, when we had made an early
start and the night-gloom still lingered in the depths of Marble Canyon
as we bore down on a particularly narrow place where the river turned a
sharp bend to disappear between walls vertical at the water, into a
deep-blue haze, it seemed to me that _anything_ might be found there,
and looking up from my seat in the bow of our boat into the gallant
explorer’s face, I said: “Major, what would you have done on the first
trip if just beyond that bend you had come upon a fall like Niagara?”
He regarded me a moment with his penetrating gaze, and then answered:
“I don’t know.” Perhaps he thought that what we now would find there
was enough for the moment.

Captain Mansfield, reporting to the Secretary of War, wrote in his
letter of December 10, 1867: “Above Callville for several hundred miles
the river is entirely unknown.” He recommended Callville as the
starting-place for exploration, and a small steamer for the work, with
skiffs and canvass boats for continuing beyond the steam-navigation
limit; but Captain Rodgers, who had gone with the steamboat _Esmeralda_
up through Black Canyon, thought the great canyon should be entered
above Callville after the fall of water in the spring, and his was more
nearly a correct idea. The War Department continued, however, to butt
against the wrong end, even after the success of the other way had been
demonstrated. Some Mormons, who did not know, reported the two hundred
miles above Callville to be better than the one hundred below. The two
hundred miles above contain some of the most dangerous portions of the
river. Colonel Williamson stated in March, 1868, that he could obtain
no information of importance with regard to the “Big” canyon except
that contained in Dr. Parry’s account of White’s alleged journey, which
journey, as I have pointed out, was a myth.

“If that report be reliable,” he says, “it is evident that in the high
or middle stage of the river a strongly built boat can come down the
canon with safety. Before reading that report I had an idea that it
would be a very dangerous experiment to attempt to go down this canon
in a boat of any kind, because I feared there were falls, in going
down, in which a boat might be upset or even dashed to pieces. As it
is, now I believe there are no falls, and I am inclined to think the
best way is to start above and descend.”

During these efforts of the regular army officers to secure information
as to the possibility of exploring the great canyons, Powell approached
the problem from an entirely different direction, and his quick and
accurate perception told him that to go down with the tide was the one
and only way. He was not a rich man; and expeditions require funds, but
this was no more of a bar to his purpose than the lack of an arm. His
father was a Methodist clergyman of good old stock, vigorous of mind
and body, clear-sighted, and never daunted. My immediate impression in
meeting the father, even in his old age, was of immense mental and
moral strength, resolution, and fortitude. These qualities he
bequeathed to his children, and it was a fine inheritance. Major
Powell, therefore, had his ancestry largely to thank for the intellect
and the courage with which he approached this difficult problem.

Funds for the proposed expedition were furnished by the State
Institutions of Illinois and the Chicago Academy of Science; none by
the general Government, so that this was in no way a Government matter,
except that Congress passed a joint-resolution authorising him to draw
rations for twelve men from western army posts. Early in the spring of
1869, after returning from the rambles along Green River of the
previous winter, Powell went to Chicago and engaged a competent builder
to construct four strong boats after his suggestions. Three of these
were of oak, twenty-one feet long, and one of light pine, sixteen feet
long, the latter intended as an advance boat, to be quickly handled in
the face of sudden danger. At the bow and stern of each was a
water-tight compartment, in which supplies and instruments could be
packed, and they would yet give buoyancy to the boats when they would
be filled with water by the breaking waves of the rapids. Amidships the
boats were open, and here also goods, guns, etc., were stowed away.
Each had a long rope, to use in lowering past the most dangerous
places. Unlike all the explorations on the lower course of the river,
this expedition would require no lines for towing. These four little
craft, which were to be the main reliance of the daring men composing
the party, were transported free of charge, together with the men who
were from the country east of the mountains, to Green River Station,
Wyoming, by the courtesy of the officials of the Chicago, Burlington,
and Quincy, and the Union Pacific railways, who took a deep interest in
the proposed descent. The names given to the boats were, for the small
one, _Emma Dean_, the pilot boat (after Mrs. Powell), _Kitty Clyde’s
Sister_, _Maid of the Canyon_, and _No-Name_. The members of the party,
together with their disposition in the boats at starting, were as
follows: John Wesley Powell, John C. Sumner, William H. Dunn—the _Emma
Dean;_ Walter H. Powell, G. Y. Bradley—_Kitty Clyde’s Sister;_ O. G.
Howland, Seneca Howland, Frank Goodman—the _No-Name;_ William R.
Hawkins, Andrew Hall—_Maid of the Canyon_.


Canyon of Lodore—The Wheatstack. Canyon of Lodore—The Wheatstack.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Powell, as noted, had been a volunteer officer in the Civil War. After
that he was connected with the Wesleyan University at Bloomington,
Illinois, and with the Normal University at Normal, in the same state.
Sumner, generally known as Jack Sumner, had also been a soldier in the
late war. He was fair-haired and delicate-looking, but with a strong
constitution. Dunn had been a hunter and trapper. Walter Powell was
Major Powell’s youngest brother. He had been in the late war and had
there suffered cruelly by capture and imprisonment. Bradley was an
orderly sergeant of regulars, had served in the late war, and resigned
from the army to join this party. O. G. Howland had been a printer.
Seneca Howland was his younger brother. Goodman was a young Englishman.
Hawkins had been a soldier in the late war, and Andrew Hall was a
Scotch boy nineteen years old.

The spring was chosen for the beginning of the voyage because the Green
then is at flood and there would be less trouble about floating the
boats through the shoal places and amongst the rocks. The river in some
respects is safer at a lower stage of water, but the work is harder.
This, however, was not known then, and Powell had to take his chances
at the flood. On May 24, 1869, the boats were manned and soon were
carried out of sight of the haphazard group of houses which at that
time constituted this frontier settlement of Green River. They were
heavily laden, for ten months’ rations were carried, as Powell expected
when winter came to be obliged to halt and make a permanent camp till
spring. He calculated the river might be filled with ice. It has since
been ascertained, however, that the Colorado proper rarely has any ice
in it. I remember once hearing that a great many years ago it was
frozen over in the neighbourhood of Lee’s Ferry, where for a little
distance the current is not rapid. Powell was providing for every
contingency he could think of, and trouble with ice was a possible one.
But even without ice the water in winter is so cold that, as men who
make the descent must continually be saturated by the breaking waves
and by the necessity of frequently jumping overboard in avoiding rocks,
the danger of pneumonia is really greater than that from wreck. They
had an abundance of warm clothing for winter, plenty of ammunition, two
or three dozen traps, tools of various kinds, nails, screws; etc. In
the line of scientific instruments there were two sextants, four
chronometers, a number of barometers, thermometers, compasses, etc.
With the exception of the _Emma Dean_, which had on board only
instruments and clothing, the boats were loaded in such a way that if
one should be lost the expedition would still possess a variety of
articles and food.


Green River above Flaming Gorge. Green River above Flaming Gorge.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The first day they met with the usual number of minor accidents, such
as a starting expedition of this kind is seldom free from, like
breaking an oar, running on a shoal, and so on, but all went very well,
and when the evening came an early camp was made, and Powell climbed up
and away from the river to survey the situation.

“Standing on a high point,” he says, “I can look off in every direction
over a vast landscape with salient rocks and cliffs glittering in the
evening sun. Dark shadows are settling in the valleys and gulches, and
the heights are made higher, and the depths deeper by the glamour and
witchery of light and shade. Away to the south, the Uinta mountains
stretch in a long line; high peaks thrust into the sky, and snow-fields
glittering like lakes of molten silver; and pine forests in sombre
green; and rosy clouds playing around the borders of huge black masses;
and heights and clouds and mountains and snow-fields and forests and
rock-lands are blended into one grand view.”

This was the country before him. The Uinta Mountains, stretching their
picturesque and mighty barrier across the determined course of the
river, produce the first series of superb canyons on the threshold of
which Powell and his daring band were now setting foot. On the third
day they were at Henry’s Fork, in the neighbourhood of that first camp
in this locality made by Ashley in 1825, and of his start in the
experiment in canyon running which so nearly terminated his brilliant
career. The “Suck,” noted for its danger among the early trappers, was
easily passed and Powell makes no mention of it. So far as I can
ascertain there were two records kept on this expedition, one by Powell
on strips of brown paper, and the other by Jack Sumner on foolscap. The
latter, comprised in some six or eight pages, was the more complete, I
believe, and is now in Washington. I have not seen it since 1871, when
we were in the habit of daily reading its thrilling pages to find out
what we might next expect in our descent. If any other diary or journal
was kept by the men of this expedition I have not heard of it.

The first rapid is in Horseshoe Canyon, and it was no obstacle, being
small and docile, but when they had gone through the next canyon, named
Kingfisher, they found themselves at the beginning of a new and closer,
deeper gorge, Red Canyon, where the waters first begin to exhibit their
grim intention. Here they encountered real rapids, the boats often
dashing along at railroad speed, the waves fiercely breaking over them,
and bailing becoming an imperative accomplishment. The attempt of a Ute
to run through this canyon was described in picturesque terms by one of
the tribe. “Rocks, heap, heap, high,” he said; “water go hoowoogh,
hoowoogh; water-pony heap buck; water catch um; no see um Injun any
more! no see um squaw any more! no see um papoose any more!” and thus
begins and ends the only history of native navigation on this upper
river I ever heard of.


Red Canyon—Green River. Upper Portion. Looking up Stream. Red
Canyon—Green River. Upper Portion. Looking up Stream.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


After considerable hard work the party reached a particularly sharp,
though not very high, fall, announced before arrival by a loud and
angry roar. Here a portage was deemed wise, and the goods were carried
up over the huge broken rocks and so on down to a point well below the
foot of the drop, where the cargoes were again restored to the boats,
which meanwhile had been lowered by lines. It was here that the name of
Ashley and a year date were found inscribed on a rock. Of this I made a
careful copy in 1871, which is given on page 112. The second figure
could, of course, be only an 8, and the fourth was plainly a 5. The
third, however, was obscure, and Powell was uncertain whether it was a
3 or a 5. It could have been nothing but a 2, because, as we have seen,
it was in the twenties of the last century that Ashley operated in this
region; and it was in 1825 that he made the Red Canyon journey. At the
date which a 3 would make he was a Congressman, and he was never in the
Far West again. Running on through Red Canyon with exhilarating
velocity, but without any serious drawback, the party came out into the
tranquil Brown’s Hole, henceforth called Brown’s Park. At the foot of
this, without any preliminaries, they were literally swept into the
heart of the mountains, for it is here that the river so suddenly rends
the massive formations in twain and speeds away toward the sea between
wonderful precipices of red sandstone, churning itself to ivory in the
headlong rush. This was named the Canyon of Lodore at the suggestion of
one of the men. The work of safely proceeding down the torrent now grew
far more difficult. Rapids were numerous and the descent in most of
them very great. The boats had to be handled with extra caution. The
method of travelling was for Powell to go ahead in the _Emma Dean_ to
examine the nature of each rapid before the other boats should come
down to it. If he saw a clear chute he ran through and signalled “come
on,” but if he thought it too risky he signalled “land,” and the place
was examined as well as he was able from the shore. If this
investigation showed a great many dangerous rocks, or any other
dangerous element, a portage was made, or the boats were let down along
the edge by lines without taking out the cargoes. In this careful way
they were getting along very well, when one day they came to a
particularly threatening place. Powell immediately perceived the
danger, and, landing, signalled the other boats to do likewise.
Unfortunately, the warning came too late for the _No-Name_, which was
drawn into a sag, a sort of hollow lying just above the rapid, to
clutch the unwary and drive them over the fall to certain destruction.
Powell for a moment had given his attention to the last boat, and as he
turned again and hurried along to discover the fortune of the
_No-Name_, which was plunging down, without hope of escape, toward the
frightful descent, he was just in time to see her strike a rock and,
rebounding, careen so that the open compartment filled with water.
Sweeping on down now with railway speed, broadside on, she again struck
a few yards below and was broken completely in two, the three men being
tossed into the foaming flood. They were able to gain some support by
clinging to the main part of the boat, which still held together.
Drifting on swiftly over a few hundred yards more to a second rapid
full of large boulders, the doomed craft struck a third time and was
entirely demolished, the men and the fragments being carried then out
of sight. Powell climbed as rapidly as possible over the huge fallen
rocks, which here lie along the shore he was on, and presently he was
able to get a view of his men. Goodman was in a whirlpool below a great
rock; reaching this he clung to it. Howland had been washed upon a low
rocky island, which at this stage of water was some feet above the
current, and Seneca Howland also had gained this place. Howland
extended a long pole to Goodman and by means of it pulled him to the
island, where all were safe for the time being. Several hundred yards
farther down, the river took another and more violent fall, rendering
the situation exceedingly hazardous. A boat allowed to get a trifle too
far towards this descent would be treated as the _No-Name_ had been
served higher up, and the expedition could not afford to lose a second
boat with its contents. The water in these rapids beats furiously
against the foot of the opposite vertical cliff, and if a boat in
either place should by chance get too far over towards this right-hand
wall it would be dashed to pieces there, even could it escape the rocks
of the main channel. The problem was how to rescue the men from the
island and not destroy another boat in doing it. Finally, the _Emma
Dean_ was brought down, and Jack Sumner undertook to reach the island
in her. Keeping well up stream, as near the first fall as he could, a
few bold strokes enabled him to land near the lower end. Then, all
together, they pulled the boat to the very head of the island and
beyond that as far as they could stand up in the water. Here one man
sat on a rock and held the boat steady till the others were in perfect
readiness to pull with all their power, when he gave a shove and,
clinging on, climbed in while the oarsmen put their muscle to the test.
The shore was safely attained, and Powell writes: “We are as glad to
shake hands with them as though they had been on a voyage around the
world, and wrecked on a distant coast.” This disaster was most serious,
even though the men were saved, for, besides the loss of the craft
itself, all the barometers by some miscalculation were on the
_No-Name_. They were able to make camp on the shore and survey the
situation. “No sleep comes to me in all those dark hours,” writes
Powell. To meet with such a reverse at so early a stage was very
discouraging, but Powell had counted on disaster, and, as he was never
given to repining, as soon as breakfast was eaten the next morning he
cast about for a way to rescue the barometers which were in a part of
the wreck that had lodged among some rocks a half mile below. Sumner
and Dunn volunteered to try to reach the place with the small boat, and
they succeeded. When they returned, a loud cheer went up from those on
shore, and Powell was much impressed with this exhibition of deep
interest in the safety of the scientific instruments, but he soon
discovered that the cheer was in celebration of the rescue of a
three-gallon keg of whiskey that had been smuggled along without his
knowledge and happened to be on the ill-fated _No-Name_.


The Canyon of Lodore—Upper Part of Disaster Falls. The Canyon of
Lodore—Upper Part of Disaster Falls.
Where Powell lost the _No-Name_ in 1869.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



The Canyon of Brush Creek—Looking Up. The Canyon of Brush Creek—Looking
Up.
This stream enters the Green not far below foot of Split-Mountain
Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


It required a good deal of work to complete the portage around the
double fall so that night again compelled them to camp near its spray,
this time on a sand bank at the foot of the lower descent. Here, half
buried in the gravel of the beach, some objects were discovered which
revealed the fact that some other party had suffered a similar
disastrous experience. These were an iron bake-oven, several tin
plates, fragments of a boat, and other indications of a wreck at this
place long years before. In his report, Powell ascribes this wreck to
Ashley, but this is a mistake, for Ashley seems never to have entered
this canyon, ending his voyage, as I have previously stated, when he
reached Brown’s Park. This wreckage then was from some other and later
party. Powell also states that Ashley and one other survivor succeeded
in reaching Salt Lake, where they were fed and clothed by the Mormons
and employed on the Temple foundation until they had earned enough to
enable them to leave the country. These men could not have been Ashley
and a companion, for several reasons: one cited above; another that the
Mormons had not yet settled at Salt Lake in Ashley’s day; and a third,
that Ashley was a wealthy and distinguished man, and would not have
required pecuniary help. The disaster recorded by the bake-oven, etc.,
must then have occurred after 1847, the year the Mormons went into the
Salt Lake Valley. Possibly it may have been the party mentioned by
Farnham in 1839, though this would not be true if the men found Mormons
at Salt Lake. An old mountaineer, named Baker, once told Powell of a
party of men starting down the river and named Ashley as one, and this
story, which referred undoubtedly to the real Ashley party, became
confused with some other wherein the survivors probably did strike for
Salt Lake and were helped by the Mormons.[1] At any rate, the rapids
which had wrecked the earlier party and swallowed up the _No-Name_ were
appropriately called Disaster Falls.

 [1] Should any reader have knowledge of the men who were wrecked in
 Lodore between the time of Ashley and Powell, the author would be glad
 to hear of it.


The Canyon of Lodore. The Canyon of Lodore.
Looking down on Triplet Falls. Depth about 2500 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN U.S. Geol. Survey.



Echo Rock on Right, from which Echo Park Takes its Name. Echo Rock on
Right, from which Echo Park Takes its Name.
To one sitting in a boat near foreground a sentence of ten words is
repeated.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


The river descends throughout Lodore with great rapidity and every day
brought with it hard work and narrow escapes. Sometimes the danger was
of a novel and unexpected character, as on June 16th, when the dry
willows around camp caught fire. Powell had started for a climb of
investigation and looking down on the camp he perceived a sudden
tremendous activity without being able for some moments to discover the
cause. So rapidly did the fire spread that there was no escape except
by the boats. Some had their clothing burned and their hair singed,
while Bradley even had his ears scorched. The cook in his haste
stumbled with his arms full of culinary utensils, and the load
disappeared beneath the waters, ever on the alert to swallow up man,
boat, or beast. Just below the camp was a rapid and, casting off, they
were forced to run this without stopping to examine it. No harm was
done to the boats, and they landed at the first opportunity. When the
fire had burned out they went back along the rocks to pick up what had
been left behind and was unconsumed. On the same day, as the men were
in the act of lowering a boat by lines, she broke away and started on
an independent run. Fortunately, she soon became entangled in an eddy,
where she halted long enough to permit them to hurry down the small
boat and recapture her. Sometimes the channel was beset with
innumerable great rocks, amidst which the river seethed and boiled in a
manner sufficient to terrify any boatmen, but, luckily, they were able
to work their way cautiously along, and without further disaster they
came, on the 17th of June, to a place where the walls broke away and
they emerged into a beautiful park-like widening of the canyon with
bounding cliffs only about 600 feet high near the river. After the
continuous cliffs of from 2000 to 2500 feet this place seemed like open
country. Once more they camped in a quiet place at the mouth of a river
entering through a deep canyon on the left or east side. It was the
Yampa, sometimes called Bear River. After a side trip of several hours
up this canyon they started again on the descent and, skirting the
smooth perpendicular wall which forms the west side of Echo Park, they
turned a corner and found themselves in a new gorge, which, on account
of many whirlpools existing at that stage of water, was called
Whirlpool Canyon. The run through this was accomplished with great
rapidity, as there were no serious obstacles, and in two days the
expedition emerged into another expansion of the walls, where the tired
men had a brief respite before they perceived the rocks, again closing
in on the water.

Here a deer was brought in by one of the men, and, as they killed a
mountain sheep farther up, they had not suffered for fresh meat. The
entrance to the next canyon was very abrupt, and they were soon
whirling along on a swift current. Though there were many rapids,
landings were easy, and there was plenty of standing room everywhere,
so that in two days they had the pleasure of pulling out of this Split
Mountain Canyon into the Wonsits Valley, the longest opening in the
whole line of canyons. Thus far, no Amerinds had been seen, not even
signs of them, but here they found some tipi poles and the dead embers
of a camp-fire, showing that other human beings besides themselves had
traversed the lands now about them. Pushing ahead over the sluggish
waters of the river in this valley, they were not long in arriving at
the mouth of the Uinta River, where Powell and two others walked out to
the Ute Agency, about forty miles distant up the Uinta. One of the crew
of the wrecked _No-Name_, Frank Goodman, here decided that he had seen
all the canyons his education required and took his departure. This was
not unwelcome to Powell, for the boats were still heavily loaded and
the three men who had composed the crew of the wrecked boat were no
longer actually required. Starting again, they arrived, not far below
the mouth of the Uinta, at an island where a small crop had been
planted by a “squaw-man,”[2] who had visited Powell’s camp the previous
winter. On that occasion he had disclosed his intention of tilling this
place and invited Powell to help himself when he passed there in his
boats. The man was not at the farm, and nothing was ripe, but Hall
suggested that potato-tops make good “greens.” A quantity was therefore
secured, and, at the noon stop, cooked and eaten, with the obvious
result that all were violently sick. Luckily, the sickness was brief,
and they were able to proceed by the middle of the afternoon. Often,
the longing, by men living on bacon and beans, for something fresh in
the vegetable line, leads to foolish experiments.

 [2] A white man married to a squaw, and living with the tribe.


The Canyon of Desolation—Sumner’s Amphitheatre. The Canyon of
Desolation—Sumner’s Amphitheatre.
Walls about 1200 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


This Wonsits Valley soon came to an end and once more the rocks closed
in, forming a canyon lacking the vegetation that had accompanied the
cliffs along the river above. Because of this general barren appearance
the gorge was called the Canyon of Desolation. On July 11th, they
approached a rapid which seemed at first glance no more difficult to
run than many they had successfully dashed through. The leading boat by
Powell’s direction pulled, into it, but this move was no sooner made
than he perceived that at the bottom the river turned sharply to the
left and the waters were piled against the foot of the cliff in an
alarming manner. An effort was made to land, but as they had shortly
before broken one oar and lost another, the two remaining were not
sufficient to propel the boat with force enough to reach the desired
point. At the same time, a huge wave striking the boat turned it
instantly upside down and cast Powell some distance away. He succeeded
in reaching her side, and there found Sumner and Dunn clinging. When
quiet water was again entered they attempted to right the craft, and in
doing this Dunn lost his hold and went under, though at the critical
moment, as he came up, Sumner succeeded in grasping him and drawing him
to the boat. By this time, they had drifted a long way down and saw
another rapid approaching. By swimming desperately, they avoided being
carried into this in their awkward plight, and, towing the boat after
them, landed none too soon on a pile of driftwood on the bank. A gun,
some barometers, and other articles that were in the open compartment,
were lost, though one roll of blankets had been caught and saved by
Powell as it drifted by. Building a large fire on the shore, they dried
their clothing, while out of one of the logs they manufactured
much-needed oars.


The Canyon of Desolation—Low Water. The Canyon of Desolation—Low Water.
Cliffs about 2700 feet. Note boat with men on rocks, middle distance,
making a let-down.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Fortified by these, they ran several bad rapids the following day. In
one, Bradley was knocked overboard, but, his foot catching under the
seat, he was dragged head down through the water till the worst of the
fall was passed, when one of the other men managed to haul him in. Just
below this, they emerged again into an expansion of the walls, leaving
the ninety-seven miles of Desolation behind. But another mile brought
the rocks back once more, and the thirty-six miles of Gray Canyon must
be passed before they came to Gunnison Valley. Beyond this, walls of
sandstone about one thousand feet high hemmed the river in for some
sixty miles, but the stream was not dangerous and the party moved on
quickly, though the absence of rapids and swift water made rowing
obligatory. At the foot of this gorge, called from its winding
character, Labyrinth Canyon, there was a brief expansion before the
next walls closed upon them. These were closer than any seen above, but
the river, though swift, had no dangerous element, so that progress was
safe and easy, and in a trifle over forty miles they came to the mouth
of a river almost as large as the Green, flowing in a canyon of similar
depth and character. This was Grand River. At last they had reached the
place where these two streams unite, thirteen hundred feet below the
surrounding country; the mysterious Junction which, so far as the
records go, Macomb and all white men before had failed to find.
Therefore when Powell and his band floated down till the waters of the
Green mingled with those of the Grand they were perhaps the first white
men ever to arrive at the spot. The Colorado proper was now before
them. It was the mystery of mysteries.






CHAPTER IX.




A Canyon of Cataracts—The Imperial Chasm—Short Rations—A Split in the
Party—Separation—Fate of the Howlands and Dunn—The Monster Vanquished.


Powell’s winter of investigation had probably given him a good idea of
what kind of rapids might be expected in the formations composing the
canyons as far as the mouth of Grand River, but he now had confronting
him water which for aught he could tell might indulge in plunges of a
hundred feet or more at one time, between absolutely vertical walls.
And the aspect of the surroundings at the junction of the Green and the
Grand is not reassuring. It is a barren and dismal place, with no
footing but a few sand-banks that are being constantly cut away and
reformed by the whirling current, except on their higher levels where a
few scrawny hackberry trees and weeds find room to continue a
precarious existence. To get out of or into this locality either by
climbing the cliffs or by navigating the rivers is a difficult feat,
and to trust oneself to the current blindly rushing down toward the sea
is even worse, more especially so on the occasion of this first descent
when all beyond was a complete blank. But the party faced the future
bravely and cheerfully. They climbed out at two points on tours of
inspection of the country above, while some took the opportunity to
overhaul the supply of rations, which, having been so often wet, was
seriously damaged. The flour was musty and full of hard lumps. To
eliminate the lumps, therefore, they screened it with a piece of
mosquito netting for a sieve; at the same time they eliminated more
than two hundred pounds of the precious freight and threw this away, a
foolish proceeding, for by proper cooking it might have been utilised
for food. Together with the losses by the wreck of the _No-Name_ and
other mishaps, and with what had been consumed, their food-supply was
now reduced from the original ten-months’ amount to a two-months’
quantity, though they had not yet been on the way quite sixty days;
that is, they had used up eight months’ supplies in two months,
including a mountain sheep and a deer the hunters had brought down, and
they were barely more than half-way to the end of the journey. At this
alarming rate they would be starving long before they saw the walls of
the Grand Canyon break away.


Junction of the Grand and Green. Junction of the Grand and Green.
On the surface; bare rock.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



In Cataract Canyon. In Cataract Canyon.
Highest Walls in this canyon 2700 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Nevertheless no thought of pursuing any course but the one planned
occurred to them, and on July 21st they cast off from the sand-banks
and were carried rapidly down on the swift torrent of the Great
Colorado. They had not gone far before plenty hard work was furnished,
in the shape of two portages were necessary to pass particularly
dangerous places, and numerous bad rapids to run. In the afternoon the
_Emma Dean_, in attempting to navigate one of the more
favourable-looking foaming descents, was swamped, pitching Powell and
the others headlong into the roaring flood. They were fortunately able
to cling to the boat till they floated into more tranquil waters, where
they managed to climb on board, signalling the other boats to land
before the plunge. This they could do, and the boats were brought down
by a portage, which took all the rest of the day. The approach of
darkness compelled a halt for the night on some rocks where they had
barely room enough to lie down. Three much-needed oars had been lost
with the capsize of the _Dean_. These were sadly missed in the rough
water that surrounded them the following day, so at the first large
pile of driftwood they made a landing and secured a cottonwood log for
oar-timber. While the oars were making, Powell and his brother climbed
up to where some pinyon trees were seen growing, and collected a
quantity of gum with which to calk the leaky boats. They needed all the
preparation possible, for the rapids now came ever thicker, ever
faster, and more violent. The walls also grew in altitude from the
thirteen hundred feet of the Junction to fifteen hundred feet, then to
eighteen hundred feet, nearly vertical in places.

An examination of the barometric record was now made to see how much
they had by this time descended toward sea-level, and, by comparison,
about what might be expected in the river below. The conclusion was
that though great descents were still ahead, if the fall should be
distributed in rapids and short drops, as it had been above, and not
concentrated great plunges, they would meet with success. But there in
always remained the possibility of arriving on the brink of some high
fall where no footing on either side could be obtained, and where a
fierce current would prohibit a return. In such a case the exploration
would have ended then and there. The newspapers before this time had
printed a story of the expedition’s collapse. The outer world supposed
that Powell and all his men but one had been destroyed, though A. H.
Thompson wrote to the _Chicago Inter-Ocean_, which first published it,
showing its absurdity. Mrs. Powell heard the story at her father’s home
in Detroit and she pronounced it a fabrication, for she had received a
letter subsequent to the date given for the destruction of the party.
She also had faith in her husband’s judgment, caution, and good sense,
so she refused to accept the tale at all, which was circulated by a man
who had started from Green River Station, and who, by “pitching” this
picturesque yarn, secured the sympathy and the purses of the passengers
on an east-bound Union Pacific train. He told how Powell and all the
men but himself had been suddenly swallowed up in an awful place, dark
and gloomy and full of fearful whirlpools, called Brown’s Hole. From
the shore, where he alone had remained, he had despairingly witnessed
the party disappear in a mighty whirlpool never to rise again. But he
made a mistake, so far as Mrs. Powell was concerned, in naming the
spot. She knew very well that there was no danger whatever in Brown’s
Hole, and that the river in this pretty park was the quietest on the
whole course. But for its inventor the yarn had fulfilled its purpose,
and he found himself east of the Mississippi, where he wanted to be,
with a pocket full of dollars. A week or two after the story appeared
letters were received from Powell via the Uinta Agency. These
positively proved the falsity of the tale.


The Craggs at Millecrag Bend, foot of Cataract Canyon. The Craggs at
Millecrag Bend, foot of Cataract Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



The Music Temple Alcove, Glen Canyon. The Music Temple Alcove, Glen
Canyon.
So called because the men of Powell’s first expedition sang in the
place. On entering one finds a huge cavern. Here the men who were later
killed by the Shewits carved their names.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


On the fourth day in Cataract Canyon three portages were compulsory at
the very outset to pass safely over a stretch where the waters tumbled
seventy-five feet in three quarters of a mile, and at the end of this
three quarters of a mile they camped again, worn out by the severe
toil. Rapids now came with even greater frequency, between walls more
than two thousand feet high and often nearly vertical from the water.
On the 27th a flock of mountain sheep was discovered on the rocks not
more than one hundred feet above their heads. The game did not see the
hunters, who landed quickly in a convenient cove, and two fat sheep
were added to the rapidly diminishing larder. On the next day they were
startled by the sudden closing in of the walls, till the canyon, now
nearly three thousand feet deep, became very narrow, with the river
filling the chasm from one blank cliff to the other. The water was also
swift and the canyon winding, so that it was not possible to see ahead.
Powell was much disturbed lest they should run upon some impassable
fall, but luckily in about a mile and a half they emerged again into a
more broken gorge without having had the least difficulty. He justly
remarks that after it was done it seemed a simple thing to run through
such a place, but the first doing of it was fraught with keen anxiety.
In the late afternoon of this same day, they came to the end of the
forty-one miles of Cataract Canyon, marked by a deep canyon-valley
entering from the left at a sharp bend where millions of crags,
pinnacles, and towers studded the summit of the right-hand wall, now
again thirteen hundred feet high. It was called Millecrag Bend, either
then, or on the second expedition. A new canyon immediately formed; a
narrow, straight canyon, with walls terraced above and vertical below.
The thirteen hundred feet of altitude speedily diminished and in nine
miles the voyagers were at the end. Low walls again began, forming the
head of the next canyon of the series. Presently they arrived at the
mouth of a river flowing in from the right, or west. The pilot boat ran
up into this stream, and as the water of the Colorado had been
particularly muddy, the men were eager to discover clear, sparkling
affluents and springs. One behind shouted, “How is she, Jack?” and Jack
sententiously replied, “Oh, she’s a dirty devil!” and by this title the
river was long called, and probably is still so known in that region,
though on the maps it was afterwards changed by Powell to Frémont
River, in honour of the Pathfinder.

They were now in the beginning of what has since been called Glen
Canyon. Powell at first gave the name of Mound to the upper half, and
Monument to the lower, but after 1871 Glen was substituted for the
whole. On July 31st they passed the mouth of the San Juan, which enters
through a canyon similar to that of the main river, about a thousand
feet deep. They tried to climb out near this point, but failed to
accomplish it. The next day they made camp in one of the peculiar
alcoves or glens from which the canyon is named, worn by the waters
into the homogeneous sandstone composing the walls. This particular
glen is a beautiful spot. The wide entrance contains a number of
cottonwood trees, and passing these one finds himself in a huge cavern
some five hundred feet wide and two hundred feet high, with a narrow
slit leading up to the sky, and extending back far beyond the limits of
the glen. The men found this a delightful place. They sang songs, and
their voices sounded so well that they bestowed upon the cavern the
name of Music Temple. It now holds a special interest because three of
them, O. G. Rowland, Seneca Howland, and William Dunn, carved their
names on a smooth face of rock, and it forms their eternal monument,
for these three never saw civilisation again.


The Depths of the Grand Canyon at Sunset. The Depths of the Grand
Canyon at Sunset.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH, in the possession of Prof. A.H.
Thompson, who considers it the best representation of the canyon from
below that he has seen, “the truest—far better than any photograph
because more comprehensive.”


For 149 miles the easy waters of Glen Canyon bore them along, and by
August 4th they had passed the Crossing of the Fathers, or Ute Ford, as
it was called in that country before its identification as the point
where Escalante crossed, and were at the mouth of the Paria, since 1873
better known as Lee’s Ferry. They had now before them the grandest of
all the gorges, though only two hundred feet deep at the beginning; but
they had not proceeded far into it before the walls ran rapidly up
while the river ran rapidly down. Numerous falls appeared, one
following another in quick succession, necessitating portages and much
hard work. When Powell managed to climb out on the 7th, the walls had
grown to twenty-three hundred feet. They soon increased to about
thirty-five hundred feet, often vertical on one or the other side at
the water, and even in the upper portions extremely precipitous. By the
10th they had reached the mouth of the Little Colorado, where White’s
imagination had pictured the greatest terror of the whole river, and
the end of all the dangerous part. The walls of this tributary are, as
is usually the case, the same as those of the main gorge, but the
stream itself was small, muddy, and saline. Powell walked up it three
or four miles, having no trouble in crossing it by wading when
desirable. He called the new gorge now before him, really only a
continuation of the one ending with the canyon of the Little Colorado,
the “Great Unknown,” and a party some twenty years later, emulating the
early Spaniards in the art of forgetting, called it the same, but it
was the Great Unknown only once, and that was when Powell on this
occasion first faced the sublime, unfathomed depths that here lay in
his course. Only one month’s rations remained as a reliance in this
terrible passage. Powell says: “We have an unknown distance yet to run;
an unknown river yet to explore. What falls there are we know not; what
rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walk rise over the river, we
know not.... The men talk as cheerfully as ever; jests are bandied
about freely this morning; but to me the cheer is sombre and the jests
are ghastly.” With anxiety and much misgiving they drifted on between
mile-high cliffs, rising terrace on terrace to the very sky itself.
Even now, when the dangers are known and tested, no man lives who can
enter the great chasm for a voyage to the other end without feeling
anxiety as to the result, and the more anxiety he feels, the more
probability there is that he will pass the barriers safely. Running
rapids and passing falls by portages and let-downs, they met no
formidable obstacle till August 14th, when they ran into a granite
formation, the “First Granite Gorge.” While the gorge was wide above,
it grew narrower as the river level was approached, till the walls were
closer than anywhere farther up; and they were ragged and serrated.
They had noticed that hard rocks had produced bad river, and soft rocks
smooth water; now they were in a series of rocks harder than any before
encountered. There was absolutely no way of telling what the waters
might do in such a formation, which ran up till a thousand feet of it
stood above their heads, supporting more than four thousand feet more
of sedimentary rocks, making a grand total of between five thousand and
six thousand feet. The same day on which they entered the granite they
arrived, after running, and portaging around, several bad rapids, at a
terrific fall, announced by a loud roar like the steady boom of
Niagara, reverberating back and forth from wall to wall, and filling
the whole gorge with its ominous note. The river was beaten to a solid
sheet of reeling foam for a third of a mile. There was but one choice,
but one path for the boats, and that lay through the midst of it, for
on each side the waves pounded violently against the jagged cliffs
which so closely hemmed them in. Men might climb up to the top of the
granite and find their way around the obstruction, one thousand feet
above it, descending again a mile or two down, but they could not take
the boats over such a road. They must, therefore, run the place, a fall
of about eighty feet in the third of a mile, or give up the descent. So
they got into their boats and started on the smooth waters, so soon
shattered into raging billows. Though filled with water, the boats all
rode successfully and came out below crowned with success. Often a
rapid is greatly augmented by enormous boulders which have been washed
into the river from some side canyon, and, acting like a dam, block the
water up and cause it to roar and fret tenfold more. Black and dismal
is this granite gorge; sharp and terrible the rapids, whose sheeted
foam becomes fairly iridescent by contrast. The method of working
around some of the worst places is illustrated well by the following
extract:

“We land and stop for an hour or two to examine the fall. It seems
possible to let down with lines, at least part of the way, from point
to point, along the right-hand wall. So we make a portage over the
first rocks, and find footing on some boulders below. Then we let down
one of the boats to the end of her line, when she reaches a corner of
the projecting rock, to which one of the men clings and steadies her,
while I examine an eddy below. I think we can pass the other boats down
by us, and catch them in the eddy. This is soon done and the men in the
boats in the eddy pull us to their side. On the shore of this little
eddy there is about two feet of gravel beach above water. Standing on
this beach, some of the men take a line of the little boat and let it
drift down against another projecting angle. Here is a little shelf on
which a man from my boat climbs, and a shorter line is passed to him,
and he fastens the boat to the side of the cliff. Then the second one
is let down, bringing the line of the third. When the second boat is
tied up, the two men standing on the beach above spring into the last
boat, which is pulled up alongside ours. Then we let down the boats,
for twenty-five or thirty yards, by walking along the shelf, landing
them again in the mouth of a side canyon. Just below this there is
another pile of boulders, over which we make another portage. From the
foot of these rocks we can climb to another shelf, forty or fifty feet
above the water. On this bench we camp for the night. We find a few
sticks, which have lodged in the rocks. It is raining hard, and we have
no shelter, but kindle a fire and have our supper. We sit on the rocks
all night, wrapped in our ponchos, getting what sleep we can.”


The Grand Canyon. The “Sockdologer” Rapid. The Grand Canyon. The
“Sockdologer” Rapid.
Fall of about eighty feet in one third of a mile.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


At this season of the year there is a good deal of cloudy and rainy
weather in the Grand Canyon region, and this makes the gorge decidedly
gloomy when one is compelled to stay in it and descend the river. The
next morning with two hours of similar manoeuvring the rapid was
passed. The same day they found a stretch where the river was so swift
the boats were tossed from side to side like feathers, entirely
unmanageable. Here they met with another rapid and two of the boats
were in such a position they could not escape running it. But they went
through without damage. Then the third crew tried to reach land, and
succeeded, only to find that there was no foot-hold. They pushed out
again, to be overwhelmed by a powerful wave which filled the boat full.
She drifted helpless through several breakers and one of these capsized
her. The men hung to the side, the only thing to do in the Colorado
unless one has on a life preserver (and even then it is advisable), as
she drifted down to the other boats, where she was caught and righted.
It has always seemed strange to me that Powell on this crucial
expedition did not provide himself and his men with cork life-jackets,
a precaution that suggests itself immediately in such an undertaking.
No one ought ever to attempt a descent without them.


Bottom of the Grand Canyon. Bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Looking down from foot of Bright Angel Trail.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.


The next day they reached a clear little stream coming in through a
deep canyon on the right, and because they had honoured the devil by
conferring his name on a river higher up, Powell concluded to honour
the good spirits by calling this Bright Angel River. In its narrow
valley ruined foundations of houses and fragments of pottery were
discovered. There were also indications of old trails by which the
builders had made their way about. By the 17th of August, the rations
were reduced to musty flour enough for ten days, a few dried apples,
and plenty of coffee. The bacon had spoiled and was thrown away. Now
the problem of food was a paramount consideration. Should they be
detained by many bad places, they might be forced by the food question
to abandon the river, if possible, and strike for the Mormon
settlements lying to the north. The barometers were rendered useless,
so that they could not determine the altitude to see what proportion of
descent still remained ahead. They hoped, however, that the worst was
behind. They now carefully divided evenly among the boats the little
stock of flour, so that, in case of disaster, all of it should not be
lost at once. Notwithstanding all the difficulties and the dark
outlook, Powell never failed in his wonderful poise of mind and balance
of nerve. But he was anxious, and he sang sometimes as they sailed
along till the men, he once told me, he believed thought he had gone
crazy. Of course the singing was more or less a mask for his real
feelings.


In the Midst of a Grand Canyon Rapid. In the Midst of a Grand Canyon
Rapid.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


On the 19th the pioneer boat, running some distance ahead of the
others, was again upset by a wave. As usual the men succeeded in
clinging to the upturned craft, the closed compartments always keeping
the boat afloat, and were carried down through another rapid. The
companion boats were detained by whirlpools and could not quickly go to
the rescue, but when they finally did reach the _Dean_, she was bailed
out, the men climbed on board of her again, and they all went on
without even trying to land. The next day, in one hour, they ran on a
wild dashing river ten miles without stopping, and, what was to them
most important, they ran out of the granite. The bright colours of the
sedimentary rocks put new cheer into them. On they ran, down the narrow
canyon, now about three thousand feet deep, always on swift water, but
for a time there were no bad rapids. On August 25th they reached a fall
where the river was once dammed up for a great height by an overflow of
lava from craters on and near the brink. One of the craters was plainly
visible from below. The canyon appeared to have been once filled by the
lava to the depth of fifteen hundred feet. They named the descent Lava
Falls and made a portage. Not far below this they found a garden which
had been planted by the Shewits Pai Utes living on the plateau above.
The corn was not ripe, though some squashes were, and helping
themselves to a few of these they ran on to a comfortable place and had
a feast.


The Grand Canyon-Granite Buttresses. The Grand Canyon-Granite
Buttresses.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


So well did they now get on, running rapids and making fine time, that
they began to look forward with great hope to a speedy termination of
the canyon. When therefore the river took an unexpected turn towards
the south and the lower formations once more began to appear, till the
black granite, dreaded and feared, closed again threateningly about
them, they were considerably disheartened. At the very beginning they
were compelled to make a portage. Then they reached a place which
appeared worse than anything they had yet seen. This was partly due to
the condition of the men and it was partly a fact. They could discover
no way to portage or to let down, and Powell believed running it meant
certain destruction. They climbed up and along on the granite for a
mile or two, but there appeared no hope for success. In trying to
secure an advantageous position from which to view the fall Powell
worked himself into a position where he could neither advance nor
retreat. His situation was most precarious. The men were obliged to
bring oars from the boats four hundred feet below, to brace into the
rocks in order to get him safely back. The absence of his right arm
made climbing sometimes very difficult for him. This was on the side
opposite their first landing. Descending, they recrossed the river and
spent the whole afternoon trying to decide on a plan. At last Powell
reached a decision. It was to lower the boats over the first portion, a
fall of eighteen or twenty feet, then hug the right cliff to a point
just above the second drop, where they could enter a little chute, and
having passed this point they were to pull directly across the stream
to avoid a dangerous rock below. He told the men his intention of
running the rapid the next morning, and they all crossed the river once
more to a landing where it was possible to camp.

New and serious trouble now developed. The elder Howland remonstrated
with Powell against proceeding farther by the river and advised the
abandonment of the enterprise altogether. At any rate, he and his
brother and William Dunn would not go on in the boats. Powell sat up
that night plotting out his course and concluded from it that the mouth
of the Virgen could not be more than forty-five miles away in a
straight line. Calculating eighty or ninety miles by the river, and
allowing for the open country he knew existed below the end of the
Grand Canyon, he concluded that they must soon reach the mouth and be
able to find the Mormon settlements about twenty miles up the Virgen
River. Then he awoke Howland and explained the situation, and they
talked it over. The substance of this talk is not stated, but Howland
went to sleep again while Powell paced the sand till dawn, pondering on
the best course to take. The immediate danger of the rapid he thought
could be overcome with safety, but what was below? To climb out here,
even were it possible, was to reach the edge of a desert with the
nearest Mormon town not less than seventy-five miles distant, across an
unknown country. So heavily did this situation weigh upon him that he
almost concluded to abandon the river and try the chance on the top,
but then he says: “For years I have been contemplating this trip. To
leave the exploration unfinished, to say that there is a part of the
canyon which I cannot explore, having already almost accomplished it,
is more than I am willing to acknowledge, and I determine to go on.” So
he awoke Walter Powell and explained to him Howland’s decision. Walter
agreed to stand by him, and so did Sumner, Hawkins, Bradley, and Hall.
The younger Howland wished to remain, but would not desert his brother.
O. G. Howland was determined to leave the river, and Dunn was with him.

I have never met any of the men of this party except Powell and his
brother Walter, so I have no other account of the affair than the one
just stated, which is from Powell’s Report, and is the same that he
gave me orally before that Report was printed. Walter Powell never
mentioned the subject, or in any way suggested to me that there was
anything behind the version of Powell. But others have. They have said
that the real cause of the break was an incompatibility between Powell
and the elder Howland. It is quite possible that Powell may have
discovered Howland _persona non grata_, but had this been as serious as
some have said, Howland would not have waited, it seems to me, till
they came to a particularly bad-looking place to take his departure. At
any rate, that was a long night for Powell, and whatever the main cause
of Howland’s leaving was, it was a trying ordeal for the leader.
Howland’s obligation certainly was to go on as if he were an enlisted
soldier, and he evidently failed in this duty. When daylight finally
came a solemn breakfast was prepared and eaten. No one had much heart.
The river was then crossed again to the north side. The decision of the
three men to leave rendered one boat useless, and the poorest, the
_Dean_, which was a pine boat, was left behind. Two rifles and a
shotgun were given to the men who were leaving, but their share of the
rations they refused to take, being sure they could secure all the game
they required. Their calculations were correct enough, and they would
have arrived at the settlements had not an unforeseen circumstance
prevented. When the river party were ready to start the three deserters
helped lift the two boats over a high rock and down past the first
fall. Then they parted. Powell wrote a letter to his wife which Howland
took, Sumner gave him his watch with directions that it be sent to his
sister in the event of the river party being annihilated, and the
duplicate records of the trip were separated, one set being given to
Howland, who at the last begged them not to go on down the river,
assuring them that a few miles more of such river as that now ahead of
them would consume the last of the scant rations and then it would be
too late to try to escape. In fact each party thought the other was
taking the more desperate chance. By a mistake the duplicate records
were wrongly divided, each party having portions of both sets. This
afterwards made gaps in the river data below the Paria as far as
Catastrophe Rapid. Powell entered the _Maid of the Canyon_ and pulled
away while the departing men stood on an overhanging crag looking on.
Both boats succeeded in going through without accident, and it was then
apparent that the place was not so bad as it looked and that they had
run many that were worse. Down below it they waited for a couple of
hours hoping the men would change their minds, take the _Dean_, and
come on. But they were never seen again by white men. They climbed up
the mighty cliffs to the summit of the Shewits Plateau, about
fifty-five hundred feet, and that it is a hard climb I can testify, for
I climbed down and back not far above this point. At length they were
out of the canyon, and they must have rejoiced at leaving those gloomy
depths behind. Northward they went, to a large water-pocket, a
favourite camping-ground of the Shewits, a basin in the rocky channel
of an intermittent stream, discharging into the Colorado. The only
story of their fate was obtained from these Utes. Jacob Hamblin of
Kanab learned it from some other Utes and afterwards got the story from
them. They received the men at their camp and gave them food. During
the night some of the band came in from the north and reported certain
outrages by miners in that country. It was at once concluded that these
whites were the culprits and that they never came down the Colorado as
they claimed. In the morning, therefore, a number secreted themselves
near the edge of the water-pocket. The trail to the water leads down
under a basaltic cliff perhaps thirty or forty feet high, as I remember
the spot, which I visited about six years later. As the unfortunate men
turned to come up from filling their canteens, they were shot down from
ambush. In consequence I have called this the Ambush Water-pocket.[1]
The guns, clothing, etc., were appropriated by the Shewits, and I
believe it was through one of the watches that the facts first leaked
out. I have always had a lurking suspicion that the Shewits were glad
of an excuse (if they had one at the time) for killing the men. When I
was there they were in an ugly mood and the night before I got to the
camp my guide, a Uinkaret, and a good fellow, warned me to be
constantly on my guard or they would steal all we had. There were three
of us, and probably we were among the first whites to go there. Powell
the autumn after the men were killed went to the Uinkaret Mountains,
but did not continue over to the Shewits Plateau. Thompson went there
in 1872.

 [1] I have since been told that these men were killed near Mt.
 Dellenbaugh, but my version is as I remember Jacob Hamblin’s statement
 to me in 1872. He was the first to get the story.


The Basket Maker. The Basket Maker.
Old woman of the Kaibab Pai Utes. Behind is the typical Pai Ute
dwelling of boughs and brush. The dwellings of the Shewits are similar.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Meanwhile the boat party dashed safely on through a succession of
rapids till noon, when they arrived at another very bad place. In
working through this by means of lines, Bradley was let down in one of
the boats to fend her off the rocks, and finding himself in a serious
predicament started to cut the line, when the stern of the boat pulled
away and he shot down alone. He was a powerful man, and snatching up
the steering oar, with several strong strokes he put her head down
stream and immediately boat and all disappeared amidst the foaming
breakers. But he came out unharmed, and in time to render service to
Powell’s boat, which was badly shaken up in the passage. The other men
of Bradley’s boat, left behind, were obliged to make a long and
difficult climb before they were able to rejoin their craft. By night
they had run entirely out of the granite, and at noon the next day,
without encountering any more serious trouble, they emerged at last
from the depths of the giant chasm. They were at the mouth of the Grand
Wash. The Dragon of Waters was vanquished. Not that the Dragon would
not fight again just as before, but those who attacked him in future
would understand his temper.


Brother Belder’s—Virgen City. Brother Belder’s—Virgen City.
A typical frontier Mormon home.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.


Below this point Powell was guided by a manuscript journal which Jacob
Hamblin and two other Mormons, Miller and Crosby, had kept on a boat
journey a few years earlier from the Grand Wash to Callville. Ives and
others having been up to Callville, the exploration of the Colorado was
now complete. There was no part of it unknown; and Powell’s feat in
descending through the long series of difficult canyons stands
unrivalled in the annals of exploration on this continent. “The relief
from danger and the joy of success are great,” he writes. “Ever before
us has been an unknown danger, heavier than immediate peril. Every
waking hour passed in the Grand Canyon has been one of toil.” His chief
concern now was the fate of the men who had deserted him, but this was
not revealed till the next year. Had they remained with the others,
they probably would have gone safely through, but had they died, it
would have been properly and gloriously, in the battle with the fierce
river. In the history of expeditions, it is usually those who depart
from the original plan who suffer most, for this plan is generally well
considered beforehand, whereas any subsequent change is mainly based on
error or fear. Running on through a couple of small canyons, they
discovered on the bank some Pai Utes, who ran away, but a little
farther down they came to another camp where several did not run.
Nothing could be learned from them about the whites, yet a short
distance below this they came upon three white men and a native hauling
a seine. They had reached the goal! It was the mouth of the Virgen
River! The men in the boat had heard that the whole party was lost and
were on the lookout for wreckage. They were a father and his sons,
named Asa, Mormons from a town about twenty miles up the Virgen. The
total stock of food left the explorers was ten pounds of flour, fifteen
of dried apples, and about seventy of coffee. Powell and his brother
here said farewell to their companions of the long and perilous
journey. They went to the Mormon settlements, while the others
continued down the river in the boats to Yuma where Hawkins and Bradley
left. Sumner and Hall continued to the Gulf which they reached before
the end of September.

This expedition, by hard labour, with good boats had, accomplished in
about thirty working days the distance from the mouth of Grand River
down, while White claimed to have done it on a clumsy raft in eleven!
And where White professed to find smooth sailing in his imaginary
voyage, Powell had discovered the most dangerous river of all.

Of his companions on this extraordinary journey, Powell says “I was a
maimed man, my right arm was gone; and these brave men, these good men,
never forgot it. In every danger my safety was their first care, and in
every waking hour some kind service was rendered me, and they
transfigured my misfortune into a boon.”






CHAPTER X.




Powell’s Second Attack on the Colorado—Green River City—Red Canyon and
a Capsize—The Grave of Hook—The Gate of Lodore—Cliff of the
Harp—Triplet Falls and Hell’s Half-Mile—A Rest in Echo Park.


Though Powell had demonstrated the possibility of passing alive through
the thousand-mile stretch of canyons on the Green and Colorado, the
scientific results of his hazardous voyage were not what he had
desired. Owing to the numerous disasters many of the instruments had
been lost, and he had been prevented by this, as well as by other
circumstances, from fully accomplishing his intention. On this account
he concluded to continue his labours in this direction, and determined
to make another descent if he could secure the pecuniary aid of the
Government. His application was favourably considered, as it certainly
deserved to be, and Congress appropriated a sum for a second expedition
that should also examine the adjacent country for a distance of twelve
miles on each side of the river. To insure certainty of food supplies
for the continuance of the work, Powell visited the region in 1870 for
the purpose of examining the feasibility of having rations taken in by
pack-trains at several points. He concluded this could be done at the
mouth of the Uinta River, at the mouth of the Dirty Devil, at the Ute
Ford or Crossing of the Fathers, and at the mouth of the Paria, where
he expected to retire from the river for the winter, to conduct
explorations in the surrounding mountains. It was on this occasion that
he went to the Uinkaret Mountains (September, 1870) and investigated
the cause of the disappearance of the Howlands and Dunn. Returning then
to Kanab, at that time the farthest frontier settlement of the Mormons,
he visited the Moki Towns, across the Colorado, and went back to the
East to finish his preparations. In the winter of 1871-72 Congress made
an additional appropriation for this expedition. The supervision was
vested in that noble character, Joseph Henry, then Secretary of the
Smithsonian Institution. Professor Henry was entirely favourable and
sympathetic, and his approval was of the highest value. He secured some
instruments for the work and lent his aid in every possible manner. A
privilege of drawing rations at the Western army posts was also again
granted, and this saved a great deal of expense.


Green River Station, U.P. Ry., Wyoming, 1871. Green River Station, U.P.
Ry., Wyoming, 1871.
Starting point of the two Powell expeditions.


Through a friend who was an old army acquaintance of Powell’s I secured
an interview in Chicago, whither I went for the purpose. Its character
was a good illustration of the explorer’s quick decision. As I advanced
towards him he rose to his feet, surveyed me with a lightning glance,
and said heartily, “Well, Fred, you’ll do.” These words constituted me
a member of his party, and I began my preparations forthwith. Dozens of
men applied to join the expedition, but no more were taken, the party
being now full.


Our First Camp, Green River, Wyoming. Thompson, Hattan, Jones, Steward,
W.C. Powell, Richardson, Dellenbaugh, Bishop.
Our First Camp, Green River, Wyoming.
U.S. Colorado River Expedition, 1871.
The borrowed table was, of course, left behind. Photograph by E.O.
BEAMAN.


The boats for this trip were modelled on those used on the former
descent, with such changes and improvements as experience had
suggested. They were honestly and thoroughly constructed by a builder
named Bagley, who had a yard where he turned out small craft, at the
north end of the old Clark Street bridge, and we often felt a sense of
gratitude to him for doing his work so well. They were three in number,
of well-seasoned, clear-grained, half-inch oak, smooth-built,
double-ribbed fore and aft, square-sterned, and all practically the
same, the former trip having shown the needlessness of taking any
smaller or frailer boat for piloting purposes. These were each
twenty-two feet long over all, and about twenty on the keel. They were
rather narrow for their length, but quite deep for boats of their size,
drawing, if I remember correctly, when fully laden, some fourteen or
sixteen inches of water. This depth made it possible to carry a heavy
load, which was necessary, and at the same time which acted as ballast
to keep them right side up amidst the counter-currents and tumbling
waters. A rudder being entirely out of place in the kind of navigation
found in the canyons, a heavy rowlock was placed at the stern to hold a
strong, eighteen-foot steering oar. The boats were entirely decked over
on a level with the gunwales, excepting two open spaces left for the
rowers. These open spaces, or standing-rooms, were separated from the
decked portions by bulkheads, thus forming under the decks three
water-tight compartments or cabins, that would not only protect the
cargoes and prevent loss in the event of capsize, but would also serve
to keep the boats afloat when loaded and full of water in the open
parts. The rowlocks were of iron, of the pattern that comes close
together at the top, so that an oar must either be slipped through from
the handle end or drawn up toward the thin part above the blade to get
it out. By attaching near the handle a rim of hard leather, there was
no way for the oar to come out accidentally, and so well did this
arrangement work that in a capsize the oars remained in the rowlocks.
To any one wishing to try the descent of the Colorado, I commend these
boats as being perhaps as well adapted to the work as any that can be
devised; though perhaps a pointed stern would be an improvement. Iron
construction is not advisable, as it is difficult to repair.


The Boats of Powells Second Expedition on the Beach at Green River,
Wyoming. The Boats of Powells Second Expedition on the Beach at Green
River, Wyoming.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


When I went the first, time to look at the boats lying on Bagley’s
wharf, their ominous porpoise-like appearance gave me a peculiar
sensation. I had expected rough-water, but this was the first
understanding I had that the journey was to be more or less amphibian.
On a day when the waves on Lake Michigan were running high we took them
out for trial. The crews were filled out by Bagley’s men, our party not
all being present, and with some reporters and a cargo of champagne and
cigars our course was laid for the open sea. The action of the boats
was all that could be desired, and, in the great billows it was so
constant that our reportorial friends found some difficulty in
obtaining their share of the refreshments. We were satisfied that the
boats could ride any sea, and they were accordingly placed on a car and
sent by way of the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy and the Union
Pacific railways to Green River Station. These companies charged
nothing for this service and also transported all the men and baggage
on the same terms. On the 29th of April we alighted at Green River and
found the boats already there. This place, when the railway was
building, had been for a considerable time the terminus, and a town of
respectable proportions had grown up, but with the completion of the
road through this region, the terminus had moved on, and now all that
was to be seen of those golden days was a group of adobe walls,
roofless and forlorn. The present “city” consisted of about thirteen
houses, and some of these were of such complex construction that one
hesitates whether to describe them as houses with canvas roofs, or
tents with board sides. The population consisted of a few whites, a
number of Chinese railway labourers, an occasional straggling miner,
native, or cattleman, and last but not least, at the small
railway-station eating-house, honoured by the patronage of
emigrant-trains, his highness Ah Chug, the cook, whose dried-apple
pies, at twenty-five cents apiece, I have never ceased to enjoy, for
they were the ladder by which I was able to descend from a home table
to the camp fare of bacon and beans. I then despised these ruder
viands, but now I desire to pay my tribute to them by saying that as a
basis for campaigning they are the very best. In hot weather you eat
more beans and less bacon, and when the weather is cold your diet is
easily arranged in the reverse order.


Ruins of Green River Terminus. Ruins of Green River Terminus.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The boats were speedily launched upon the swift current at the bridge
and steered down to a little cove on the left, a few hundred yards
below, where they were hauled out on a beach to give them the finishing
touches of preparation, like attaching canvas covers to the cabins, and
so forth. Nearby, amongst the willows, we established our first camp—a
place of real luxury, for Mr. Field, who had an outfitting house here,
lent us a table and two benches. Andy set up some crotches and a
cross-bar, to hang his kettles on, and with a cast-iron bake oven—one
of the kind like a flat, iron pot, in which, after it is stood upon a
bed of hot coals, the bread is placed, and then the cast-iron cover is
put on, and laden with hot coals—began his experiments in cookery, for
it was a new art to him. In the beginning he was rather too liberal
with his salaratus, but the product gave us the pleasant delusion of
having reached a land of gold nuggets. Andy soon improved, and we
learned to appreciate his rare skill to such an extent that the moment
he took his old hat and with it lifted the coffee-pot off the fire, and
then placed beside it the bread and bacon with the pleasing remark:
“Well, now, go fur it, boys!” we lost not a moment in accepting the
invitation. As bread must be made for every meal, Andy’s was no easy
berth, for his work on the river was the same as that of the rest of
us. It was only when we were engaged in a portage near dinner or supper
time that he was permitted to devote his entire attention to the
preparation of our elaborate meals. Bean soup, such as Andy made, is
one of the most delicious things in the world; and Delmonico could not
hold a candle to his coffee. Our three boats bore the names _Emma
Dean_, after Mrs. Powell, _Nellie Powell_, after Major Powell’s sister,
Mrs. Thompson, and _Cañonita_. The men and their assignment to the
boats were these: J. W. Powell, S. V. Jones, J. K. Hillers; F. S.
Dellenbaugh—the _Emma Dean;_ A. H. Thompson, J. F. Steward, F. M.
Bishop, F. C. A. Richardson—the _Nellie Powell;_ E. O. Beaman, W. C.
Powell, A. J. Hattan—the _Cañonita_.

Jones had been a teacher in Illinois. He went as a topographer. Hillers
was a soldier in the Civil War, and was at first not specially
assigned, but later, when the photographer gave out, he was directed to
assist in that branch, and eventually became head photographer, a
position he afterwards held with the Geological Survey for many years.
A large number of the photographs from which this volume is illustrated
were taken by him and they speak for themselves. Thompson was from
Illinois. He also had been a soldier in the war, and on this expedition
was Powell’s colleague, as well as the geographer. To his foresight,
rare good judgment, ability to think out a plan to the last minute
detail, fine nerve and absolute lack, of any kind of foolishness,
together with a wide knowledge and intelligence, this expedition, and
indeed the scientific work so admirably carried on by the United States
Survey of the Rocky Mountain region and the Geological Survey for three
decades in the Far West, largely owe success. Steward was an old
soldier, was from Illinois, and went with us as geologist, assisting
Powell himself in this line. Bishop had been a captain in the war, had
been shot through and through the left lung, and was an enthusiast in
Western exploration. He was one of the topographers. Richardson was
from Chicago and was general assistant to the geologists and
topographers. Beaman was from New York. He was photographer; and W. C.
Powell, from Illinois, and a nephew of Major Powell, was his assistant.
Hattan was a Virginian, but had lived long in Illinois. He had been a
soldier in the war, and went with us as cook, because he wanted the
trip, and there was no other post open to him. I hailed from Buffalo,
was the youngest of the party, and served as artist to the geologists,
and later was placed on the topographical work. Mrs. Powell and Mrs.
Thompson spent several days at Green River and rendered much
assistance, the latter presenting each boat with a handsome flag made
by her own hands.


Almon Harris Thompson. Almon Harris Thompson.
Powell’s colleague in the second descent of the Colorado and subsequent
work. For over thirty years prominently connected with United States
survey work in the basin of the Colorado and adjacent country, and in
the Eastern States.
Recent photograph by CLINEDINST.


An arm-chair obtained from Field was arranged so that it could be
strapped on the deck of the middle cabin of our boat, as a seat for
Powell, to enable him to be comfortable and at the same time see well
ahead. This had a tendency to make the _Dean_ slightly top-heavy, but
only once did serious consequences apparently result from it, and I am
not sure that the absence of the high load would have made any
difference. Though Powell had descended before, he could not remember
every detail and kept a sharp lookout always. The
provisions—everything, in fact, except the bacon, which was too
greasy—were put in rubber sacks that, when closed, were absolutely
water-tight. These bags were encased in cotton sacks and gunny bags to
protect the rubber. Each man was allowed one hundred pounds of baggage,
including his blankets, and was given two rubber bags to stow it in.
When the time came to load up we found we had a formidable pile of
things that must go. The photographic apparatus was particularly bulky,
for neither the dry-plate nor film had yet been invented. The
scientific instruments were also bulky, being in wooden, canvas-covered
cases; and there were eleven hundred pounds of flour in twenty-two
rubber sacks.


Ready for the Start, U.S. Colorado River Expedition, Green River,
Wyoming 1871. Ready for the Start, U.S. Colorado River Expedition,
Green River, Wyoming 1871.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


On the 22d of May, 1871, all being ready, and the boats finally packed,
we prepared to push off. To save time, breakfast was taken at Field’s
place, which, owing to the kindness of himself and his charming family,
had seemed very much like home to us. Then the populace to the number
of about fifteen—the Chinamen refusing to countenance any outfit
harbouring such a terrible engine of the devil as a photographic
apparatus—assembled on the beach to give us God-speed. The cheerful
conception of this service on the part of a deaf-mute was to fill the
air with violent gestures to indicate—and it was vivid enough—that we
could not possibly escape destruction. One of his series represented
with uncomfortable clearness a drowning man vainly striving to climb up
a vertical wall. This pantomime was the last thing I saw from my
position at the oars as we turned a bend and left the “city” behind.


Portraits of All but Two Members of the Boat Party of the U.S. Colorado
River Expedition of 1871. Portraits of All but Two Members of the Boat
Party of the U.S. Colorado River Expedition of 1871.
The others were E.O. Beaman and Andrew J. Hattan. In 1871 Messrs.
Bishop, Steward, and Beaman were obliged to leave on account of ill
health, and did not enter the Grand Canyon. These portraits were taken
within a year or two after the expedition, that of Mr. Hillers on a
hasty visit to Salt Lake.


We were much better provided for than the first party. We had a guide,
our boats were superior, our plan for supplies was immeasurably better,
both as to caring for what we took along and what we were to receive at
the several indicated places—mouth of the Uinta, mouth of the Dirty
Devil, Crossing of the Fathers, and the Paria. We also had rubber
life-preservers to inflate at the more dangerous points. Mine did me
little good, as I soon found it was in my way and I never wore it; nor
did Hillers wear his. As we handled the oars of our boat we concluded
it would be safer to do it in the best manner possible, and not be
encumbered by these sausages under our elbows, but we always placed
them behind us at bad places, ready for use; all the others, however,
wore theirs and seemed to find no objection to them in the way of
interference. A cork jacket could be worn easier when rowing, and I
would recommend it, but the thing of first importance is to have the
_right kind_ of boats, and know how to handle them. An humble spirit is
also a great safeguard. After starting, the usual number of slight
accidents occurred, but there was nothing to interfere with our steady
progress into the silent, lonely land, where the great Dragon, whose
tail we were now just touching, tore the air to tatters with his
writhings. Our light oars were snapped like reeds, but luckily we had
plenty of extras, and some ten-foot ones were cut down to eight, and
these proved to be strong enough. On the morning of the 23d we were
treated to a snow-storm and the air was very cold. It soon cleared,
however; and the sun shone again bright and warm, and we went on
rejoicing. The next day we reached the mouth of Black’s Fork, and after
this the river was deeper and we were less troubled by grounding, the
boats being only three inches out of water at the gunwales. The area
between Black’s Fork and the Green was strewn with beautiful
moss-agates. I longed to secure a quantity, but this was out of the
question. Geese and ducks floated on the water around us, but with our
rifles it was difficult to get any. There was not a shot-gun in the
party. We soon came in sight of the superb snow-covered Uinta range,
extending east and west across the land, and apparently an effectual
barrier to any progress of the river in that direction, but every day
we drew nearer to it. Some of our men shot three deer, and we had fresh
meat for a day or two, “jerking” all we could not consume in that time.
There was plenty of game along the river here and for a long distance
down, but we were not skilled hunters, nor did we have time to follow
game or manoeuvre for it, so our diet was mainly confined to what Andy
could produce by his manipulation of the supplies we carried. The day
following the one that gave us the deer, the river became very winding,
and a fearful gale blew across it, carrying sand into our eyes and some
water into our boats. In the late afternoon we bore down on a ridge,
about one thousand feet high, which extended far in both directions
athwart our course. It was the edge of the Uinta Mountains. At its very
foot the river seemed to stop. It could be seen neither to right nor,
to left, nor could any opening be detected in the mountain, except high
up where Powell pointed out to us a bare patch of brilliant red rocks
saying it was the top of Flaming Gorge, the beginning of the canyon
series. Passing the mouth of Henry’s Fork on the right, the river
doubled suddenly to the left between two low cliffs, where there was a
small whirlpool, which I take to be the “Green River Suck” of Ashley
and the early trappers. Around another point we swept and found
ourselves floating on the tranquil waters of Flaming Gorge. A fine
grove of deep green cottonwoods stood out on the left in contrast to
the rough red rocks. There were moored the other boats, which on this
occasion had preceded us, and the ever-faithful Andy was engaged in
preparing dinner. The next and first real canyon was the one called
Horseshoe, a short and beautiful gorge some sixteen hundred feet in
depth, and containing rapid “Number One,” a very mild affair, but
particularly noticeable because it is the first of the six hundred,
great and small, we had the satisfaction of vanquishing in our war
against the falling waters. We had already descended something over one
hundred and fifty of the five thousand feet we expected to go down, but
there had been only swift water at that stage of flood; nothing that,
on the Colorado, would be considered a serious rapid.


Green River Valley. Camp at Tilted Ledge near Henry’s Fork. Green River
Valley. Camp at Tilted Ledge near Henry’s Fork.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Every morning the cabins of the boats were packed like so many trunks.
The blankets were rolled up and put in their rubber cases, all bags of
supplies were securely tied and stowed away, in short, every article
was placed in the cabins and the hatches firmly buttoned in place, with
the canvas cover drawn snugly over the deck. Only a grand smash-up
could injure these things. Nothing was left out but such instruments as
were hourly needed, the guns, life-preservers, and a camp-kettle in
each boat for bailing purposes. On each of two boats there was a
topographer, whose duty was to sight the direction of every bend of the
river and estimate the length of the stretch. Thompson, on his boat,
also kept a similar record. The sighting was done with a prismatic
compass, and one of these was rendered more interesting by bearing on
the leather case the name of George B. McClellan, written by the future
general when he was a lieutenant of engineers. There was seldom much
discrepancy between the different estimates made during the day, as men
grow very accurate in such matters, but a check on all estimates was
obtained by frequent observations for latitude and longitude.


Head of Kingfisher Canyon, Green River. Head of Kingfisher Canyon,
Green River.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The third canyon is also a short one, the three aggregating less than
ten miles. Because of the many kingfishers flying about it was called
Kingfisher Canyon, and a point where they were especially numerous was
named Bee-hive. At the foot of this third short canyon the rocks ran
together in a forbidding manner, and out of the depths beyond came a
roar, just as one outside of the jungle might hear the lion’s note
within. On a bright Friday morning we were ready to try our fortune,
and with all made snug, pulled in between the cliffs where in a moment
we beheld a wild sea of descending foam. Rapid quickly followed rapid
and immediately we had some exciting work. Our boat was swept so near
the right-hand cliff that one of the after rowlocks was torn off, and
at about the same time the _Nellie Powell_, following but signalled to
keep to the left, was seen to strike rocks near the opposite side and
capsize. The next instant we were borne out of sight. Hillers, with
only one rowlock, could not use his oars, so the work devolved entirely
on me. The boat was heavy for one pair of oars, and we were being
carried down stream at a terrific pace. On the left was a little beach
where we might land, and I pulled for this with all my power. At length
to my great relief I felt the keel touch bottom. We were still about
fifteen feet from the beach, but the water was not any deeper than the
grating of the keel indicated, so we were overboard in a moment and
pulled her to the bank. At the same instant the _Cañonita_ ran in,
dashing up like a horse finishing a race. The crew reported the other
boat upside down, but they were unable to stop to help her. They
thought the crew were safe, and we hoped with all our hearts they were.
There was nothing we could do but wait for some sign from above, and in
about three quarters of an hour the boat came rushing down with all
hands safe and exceedingly happy over claiming the distinction of the
first capsize. Now many rapids fell to our lot, and we were kept busy
every moment. On the 4th of June we passed the wrecks of some boats
half-buried in the sand, and on landing we discovered a grave on a
little knoll some distance back from the water, with a pine board stuck
up at its head bearing the name of Hook. The rapid that had apparently
caused the disaster told by these objects we easily ran. The
unfortunates had attempted the descent in flat-bottomed boats, that
shipped much water and toppled over with the slightest provocation.
They had followed Powell on his former trip, declaring that if he could
go down the river so could they, but they learned their mistake and
paid dearly for the experience. The leader, whose bones lie in these
splendid depths of Red Canyon, was said to have been the first mayor of
Cheyenne. Many more rapids we ran with a current of from six to twelve
or fifteen miles per hour, and we made many “let-downs,” which means
working a boat along the edge of a rapid by the aid of lines, without
removing the cargo. We called this process, when we removed the cargo,
a “line portage,” as distinguished from a complete portage where the
boats were taken out of the water.

Shortly after dinner one day we heard a deep roaring, which implied
that we were approaching a violent fall, and hugging the left-hand
bank, we drifted slowly down to within a rod or two of the drop and
easily landed. It was Ashley Falls. In the centre of the river
protruded an immense rock, twenty-five feet square, and the river
rushed by on each side making a sudden descent of about eight feet. It
would have been nothing to run had it been free from rocks; but it was
in reality the rocks which formed it. They had fallen from the
left-hand wall within some comparatively recent time, and acted as a
dam. Many more were piled up against the left-hand cliff. The river,
averaging about two hundred and fifty feet wide, had been narrowed by
about one-third and a rapid had thus been changed into a fall. We made
a portage here with the first and third boats. The second we allowed to
run through with lines attached, but as she got several severe knocks
we deemed it unsafe to risk the other. Our camp was on a small level
place among some pine trees, almost over the fall, and I think I never
saw a more romantic spot. The moon shone down into the canyon with
surpassing brilliancy, and this, in contrast to our lavish camp-fire
and extremely comfortable surroundings, made a combination ever to be
remembered. See pages 113 and 112.

It was on one of the huge rocks above the river on the left that Ashley
wrote his name. This was in black letters, sheltered by a slight
projection of the rock which acted as a cornice. Thus it had remained
distinct, except one figure of the date, for forty-six years, having
been done in 1825. The portage around Ashley Falls was laborious as we
were obliged to climb with everything about fifty feet above the river,
but labour is better than disaster, and it was on such points as these
that Powell and Thompson always exhibited good sense. Smaller men would
have been unable to resist the temptation to run everything, for there
comes an exhilaration in this work that is subtle and dangerous. Below
this the declivity was very great, but as there were few rocks our
boats were able to go down flying. The walls were two thousand to
twenty-five hundred feet high, but not vertical. Suddenly we ran out
into a beautiful little valley on the right known to trappers as Little
Brown’s Hole, and renamed by our party Red Canyon Park. Here we camped
for a day and then went on between high walls over a number of rapids,
to emerge into Brown’s Park. This place, I take it, was the end of
Ashley’s journey down the river. Sailing along on a quiet current in a
valley six miles wide, we ran upon a camp of cattle herders, where
Richardson left us, as Powell decided that he was not able to stand the
work. He regretfully went back with some of the cattlemen to Green
River Station.


The Heart of Lodore. The Heart of Lodore.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



The Canyon of Lodore. Looking down Stream. The Canyon of Lodore.
Looking down Stream.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
River here was extremely swift. Fall at left distance. Second
expedition landed with difficulty on right at foot of tall pines. The
dark lines at water’s edge are the boats.



CThe Canyon of Lodore. Looking across a Rapid.anyon The Canyon of
Lodore. Looking across a Rapid.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The temperature was now often 99 degrees F. in the shade, and rowing on
the slow current was irksome, so we lashed the boats together and
drifted along while the Major in his armchair read aloud selections
from Scott, Emerson, and others, whose condensed poetical works and a
couple of Bibles were all the literature to be found in the party, as
books are heavy and weight was to be avoided. At times some of the men
amused themselves by diving under the boats, swimming around and ahead
of them, or surprised a coyote on the bank with a rifle-shot, and
otherwise enjoyed the relaxation we had well earned by our toil in Red
Canyon. The river was smooth and deep and about six hundred to eight
hundred feet wide. At the very foot of the valley we made a camp under
the shadow of that magnificent and unrivalled portal, the Gate of
Lodore, which had been visible to us for many miles; the dark cleft two
thousand feet high, through which the river cuts into the heart of the
mountains, appearing as solemn and mysterious as the pathway to another
world. From an eminence we could peer into its depths for some
distance, and there was no sign of a rapid, but we were not deceived,
having posted ourselves by extracts from Jack Sumner’s diary, whose
description of “how the waters come down at Lodore” was contained in
the frequent repetition of the words, “a hell of foam.” Lodore, indeed,
is almost one continuous rapid for the whole twenty miles of its
length, and the passage through it will tax the endurance of any man.
The declivity is the greatest of the whole river with the exception of
the First Granite Gorge of the Grand Canyon and a portion of Cataract
Canyon. A diagram of it is given on page 57. I have space only to
describe one or two characteristic incidents. The current of the river
was extraordinarily swift; it must have been in some places nearly
twenty miles an hour. The stream averaged about three hundred feet
wide. The boats in a rapid fairly flew along amidst the foam, plunging
and rearing in the “tails” of waves which always terminate rapids of
this class. One day about noon we came shooting down over one of these
places, having just run a rather bad rapid, when we saw only a few
hundred yards below an ugly looking fall. The left wall came down very
straight into the water and threw a deep shadow over it so that we
could not tell exactly what was there. Opposite was a rocky wooded
point, and between the two the river bodily fell away. Altogether it
was a beautiful, though a startling picture. The whole set of the
current was towards this drop with headlong fury. There were no eddies,
no slack water of any kind. But we could not do such a foolhardy thing
as to go into it without knowing what it was and therefore a landing
was imperative. Accordingly we headed for the right bank, and laid to
our oars till they bent like straws. We almost reached the shore. It
was only a few feet away, but the relentless current was hurling us,
broadside on, toward the dark rocks where the smooth water was broken
and torn and churned to shreds of snowy foam. There was only one thing
for us to do, if we did not want to run upon the rocks, and that was to
leap overboard, and trust to bringing the boat to a stop by holding on
to the bottom, here not so far down. This was done, and the depth
turned out to be about to our waists; but for a little time the boat
sped on as before. Planting our shoes firmly against the boulders of
the bottom as we slid along, we finally gained the upper hand, and then
it was an easy matter to reach the shore. Hardly had we done this when
the _Nell_ came tearing down in the same fashion. We rushed into the
water as far as we dared, and they pulled with a will till they came to
us, when they all jumped into the water and we tugged the boat ashore,
just in time to plunge in again and help the _Cañonita_ in the same
way. Dinner over, the rapid was examined and it was discovered that by
pulling straight out into it clear of the rocks, we could easily get
through. This was accordingly done and one after the other the boats
sped down as if towed by an express train. Then we ran a number of
smaller ones with no trouble, and toward evening arrived at a place
where the entire river dropped into a sag, before falling over some
very bad rapids. We avoided the sag by keeping close to the left bank,
and rounded a little point into a broad eddy, across which we could
sail with impunity. Then we landed on a rocky point at the head of the
first bad plunge, the beginning of Disaster Falls, where the _No-Name_
was wrecked two years before. At this place we camped for the night.
The descent altogether here is about fifty feet. In the morning all the
cargoes were taken over the rocks to the foot of the first fall, and
the boats were cautiously worked down along the edge to where the
cargoes were, where they were reloaded and lowered to the head of the
next descent, several hundred yards. Here the cargoes were again taken
out and carried over the rocks down to a quiet bay. This took till very
late and everyone was tired out, but the boats were carried and pushed
on skids up over the rocks for twenty or thirty yards, past the worst
of the fall, and then lowered into the water to be let down the rest of
the way by lines. Two had to be left there till the following day. We
had found a one hundred pound sack of flour lying on a high rock, where
it had been placed at the time of the wreck of the _No-Name_, and Andy
that day made our dinner biscuits out of it. Though it was two years
old the bread tasted perfectly good; and this is a tribute to the
climate, as well as to the preservative qualities of a coating of wet
flour. This coating was about half an inch thick, and outside were a
cotton flour-sack and a gunny bag. The flour was left on the rock, and
may be there yet. Not far below this we came to Lower Disaster Falls,
which a short portage enabled us to circumnavigate and go on our way.
The current was so swift all the time that objects on shore flitted
past as they do when one looks from a window of a railway train. Just
opposite our camp on this night the cliff was almost perpendicular from
the water’s edge to the height of about twenty-five hundred feet. The
walls seemed very close together, only a narrow strip of sky being
visible. As we sat after supper peering aloft at this ribbon of the
heavens, the stars in the clear sky came slowly out like some wonderful
transformation scene, and just on the edge of the opposite wall,
resembling an exquisite and brilliant jewel, appeared the constellation
of the Harp. Immediately the name “Cliff of the Harp” suggested itself
and from that moment it was so called. Here and there we discovered
evidences of the former journey, but nothing to indicate that human
beings had ever before, that been below Disaster Falls. There we saw
the same indications of an early disaster which Powell had noticed on
the first trip, a rusty bake-oven, some knives and forks and tin
plates, in the sand at the foot of the second fall. The day after the
Cliff of the Harp camp we began by making a line-portage around a very
ugly place, which took the whole morning. In the afternoon there was
another similar task, so that by night we had made only three or four
miles, and camped at the beginning of a decidedly forbidding stretch.
Just below us were three sharp rapids which received the name of
Triplet Tails. A great deal of work was required to pass these, and
then we ran three or four in good style, which brought us, in the late
afternoon, to where the whole river spread out amongst innumerable
rocks and for more than half a mile the water was a solid sheet of
milky foam, sending up the usual wild roar, which echoed and echoed
again and again amongst the cliffs around and above us. Some one
proposed the name of “Hell’s Half-Mile” for this terrible place and the
idea was at once adopted, so appropriate did it seem. The turmoil of
the dashing waters was almost deafening, and, even when separated by
only a few feet, we could only communicate with each other by shouting
at the top of our lungs. It was a difficult task to get our little
ships safely below this half-mile, but it was finally accomplished, and
on we went in search of the next dragon’s claw. At our camp the fire in
some way got into a pine grove and soon was crackling enough to rival
the noise of the rapid. The lower region seemed now to be sending its
flames up through the bottom of the gorge and the black smoke rolled
into the sky far above the top of the walls. Many and varied were our
experiences in this magnificent canyon, which for picturesqueness and
beauty rivals even the Grand Canyon, though not on such a giant scale.
Its passage would probably be far easier at low water. At last, one
evening, as the soft twilight was settling into the chasm, a strange,
though agreeable silence, that seemed almost oppressive, fell around
us. The angry waters ceased their roaring. We slid along on a smooth,
even river, and suddenly emerged into a pretty little park, a mile
long, bounded by cliffs only some six hundred feet high. Running our
boats up into the mouth of a quiet river entering from the left we tied
them up and were quickly established in the most comfortable camp since
Brown’s Park. We were at the mouth of Yampa River. From a wonderful
echo which repeated a sentence of ten words, we called the place Echo
Park. Such an echo in Europe would be worth a fortune. The Echo Rock is
shown on page 203.


Canyon of Lodore at Triplet Falls. Canyon of Lodore at Triplet Falls.
Cliffs about 2500 feet. River about 300 feet wide.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Here a stop was made for several days, and one evening some of us took
a boat and went up the Yampa a little distance. The walls were vertical
and high, and the shadows thrown by the cliffs as we floated along
their base were fairly luminous, so bright was the moon. A song burst
from the rowers and was echoed from wall to wall till lost in the
silence of the night-enveloped wilderness. Nothing could have been more
beautiful, and the tranquillity was a joy to us after the days of
turmoil in Lodore.






CHAPTER XI.




An Island Park and a Split Mountain—The White River Runaways—Powell
Goes to Salt Lake—Failure to Get Rations to the Dirty Devil—On the
Rocks in Desolation—Natural Windows—An Ancient House—On the Back of the
Dragon at Last—Cataracts and Cataracts in the Wonderful Cataract
Canyon—A Lost Pack-Train—Naming the Echo Peaks.


With one of the boats from the camp in Echo Park Powell went up the
Yampa to see what might be there. Though this stream was tranquil at
its mouth, it proved to be rough farther up, and the party, in the four
days they were gone, were half worn out, coming back ragged, gaunt, and
ravenous, having run short of food. The Monday following their return,
our boats were again carefully packed, life-preservers were inflated,
and we went forth once more to the combat with the rapids. A few
minutes’ rowing carried us to the end of Echo Rock, which is a narrow
tongue of sandstone, about half a mile long and five hundred or six
hundred yards thick, and turning the bend we entered Whirlpool Canyon;
the cliffs, as soon as the other side of Echo Rock was passed, shooting
up into the air and enfolding us again in a canyon embrace. The depth
was quickly a couple of thousand feet with walls very close together
till, in three or four miles, we came to a violent rapid. A landing was
easily made and the boats lowered by lines. Below this the canyon was
much wider, and the rapids were not difficult. By the time the camping
hour came, we had put behind seven miles with five rapids and the extra
bad one where the boats were lowered. No whirlpools were encountered,
the stage of water not being favourable for them. As previously noted,
every stage of water produces different conditions, so that the
navigator on this river can never be certain of what he will find. Our
course through Whirlpool was neither difficult nor dangerous, as we
were able to make landings at the few bad places and ran the rest of
the rapids without damage of any kind. Only one camp was made in this
beautiful gorge, and there we slept, or tried to sleep, for two nights.
Myriads of ants swarmed over the spot and made every hour more or less
of a torment. They extended their investigations into every article
brought out of the boats. During the whole time their armies marched
and countermarched over, around, and through ourselves and everything
we possessed. We saw a number of mountain sheep in this canyon, but
owing to the quickness of the sheep, and the difficulty of pursuing
them over the wild cliffs, which they seemed to know well, we were
unable to bring any down.


Island Park. Green River. Island Park. Green River.
Between Whirlpool and Split-Mountain Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Entrance to Split-Mountain Canyon, Right Hand Cliffs. Entrance to
Split-Mountain Canyon, Right Hand Cliffs.
Heigth about 2000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



In Split-Mountain Canyon. In Split-Mountain Canyon.
Highest Walls 2700 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Split-Mountain Canyon. Split-Mountain Canyon.
Looking down from top near entrance, 3000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Our second day’s run was uneventful through a superb gorge about
twenty-four hundred feet deep, and at a late hour in the afternoon,
just after we had run our worst rapid in fine style, we perceived the
great walls breaking away, and they soon melted off into rounded hills,
exquisitely coloured, as if painted by Nature in imitation of the
rainbow. The river spread out, between and around a large number of
pretty islands bearing thick cottonwood groves. The shallowness of the
water caused our keels to touch occasionally, but the current was
comparatively slow and we were not disturbed over it. Powell hesitated
as to calling this place Rainbow or Island Park, the choice eventually
falling to the latter. The valley is only three or four miles long in a
straight line. Shortly before sunset we had the disappointment of
reaching the end of it, and immediately below the place where we camped
the rocks closed sharply together once more. Here Powell determined
that he would push ahead of the main party, in order to make his way,
as soon as possible, to the Uinta Ute Agency, in order to communicate
with the outer world and ascertain if his plans for supply-trains were
moving on to success. He took the _Dean_, but Bishop was put in my
place because of his considerable experience in the Western country,
for there was no telling what they might encounter. On the morning of
July 7th, at daybreak, therefore, they were off, and speedily
disappeared from our sight within the rocks that arose below our camp.
A number of the remaining men climbed to the top of the left-hand side
of the “gate,” an altitude of about three thousand feet above camp, and
from there were able to see the _Emma Dean_ for a long distance,
working down through the rapids. The view from that altitude over the
surrounding country and into the canyon was something wonderful to
behold. A wild and ragged wilderness stretched out in all directions,
while down in the canyon—more of a narrow valley than a canyon after
the entrance was passed—the river swept along, marked, here and there,
by bars of white we knew to be rapids. Crags and pinnacles shot up from
every hand, and from this circumstance it was at first uncertain
whether to call the canyon Craggy or Split-Mountain. The latter was
decided on, as the river has sawed in two a huge fold of the strata—a
mountain split in twain. When we entered it with our boats to again
descend, we had gone but a little distance before massive beds of solid
rock came up straight out of the water on both sides and we were
instantly sailing in a deep, narrow canyon, the beds at length arching
over, down stream, high above our heads. It was an extraordinary sight.
While we were looking at the section of the great fold, we discovered
some mountain sheep far up the rocks. Though we fired at them the
circumstances were against our hitting, and they scampered scornfully
away from crag to crag, out of our sight. Then the canyon widened at
the top, and at the same time rapids appeared. They came by dozens, but
there were none that we could not master with certainty by hard work.
Wet from head to foot we continued this labour for three days, and then
the rocks, the “Ribbon Beds,” turned over and disappeared beneath the
water just as they had come out of it above. The low stage of the river
made this canyon difficult, so far as exertion was concerned, and the
rapids would perhaps be far easier during the spring flood.


Men of the 1871 Expedition of an Abandoned Cabin Opposite the Mouth of
the Uinta River. Men of the 1871 Expedition of an Abandoned Cabin
Opposite the Mouth of the Uinta River.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


We were now in Wonsits Valley, the longest expansion of the walls above
Black Canyon. Near our camp, which was on a soft, grassy bank beside
smooth-flowing waters, some picture writings were found, the first
indications, since the wreckage at Disaster Falls, outside of
occasional signs of Powell’s other party, that human beings had ever
been in the country. The tail-piece at the end of the preface to this
volume is a reduction of a drawing I made of the largest figure, which
was about four feet high. The river now flowed gently between low banks
covered in many places with cottonwoods, and it required hard labour of
a different kind to get the boats along. Signs of Utes began to appear,
and one morning a fine fellow, gaily dressed, and mounted on a splendid
horse, rode into camp with a “How—how!” Farther on we came to him
again, with his squaw, a good-looking young woman, very well dressed in
a sort of navy blue flannel, and wearing numerous ornaments. We ferried
them across the river, and afterwards found they were runaways from
White River,—an elopement in reality.


The Runaways. White River Utes. The Runaways. White River Utes.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Canyon of Desolation. Canyon of Desolation.
Walls 2000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



A Halt for Observations. A Halt for Observations.
Second Powell Expedition.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


After a good deal of hard rowing we finally reached the mouth of the
Uinta. Thompson went up to the Agency, about forty miles away, and
found that Powell had gone out to Salt Lake. When the latter came back
to the Agency it was to direct Thompson to go on with our party, while
Powell went out again to see about the ration-supply at the mouth of
the Dirty Devil. The men sent there had been unable to find the place,
or, indeed, to get anywhere near it. Powell was to meet us again at the
foot of Gray Canyon, about one hundred and fifty miles farther down.
When our supplies had been brought from the Agency and all was ready,
we proceeded on our way, passing the elopers near the end of the
valley, where they were very happy in a good camp with a fresh deer and
plenty of vermilion, which they used liberally their faces. Below this
the river was full of beaver, and had Pattie or some of the early
trappers been there, they could have reaped a rich harvest. The current
was slow, and Thompson read Emerson aloud as we drifted. Gradually the
hills began to grow rocky, and then distinct low cliffs appeared, till
finally we discovered ourselves fairly within the walls of another
canyon, which from the barren character of its cliffs is called the
Canyon of Desolation. It is ninety-seven miles long, and immediately at
its foot is Gray Canyon, thirty-six miles long. Then comes Gunnison
Valley, and it was there that Powell was to return to us. The first
indication of descending waters was a slight swiftness, the river
having narrowed up to its canyon-character. At one place it doubled
back on itself, forming in the bend a splendid amphitheatre which was
called after Sumner of the former party. This beautiful wall, about one
thousand feet high, was carved and sculptured by the forces of erosion
in a most wonderful manner. It is shown on page 205. After a few miles
between such walls we began to expect rapids, and hardly had the
expectation been formed when it was gratified. An increasing roar came
to our ears, and as we rounded a bend three were discovered before us
within the space of half a mile. The water had been continually falling
till now it was so low that these rapids exhibited a startling number
of rocks amidst the foam. We believed we could run them, and we did.
The first was cleared easily. In the second the _Nell_ struck a
submerged rock, but glanced over it without damage, while our boat
landed squarely on the top, for it could not be seen from above, and,
after a momentary quiver, hung there as the wave which lifted us upon
it receded. The water roared and boiled furiously about us, but did not
quite come into the boat. It was impossible to dip the oars from the
stationary boat on account of the force of the current. At last Hillers
perceived that the sticking point was almost under the extremity of the
keel. Getting out cautiously over the stern he succeeded in touching
the top of the rock, and, thus lightened, the _Dean_ shot forward,
though not before Hillers, who had not let go of the stern rowlock, was
able to leap on board. The _Cañonita_ fared still worse. Following us
too close, she tried to pass, but struck another rock, crushing in her
side, though floating down nevertheless. An hour and a half spent on
her put her in good order again, and away we went, running a third and
a fourth with no trouble. The walls were now about two thousand feet
high and we felt quite at home. Through some of the upper narrow
promontories of sandstone there were large holes, or arches, some of
them probably a hundred or more feet in diameter. They were similar to
the Hole in the Wall, shown in the cut on page 41, only on a much
larger scale. The next day, before stopping for dinner, we ran nine
rapids with no accident. The river was wider than in the upper canyons,
and while the low state of the water made harder work and pounded the
boats more, I believe that on the whole it was an advantage. The
current was less fierce and consequently the boats were always more
controllable. Yet when the water falls below a certain point the danger
of striking rocks is so much increased that a rapid which, at a little
higher stage would be easy to run must be avoided entirely by a portage
or a let-down. The waves at low water are also smaller and hence less
likely to upset a boat.


Uinte Ute Tipi and a Summer Shelter and Outlook, Showing the Old-time
Notched Log for a Ladder. Uinte Ute Tipi and a Summer Shelter and
Outlook, Showing the Old-time Notched Log for a Ladder.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



Dellenbaugh Butte, Green River near the San Rafael. Dellenbaugh Butte,
Green River near the San Rafael.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


In many places we would lower a boat by lines near the shore, with two
men in her, and when a rock appeared they fended her off, or jumped
into the water and eased the craft along, touching bottom where they
could. This worked very well for this place and the stage of water,
though on this river one must ever be ready to adapt himself to
differing conditions. Rapids were very numerous, but we succeeded in
passing them in one way or another without seriously injuring the
boats. The walls grew to magnificent proportions. At one camp we could
see, on the very top of the cliff opposite, an object that from our
position was the counterpart of a log cabin. Tall pines grew around it
and the deception was complete. The cliff being twenty-four hundred
feet high, the “cabin” must, in reality have been of huge size; but we
applied the name “Log-Cabin Cliff” to the place. At a heavy descent,
where the _Emma Dean_ of the first expedition was swamped, we took no
chances and made a careful let-down; a little farther on we did the
same thing again. This method of passing a rapid is not romantic, but
our object was not to perform spectacular feats but to accomplish the
work in hand; so wherever there was any doubt as to the safety of
running a rapid we adopted the prudent course. It was difficult to
decide sometimes just where to draw the line; in one rapid we tried to
go through, the _Nell_ struck a rock, knocking Thompson out and nearly
capsizing, but no real harm was done. The walls increased to nearly
three thousand feet, and the rapids followed each other in quick
succession every day. At one point we saw, a couple of thousand feet
above on the right a gigantic example of the natural arches. Beyond
this the walls began to grow somewhat lower. Our life through this
gorge, as well as through some others, might be described by the
monotonous phrase, “Got up, ran rapids, went to bed.” There was no time
to do anything else. At night we were always sleepy and tired.
Fortunately there were here fine places to camp—plenty of room, with
smooth sand to sleep on. As soon as we halted for the night we would
don our dry clothes from the rubber bags, and, when supper was over,
would prepare a bed. If any kind of boughs or willows were to be had,
we cut a quantity and, laying them in regular order near together,
formed a sort of mattress which was very comfortable. If these were not
to be had, the softest spot of sand was the next choice. In putting the
river suit on in the morning, there was often something of a shock, for
it was not always thoroughly dry. At length the welcome end of
Desolation came, indicated by a lowering of the walls and a break,
where we were surprised to see a solitary lame horse, but the next
canyon, Gray, formed immediately. This was at first called Lignite
Canyon, but was afterwards renamed on account of the grey colour of the
walls; an unusual feature. The work here was similar to that in
Desolation, and we were not sorry when we came to the foot of it, there
going into camp to await the return of Powell. One of our flags was
planted at the end of an island below the canyon mouth, so that he
might see it. Opposite our camp was a very striking pinnacle then
called Cathedral Butte, but later changed to Gunnison. Here we took the
boats out and gave them a good overhauling, which they badly needed.
The descent through Desolation and Gray had been nearly six hundred
feet.


Gunnison Butte. Gunnison Butte.
Head of Gunnison Valley and foot of Gray Canyon.
Powell Expedition of 1871 repairing boats.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Fishing one evening, Hillers thought his hook had caught in a snag, but
he was greatly surprised after carefully pulling in his line, to find
on the end of it a sluggish fish four feet long, and as large around as
a stovepipe. We were to wait here till the 3d of September for Powell,
but on the 29th of August three shots were heard in the valley outside;
the Major’s signal. W. C. Powell and I were sent to investigate. We
found him, with a companion, on the other bank, opposite the flag we
had put up. Arriving near our station, a man was sent to take their
horses down to their camp, about five miles below, and they went with
us on the boats. Hamblin, the man with Powell, was not altogether
comfortable in some of the swift places. As we cleared the high butte
marking the end of Gray Canyon, we perceived, stretching away to the
westward from it, a beautiful line of azure-blue cliffs, wonderfully
buttressed and carved. At first these were called the Henry Cliffs, but
afterward Henry was applied to some mountains and the cliffs were
called Azure. At the camp we found another man, like the first a Mormon
and, as we learned later by intimate acquaintance, both of fine quality
and sterling merit. The supplies Powell had brought were three hundred
pounds of flour, some jerked beef, and about twenty pounds of sugar,
from a town on the Sevier called Manti, almost due west of our position
about eighty miles in an air line. The pack-train having failed to
reach the mouth of the Dirty Devil, these additional rations were to
carry us on to the next station, the Crossing of the Fathers; but they
were not enough. The other man with Hamblin was a cousin of the same
name, and when they rode away one evening as the sun was going down, we
were sorry to part with them. Their course lay through a wild, desolate
country, but we learned later that they had no trouble, though the day
after leaving us they ran upon a large camp of Utes. Fortunately the
Utes were friendly.


Labyrinth Canyon, Trinalcove. Labyrinth Canyon, Trinalcove.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


For our part, we pushed off in our boats and headed for the Crossing of
the Fathers with some misgivings on the food question. A large amount
of mail had been brought in, and we enjoyed the newspapers, although
they were weeks old. Some monthly magazines were a great boon. For a
time the stream was placid, allowing us to tie the boats together and
drift again for a little while. Thompson and the Major read aloud from
Whittier, the men sang “Sweet Evelina,” and all appreciated the
opportunity for this brief relaxation. Here and there evidences of
crossings were noted, for it was in this valley that Gunnison went over
on the trip that proved fatal to him, and here for years the Old
Spanish Trail, which Wolfskill inaugurated, led many eastward and
westward, while Utes and other Amerinds had used it long before that.
Indeed, as before mentioned, it was for a long time the first locality,
coming up from the Grand Wash, where the stream could easily be
crossed; a distance of about six hundred miles. Many strangely eroded
cliffs and buttes appeared as we descended, and one of these, near the
mouth of the San Rafael, was named after me. At one place we saw some
springs bubbling up from the bottom of an inlet, one of which was
remarkable because of its size and power. Its jet was five or six
inches in diameter, and rose six or eight inches above the surface, the
water being two or three feet in depth. They were called Undine
Springs. At the San Rafael a heavy rainstorm came up, and presently we
detected a loud roaring we could not account for. At last, however, it
was discovered to arise from the accumulated rain-water which was
pouring over a near-by cliff in a muddy torrent. The whole country was
extremely bare and barren, mostly rock, and the rain gathered as on the
roof of a house. The river had narrowed up before we reached the San
Rafael and had entered low, broken walls. The current was rather swift,
but there were no rapids. As we went on, the sight of the rain cascades
falling with varying volume and colour, some chocolate, some amber, was
very beautiful. They continued for a time after the rain had ceased,
and then, as if the flood-gates had been closed, they vanished, to
reappear every time it began to rain afresh. Before long the cliffs had
reached one thousand feet in altitude, and we were fairly within
Labyrinth Canyon, which begins its existence at the mouth of the San
Rafael. Many of the rain cascades in the afternoon of this day were
perfectly clear, and often fell several hundreds of feet, vanishing in
spray, and presenting varied and exquisite effects in combination with
the rich tones of the wet brown sandstone, and the background of dark
grey sky. They ever increased in number, and directly opposite that
night’s camp one fell straight down for about two hundred feet,
disappeared in mist to gather again on a ledge below, and shot out once
more, a delicate silvery thread against the dark mass of the cliff. The
next day we passed a group of three canyons entering at one point, to
which the name Trinalcove was given, as they appeared from the river
like alcoves rather than canyons. The river was now very winding with
walls frequently vertical. There were no rapids, though the water as a
rule moved somewhat swiftly. The days were growing short, and the night
air had an autumnal chill about it that made the camp-fire comforting.
At the end of sixty-two miles the walls broke up into buttes and
pinnacles, thousands of them, suggesting immense organs, cathedrals,
and almost anything the imagination pictured. One resembling a mighty
cross lying down was in consequence called the “Butte of the Cross.”[1]
This was practically the end of Labyrinth Canyon, and sweeping around a
beautiful bend, where the rocks again began to come together, we were
in the beginning of the next canyon of the series, two years before
named Stillwater. At the suggestion of Beaman, the bend was called
Bonito. On leaving our camp at this place the walls rapidly ran up, the
current grew swifter, but the river remained smooth. The canyon was
exceedingly “close,” the rocks rising vertically from the edge of the
water. There were few places where a landing could be made, but luckily
no landing was necessary, except for night. The darkness fell before we
found a suitable camp-ground. Some of our supplies had now to be used
with caution, for it became evident that we would run short of food
before we could get any more.

 [1] Actually a pinnacle and a butte—not a single mass.{See page 275}.


Bonito Bend, between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons. Bonito Bend,
between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



The Butte of the Cross, between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons. The
Butte of the Cross, between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Long ago, no one knows how long, we might have been able to purchase of
the natives who, a few miles below this camp, had tilled a small piece
of arable land in an alcove. Small huts for storage were found there in
the cliffs, and on a promontory, about thirty feet above the water,
were the ruins of stone buildings, one of which, twelve by twenty feet
in dimensions, had walls still standing about six feet high. The canyon
here was some six hundred feet wide; the walls about nine hundred feet
high, though the top of the plateau through which the canyon is carved
is at least fifteen hundred feet above the river. We discovered the
trail by which the old Puebloans had made their way in and out. Where
necessity called for it, poles and tree-trunks had been placed against
the rocks to aid the climbers. Some of our party trusted themselves to
these ancient ladders, and with the aid of a rope also, reached the
summit.

Beyond this place of ruins, the river flowed between walls not over
four hundred and fifty feet apart at the top. The current was about
three miles an hour, with scarcely a ripple, though it appeared much
swifter because of the nearness of the cliffs. At the end of seven
miles of winding canyon, there came a sharp turn to the east, which
brought into view, at the other end, another canyon of nearly equal
proportions and similar appearance. In the bottom of this flowed a
river of almost the same size as the Green. The waters of the two came
together with a good deal of a rush, the commingling being plainly
visible. Neither overwhelmed the other; it was a perfect union, and in
some respects it is quite appropriate that the combined waters of these
streams should have a special name to represent them. The new tributary
was Grand River, and when our boats floated on the united waters, we
were at last on the back of the Dragon. Away sped the current of the
Colorado, swirling along, spitefully lashing with its hungry tongue the
narrow sand-banks fringing the rugged shores, so that we scarcely knew
where to make a landing. Finally we halted on the right, constantly
watching the boats’ lines lest the sand should melt away and take our
little ships with it. Along the bases of the cliffs above the high
waters were narrow strips of rocky soil, supporting a few stunted
cottonwoods and hackberry trees, which, with some stramonium bushes in
blossom, were the sum total of vegetation. In every way the Junction is
a desolate place. It is the beginning of Cataract Canyon, and forty-one
miles must be put behind us before we would see its end—forty-one miles
of bad river, too. From a point not far up the Green, which we easily
reached with a boat, a number climbed out by means of a cleft about
fifty feet wide, taking the photographic outfit along. The country
above was a maze of crevices, pinnacles, and buttes, and it seemed an
impossibility for any human being to travel more than a few hundred
yards in any direction. The character of the place may best be
illustrated by stating that Steward, who had gone up by a different
route, was unable to reach us, though we could talk to him across a
fissure. Many of these breaks could be jumped, but some of them were
too wide for safety. The surface was largely barren sandstone, only a
patch of sand here and there sustaining sometimes a bush or stunted
cedar. It is the Land of Standing Rocks, as the Utes call it.


Head of Cataract Canyon, Looking down from Top of Walls near the
Junction of the Grand and Green. Head of Cataract Canyon, Looking down
from Top of Walls near the Junction of the Grand and Green.
Depth, 1300 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The supplies were now gone over and carefully and evenly divided, so
that an accident to one boat should not cripple us any more than
possible, and on Tuesday, the 19th of September, our bows were headed
down the Colorado. A few miles below the Junction, a trail was seen
coming down a canyon on the left, showing that the Utes have always
known how to find the place. If Macomb had been properly guided he
could have reached it. The familiar roar of rapids soon came to our
ears, and thenceforth there was no respite from them. The first was so
ugly that the boats were lowered by lines, the second was much the
same, and then we reached a third which was even worse. The water was
now growing cold, and as one’s clothes are always wet when running
rapids or portaging on the Colorado, we felt the effects of the deep
shadows, combined with the cold drenchings. Our dinners were quickly
prepared, for we were on allowance and Andy was not bothered with
trying to satisfy our appetites; he cooked as much as directed, and if
there were hungry men around it was not his fault. We all felt that
short rations were so much ahead of nothing that there was no
grumbling. The volume of water was now nearly double what it had been
on the Green, and the force of the rapids was greatly augmented. Huge
boulders on the bottom, which the Green would have turned over only
once or twice, here were rolled along, when they started, for many
yards sensible to not the eye but to the ear. This was a distinct
feature of Cataract Canyon and shows the declivity to be very great and
the boulders to be well worn. The declivity for a few miles is greater
than in Lodore, perhaps the greatest on the river. Sometimes in
Cataract the rumble of these boulders was mistaken for distant thunder.
At one rapid I remember that a rock many feet square was swaying from
the current. After dinner, the boats were lowered over the rapid, fall,
cataract, or whatever it might be called, before which we had paused,
and then in short order over four more tremendous ones. When we had run
a fifth, in which we received a violent shaking-up, we went into camp
on the left bank at the head of another roarer, or pair of them, and
hastened to throw off our saturated clothes and put on the dry from out
the friendly rubber sacks. I never before understood the comfort of
being dry. The topographers recorded a good day’s work: nine miles and
eight powerful cataracts. Cataract, we decided was the proper name for
these plunges, for though they were by no means vertical, they were
more violent than what is ordinarily called a rapid. This was one part
of the canyons where White, in his imaginary journey, found an easy
passage! The next day Powell took me with him on a climb to the top. We
had little trouble in getting out. On the way back the Major’s cut-off
arm was on the rock side of a gulch we had followed up, and I found it
necessary, two or three times, to place myself where he could step on
my knee, as his stump had a tendency to throw him off his balance. Had
he fallen at these points the drop would have been four hundred or five
hundred feet. I mention this to show how he never permitted his
one-armed condition to interfere with his doing things. The walls here
were eighteen hundred feet, a gain of three hundred feet over the
Junction. While we were away the men below had lowered the boats over
two rapids, in one of which the _Nell_ broke loose and went down alone
with her cargo on board. As good fortune will have it, there is
frequently an eddy or two at the foot of a rapid and into one of these
she ran. By a desperate exertion of Hillers in swimming she was
regained.


Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon. Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon.
1500 feet deep—20 feet wide at bottom, 300 feet at top.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


A boat must never be allowed to move without men aboard or lines
attached. This would seem to go without saying, but for fear it does
not I mention it for the sake of any who may want to try their skill at
this work. In the morning there was a pleasant smooth stretch for some
distance, but it was soon passed, and cataract followed cataract till
we counted ten. Seven we ran with exhilarating speed; the other three
demanding more respectful treatment, we lowered the boats by lines,
when the noon hour was at hand and a halt was made for refreshments,
five miles from the starting-point of the morning. As soon as we had
consumed the allowance of bread, bacon, and coffee, we took up our task
by making two very difficult and tiring let-downs; that is, manoeuvring
the boats in and out, among and over, the rocks alongshore by lines,
with one or two men aboard, always on the lookout to prevent being
caught by outer currents. This brought us face to face with a furious
fall, but one that seemed free from obstructions, and the order was to
run it. Accordingly, over we went, the boats shipping the great seas
below and each one tapping the keel on a submerged rock at the start.
Owing to the trend of the canyon, and the lateness of the season, the
sun now passed early from sight, the walls throwing the bottom of the
gorge into deep shadow with a wintry chill that was quickly perceptible
to us in our wet clothing. The result was that our teeth chattered in
spite of all we could do to stop the uncomfortable performance, and our
lips turned blue. To be soaked all day long near the end of September,
in our climate, is not an agreeable condition. Though less than seven
miles was made this day we were forced to stop when the shadow fell and
make a camp at the first opportunity. It was only half-past three
o’clock, but it had been sunset to us for half an hour. Thus each
working day was sadly shortened, for even where the bends were most
favourable, the warm sun shone upon us only for the middle hours. The
walls were close together and very straight; they grew higher and more
threatening with every mile of progress, so that it seemed as if
another day or two would shut out the sun from the bottom altogether.
On account of our limited larder, if for no other reason, we were
obliged to push ahead as rapidly as possible. The next day we were at
it early, easily running the first cataract, but just below it an
immediate landing was imperative at the head of another which no man in
his senses would think of running. Some hard work put us below that,
and then came one far worse. The morning was gone before we saw its
foam receding behind us. The following day, on summing up, after much
severe toil, and stopping to repair boats, it was found that we had
gone only a mile and a half! At this rate, we thought, when would we
see the end of this gorge? But in the morning our wet clothes were put
on without a murmur from any one, and once more we renewed the attack.
The worst fall the next day was a drop of about twenty feet in twenty
yards; a sharp plunge of the river in one mass. As it seemed free from
rocks in the middle a run was decided on. We therefore pulled squarely
into it. On both sides the river was beaten to solid foam amongst the
rocks, but in the middle, where we were, there was a clean chute,
followed by a long tail of ugly waves. We were entirely successful,
though the waves broke over my head till they almost took my breath
away. The walls reached a height of twenty-five hundred feet, seeming
to us almost perpendicular on both sides. It was the narrowest deep
chasm we had yet seen, and beneath these majestic cliffs we ourselves
appeared mere pigmies, creeping about with our feeble strength to
overcome the tremendous difficulties. The loud reverberation of the
roaring water, the rugged rocks, the toppling walls, the narrow sky,
all combined to make this a fearful place, which no pen can adequately
describe. Another day the Major and I climbed out, reaching an
altitude, some distance back from the brink, 3135 feet above the river.
The day after this climb the walls ran up to about twenty-seven hundred
feet, apparently in places absolutely vertical, though Stanton, who
came through here in 1890, said he did not think they were anywhere
perpendicular to the top. The tongue of a bend we found always more or
less broken, but in the curve the cliffs certainly had all the effect
of absolute perpendicularity, and in one place I estimated that if a
rock should fall from the brink it would have struck on or near our
boat. This shows, at any rate, that the walls were very straight. The
boats seemed mere wisps of straw by comparison, and once when I saw one
which had preceded ours, lying at the end of a clear stretch, I was
startled by the insignificance of the craft on which our lives
depended. Beaman tried to take some photographs which should give this
height in full, but the place was far beyond the power of any camera.
In this locality there seemed to be no possibility of a man’s finding a
way to the summit. I concluded that at high water this part of Cataract
Canyon would probably annihilate any human being venturing into it,
though it is possible high water would make it easier. Where there was
driftwood it was in tremendous piles, wedged together in inextricable
confusion; hundreds of tree-trunks, large and small, battered and cut
and limbless, with the ends pounded into a spongy lot of splinters. The
interstices between the large logs were filled with smaller stuff, like
boughs, railroad-ties, and pieces of dressed timber which had been
swept away from the region above the Union Pacific Railway. Picture
this narrow canyon twenty-seven hundred feet deep, at high water, with
a muddy booming torrent at its bottom, sweeping along logs and all
kinds of floating débris, and then think of being in there with a boat!


Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon. Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon.
See figures of men, centre foreground on brink of lower terrace.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Cataract Canyon, Right-hand Wall toward Lower End. Cataract Canyon,
Right-hand Wall toward Lower End.
Height about 2700 feet. Note figures of men near edge of water, lower
right-hand corner. They show as very small upright dark lines.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


We proceeded as best we could with all caution. Every move was planned
and carried out with the exactness of a battle; as if the falls were
actual enemies striving to discover our weakness. One practice was to
throw sticks in above them, and thus ascertain the trend of the chief
currents, which enabled us to approach intelligently. The river here
was not more than four hundred feet wide. As we continued, the canyon
finally widened, and at one place there was a broad, rocky beach on the
left. The opposite wall was nearly three thousand feet high. Beaman, by
setting his camera far back on the rocks, was able to get a view to the
top, with us in it by the river, while we were trying to work the boats
past a rapid. This photograph is reproduced on this page {285}, and the
figures, though very small, may be plainly seen. Not far below this the
walls closed in again. Powell and Thompson tried to climb out, but they
failed on the first trial and had no time to make a fresh start. They
came back to camp and as soon as an early supper was over we started
on—about five o’clock. The walls ran close together and at the water
were perfectly vertical for a hundred feet or so, then there was a
terrace. As we sailed down, the river was suddenly studded with
pinnacles of rock, huge boulders or masses fallen from the heights. By
steering carefully we could pass among these and, keeping in the
dividing line of the current, make for the head of a rocky island, on
each side of which the waters plunged against the cliffs with great
force as they dropped away to a lower level. The danger lay in getting
too far over either way, and it was somewhat difficult to dodge the
pinnacles and steer for the island at the same time. The _Cañonita_
went on the wrong side of one, and we held our breath, for it seemed as
if she could not retrieve her position in the dividing current, but she
did. As we approached the head of the island our keel bumped several
times on the rocks, while the current changed from the simple dividing
line and ran everywhere. At length we reached the shallow water, and as
the keel struck gently on a rock we were overboard, soon pulling the
boat on the island, where the others quickly followed. By hauling the
craft down the right-hand side for about half the island’s length, we
were able to pull directly across the tail of waves from the right-hand
rapid, and avoid being swept against the cliff on the left where the
whole river set. So close did every boat go that the oars on that side
could not be used for a moment or two; and then we were past. At a
higher stage of water this place would be much simpler. The river
became serene; night was falling; we drifted on with the current till a
roar issuing from the darkness ahead admonished us to halt. Some broken
rocks on the right gave a footing and there we remained till morning.
In the night it rained, and the rain continued into the daylight till
cascades came leaping and plunging from everywhere into the canyon. Two
of these opposite our camp were exceedingly beautiful. One was about
two feet wide and the other five. For one thousand feet they made a
clear plunge, then vanished in spray, feathery and beautiful. These
rain cascades are a delightful feature of the country and some day will
be famous. Soon Millecrag Bend, marking the end of Cataract Canyon,
came in sight. The walls were only broken by a deep canyon valley
coming in on the left, and the next canyon. Narrow, then began, but it
was not one with difficult waters, and, being only nine miles in
length, we were soon through it. At its foot was the mouth of the Dirty
Devil and the beginning of Mound Canyon, which was later combined with
Monument under the name of Glen.

Our rations were now very low. For some time, each man had been allowed
for a meal, only a thin slice of bacon, a chunk of bread about the size
of one’s fist, and all the coffee he desired. At long intervals a pot
of Andy’s rare bean-soup was added to the feast. It was necessary,
therefore, to push on with all haste, or we would be starving. The
_Cañonita_ was consequently taken out and “cached” under a huge rock
which had fallen against the cliff, forming a natural house. Filling
her with sand to keep her from “drying” to pieces we left her, feeling
sure the party which was to come after her the next spring would find
her safe. She was forty feet above low water. We now went ahead with
good speed, leaving as much work as possible for the prospective
_Cañonita_ party to perform. All through Glen Canyon we found evidences
of Puebloan occupation: house ruins, storage caves, etc. The river was
tame, though the walls, about one thousand to sixteen hundred feet
high, were beautiful, and often, in places, vertical. The low stage of
water rendered progress somewhat difficult at times, but nevertheless
we made fairly good time and on the 5th of October passed the San Juan,
a shallow stream at this season, entering through a wide canyon of
about the same depth as that of the Colorado, that is, about twelve
hundred or fourteen hundred feet. A short distance below it we stopped
at the Music Temple, where the Rowlands and Dunn had carved their
names. Reaching the vicinity of Navajo Mountain, Powell thought of
climbing it, but an inquiry as to the state of the larder received from
Andy the unpleasant information that we were down to the last of the
supplies; two or three more scant meals would exhaust everything edible
in the boats. So no halt was made. On the contrary, the oars were plied
more vigorously, and on the 6th we saw a burned spot in the bushes on
the right,—there were alluvial bottoms in the bends,—and though this
burned spot was not food, it was an indication that there were human
beings about; we hoped it indicated also our near approach to the
Crossing of the Fathers. Horses and men had recently been there. Noon
came and the surroundings were as silent, unbroken, untrodden as they
had been anywhere above the burned spot. Though there was little reason
for it, we halted for a dinner camp, and Andy brought out a few last
scraps for us to devour. Hillers threw in a line baited with a small
bit of bacon and pulled out a fish, then a second and several. It was
the miracle of the loaves and fishes over again!

Bend after bend was turned and left behind, and still no Crossing, but
late in the afternoon a shot was heard; then we saw a white rag on a
pole; then we landed and beheld a large pile of rations, in charge of
three men. These men, Dodds, Bonnemort, and Riley, as we were days
overdue, had about made up their minds we were lost, and had
contemplated departing in the morning and leaving the rations to their
fate. Riley and Bonnemort were prospectors, who remained only to see us
and make some inquiries about the river above. They told me afterward
we were the roughest-looking set of men they had ever seen. Our clothes
were about used up.


The Town of Bluff. The Town of Bluff.
Upper Valley of the San Juan River.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.



Glen Canyon Wall. Glen Canyon Wall.
About 1200 feet high. Homogeneous sandstone on top of thin bedded
sandstone.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Glen Canyon. Glen Canyon.
Sandstone wall about 1200 feet high.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Glen Canyon, Sentinel Rock. Glen Canyon, Sentinel Rock.
Between the Crossing of the Fathers and Lee’s Ferry—about 300 feet
high.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Powell prepared to go to Salt Lake, about five hundred miles away, to
make preparations for our winter’s mountain work, and we all wrote
letters to send out. On the 10th of October they left us, Hillers going
with Powell, while we were to run down thirty-five miles farther to the
mouth of the Paria, and there cache the two boats for the winter.
Steward was now taken sick, and though some Navajos who came along
kindly offered to carry him with them to Kanab, he preferred to stay
with us, so we stretched him out, during our runs, on one of the
cabins. This was not entirely comfortable for him, but the river was
smooth and easy as far as the Paria, so there was no danger of spilling
him off, and he got on fairly well. At the Paria, Jones, who had made a
misstep in one of the boats at the Junction and injured one leg,
developed inflammatory rheumatism in it, and also in the other. Andy at
Millecrag Bend had put on his shoe with an unseen scorpion in it, the
sting of which caused him to grow thin and pale. Bishop’s old wound
troubled him; Beaman and W. C. Powell also felt “under the weather,” so
that of the whole party left here, Thompson and I were the only ones
who remained entirely well. Arriving at the Paria, we hid the boats for
the winter, and waited for the pack-train that was to bring us
provisions, and take us out to Kanab, which would be headquarters. The
pack-train, however, was misled by a man who pretended to be acquainted
with the trail, and we ate up all the food we had before it arrived. It
came over an extraordinary path. Lost on top of the Paria Plateau, it
was only able to reach us by the discovery of a singular old trail
coming down the two-thousand-foot cliffs three miles up the Paria.
While waiting we had examined the immediate neighbourhood and had
climbed to the summit of some sandstone peaks on the left, where the
wall of Glen Canyon breaks away to the southward. The view was superb.
Mountains, solid and solitary, rose up here and there, and lines of
cliffs, strangely coloured, stretched everywhere across the wide
horizon, while from our feet, like a veritable huge writhing dragon,
Marble Canyon zigzagged its long, dark line into the blue distance, its
narrow tributaries looking like the monster’s many legs. I took it into
my head to try to shoot from there into the water of Glen Canyon
beneath us, and borrowed Bishop’s 44-calibre Remington revolver for the
purpose. When I pulled the trigger I was positively startled by the
violence of the report, a deafening shock like a thousand thunder-claps
in one; then dead silence. Next, from far away there was a rattle as of
musketry, and peal after peal of the echoing shot came back to us. The
interval of silence was timed on another trial and was found to be
exactly twenty seconds.[2] The result was always the same, and from
this unusual echo we named the place Echo Peaks.

 [2] Should be twenty-four seconds.


I had made Jones a pair of crutches, by means of which he was able to
hobble painfully around, and by the time the pack-train was ready to
start for the settlement, about one hundred miles away, he could bear
being lifted upon a horse. Steward, also, was able to ride, and with a
number of us walking we left the Paria behind.

November’s sharp days were upon us. We had only the remains of our
summer clothing and few blankets, so that when the thermometer
registered 11 degrees F. above zero we did not dispute it.






CHAPTER XII.




Into the Jaws of the Dragon—A Useless Experiment—Wheeler Reaches
Diamond Creek Going Up-stream—The Hurricane Ledge—Something about
Names—A Trip from Kanab through Unknown Country to the Mouth of the
Dirty Devil.


While our party, in September, was battling with the cataracts,
another, as we afterwards learned, was starting from Camp Mohave on a
perilous, impracticable, and needless expedition up the Colorado. How
far this party originally expected to be able to proceed against the
tremendous obstacles I have never understood, but the after-statement
mentions Diamond Creek as the objective point. That such a wild,
useless, and costly struggle should have been allowed by the War
Department, which authorised it, seems singular, more particularly as
little new was or could be, accomplished by it. The War Department must
have known that Powell, two years before, had descended the river from
Wyoming to the mouth of the Virgen, and that he was now more than
half-way down the river on his second, more detailed exploration,
authorised and paid for by the Government. Lieutenant Ives had also
years before completely explored as high as the Vegas Wash, and there
were therefore only the few miles, about twenty-five, between that Wash
and the mouth of the Virgen, which might technically be considered
unexplored, though only technically, for several parties had passed
over it. Then why was this forlorn hope inaugurated? What credit could
any one expect to obtain by bucking for miles up the deep, dangerous
gorge filled with difficult rapids, which Powell had found hazardous
and well-nigh impossible, coming down with the current? The leader of
this superfluous endeavour was Lieutenant Wheeler, of the Topographical
Engineers, who had been roaming the Western country for several years
with a large escort. For some reason, Wheeler seems to have been
disinclined to give Powell credit for his masterly achievement. On the
map published in his Report, under the date 1879, _ten years after
Powell’s triumph_, he omits his name entirely, and he also fails to
give Ives credit on the river, though he records his land trail. In the
text I fail to find any mention of Powell in the regular order, and
only towards the end of the volume under a different heading. As the
book gives an admirable and detailed review of explorations in the
West, one is completely at a loss to understand the omission of credit
to two of the most distinguished explorers of all. Wheeler accepted
White’s story because one of his men who knew White at Camp Mohave,
“corroborated” it. How could a man who knew nothing about the canyons
give testimony worth consideration, for or against? Wheeler had also
been informed by O. D. Gass, who, with three others, had worked his way
up the Grand Canyon some few miles in 1864, that in his opinion it was
impossible to go farther than he had gone. Yet White had reported this
whole gorge as having only smooth water; his difficulties had all ended
at the mouth of the Little Colorado. Gass’s experience was worth a good
deal as a gauge of White’s story, and it proved the story false. But
Wheeler did not so consider it, and therefore prepared to make the
attempt to go beyond Gass. The latter was about right in considering it
impossible to go above his highest point, but when Wheeler found
himself trapped in the chasm, he was desperate, and, being at the time
favoured by a low stage of water, he finally managed to get through.


The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
Cliffs opposite the mouth of Diamond Creek. The highest point visible
is about 3500 feet above the river.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.


Wheeler’s boats were built in San Francisco and sent by way of the
mouth of the Colorado to Camp Mohave. No details are given of their
construction, but from Dr. Gilbert I learn that they were
flat-bottomed. They were apparently about eighteen feet long. See page
302. There were three, and in addition a barge was taken from the
quartermaster’s department at Camp Mohave. There were two land parties
with supplies, and the river party, the latter composed of the
following persons: First Lieutenant George M. Wheeler, U. S.
Topographical Engineers; G. K. Gilbert, geologist; W. J. Hoffman,
naturalist; P. W. Hamel, topographer; T. H. O’Sullivan, photographer;
E. M. Richardson, assistant topographer and artist; Frank Hecox,
barometrical assistant; Frederick W. Loring, general assistant; six
boatmen, six soldiers (one sergeant and five privates from Co. G, 12th
Infantry, stationed at Mohave) and “Captain” Asquit, and thirteen other
Mohaves—in all thirty-four. It was the fate of three of these, after
escaping from the dangers of the great chasm, to be killed by an attack
of Apaches on the Wickenburg stage. These were Loring, Hamel, and
Salmon. Loring was a brilliant young literary man from Boston, whose
career was thus sadly ended.


The Beginning of a Natural Arch. The Beginning of a Natural Arch.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.


The boats appear not to have been regularly named, though two of them,
at least, received titles before long, one, the boat Gilbert was in,
being called the _Trilobite_, and the other, the photographic boat, was
termed the _Picture_. Leaving Mohave on September 16th (1871) they
proceeded with little difficulty by towing and rowing, as far as Ives
had taken the _Explorer_, to the foot of Black Canyon. From here the
work was harder, but by the 18th they had arrived in the heart of this
canyon. The rapids were now more severe, but as Ives had gone up
easily, and also Johnson with his steamboat, and Rodgers with his,
there was nothing to prevent the ascent of this party. On the tenth
day, therefore, they passed Fortification Rock and reached Las Vegas
Wash, the termination of the Ives exploration. From here to the mouth
of the Virgen was the stretch that had, _technically_, never been
explored, though it had been traversed, at least, several times. There
is one small canyon in the distance, called Boulder. Passing the mouth
of the Virgen, Wheeler entered the canyon through the Virgen Mountains,
and this he named Virgin Canyon because, as he says, it was his “first
canyon on entirely new ground.” I am at a loss to understand his
meaning. If he intended to convey the impression that he was the first
to traverse this portion, it is an unwarranted assumption, and must be
emphatically condemned. Powell had descended as far as the Virgen, and
thus Wheeler was simply following his course backwards.

Passing through another small unnamed canyon, to which he applied the
term Iceberg on account of the contour of its northern walls, he
finally, on October 3d, came to the Grand Wash. On the next day the Ute
Crossing near the beginning of the Grand Canyon was reached. Two or
three days before this he could see what seemed to be a high range of
mountains apparently perpendicular, which was, as he surmised, the foot
of the Grand Canyon. Progress was now very slow, for the river was
swifter than it had been below. Perceiving the impossibility of taking
such a craft farther, the barge was left behind at the Crossing, to
form a base of supplies in case the difficulties of ascending
necessitated falling back. Relief parties from the rendezvous at
Truxton Springs were to go, one to the mouth of the canyon and the
other to the mouth of Diamond Creek, about thirty-five miles distant
from the Springs, but the situation was complicated by these parties
having no orders to wait at these points. Putting all of his land force
who were at the canyon mouth on the south side of “this turbid,
unmanageable stream,” and picking three crews of nine persons each,
with rations for fifteen days, he was ready to go ahead with this
unwise enterprise, “imagining,” as he admits, “but few of the many
difficulties that were to be met.” It was on October 7th that they
entered the mouth of the great gorge. At length “a full view,
magnificent beyond description, of the walls of the Grand Canyon” was
had, and they were fairly on the road; as rough a road, going down, as
one can well imagine, but going up in the teeth of the torrential
rapids, hemmed in by close granite walls, it is about as near the
impossible as anything that is not absolutely so could be. Wheeler
certainly deserves credit for one thing in this haphazard affair, and
that is for a splendid courage and abundant nerve, in which he was well
supported by Gilbert’s cool fortitude and indomitable spirit. Once,
when I was discussing this journey with Stanton, who, at a later
period, came down the gorge, he would hardly admit that Wheeler
actually did reach Diamond Creek: he thought the ascent impossible. The
second day in the canyon five rapids were passed within two miles, and,
on the next, nine were overcome before noon, and before sunset,
fifteen, showing that the party were working with all the nerve and
muscle they possessed. On this day they passed the monument Gass and
his companions had erected at their farthest point in 1864. The rapids
were now “more formidable” than any yet seen, and Wheeler was
“satisfied” that no one had ever gone higher. This was true, and it is
probable no one will ever try to go up this portion again. The way to
make the passage is from above, the work being less and the danger no
greater. Wherever a portage can be made going up it can also be made
going down. The river was compressed to seventy-five feet in one place
on this day. On the 10th they made about five miles, and met with a
serious accident: two of the boats were carried back over a rapid, but
were luckily secured again without having suffered damage. The
declivity was now very great, and the stream flowed along between solid
granite, where footing was both difficult and dangerous, and pulling
the boats up over the rocks taxed the combined strength of the crews.
Everything had to be unloaded at one bad place and the first boat was
nearly swamped. All could not be taken up before dark, so a “dreary
camp is made among the débris of the slopes, where, cuddled up
Indian-fashion, the weary hours of the night are passed.” The labour
was tremendous, and two of the party became ill: one, a Mohave, who was
badly bruised by being thrown upon the rocks. Wheeler now began to
despair of reaching Diamond Creek, and well he might, but he concluded
that he could get there if the men and the boats would but hold
together. The next day, another series of rapids was surmounted, and
then came a particularly bad-looking one. The first boat was filled
instantly with water, swamped, and thrown back against the rocks
“almost a perfect wreck, and its contents were washed down below the
overhanging rocks.” A package of Wheeler’s valuable papers was lost,
also a lot of expensive instruments, the astronomical and
meteorological observations, and the entire cargo of rations. This was
a discouraging disaster, and came near compelling the retreat of the
whole party. Darkness came on, and they were obliged to drop back about
half a mile to make a camp. Wheeler was weary and dispirited, though he
maintained an outward show of cheerfulness toward the men, and the next
morning the Dragon was faced again. They tried to find some remnant of
the lost cargo, but it had completely vanished. Everything had been
swept away forever. All the party were despondent, one boat was badly
damaged, and the diminution of the rations made the outlook gloomy. The
damaged boat was therefore sent with a crew back to the place at the
mouth of the canyon where the barge had been left. With the exception
of Wheeler and Gilbert none of the party believed the cataracts now
ahead could be surmounted.


The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
Near mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.


“Mr. Gilbert and myself,” writes Wheeler, “propose to reassure the men
by taking the first boat across the rapids. Portage of the stores is
made to the wash at the head of the rapids, which consumes the greater
share of the day, and half an hour before twilight a rope is stretched
and the emergency prepared for. The entire force is stationed along the
line, and the cast-off is made. In five minutes the worst part of the
rapid is over, and just as the sun sinks gloomily behind the canyon
horizon, the worst rapid is triumphantly passed amid the cheers and
exultations of every member of the party.”

The following day, October 13th, they reached the narrowest part of the
river, a channel less than fifty feet wide, but the canyon on top is,
of course, very broad. With many portages and other arduous toil the
party slowly climbed up the river, sometimes making less than three
miles, sometimes a little more. The rapids grew worse and worse, and
the smooth stretches in between shorter and shorter. On the 15th
Gilbert’s boat broke away, and he and Hecox were swept so far down the
stream that the rest could not reach them. They were obliged to remain
where they were through the night with nothing to eat. The main camp
was at a place where there was barely room for the men to sleep amongst
the rocks. They were all gloomy enough, and starvation was beginning to
show its dreaded shadow amidst the spray. On the 16th they were
compelled to carry the tow-line fully a hundred feet above the water to
get it ahead. At another portage the rope broke and the boat was
instantly thrown out into the rapid by the fierce current. Fortunately
she was not capsized, and they managed again to secure her and make a
second attempt, which succeeded. Climbing to the top of the granite
they discovered it was comparatively level, and they believed they
could travel over it, if necessary, as far as Diamond Creek. The
rations for some time had to be dealt out on allowance, and at night,
for safety, Wheeler put the entire stock under his head as a pillow. On
the 17th they met with particularly bad rapids, one with a fall of ten
and a half feet where the river was only thirty-five feet wide. The
force of such pent-up waters may be imagined. The party had here one
advantage over the river farther north, at this season; it was much
warmer in this part of the Grand Canyon.


The Crew of the “Trilobite.” The Crew of the “Trilobite.”
At the mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.


“Each day,” writes Wheeler of this portion, “seems like an age, and the
danger of complete disaster stares one so plainly in the face that a
state of uneasiness naturally prevails.” On the 18th, at one of the
descents, a boat was again torn loose, and Gilbert and Salmon were
thrown into the raging waters. They fortunately succeeded in getting
out, and the party pushed ahead, making three and one-half miles. The
boats were now in a dilapidated condition, leaking badly. On October
19th two messengers were started, by way of the summit of the granite,
to Diamond Creek to catch the relief party there, and return with some
food. Meanwhile Wheeler planned, if no relief came, to abandon the
river on the 22nd, but on the evening of that same day, having made six
miles up the river, the party had the joy of finally reaching Diamond
Creek with the two boats. Wheeler had succeeded in a well-nigh hopeless
task. “The land party had left at ten in the morning,” so Gilbert
writes me, “and their camp was reached by our messengers on foot at 1
p.m. These facts were announced to us by a note one of our messengers
sent down the river on a float.” A number of the boat party were then
sent out to the rendezvous camp, while the remainder turned about and
began the perilous descent, having now to do just what would have been
necessary if the start had been made from Diamond Creek. Mohave was
reached in safety _on the evening of the fifth day_, whereas it had
required about four weeks of extremely hard work to make the same
distance against the current. This is all the comment necessary on the
two methods. The whole party that reached Diamond Creek was as follows:
Lieutenant Wheeler, G. K. Gilbert, P. W. Hamel, T. H. O’Sullivan, E. M.
Richardson, Frank Hecox, Wm. George Salmon, R. W. James, Thos.
Hoagland, George Phifer, Wm. Roberts, Privates Drew, Flynn, and Keegan,
and six Mohaves, making twenty in all.

“The exploration of the Colorado River,” says Wheeler, “may now be
considered complete.” The question may fairly be asked, Why was the
exploration now any more complete than it was before Wheeler made this
unnecessary trip? Powell, two years before, had been through the part
ascended, and Wheeler, so far as I can determine, added little of value
to what was known before. If he thought Powell had not completed the
work of exploration, as his words imply, the exploration was still not
complete, for there remained the distance to the Little Colorado, and
to the Paria, and so on up to the source of the river, which Wheeler
had not been over. If he accepted Powell’s exploration _above_ Diamond
Creek, why did he not accept it below? His nerve and luck in
accomplishing the ascent to Diamond Creek deserve great praise, but the
trip itself cannot be considered anything but a needless waste of
energy.


The Dining-table in Camp. The Dining-table in Camp.
Dutch oven, left foreground.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Meanwhile, as noted in the last chapter, our own party had passed the
Crossing of the Fathers, had arrived at the mouth, of the Paria, and,
according to our plans, had cached our boats there for the winter while
we proceeded to inaugurate our land work of triangulation. A number of
us were left for a while in camp in a valley lying between the Kaibab
Plateau, then called Buckskin Mountain, and what is now called Paria
Plateau, at a spring in a gulch of the Vermilion Cliffs. Two large
rocks at this place had fallen together in such a way that one could
crawl under for shelter. This was on the old trail leading from the
Mormon settlements to the Moki country, travelled about once a year by
Jacob Hamblin and a party on a trading expedition to the other side of
the river. Somebody on one of these trips had taken refuge beneath this
rock, and on departing had written, in a facetious mood, along the top
with a piece of charcoal, “Rock House Hotel.” Naturally, in referring
to the spring it was called, by the very few who knew it, Rock House
Spring, and then the spring where the House Rock was, or House Rock
Spring. From this came House Rock Valley, and the name was soon a
fixture, and went on our maps. And thus easily are names established in
a new country. All around were evidences of former occupation by the
Puebloans, and I became greatly interested in examining the locality.
At length, we were ordered across the Kaibab to the vicinity of Kanab,
and I shall never fail to see distinctly the wonderful view from the
summit we had of the bewildering cliff-land leading away northward to
the Pink Cliffs. The lines of cliffs rose up like some giant stairway,
while to the south-eastward the apparently level plain was separated by
the dark line of Marble Canyon. On top of the plateau, which was
covered with a fine growth of tall pines, we came about camping time to
a shallow, open valley, where we decided to stay for the night. As it
was on the top of the mountain Bishop recorded it in his notes as
Summit Valley, and so it ever afterward remained. There was no spring,
but a thin layer of snow eked out the water we had brought in kegs on
the packs, and we and the animals were comfortable enough. The trail
had not been travelled often, and was in places very dim, but we
succeeded in following it without delay. The Kaibab, still frequently
called the Buckskin Mountain, must have received this first name from
its resemblance to a buckskin stretched out on the ground. The
similarity is quite apparent in the relief map opposite page 41. As it
was the home of the Kaibab band of Pai Utes, Powell decided to rename
it after them. We arrived within eight miles of Kanab, where we made a
headquarters camp at a fine spring, and trips from here and from a camp
made later nearer Kanab were extended into the surrounding country. The
Mormons had a year or two before come out from the St. George direction
and established this new settlement of Kanab, composed then of a
stockaded square of log houses and some few neat adobe houses outside;
about fifty in all. The settlement was growing strong enough to scatter
itself somewhat about the site marked off for the future town. One of
the first things the Mormons always did in establishing a new
settlement was to plant fruit and shade trees, and vines, and the like,
so that in a very few years there was a condition of comfort only
attained by a non-Mormon settlement after the lapse of a quarter of a
century.


Winter Headquarters at Kanab, 1872–3. Renshawe, Riley, Dellenbaugh,
Thompson, Mrs. Thompson.
Winter Headquarters at Kanab, 1872–3 U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp. Central Tent.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.


In the valley below Kanab a base line was measured nine miles long, and
from this starting-point our work of triangulating the country was
carried on. Trips with pack-trains to establish geodetic stations and
examine the lay of the land were made in all directions. Of course the
reader understands that up to this time no map had been made of this
vast region north of the Colorado, and that many parts of it were
entirely unknown. The Mormons had traversed certain districts, but they
only knew their own trails and roads and had as yet not had time to
carry on any unnecessary examinations away from the lines they
travelled. Some of our experiences were interesting, but I have not the
space here for recording many of them. It was my first winter out of
doors, and sleeping in snow-storms and all kinds of weather was a
novelty, though the climate is fine and dry. It was only in the higher
regions that we encountered much snow, yet the temperature in the
valleys was quite cold enough. In leading the open-air life from summer
to winter and to summer again, the system becomes adjusted, and one
does not suffer as much as at first glance would seem probable; in
fact, one suffers very little if any, provided there are plenty of good
food and warm clothing.


The Uinkaret Mountains at Sunset, from the North-east. The Uinkaret
Mountains at Sunset, from the North-east.
Mt. Trumbull in middle, Mt. Logan in the far distance.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


On one occasion, when we were coming away from a snowy experience in
the Uinkaret Mountains, we were enveloped in a severe flurry one
morning soon after starting. When we had gone about a mile and a half,
the whole world seemed to terminate. The air was dense with the
fast-falling, snowflakes, and all beyond a certain line was white fog,
up, down, and sideways. A halt was imperative, as we knew not which way
to turn except back, and that was not our direction. Descending from
our horses we stepped out in the direction of the illimitable
whiteness, only to find that there was nothing there to travel on. The
only thing to do was to camp, which we did forthwith. By our holding up
a blanket at the four corners, and chopping some dry wood out of the
side of a dead tree, Andy was able to a start a fire, and we waited for
atmospheric developments. Presently there were rifts in the white, and
as we looked we could discern, far, far below our position, another
land. As the storm broke away more and more, it was seen that we had
arrived at the edge of a cliff with a sheer drop of one thousand feet.
At last we were able to go on and hunted for a way to descend, which we
did not find. Consequently we continued northwards and finally, on the
second day, met with a waggon-track which we followed, reaching at last
the edge where the cliff could be descended by way of a waggon-road the
Mormons had cut out of the face for a mile and a quarter. This was the
Hurricane Ledge, which extends across the country northwards from the
Uinkaret Mountains to the Virgen River. Its course is well seen on the
map opposite page 41, and also on the one on page 37. As the traveller
comes to Hurricane Hill, the northern limit, from which the whole cliff
takes its name, he has before him one of the most extraordinary views
in all that region, if not in the world. Even the Grand Canyon itself
is hardly more wonderful. To the right and below us lay the fair green
fields of Toquerville, on the opposite side of the Virgen, and all
around was such a labyrinth of mountains, canyons, cliffs, hills,
valleys, rocks, and ravines, as fairly to make one’s head swim. I think
that perhaps, of all the views I have seen in the West, this was one of
the weirdest and wildest. From Berry Spring in this valley a party of
us returned to the Uinkaret district by following the country to the
west of the Hurricane Ledge. On this occasion we again climbed Mt.
Trumbull and some of the others of the group; and Dodds and I descended
at the foot of the Toroweap to the river at the rapid called Lava
Falls. It was a difficult climb.


Major Powell and a Pai Ute. Southern Utah, 1872. Major Powell and a Pai
Ute. Southern Utah, 1872.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



The Expedition Photographer in the Field. The Expedition Photographer
in the Field.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


In triangulating I often had occasion to take the bearings of two large
buttes lying to the north-west, and in order that my recorder could put
down the readings so that I might identify them later I was obliged to
give him titles for these. They had no names in our language, and I did
not know the native ones, so, remembering that at the foot of one I had
found some ant-hills covered with beautiful diamond-like quartz
crystals, I called it Diamond Butte, and the other, having a dark,
weird, forbidding look, I named on the spur of the moment Solitaire
Butte. These names being used by the other members of the corps, they
became fixtures and are now on all the maps. I had no idea at that time
of their becoming permanent. This was also the case with a large butte
on the east side of Marble Canyon, which I had occasion to sight to
from the Kaibab. It stood up so like a great altar, and, having in my
mind the house-building Amerinds who had formerly occupied the country,
and whom the Pai Utes called Shinumo, I called it Shinumo Altar, the
name it now bears. Probably there are people who wonder where the altar
is from which it was named. It was the appearance that suggested the
title, not any archaeological find. Once when we were in the Uinkaret
country, Powell came in from a climb to the summit of what he named Mt.
Logan, and said he had just seen a fine mountain off to the south-west
which he would name after me. Of course I was much pleased at having my
name thus perpetuated. The mountain turned out to be the culminating
point of the Shewits Plateau. None of us visited it at that time, but
Thompson went there later, and I crossed its slopes twice several years
afterward. On the summit is a circular ruin about twenty feet in
diameter with walls remaining two feet high.


Lake on the Aquarius Plateau. Lake on the Aquarius Plateau.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


It will be remembered that we had left one of our boats near the mouth
of the Dirty Devil River. A party was to go overland to that point and
bring this boat down to the Paria, and on the 25th of May (1872)
Thompson started at the head of the party to try to explore a way in to
the mouth of the Dirty Devil, at the same time investigating the
country lying in between and examining the Unknown or Dirty Devil
Mountains which had been seen from the river, just west of the course
of the Dirty Devil River, now named Frémont River. We went west to a
ranch called Johnson after the owner, thence north-westerly, passing
the little Mormon settlement of Clarkson, and then struck out into the
wilderness. Keeping a north-westerly course we crossed the upper waters
of the Paria and made our way to the head of a stream flowing through
what was called Potato Valley, and which the party of the previous year
had followed down, endeavouring to find a trail by which to bring
rations to us, under the impression that it was the head of the Dirty
Devil. We also turned our course down it with the same idea. We had
taken with us a Pai Ute guide whom we called Tom, but as we advanced
into this region so far from his range, Tom got nervous and wanted to
go back, and we saw him no more till our return. Six years before a
Mormon reconnoitring party had penetrated as far as this, and in one
place en route we passed the spot where one of their number who had
been killed by the Utes had been buried. The grave had been dug out by
the wolves, and a few whitened bones lay scattered around. It was a
place where there was no water and we could not stop to reinter them.
Several days after this we reached a point where progress seemed to be
impossible in that direction, and Thompson and Dodds climbed up on high
ground to reconnoitre. When they came back they said we were not on the
headwaters of the Dirty Devil at all, and would be obliged to change
our course completely. The Dirty Devil entered the Colorado on the
other side of the Unknown Range and the stream we were on joined it on
this side, the west, therefore it was plain that we had made a mistake.
Accordingly, our steps were retraced to a point where we managed to
ascend to the slopes of what is now called the Aquarius Plateau. Three
men were sent back to Kanab after more rations, while Thompson with the
other six pushed on around the slopes, trying to find a way to cross
the labyrinth of canyons to the Unknown Mountains. On the 9th of June
we were at an altitude of ten thousand feet above sea-level, with all
the wilderness of canyons, cliffs, and buttes between us and the
Colorado spreading below like a map, or rather like some kaleidoscopic
phantasm. The slopes we were crossing were full of leaping torrents and
clear lakes. They were so covered with these that the plateau
afterwards was given the name Aquarius. Beaman, who had been
photographer on our river trip, had left us, and we now had a new man
from Salt Lake, named Fennemore. He was a frail man and the trip was
almost too much for him. Down below we saw the smokes of native fires
in several places, but we could not tell by what tribe they were made.
At last we came to a point where the plateau broke back to the north,
and we paused to search for a way to continue. I was sent out in one
direction with one man, and Thompson went in another. I had not gone
half a mile before I found an old trail which had very recently been
travelled by natives, and when I had followed it far enough to get its
trend, and as far as I dared, for I feared running on the camp at any
point, I returned to report. Thompson decided to take this trail. It
led us across strange country, and in one place for a long distance
over barren sandstone into a peculiar valley. Here we camped about
three miles from a great smoke, and the next morning ran right on top
of a Ute encampment. At first we expected trouble, but there were only
seven of the warriors, and they were, as we learned later, out of
powder, so when they sighted us they disappeared. At last they
returned, and we had a talk with them, trying to induce one to go with
us as guide. They described the trails, but refused to go along.


Butte in Grand Gulch. Butte in Grand Gulch.
A tributary of the San Juan.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.



Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Major Powell in the Field, 1872. Major Powell in the Field, 1872.


We camped one night near them, and then went on, arriving finally,
after a great deal of trouble at the Unknown Mountains, since called
the Henry Mountains, having taken a wrong trail. At one place we were
obliged to take the whole packtrain up a cliff fifteen hundred feet
high, making a trail as we went. On the top were some water-pockets. We
watered the stock at one of these the next morning, when we were
obliged fairly to lift the horses out of the gulch by putting our
shoulders to their haunches. At last, however, we got to the mountains,
and though it was now the 17th of June water froze one half inch thick
in the kettles in our camp about fifteen hundred feet up the slopes.
Thompson climbed one of the mountains, and I started up another, but my
companion gave out. We crossed through a pass, and on the 22d, after
pursuing a winding and difficult road through canyons, succeeded in
getting the whole train down to the Colorado a short distance below the
mouth of the Dirty Devil. The Colorado was high, and swept along
majestically. We found it had been up as far as the _Cañonita_, and had
almost washed away one of the oars. We soon ran her down to our camp,
and there put her in order for the journey, which from here to the
Paria could be nothing more than a pleasure trip. Thompson, Dodds, and
Andy left the rest of us and returned on the trail towards Kanab. Those
left for the boat’s crew besides myself were Hillers, Fennemore, the
photographer, and W. D. Johnson. The latter was from Kanab, and was a
Mormon, as was also the photographer, and both were fine fellows. The
river was at flood and we had an easy time of it so far as travelling
was concerned. Our investigations and photographing sometimes consumed
half a day, but in the other half we made good progress, eight or nine
miles without trying. The rations were limited in variety, but were
abundant of their kind, being almost entirely bread and black coffee.
When we tried, we made great runs, one day easily accomplishing about
forty miles. The San Juan was now a powerful stream, as we saw on
passing. At the Music Temple we camped, and I cut Hillers’s and my name
on the rocks. Fennemore made a picture of the place, given on page 215.
On the 13th of July, we reached the Paria, where we expected to find
several of our party, but they were not there. We discovered that
someone had come in here since our last visit, and built a house. It
proved to be John D. Lee, of Mountain Meadow Massacre notoriety, who
had established a home here for one of his two remaining wives. He
called the place Lonely Dell, and it was not a misnomer. It is now
known as Lee’s Ferry. Mrs. Lee proved to be an agreeable woman, and she
and her husband treated us very kindly, inviting us, as we had nothing
but bread and coffee, to share their table, an offer we gladly
accepted. Here Johnson and Fennemore left us, going out with Lee to
Kanab, and two days later we were relieved to see some of our men
arrive with a large amount of supplies and mail. We then waited for the
coming of Powell and Thompson with the others, when we were to cast off
and run the gauntlet of the Grand Canyon.






CHAPTER XIII.




A Canyon through Marble—Multitudinous Rapids—Running the Sockdologer—A
Difficult Portage, Rising Water, and a Trap—The Dean Upside Down—A
Close Shave—Whirlpools and Fountains—The Kanab Canyon and the End of
the Voyage.


By referring to the relief map opposite page 41, the mouth of the Paria
is seen a trifle more than half-way up the right-hand side. The walls
of Glen Canyon here recede from the river and become on the south the
Echo Cliffs, taking the name from the Echo Peaks which form their
beginning, and on the north the Vermilion Cliffs, so called by Powell
because of their bright red colour. The latter, and the canyon of the
Paria, make the edges of the great mesa called the Paria Plateau, and,
running on north to the very head of the Kaibab uplift, strike off
south-westerly to near Pipe Spring, where they turn and run in a
north-west direction to the Virgen River. Between the receding lines of
these cliffs, at the Paria, is practically the head of the Grand
Canyon. The river at once begins an attack on the underlying strata,
and the resulting canyon, while at first not more than two hundred feet
deep, rapidly increases this depth, as the strata run up and the river
runs down. The canyon is narrow, and seen from a height resembles, as
previously mentioned, a dark serpent lying across a plain. As the
formation down to the Little Colorado is mainly a fine-grained grey
marble, Powell concluded to call this division by a separate name, and
gave it the title it now bears, Marble Canyon. There is no separation
between Marble Canyon and the following one, the Grand Canyon, except
the narrow gorge of the Little Colorado, so that topographically the
chasm which begins at the Paria, ends at the Grand Wash, a distance of
283 miles, as the river runs, the longest, deepest, and altogether most
magnificent example of the canyon formation to be found on the globe.
With an average depth of about four thousand feet, it reaches for long
stretches between five thousand and six thousand. At the Paria (Lee’s
Ferry) the altitude above the sea is 3170 feet, while at the end of the
canyon, the Grand Wash, the elevation is only 840 feet. The declivity
is thus very great (see the diagram on page 57, which gives from the
Little Colorado down), the total fall being 2330 feet. Further comment
on the character of the river within this wonderful gorge is
unnecessary. Powell had been through it on his first expedition, and
was now to make the passage again, to examine its geological and
geographical features more in detail. Meanwhile, as recorded in the
last chapter, Lieutenant Wheeler had made an effort, apparently to
forestall this examination, and had precariously succeeded in reaching
Diamond Creek, which is just at the south end of the Shewits Plateau,
lower left-hand corner of the map facing page 41.


Navajos in Characteristic Dress. Navajos in Characteristic Dress.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Powell and Thompson arrived at our camp at the mouth of the Paria on
the 13th of August (1872) accompanied by Mrs. Thompson, who had been at
Kanab all the previous winter, and had pluckily made several trips with
Thompson into the mountains, and Professor De Motte. They had come in
by way of the south end of the Kaibab, and it was on this occasion that
the valley on the southern part of the summit was named De Motte Park.
Preparations for our descent through the great chasm were immediately
begun. The boats had been previously overhauled, and as the _Nellie
Powell_ was found unseaworthy from last season’s knocks, or at least
not in condition to be relied on in the Grand Canyon, she was
abandoned, and Lee kept her for a ferry-boat. Perhaps she might have
been repaired, but anyhow we had only men enough to handle two boats.
Steward’s trouble had not sufficiently improved to warrant his risking
further exposure, so he had returned to his home in Illinois. Bishop
was in a similar plight, and went to Salt Lake to regain his health,
and Beaman had started off to carry on some photographic operations of
his own. He came to the river and crossed on his way to the Moki
country, while we were preparing to depart from the Paria. Johnson and
Fennemore, who had been with us part of the winter, were too ill to
think of entering the great canyon, with all the uncertainties of such
a venture, and as before noted they, too, had left. Our party, then,
consisted of seven: Powell, Thompson, Hillers, Jones, W. C. Powell,
Hattan, and Dellenbaugh, all from the first season’s crew. No one else
was available, as the trip was regarded in that region as extremely
desperate. On the 14th, the boats, _Emma Dean_ and _Cañonita_, were in
readiness, and we loaded and took them down a mile and a half to the
point near where the road came in from Kanab, whence our final
departure would be made as soon as Powell, who needed a little extra
time for arranging his papers and general affairs, should say the word.
Everything was carefully attended to, as if we were preparing our last
will and testament, and were never to be seen alive again, and I
believe this was the firm conviction of most of those not going with
the boats. Those who were going had abundant respect for the dragon,
and well knew that no holiday excursion was before them. Their spirit
was humble, and no precaution was to be neglected; no spirit of bravado
permitted to endanger the success of the undertaking. Mrs. Thompson and
De Motte ran down with us through two small rapids that exist at the
mouth of the Paria, and which we had to pass to reach the camp
mentioned. Mrs. Thompson would willingly have gone all the way through
if her husband had consented to it.

On the 15th it was “all ashore not going”; we said our farewells to
those leaving for Kanab, and turned our attention to the river. We
would see no one after starting till we arrived at the mouth of the
Kanab, where we had discovered, during the winter, that a pack-train,
with some difficulty, could be brought in with supplies. It was not
till the 17th that we were able to leave, as the boats needed some
further attention. On that day, about nine o’clock, we cast off and
went down some five miles, running one little rapid and another of
considerable size before we halted for dinner. The walls were still not
high, only about five hundred feet, and I climbed out to secure a
farewell glance at the open country. On starting again we had not gone
far before we came to a really bad place, a fall of about eighteen feet
in seventy-five yards, where it was deemed respectful to make a
portage. This accomplished, another of the same nature, with an equally
fierce growl, discovered itself not far below, and a camp was made
where we landed at its head. This was ten miles below our
starting-point, and seemed to be the spot where a band of ten mining
prospectors were wrecked about a month before. They had gone in to the
mouth of the Paria on a prospecting trip, and concluded they would
examine the Grand Canyon. Consequently they built a large raft, and
after helping themselves to a lot of our cooking utensils and other
things from some caches we had made when we went out from the river for
our winter’s work, they sailed, away, expecting to accomplish wonders.
Ten miles, to the first bad rapids, was the extent of their voyage, and
there they were fortunate to escape with their lives, but nothing else,
and by means of ladders made from driftwood, they reached once more the
outer world, having learned the lesson the Colorado is sure to teach
those who regard it lightly. We made a portage at the place and enjoyed
a good laugh when we looked at the vertical rocks and pictured the
prospectors dismally crawling out of the roaring waters with nothing
left but the clothes on their backs. Our opinion was, they were served
just right: first, because they had stolen our property, and, second,
because they had so little sense. The walls had rapidly grown in
altitude, and near the river were vertical so that climbing out at this
place was a particularly difficult undertaking. The river was still
very high, but not at the highest stage of this year, which had been
passed before the _Cañonita_ party had come down to the Paria from
Frémont River. But the canyon was even yet uncomfortably full and we
were hoping the water would diminish rapidly, for high tide in such a
place is a great disadvantage. The stream was thick with red mud, the
condition from which it derived its name, and it swept along with a
splendid vigour that betokened a large reserve flood in the high
mountains. The marble composing the walls of this canyon for most of
its length is of a greyish drab colour often beautifully veined, but it
must not be supposed that the walls are the same colour externally, for
they are usually a deep red, due to the discoloration of their surface
by disintegration of beds above full of iron. Except where high water
had scoured the walls, there was generally no indication of their real
colour. In places the friction of the current had brought them to a
glistening polish; the surface was smooth as glass, and was sometimes
cut into multitudinous irregular flutings as deep as one’s finger. The
grinding power of the current was well shown in some of the boulders,
which had been dovetailed together till the irregular line of juncture
was barely perceptible.


Marble Canyon. Marble Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The next day was begun by accomplishing the portage over the rapid
which had punished the prospectors for their temerity and for their
lack of proper morals, and then we made most excellent progress,
successfully putting behind us eleven lively rapids free from rocks
before we were admonished to pause and make a let-down. Then camp was
established for the night with the record of ten and three-eighths
miles for our day’s work. At one place we passed a rock in the water so
large that it almost blocked the entire stream, which had averaged
about two hundred feet in width, though narrowing at many places to no
more than seventy-five. The current was always extremely swift, while
many whirlpools added their demands, though they gave us no serious
trouble. It is exasperating, however, to be turned around against one’s
will. The canyon at the top for a considerable distance was not over
three-quarters of a mile wide. The depth was now from fifteen hundred
to eighteen hundred feet. There were always rapids following quickly
one after another, but so often they were free from rocks, the
dangerous part of most rapids, that we were able to sail through them
in triumph. On the 20th, out of thirteen sharp descents, we easily ran
twelve, all in a distance of less than seven miles. The average width
of the river was one hundred and twenty-five feet, while the walls rose
to over two thousand feet, and at the top the canyon was about a mile
and a quarter from brink to brink. This brought us to Vasey’s Paradise,
so named after a botanist friend of his, by Powell on the first
descent. It was only a lot of ferns, mosses, and similar plants growing
around two springs that issued from the cliffs on the right about
seventy-five feet above the river, and rippled in silver threads to the
bottom, but as it was the first green spot since leaving the Paria its
appearance was striking and attractive to the eye that had been baffled
in all directions except above, in a search for something besides red.
Now the narrow, terraced canyon, often vertical on both sides for
several hundred feet above the water, grew ever deeper and deeper, two
thousand, twenty-five hundred, three thousand feet and more, as the
impetuous torrent slashed its way down, till it finally seemed to me as
if we were actually sailing into the inner heart of the world. The
sensation on the first expedition, when each dark new bend was a dark
new mystery, must have been something to quite overpower the
imagination, for then it was not known that, by good management, a boat
could pass through this Valley of the Shadow of Death, and survive.
Down, and down, and ever down, roaring and leaping and throwing its
spiteful spray against the hampering rocks the terrible river ran,
carrying our boats along with it like little wisps of straw in the
midst of a Niagara, the terraced walls around us sometimes
fantastically eroded into galleries, balconies, alcoves, and Gothic
caves that lent to them an additional weird and wonderful aspect, while
the reverberating turmoil of the ever-descending flood was like some
extravagant musical accompaniment to the extraordinary panorama
flitting past of rock sculpture and bounding cliffs.

The 22d was a day to be particularly remembered, for the walls, though
more broken at the water’s edge, were now some thirty-five hundred feet
high and seemed to be increasing by leaps and bounds, for at one place,
through a side gorge on the right, we could discern cliffs so far above
our heads that tall pine trees looked no larger than lead pencils. It
was the end of the Kaibab, whose summit was more than five thousand
feet higher than the river at this point. Cataract followed rapid and
rapid followed cataract as we were hurled on down through the midst of
the sublimity, which, parting at our advance, closed again behind like
some wonderful phantasmagoria. At times in the headlong rush the boats
could barely be held in control. Once, a wild mass of breakers appeared
immediately in the path of our boat, from which it was impossible to
escape, even though we made a severe effort to do so. We thought we
were surely to be crushed, and I shall not forget the seconds that
passed as we waited for the collision which never came, for when the
boat dashed into the midst of the spray, there was no shock whatever;
we glided through as if on oil,—the rocks were too far beneath the
surface to harm us. So constant was the rush of the descending waters
that our oars were needed only for guidance.


Marble Canyon near the Lower End. Marble Canyon near the Lower End.
Walls about 3500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Late in the day there came a long straight stretch, at the bottom of
which the river appeared to vanish. Had any one said the course was now
underground from that point onward, it would have seemed entirely
appropriate. In the outer world the sun was low, though it had long
been gone to us, and the blue haze of approaching night was drawing a
veil of strange uncertainty among the cliffs, while far above, the
upper portions of the mighty eastern walls, at all times of gorgeous
hue, were now beautifully enriched by the last hot radiance of the
western sky. Such a view as this was worth all the labour we had
accomplished. When the end of this marvellous piece of canyon was
reached a small river was found to enter on the left through a narrow
gorge like the main canyon. It was the Little Colorado, and beside it
on a sand-bank we stopped for the night, having ended one of the finest
runs of our experience, about eighteen miles with but a single
let-down; yet in this distance there were eighteen rapids, one of which
was about two and one half miles long. It was a glorious record, and I
do not recall another day which was more exhilarating. We had arrived
at the end of Marble Canyon and the beginning of the Grand Canyon,
there being nothing to mark the division but the narrow gorge of the
Little Colorado. In Marble Canyon we had found sixty-nine rapids in the
sixty-five and one half miles, with a total descent of 480 feet. Of
these we ran sixty, let down by lines five times, and made four
portages. Here at the mouth of the Little Colorado was the place where
White’s imagination pictured overwhelming terrors and his worst
experience in a whirlpool opposite. But in reality the Colorado at this
particular point is very tame, and when we were there the Little
Colorado was a lamb.

Now the Grand Canyon, as named by Powell on his former trip, was before
us, and soon we were descending through the incomparable chasm. Three
or four miles below the Little Colorado the walls break away, and the
canyon has more the appearance of a valley hemmed in by beetling cliffs
and crags which rise up in all directions over 5000 feet, distant from
the line of the river five or six miles. On the right were two minor
valleys within the canyon called Nancoweap and Kwagunt, named by Powell
after the Pai Utes, who have trails coming down into them.[1]

 [1] Kwagunt was the name of a Pai Ute who said he owned this
 valley—that his father, who used to live there, had given it to him.


F.S. Dellenbaugh, 1872. F.S. Dellenbaugh, 1872.
The exploring costume consisted of a shirt as above, a pair of cotton
overalls, heavy hobnailed shoes, and a felt hat.
Tintype by J.K. HILLERS.



Granite Falls, Grand Canyon. Granite Falls, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



Running the Sockdologer, Grand Canyon. Running the Sockdologer, Grand
Canyon.
Fall 80 feet in ⅓ mile.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


As we went on, the canyon narrowed again, becoming wilder and grander
than ever, and on the 28th, late in the day, we came to the first bad
fall in this division, where a portage was necessary, and we made a
camp. A short distance below this camp the granite ran up. To any one
who has been in this chasm with a boat, the term “the granite runs up”
has a deep significance. It means that the First Granite Gorge is
beginning, and this First Granite Gorge, in the Kaibab division of the
canyon, less than fifty miles in length as the stream runs, contains
the wildest, swiftest, steepest piece of river on this continent except
a portion in Cataract Canyon. The declivity is tremendous. Between the
Little Colorado and the Kanab the total fall is 890 feet, and the bulk
of this drop occurs in the granite. In one stretch of ten miles the
descent is 210 feet. All through this granite the character of the
river is different from anything above. The falls are short and
violent, while the stretches in between are smooth and not always
swift. But the moment a break occurs the turbulence and commotion are
instantly very great. The summer is the wet season here, and to add to
our troubles we were treated to frequent rains. The next day toward
noon, as we were sailing along between the black walls, on a rather
sluggish current, a deep-toned roar was borne up to our ears. Nothing
could be seen of the cause of it, but a complete disappearance of the
river from our sight warned us to make a landing as soon as possible.
Some broken rocks protruding a few feet above the water at the base of
the right-hand wall afforded the desired opportunity, and running in we
stepped out and mounted them. The cause of the roaring was immediately
apparent. For a third of a mile the river was a solid mass of huge
waves and foam and plunges, and on each side the granite came down so
precipitously that a footing was impossible. It took no second glance
to tell us that, at least with this stage of water, there was but one
course, and that was to run the place. There is nothing like having the
inner man fortified for exertion, therefore with a few bits of
driftwood a fire was built, by means of which Andy prepared dinner.
When this had been disposed of operations were begun. The _Cañonita_
was to remain here till our boat was well through. In case we smashed
up they would have a better chance, as they might profit by our course,
and if we went through safely, we would be prepared to pick them up
should disaster overtake them. At last we were ready. The crew of the
_Cañonita_ placed themselves where they could carefully watch our
fortunes, and we pulled up the river very close to the right-hand wall
in slack current, for about a quarter of a mile, when we turned the bow
out and struck for the middle, heading there straight for the descent.
I pulled the bow oars, and my back was toward the terrific roar which,
like the voice of some awful monster, grew louder as we approached. It
was difficult to refrain from turning round to see what it looked like
now, but as everything depended on the promptness with which Hillers
and I handled our oars in obedience to Powell’s orders, I waited for
the plunge, every instant ready to execute a command. We kept in the
middle of the stream, and as we neared the brink our speed began to
accelerate. Then of a sudden there was a dropping away of all support,
a reeling sensation, and we flew down the declivity with the speed of a
locomotive. The gorge was chaos. The boat rolled and plunged. The wild
waters rolled over us, filling the open spaces to the gunwale. With the
camp kettles that were left out of the cabins for that purpose, Hillers
and I bailed as hard as we could, letting the boat go with the current,
but it seemed to do little good, for every moment the waves broke over
the craft from end to end, and our efforts might as well have been made
with a teaspoon, though in many other rapids the kettles had proved
effective. Here and there, as we shot down, I could look back under a
canopy of foam and see the head of a great black rock. Fortunately we
safely cleared everything, and in probably less than a minute we were
at the bottom, lying to in an eddy, bailing fast and watching for the
other boat. No sign of any living thing could be discovered as we
peered up the rapid, which from below had the appearance of an almost
vertical fall. Presently at the top of the foam a white speck moved,
clearly seen against the dark background. It was the _Cañonita_ on the
edge of the fall. I can see her yet, pausing for an instant,
apparently, and then disappearing completely amidst the plunging
waters. A minute later she reappeared at the bottom and ran alongside
of us in good order. Owing to the large amount of water there seemed to
be not much danger of striking a rock, and our boats did not capsize
easily. After the plunge was begun we did not try to guide the boats—it
would have been useless. The fall here was about forty feet in a third
of a mile. Some of the men called it the Sockdologer. The picture of it
from above, on page 219, does not give a correct impression, as the
plate was too slow, but it was the best that could be done at the time.
The canyon continued very narrow at the bottom, the river averaging
about one hundred and fifty feet. Late in the afternoon we arrived at a
much worse place than the Sockdologer, though the fall was not so
great. Landing on the left on some broken rocks, we saw no chance of
getting around the rapid there, so we crossed to the right and landed
on another little pile of rocks in a small alcove. The walls rose
vertically, or nearly so, from the water’s edge. We saw the only thing
to do was to lower one boat, with two men on board, by her line for
some distance (a hundred feet of best Manila rope were attached to each
boat by a strong iron ring; in the stern was also an iron ring), and
from the stern let the other cautiously down to the very head of the
fall, where there was a second pile of rocks which received the boat
between them and held her fast. The upper boat was then pulled back to
where we had remained, the line from the second being tied to her
stern. Entering her we clung to projections of the wall with our hands,
to prevent the current from swinging the boat out, while the men who
were in the lower boat carefully hauled on the stern line till at last
we also reached the rocks. With a great deal of labour we then worked
both boats from these rocks to some others nearer the right wall, from
which they were manoeuvred across to a pile about two hundred feet away
against the foot of the cliff, This ended our struggle for the day, as
night was upon us. The black rocks towering so far above made the gorge
darken early, and rain began to fall. A little damp driftwood was
collected with which a fire was started in order that Andy might
prepare supper. When this was almost ready peal after peal of thunder
suddenly crashed among the cliffs, which seemed to collapse and fall
down upon us, and a flood from the sky descended. The fire died without
a sputter, everything not in rubber was soaked, and all we could do was
to stand in the darkness, cold and hungry, and wait for the deluge to
cease. At last we were able to start the fire once more, and had a
half-cooked supper before hunting the soft sides of the rocks for beds.
The next day it required hard work till one o’clock to get the boats
down two hundred yards farther. At one place to keep the bow in, I was
in one of the boats, being lowered along the wall, while the other men
were a hundred feet above my head, holding the end of two hundred feet
of rope, as they clambered along a ledge. The situation all around was
rather precarious, but we had no accident. This brought us to a small
alcove where there was a limited talus. The boats were so much bruised
that we were obliged to halt on these rocks for repairs, instead of
starting out again into the current as we intended. This work took so
long that darkness approached before all was done. At the same time we
discovered that the river was rising rapidly, at the rate of three or
four feet an hour, submerging the rocks. Fortunately, about twenty feet
up the cliff was a narrow shelf, and to this the rations were passed to
guard them from the rising waters. Then there was danger of the boats
pounding to pieces, as the space they were on was rapidly decreasing,
and waves from the rapid swept into the cove, so it was decided to
raise them up on the side of the wall as far as necessary. By means of
the ropes we succeeded in swinging them at a height of about six feet
and there made them fast for the night. There was not room on the ledge
for a camp, but by going out around a projection a talus was available,
though there was a dearth of wood and level spots. I managed to find
enough half-dead mesquite bushes for a fire, and Andy did his best on
the supper. One hundred feet above the river I found driftwood. To add
to the discomfort of the occasion the rain began again, and the river
continued its rise. Through the night a watch was kept on the boats, so
that they could be lifted farther if necessary. The morning of August
31st was wet and gloomy in the black gorge. Some of the rocks were
still above water, against the wall. When the boats were lowered they
pounded about at a frightful rate on the surges that swept into the
alcove. Then it was found that a hole in the _Dean_ had been forgotten
or overlooked, and she was leaking badly in the middle compartment. But
there was no chance to stop longer here for repairs, as the river
seemed to be still rising. A bag of flour was jammed against the hole,
the boat was loaded, the hatches were battened down, we grasped our
oars, and while the _Cañonita_ crew held our stern to give us a fair
start we pulled straight out as hard as we could to clear a huge rock
just below, upon which the current was fiercely dashing. Our boat was
so wet and full of water that the gunwales were barely above the
surface as we rolled heavily along through large waves. I felt very
uncertain as to whether or not she would remain afloat till we could
make a landing, but luckily she did, and we halted at the first
opportunity. This was at a talus on the right where the entire cargo
was spread out on the rocks to dry in the sun which now cheered us by
its warm rays, and the leak in the boat was stopped. The _Cañonita_
soon came down safely. She was of a slightly better build than the
_Dean_, and, with one less man in her, was able to ride more buoyantly.
It was after four o’clock before we were ready to go on, and we started
once more with a fairly tight boat, dry inside. Then we had a wild
ride. The descent was steady. For eight miles there was a continuous
rapid, accentuated by eight heavy falls. The boats sped along at high
speed, but the way being clear we did not often stop, passing two
places where the former expedition made portages. We had a glimpse of a
creek coming in on the right which looked interesting, but it was left
behind in a moment as the boats shot along between the dark granite
walls. At a quarter past five we ran up to a sand-bank where a lone
willow tree was growing. Here we made a camp. The canyon spread a
little and the wide sand-bank appeared to our eyes like a prairie. Just
below our camp there came in a muddy stream, which on the other trip
was clear and was then named Bright Angel to offset the application of
Dirty Devil to the river at the foot of Narrow Canyon.


Looking up a Side Canyon of the Grand Canyon in the Kaibab Division.
Looking up a Side Canyon of the Grand Canyon in the Kaibab Division.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


It was now the beginning of September, but the water and the air were
not so cold as they had been the year before in Cataract Canyon, and we
did not suffer from being so constantly saturated. Running on the next
day following the Bright Angel camp, we found the usual number of large
rapids, in one of which a wave struck the steering oar and knocked
Jones out of the boat all but his knees, by which he clung to the
gunwale, nearly capsizing us. We found it impossible to help him, but
somehow he got in again. The river was everywhere very swift and
turbulent. One stretch of three and a half miles we ran in fifteen
minutes. There were numerous whirlpools, but nothing to stop our
triumphant progress. On the 2d of September there were two portages,
and twenty rapids run, in the fifteen miles made during the day. Many
of these rapids were very heavy descents. That night we camped above a
bad-looking place, but it was decided to run it in the morning.
Three-quarters of a mile below camp there was a general disappearance
of the waters. We could see nothing of the great rapid from the level
of the boats, though we caught an occasional glimpse of the leaping,
tossing edges, or tops, of the huge billows rolling out beyond into the
farther depths of the chasm. About eight o’clock in the morning all was
ready for the start. The inflated life-preservers, as was customary in
our boat, were laid behind the seats where we could easily reach them.
The Major put his on, a most fortunate thing for him as it turned out,
but we who were at the oars did not for the reason before
mentioned,—that they interfered with the free handling of the boat. The
men of the _Cañonita_ took positions where they could observe and
profit by our movements. Then out into the current we pushed and were
immediately swept downward with ever-increasing speed toward the centre
of the disturbance, the black walls springing up on each side of the
impetuous waters like mighty buttresses for the lovely blue vault of
the September sky, so serenely quiet. Accelerated by the rush of a
small intervening rapid, our velocity appeared to multiply till we were
flying along like a railway train. The whole width of the river dropped
away before us, falling some twenty-five or thirty feet, at least, in a
short space. We now saw that the rapid was of a particularly difficult
nature, and the order was given to attempt a landing on some rocks at
its head, on the left. At the same instant this was seen to be
impossible. Our only safety lay in taking the plunge in the main
channel. We backwatered on our oars to check our speed a trifle, and
the next moment with a wild leap we went over, charging into the
roaring, seething, beating waves below. Wave after wave broke over us
in quick succession, keeping our standing-rooms full. The boat plunged
like a bucking broncho, at the same time rolling with fierce violence.
As rapidly as possible we bailed with our kettles, but the effort was
useless. At length, as we neared the end, an immense billow broke upon
our port bow with a resounding crack. The little craft succumbed. With
a quick careen she turned upside down, and we were in the foaming
current. I threw up my hand and fortunately grasped a spare oar that
was fastened along the outside of the boat. This enabled me to pull
myself above the surface and breathe. My felt hat had stuck to my head
and now almost suffocated me. Pushing it back I looked around. Not a
sign of life was to be seen. The river disappeared below in the dark
granite. My companions were gone. I was apparently alone in the great
chasm. But in a moment or two Powell and Hillers, who had both been
pulled down by the whirlpool that was keeping all together, shot up
like rockets beside me, and then I noticed Jones clinging to the ring
in the stern. As we told Powell, after this experience was over, he had
tried to make a geological investigation of the bed of the river, and
this was not advisable. Hillers and I climbed on the bottom of the
upturned boat, and by catching hold of the opposite gunwale, and
throwing ourselves back, we brought her right-side up. Then we two
climbed in, an operation requiring nice calculation, for she rolled so
much with the load of water that her tendency was to turn over again on
slight provocation. We bailed with our hats rapidly. There was need for
expeditious work, for we could not tell what might be around the
corner. Presently enough water was out to steady the boat, and we then
helped Powell and Jones to get in. Our oars had fortunately remained in
the rowlocks, and grasping them, without waiting to haul in the hundred
feet of line trailing in the current, we made for the left wall, where
I managed to leap out on a shelf and catch the rope over a projection,
before the _Cañonita_, unharmed, dashed up to the spot; her only mishap
was the loss of a rowlock and two oars.


A Capsize in the Grand Canyon. A Capsize in the Grand Canyon.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.


Starting once more on the swift current, we found rapids sometimes so
situated that it was difficult to make a landing for examination. At
one of these places, towards evening, a good deal of time was spent
working down to the head of an ugly looking spot which could not be
fairly seen. An enormous rock lay in the very middle at the head of the
descent. There was no landing-place till very near the plunge, and in
dropping down when we came to the point where it was planned that I
should jump out upon a projecting flat rock, a sudden lurch of the boat
due to what Stanton afterwards called fountains, and we termed boils,
caused me, instead of landing on the rock, to disappear in the rushing
waters. The current catching the boat, she began to move rapidly stern
foremost toward the fall. Powell and Jones jumped out on rocks as they
shot past, hoping to catch the line, but they could not reach it, and
Jones had all he could do to get ashore. Meanwhile I had come to the
surface, and going to the boat by means of the line which I still held,
I fairly tumbled on board. Hillers handed me one of my oars which had
come loose, and we were ready to take the fall, now close at hand,
albeit we were stern first. As we sped down, the tide carried us far up
on the huge rock, whose shelving surface sank upstream below the
surging torrent, and at the same moment turned our bow towards the
left-hand bank. Perceiving this advantage we pulled with all our
strength and shot across the very head of the rapid, running in behind
a large rock on the brink, where the boat lodged till I was able to
leap ashore, or rather to another rock where there was a footing, and
make fast the line. It was a close shave. The _Cañonita_, forewarned,
was able to let down to this place, from whence we made a portage to
the bottom the next morning. When once started again, we found
ourselves in a very narrow gorge, where for four or five miles it was
impossible to stop on account of the swift current which swept the
boats along like chaff before a gale, swinging them from one side to
the other, and often turning them round and round in the large
whirlpools despite every effort we made to prevent this performance. In
fact, we had no control of the craft in this distance, and it was
fortunate that there was nothing worse to be here encountered. The
whirlpools were the most perfect specimens I ever saw. Usually they
were about twenty feet in diameter, drawing evenly down toward the
vortex, the centre being probably about eighteen inches to two feet
below the rim. The vortex at the top was about six to ten inches in
diameter, diminishing in five or six feet to a mere point at the
bottom. Our boats were twenty-two feet long, and as they were turned
around in these whirls they about reached across them, while we could
look over the side and see the vortex sucking down every small object.
The opposite of these was the fountains, or boils, where the surface
was exactly the reverse of the whirls: a circular mass of water about
twenty feet in diameter would suddenly lift itself a foot or two above
the general surface with a boiling, swirling movement. As I remember
them they were usually the forerunners of the whirlpools.


The Grand Canyon. Looking down from Mouth of Kanab Canyon in Winter.
The Grand Canyon. Looking down from Mouth of Kanab Canyon in Winter.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.



The Outlet of the Creek in Surprise Valley, near the Mouth of Kanab
Canyon, Grand Canyon. The Outlet of the Creek in Surprise Valley, near
the Mouth of Kanab Canyon, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.


The river was still on the rise, scoring at the last camp another three
feet. With such a dashing current the time we made where we were not
compelled to move cautiously was admirable. On this day fourteen miles
were traversed, we ran twenty-three rapids, and, what pleased us most,
we saw the granite disappear, and the comfortable-looking red strata
were again beside us. The river widened somewhat, and was now about two
hundred and fifty feet. A cascade was passed on the 7th, which we
recognized as one Beaman, who had climbed up to it during the winter,
from the mouth of the Kanab, had photographed. From here to the Kanab
was ten miles, and we sailed along with lightened hearts, knowing that
our sadly depleted and half-ruined stock of rations would soon be
replenished, and that mail from the world would be delivered by the
pack-train we expected to find there. Late in the afternoon we arrived
at the narrow cleft, and our men, who had waited long, were overjoyed
to greet us once more, for, as we were several days overdue, they had
been filled with forebodings, and had made up their minds they would
never see us again.


Mouth of Kanab Canyon. Mouth of Kanab Canyon.
Abandoned boats of the U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp., 1872.
The Colorado flows just beyond the points on the left and right.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


From the Little Colorado we had travelled over ninety difficult miles,
run one hundred and thirty-one rapids, made seven portages, and let
down six times. The water had now fallen again some three feet, but it
was still so high that it had backed up into the side canyon, where we
ran the boats on account of an excellent camping-place. Sunday was
spent resting here, and Thompson took observations for time. On Monday
morning we expected to pack up again and proceed down the gorge, but
Powell, instead of directing this course, announced that he had decided
to end the river work at this point on account of the extreme high
water, which would render impassable the rapid where the Rowlands and
Dunn had left. In addition, word was brought that the Shewits were in a
state of war and had resolved to ambush us as we came down, a plot that
had been revealed by a friendly member of the tribe to Jacob Hamblin.
The ambush plan did not disturb us much, however, but the stage of
water for the beginning of the Second Granite Gorge was another matter,
and there was no telling when it would fall. It had been demonstrated
by our winter’s explorations that it would not be absolutely necessary
for us to continue below this point so far as perfecting the
topographic work was concerned, and as we were there for geographic
purposes and not for adventure, the decision was against unnecessary
risk. This decision then was, and ever since has been, a matter of
great disappointment to me, for I was ready to finish up the Grand
Canyon. It was with mingled feelings of regret and relief that I helped
unload the boats, those faithful friends, which had carried us safely
over so many miles of turbulent river, and from the constant hourly
association had almost taken on a personality, till they seemed like
members of the party. Sadly I turned my back on their familiar lines
and followed the pack-train up the narrow gorge in the direction of
Kanab.






CHAPTER XIV.




A Railway Proposed through the Canyons—The Brown Party, 1889,
Undertakes the Survey—Frail Boats and Disasters—The Dragon Claims
Three—Collapse of the Expedition—Stanton Tries the Feat Again,
1889-90—A Fall and a Broken Leg—Success of Stanton—The Dragon Still
Untrammelled.


The topographic, geologic, and geodetic work of the survey did not
cease with our departure from the river, but was continued in the
remarkable country shown in the relief map opposite page 41, till the
relationships and distances of the various features were established
and reduced to black and white. That autumn, while we were engaged in
these labours, Wheeler, with an elaborate outfit, entered the region,
pursuing his desultory operations; and, drifting along the north side
of the Grand Canyon for a little distance, he proceeded to the
neighbourhood of St. George. The following year, for some unknown
purpose, he crossed the Colorado at the Paria, though he knew that
Powell’s parties had previously mapped this area. When the winter of
1872-73 had fairly set in we established a permanent camp at Kanab,
where, under Thompson’s always efficient direction, our triangulations
and topographic notes were plotted on paper, making the first
preliminary map of that country. When this was ready, Hillers and I
took it, and crossing the southern end of the High Plateaus, then deep
with snow, we rode by way of the Sevier Valley to Salt Lake, where the
map was sent on by express to Washington, whither Powell had already
gone.


Camp at Oak Spring, Uinkaret Mountains. Camp at Oak Spring, Uinkaret
Mountains.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


Seventeen years passed away before any one again tried to navigate the
Colorado. The settling of the country, the knowledge of it Powell had
published, the completion of the Southern Pacific Railway to Yuma in
1877, and of the Atlantic and Pacific from Isleta to The Needles, in
1880-83, and of the Rio Grande Western across the Green at Gunnison
Valley, simplified travel in the Basin of the Colorado. A new railway
was then proposed from Grand Junction, Colorado, down the Colorado
River, through the Canyons to the Gulf of California, a distance of
twelve hundred miles. At that time coal was a difficult article to
procure on the Pacific Coast, and it was thought that this
“water-level” road, crossing no mountains, would be profitable in
bringing the coal of Colorado to the Golden Gate. At present coal in
abundance is to be had in the Puget Sound region, and this reason for
constructing a Grand Canyon railway is done away with. There is nothing
to support a railway through the three hundred miles of the great gorge
(or through the other two hundred miles of canyon to the Junction),
except tourist travel and the possible development of mines. These are
manifestly insufficient at the present time to warrant even a less
costly railway, which, averaging about four thousand feet below the
surface of the surrounding country, would be of little service to those
living away from its immediate line, and there is small chance to live
along the line. In addition the floods in the Grand Canyon are enormous
and capricious. Sometimes heavy torrents from cloudbursts plunge down
the sides of the canyon and these would require to be considered as
well as those of the river itself. To be absolutely safe from the
latter the line would probably require, in the Grand Canyon, to be
built at least one hundred and twenty feet above low water, so that for
the whole distance through the Marble-Grand Canyon there would seldom
be room beside the tracks for even a station. But Frank M. Brown had
faith, and a company for the construction of the Denver, Colorado
Canyon, and Pacific Railway was organised. Brown was the president, and
in 1889 he formed an expedition to Survey the line.


Mukoontuweap Canyon, North Fork of the Virgen. Mukoontuweap Canyon,
North Fork of the Virgen.
Ten miles long, 3500 feet deep.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.



Looking down the Canyon de Chelly, a Tributary of the San Juan and
Containing many Cliff Houses. Looking down the Canyon de Chelly, a
Tributary of the San Juan and Containing many Cliff Houses.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.


On March 25th the preliminary party, consisting of F. M. Brown, F. C.
Kendrick, chief engineer, and T. P. Rigney, assistant engineer, left
Denver for Grand Junction, a station on the Rio Grande Western (near
the C of Colorado, State name on map, p. 51), and the next morning set
the first stake for the new railway which was to cost the president so
dear. Then they bought a boat from the ferryman, and after repairing it
laid in a supply of rations, engaged some men, and ran a half-mile down
Grand River. Brown then left to go East in order to perfect his
arrangements for this attempt to survey a railway route through the
dangerous canyons. The boat party continued down Grand River to the
head of the canyon, twenty-four miles, and then more slowly descended
over rougher water, averaging five or six miles a day. At a distance of
forty-three miles from the start the rapids grew very bad, and at one
place they were forced to make a portage for twelve miles. At the end
of one hundred miles they came to the little Mormon settlement of Moab.
From here to the Junction of the Grand and Green was a distance of
sixty miles, and the water was the same as it is just above the
Junction, in the canyons of the Green, Stillwater, and Labyrinth, that
is, comparatively smooth and offering no obstacles except a rather
swift current. Nowhere had the cliffs risen above one thousand feet,
and the river had an average fall of five feet to the mile. This was
the first party on record to navigate, for any considerable distance,
the canyons of Grand River. From the Junction they proceeded up the
Green, towing the boat, desiring to reach the Rio Grande Western
Railway crossing, one hundred and twenty miles away. By this time their
rations were much diminished and they allowed themselves each day only
one-half the ordinary amount, at the same time going on up the river as
fast as possible, yet at the end of about eight days, when still thirty
miles from their destination, they were reduced to their last meal.
Fortunately they then arrived at the cabin of some cattlemen, Wheeler
Brothers, who, discovering their plight, put their own ample larder,
with true Western hospitality, at the surveyors’ disposal. Thus
opportunely fortified and refreshed, the men reached the railway
crossing the following night.

In reviewing all the early travels through this inhospitable region,
one is struck by the frequent neglect of the question of food-supplies.
In such a barren land, this is the item of first importance, and yet
many of the leaders treated it apparently as of slight consequence.
Great discomfort and suffering and death often followed a failure to
provide proper supplies, or, when provided, to take sufficient care to
preserve them.

On the 25th of May, 1889, Brown’s party was ready and started from the
point where the Rio Grande Western crosses Green River. There were
sixteen men and six boats. Five of the boats were new; the sixth was
the one Kendrick and Rigney had used on the Grand River trip. The chief
engineer of the proposed railway was Robert Brewster Stanton, and that
he was not in the very beginning given the entire management was most
unfortunate, for Brown himself seems not to have had a realisation of
the enormous difficulties of the task before him. But the arrangements
were completed before Stanton was engaged. All the men were surprised,
disappointed, dismayed, at the character of the boats Brown had
provided for this dangerous enterprise, and Stanton said his heart sank
at the first sight of them. They were entirely inadequate, built of
cedar instead of oak, only fifteen feet long and three feet wide, and
weighed but one hundred and fifty pounds each. They would have been
beautiful for an ordinary river, but for the raging, plunging,
tumultuous Colorado their name was suicide. Then not a life-preserver
had been brought. This neglect was another shock to the members of the
party and their friends. Stanton was urged to take one for himself, but
he declined to provide this advantage over the other men. Since then he
has been disposed to blame Powell for not telling Brown that
life-preservers are a necessity on the Colorado. It was also said that
Powell declared to Brown that they were not imperative and consequently
he is censured for the subsequent disasters. There was certainly a
misunderstanding in this, for Powell, knowing the situation from such
abundant experience, never could have said life-preservers were not
necessary, though on his first trip there was but one. In this
connection Thompson writes me: “The Major sent for me at once when Mr.
Brown called at the office. I think we talked—we three, I mean—for half
an hour, then the Major said, ‘Professor Thompson knows just as much
about the river as I do, and more about what is necessary for such a
trip; you talk with him.’ I took Mr. Brown to my room and we had a long
talk. I think the next day Mr. Brown came again. I had two interviews
with him alone. I told him distinctly that life-preservers were
necessary. I probably told him we did not wear them all the time, but I
told him we put them on at every dangerous rapid, and I showed him the
picture in the Major’s Report where we were wearing them. I clearly
remember telling him to have one arm above and one below the preserver.
I am positive about this, for after we received word of the loss of
Brown we talked it over and I recalled the conversation. He impressed
me as thinking we exaggerated the dangers of the river. He made a
memorandum of things I said. I think he also talked with Hillers, and I
have no doubt the latter told him to take life-preservers. But he had
the Report, and there is no excuse for his neglecting so indispensable
an article of the outfit. He was warned over and over again to neglect
no precaution. I distinctly remember that the Major told him in so many
words, ‘not to underestimate the dangers of the river, and to never be
caught off guard.’” On a previous page I have remarked that proper
boats and a knowledge of how to handle them are more important than
life-preservers, but that does not mean that a party should leave the
life-preservers behind. In descending the Colorado every possible
precaution must be taken. The first of these is the right kind of
boats, second, proper arrangement as to food-supplies, and, third,
life-preservers, etc. The New York _Tribune_, after the collapse of
this Brown expedition, quotes Powell in an interview as saying that he
would not have ventured in the boats Brown selected and that he thought
Brown “failed to comprehend the significant fact that nothing can get
through the Colorado Canyon that cannot float. Boats are repeatedly
upset and inferior boats are mashed like egg-shells.” Brown,
undoubtedly, was rather inclined to look upon the descent somewhat
lightly. Being a brave, energetic man it was hard for him to believe
that this river demanded so much extra prudence and caution, when
Powell had successfully descended it twice without, so far as the water
was concerned, losing a man. However, the ill-fated expedition went on
its way.


A Cave-Lake in a Sandstone Cliff near Kabab, S. Utah. A Cave-Lake in a
Sandstone Cliff near Kabab, S. Utah.
The depth from front to rear is about 125 feet. The outer opening is
the whole front of the arch. It belongs to the class of natural arches,
alcoves, bridges, “holes in the wall,” etc., common in this kind of
sandstone throughout the Southwest.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


The boats were named the Ward, the Mason, after Brown’s sons, the Mary
after his wife, and the Denver and the Colorado. On arriving they were
recalked. The bottoms were covered with copper. The party consisted of
the following persons: Frank M. Brown, president; Robert Brewster
Stanton, chief engineer; John Hislop, first assistant engineer; C. W.
Potter, T. P. Rigney, E. A. Reynolds, J. H. Hughes, W.H. Bush, Edward
Coe, Edward ——, Peter Hansborough, Henry Richards, G. W. Gibson,
Charles Potter, F. A. Nims, photographer, and J. C. Terry. The baggage
of each man was limited to twenty-five pounds. The cargoes were packed
in tight, zinc-lined boxes three feet long, with one of which each boat
was provided, but these were found to be cumbersome and heavy, the
boats being down to within one inch of the gunwales in the water, so
they were taken out and all lashed together, forming a sort of raft.
This carried about one-third of all the supplies, and all the extra
oars and rope, a most unwise arrangement from every point of view. The
nondescript craft hampered their movements, could not be controlled,
and if once it got loose everything was sure to be lost. It would have
been better to throw these boxes away at once and take what the boats
could carry and no more, but this was apparently not thought of. All
things considered, it is a wonder this party ever got through Cataract
Canyon alive. At some little rapid, after leaving the railway crossing,
the first boat stove a hole in her side, but this was readily repaired
and the party ran without further accident over the smooth stretches of
river preceding the Junction, arriving at this latter point in four
days. They were now on the threshold of Cataract Canyon. Stopping to
adjust instruments and repair boats for a day, they proceeded to the
battle with the cataracts on May 31st. For forty-one miles they would
now have their courage, muscle, and nerve put to the full test. Stanton
records seventy-five rapids and cataracts, fifty-seven of them within a
space of nineteen miles, with falls in places of sixteen to twenty
feet. This, then, was what they were approaching with these frail
craft. Two miles down they heard the roar of falling water and the
place was reconnoitred, with the result that a large rapid was found to
bar the way. The raft of provisions, and the boat that had towed it,
were on the opposite side of the river, which afforded no chance for a
camp or a portage, and a signal was made for the party to come over. A
half mile intervened between this boat and the head of the rapid, but
with the encumbering raft it was drawn down so dangerously near the
descent that, to save themselves, the rope holding the raft was cut.
Thus freed the boat succeeded in landing just at the head of the fall,
but the raft went over, and that was the end of it. The sections were
found scattered all the way through the canyon. The next twenty-eight
miles were filled with mishaps and losses. Twelve miles farther down,
the boat in which Brown, Hughes, and Reynolds were running a rapid
capsized. The men clung to her for a mile and a half and then succeeded
in getting ashore. The rapids in this part are very close together, and
to these men it seemed like one continuous cataract, which it very
nearly is. On the same day another boat containing the cooking outfit
struck a rock and went to pieces. The provisions she carried were, most
of them, contributed to the maw of the dragon to follow those of the
unfortunate raft. Sometimes the boats got away from the men altogether,
running wild, finally lodging somewhere below to be found again with
the contents missing. Soon they had so many large holes in them that
one, No. 3, had to be broken up to obtain materials for repairing the
others. Thus the party, by the time they had fairly arrived at the
deepest and worst portion of this splendid chasm, were in a sad plight,
but a plight mainly due to the original bad planning and mismanagement,
and not necessary in navigating this gorge. They seldom attempted to
cross the river, working down along one side and never entering the
boats at all except where absolutely necessary.[1] Thus they were
greatly hampered in their movements. With our boats we never gave the
crossing of the river a thought, and were in them continually, except
where a portage was demanded. We could therefore always choose our
course with as much freedom as is possible. But it must not be
forgotten that the Brown party were in Cataract Canyon about the time
of high water, while we passed through at a lower stage. This would
make a difference, low water being in all the canyons far safer, though
the work is harder on the men and the boats. By the 15th of June all
provisions had disappeared except a sack and a half of flour,
presumably one hundred pounds to the sack, a little coffee, some sugar,
and condensed milk. The flour was all baked and divided equally, each
man receiving two and one half pounds of bread, one pound of sugar, and
four ounces of coffee. At one point they fortunately found a barrel of
cut loaf-sugar amongst the driftwood. This had been lost from some
army-supplies crossing at Gunnison Valley up the Green, or up Grand
River, and they also found, a little below this, pieces of a waggon
with the skeleton of a man. These also had, of course, come from at
least a hundred miles above the Junction on the Green, or sixty miles
up the Grand, as no waggon could get to the river at any place nearer
to Cataract Canyon. The waggon-box had probably acted as a raft,
bearing its gruesome passenger all these long miles into the heart of
the mighty gorge, where the dragon stored his prize, and for many a
year treasured it among the deep shadows.

 [1] Mr. Stanton has called my attention to the fact that as he was
 running a railway survey _down one side_, he wanted to keep to that
 side the left side.


In Marble Canyon, about Midway between Paria and Little Colorado. In
Marble Canyon, about Midway between Paria and Little Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


They had still fifteen miles of Cataract Canyon and the ten miles of
the more kindly Narrow before them, and Brown was now to hurry along
and attempt to reach some placer mines at Dandy Crossing, near the
mouth of Frémont River, where there were a few miners and where some
food might be obtained. Ancient dwellings were seen all along the gorge
in the side canyons, some completely ruined, others in a fair state of
preservation, but the inhabitants had gone long ago, and no help could
be hoped for in this direction. Most of the men now became thoroughly
discouraged at the dismal prospect and wished to abandon immediately
and entirely the enterprise, but Stanton was not of that mind. The
difficulties showed him how hard it would be to do this part over
again, and he resolved to stay and finish the work as far as possible
now. His first assistant, Hislop, G. W. Gibson, the coloured cook, and
the coloured steward, H. C. Richards, volunteered to stand by him, and
the next morning the eleven others pushed on, leaving a boat for these
five to follow with. For six days this determined little crew worked
along at the rate of about four miles a day, with a ration of one small
scrap of bread, a little coffee, and some condensed milk for breakfast
and supper, and three lumps of sugar for dinner. Stanton says there was
not a murmur of discontent from the men “carrying the survey over the
rocks and cliffs on the side of the canyon, and handling the boat
through the rapids of the river. At night, when they lay down on the
sand to sleep, after a meal that was nine-tenths water and hope and
one-tenth bread and coffee, it was without complaint.” Relief was had
on the sixth day, when they met a boat being towed up with provisions.
This was near the end of Narrow Canyon. At one point in the lower part
of Cataract they passed a place where, on a rock surface about six feet
above the level of the water, they saw the inscription, “D.
JULIEN—1836.” They thought it could have been cut only from a boat or
raft, and concluded that it was done by a party of Canadians which they
heard had tried to explore this country at that early day. This
inscription occurs also in two other known places, near the lower part
of Stillwater Canyon (four or five miles above mouth of Grand River),
and farther up, about the middle of Bowknot Bend, Labyrinth Canyon,
Green River. (See cut, page 352.) At Dandy Crossing, the party rested a
few days, the boats were repaired, and fresh supplies of food
purchased. They met near here Jack Sumner, of Powell’s first party.
From this place to the head of Marble Canyon, the mouth of the Paria,
it is plain and easy going, at least for any one who has been through
Cataract Canyon. Brown and Stanton went ahead with six men, the others
coming along later with the survey.


Marble Canyon, Lower Portion. Marble Canyon, Lower Portion.
Walls about 3500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


At Dandy Crossing three of the party left the river—J. N. Hughes, J. C.
Terry, and T. P. Rigney. One man joined the party, Harry McDonald, a
frontiersman and an experienced boatman. At Lee Ferry, Reynolds left
and Brown went to Kanab for supplies, for Dandy Crossing was not a
metropolis, and more rations were needed before venturing to enter the
Grand Canyon. Only one transit instrument was left, and it was decided
that Brown, Stanton, Hislop, McDonald, Hansborough, Richards, Gibson,
and Nims, the photographer, should form the party to proceed, making an
examination, taking notes and photographs, but not attempting an
instrumental survey. Brown returned from Kanab by July 9th, and an
immediate start was made with the three boats,—boats entirely unfitted
for the work in Cataract Canyon, and tenfold more inadequate for the
giant gorge, with its terrible descents, now before them. It seems a
pity they did not realise this and leave the continuation of the work
till proper boats could be had, but it appears as if they again
underestimated the dangers of the river. At any rate they went bravely
forward with a courage that deserved a better reward. The first ugly
rapids in Marble Canyon are the two near together about ten miles below
Lee’s Ferry, where the prospectors met their punishment early in July,
1872. These the Brown party reached safely, and made the necessary
portages, camping at the foot of the Soap Creek or lower fall. Brown
appeared to feel lonely and troubled, and asked Stanton to come and sit
by his bed and talk. They smoked and talked till a late hour about home
and the prospect for the next day. Brown’s wife and two children were
at this time travelling in Europe and probably the thought of them so
far away made him somewhat blue. Then, if he had before thought that
this canyon would be easy, the nature of the rapids around him served
to undeceive his mind. The deepening gorge, inadequate boats, and
increasingly bad rapids probably affected his nerves, for that night he
dreamed of the rapids, and this troubled him so much that he mentioned
it to Stanton in the morning. Breakfast over, they went on. We had
camped at the head of the Soap Creek Rapids, and this party at the
foot. In the first rapid below, which was one of five that we easily
ran before stopping for dinner, Brown’s boat was capsized. He and his
oarsman McDonald, were thrown out on opposite sides, McDonald into the
current and Brown unfortunately into the eddy, where he was drawn under
by one of the whirlpools numerous in this locality, and was never seen
again. A half-minute later Stanton’s boat passed the spot, but all he
saw was the lost leader’s note-book on the surface of the angry waters
which had so suddenly swallowed up its owner. The whole day long the
party sat sadly watching the place to see if the treacherous river
would give up the dead, but darkness fell in the gorge, and the
Colorado dashed along toward the sea as if no boat had ever touched its
relentless tide. What was one man more or less to this great dragon’s
maw! For three days after the others battled their way along without
further disaster, and then came Sunday, when they rested. On Monday,
while Stanton and Nims were making notes and photographs, the men were
to finish up the lower end of the second of two very bad rapids where
portages were made. Stanton’s boat, containing Hansborough and
Richards, was following the first boat, which had made the stretch with
difficulty because the current set against the left-hand cliff. The
second boat was driven against the foot of this wall under an
overhanging shelf, and in the attempt to push her off she was capsized
and Hansborough never rose again. Richards, who was a strong swimmer,
made some distance down-stream, but before the first boat could reach
him he sank, and that was the end for him. This terrible disaster,
added to the death of Brown, and the foolhardiness of proceeding
farther with such boats as they had, forced the decision which should
have been made at Lee’s Ferry. Stanton resolved to leave the river, but
with the determination to return again to battle with the dragon at the
earliest opportunity. The next thing was to get out of the canyon. They
searched for some side canyon leading in from the north, by means of
which they might return to the world, and just above Vesey’s Paradise
they found it and spent their last night in Marble Canyon at that
point. From the rapid where Brown was lost, to Vesey’s Paradise, my
diary records that on our expedition of 1872 we ran twenty-six rapids,
let down four times, and made two portages, all without any particular
difficulty. I mention this merely to show the difference proper boats
make in navigating this river, for the season was nearly the same;
Brown was there in July and we in August, both the season of high
water. The night passed by Stanton and his disheartened but courageous
band at Vesey’s Paradise was long to be remembered, for one of the
violent thunderstorms frequent in the canyon in summer, came up. The
rain fell in floods, while about midnight the storm culminated in a
climax of fury. Stanton says that in all his experience in the Western
mountains he never heard anything like it. “Nowhere has the awful
grandeur equalled that night in the lonesome depths of what was to us
death’s canyon.” The next day was fair, and by two in the afternoon,
July 19th, they were on the surface of the country, twenty-five hundred
feet above the river, and that night reached a cattle ranch.


Looking West from Jacob’s Pool on Road to Lee’s Ferry. Vermilion Cliffs
in Distance. Looking West from Jacob’s Pool on Road to Lee’s Ferry.
Vermilion Cliffs in Distance.
The “Jacob” after whom the pool was named was Jacob Hamblin. This is
the country Stanton was in after leaving the river.
Photograph by W. BELL.


By November 25th of the same year (1889) the indefatigable Stanton had
organised a new party to continue the railway survey. He still had
confidence in the scheme, and he refused to give up. And this time the
boats were planned with some regard to the waters upon which they were
to be used. McDonald was sent to superintend their building at the
boatyard of H. H. Douglas & Co., Waukegan, Illinois. There were three,
each twenty-two feet long, the same as our boats, four and one-half
feet beam, and twenty-two inches deep, and each weighed 850 pounds.
They were built of half-inch oak, on plans furnished by Stanton, with
ribs one-and-one-half by three-quarters of an inch, placed four inches
apart, all copper fastened. Each boat had ten separate air-tight
galvanised-iron compartments running around the sides, and they were so
arranged that the canned goods could be put under the foot-boards for
ballast. There was a deck fore and aft, and there were life-lines along
the sides. They were certainly excellent boats, and while in some
respects I think our model was better, especially because the two
transverse bulkheads amidships in ours tended to make their sides very
strong and stiff, yet these boats of Stanton’s were so good that the
men would be safe as long as they handled them correctly. Cork
life-preservers of the best quality were provided, and the order was
for each man to wear his whenever in rough or uncertain water. All
stores and provisions were packed in water-tight rubber bags, made like
ocean mail-sacks, expressly for the purpose. The expedition was thus
well provided.


Tapeets Creek. Tapeets Creek.
Character of some of the tributary valleys of the north side of the
Grand Canyon through the Kaibab section. The extreme height of the
north wall is seen in the distance. A considerable valley intervenes
between it and the river.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


From the railway[2] the boats were hauled on waggons to the mouth of
Crescent Creek near Frémont River, so as to avoid doing Cataract Canyon
over again. There were twelve men, of whom four had been with the Brown
party. They were R. B. Stanton, Langdon Gibson, Harry McDonald, and
Elmer Kane, in boat No. 1, called the _Bonnie Jean_, John Hislop F. A.
Nims, Reginald Travers, and W. H. Edwards in boat No. 2, called the
_Lillie;_ and A. B. Twining, H. G. Ballard, L. G. Brown, and James
Hogue, the cook, in the _Marie_, boat No. 3. Christmas dinner was eaten
at Lee’s Ferry, with wild flowers picked that day for decoration. On
the 28th they started into the great canyon, passed the old wreck of a
boat and part of a miner’s outfit, and on the 31st reached the rapid
where Brown was lost. It was now the season of low water, and the rapid
appeared less formidable, though on entering it the place was seen to
be in general the same, yet the water was nine feet lower. The next day
Nims, the photographer, fell from a ledge a distance of twenty-two
feet, receiving a severe jar and breaking one of his legs just above
the ankle. The break was bandaged, and one of the boats being so loaded
that there was a level bed for the injured man to lie on, they ran down
about two miles to a side canyon coming in from the north. By means of
this Stanton climbed out, walked thirty-five miles to Lee’s Ferry, and
brought a waggon back to the edge. Nims was placed on an improvised
stretcher, and carried up the cliffs, four miles in distance and
seventeen hundred feet in altitude. At half-past three in the afternoon
the surface was reached. Twice the stretcher had to be swung along by
ropes where there was no footing, and twice had to be perpendicularly
lifted ten or fifteen feet. No one was injured. Nims was taken to Lee’s
Ferry and left with W. M. Johnson, who had been a member of our land
parties during the winter of 1871-72, and who had come with the
_Cañonita_ party through Glen Canyon. Nims was in good hands. After
this accident Stanton was obliged to assume the duties of photographer
and took some seven hundred and fifty views without previous
experience.

 [2] The Rio Grande Western. The route was west of the river.


The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
In the First Granite Gorge. Upper walls are not seen. Those in sight
are 1000 to 1200 feet. Above they rise in terraces to between 5000 and
6000.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


By January 13th they had arrived at Point Retreat, where the canyon had
before been abandoned, and here they found the supplies and blankets
they had cached in a marble cave in perfect condition. The new boats
were so well suited to the river work that they were able to run most
of the rapids just as we had done, often going at the rate of fifteen
miles an hour, and sometimes by actual measurement, twenty. Ten miles
below Point Retreat, and twenty-five miles above the Little Colorado,
when they were going into camp one evening they discovered the body of
Peter Hansborough. The next morning, with a brief ceremony, they buried
the remains at the foot of the cliff, carving his name on the face of
the rock, and a point opposite was named after the unfortunate man.
From Point Hansborough the canyon widens, “the marble benches retreat,
new strata of limestone, quartzite, and sandstone come up from the
river,” writes Stanton, “and the débris forms a talus equal to a
mountain slope. Here the bottoms widen into little farms covered with
green grass and groves of mesquite, making a most charming summer
picture, in strong contrast with the dismal narrow canyons above.” They
then passed the Little Colorado and entered the Grand Canyon proper,
meeting with a lone prospector in the wide portion just below the
Little Colorado, the only person they had seen in any of the canyons
traversed.


The Great Unconformity. The Great Unconformity.
Top of the Granite, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.


Arriving at the First Granite Gorge (Archæan formation), they were at
the beginning of the wildest stretch of river of all, perhaps the
wildest to be found anywhere, the fall in the first ten miles averaging
twenty-one feet to the mile, the greatest average except in Lodore and
a portion of Cataract, and as this descent is not spread over the ten
miles, but occurs in a series of falls with comparatively calm water
between, it is not hard to picture the conditions. Stanton also
pronounces these rapids of the First Granite Gorge the most powerful he
saw, except two in the Second Granite Gorge. On January 29th they had
cautiously advanced till they were before the great descent some of our
party had called the Sockdologer, the heaviest fall on the river, about
eighty feet in a third of a mile. They proceeded all along in much the
same careful fashion as we had done, and as everyone who hopes to make
this passage alive must proceed. The water being low, they were able to
let their boats by line over the upper end of the Sockdologer with
safety, but, in attempting to continue, the _Marie_ was caught by a
cross-current and thrown against the rocks, turned half over, filled
with water, and jammed tightly between two boulders lying just beneath
the surface. In winter, the air in the canyon is not very cold, but the
river coming so swiftly from the far north is, and the men with lines
about their waists who tried to go through the rushing waist-deep water
found it icy. Taking turns, they succeeded with a grappling-hook in
getting out the cargo, losing only two sacks of provisions, but though
they laboured till dark they were not able to move the boat. Giving her
up for lost, they tried to secure a night’s rest on the sharp rocks.
Had a great rise in the river occurred now the party would have been in
a terrible predicament, but though it rose a few days later it spared
them on this occasion. It came up only two feet, and this was a
kindness, for it lifted the _Marie_ so that they were able to pull her
out of the vise. When they saw her condition, however, they were
dismayed for one side was half gone, and the other was smashed in. The
keel remained whole. By cutting four feet out of the centre and drawing
the ends together, five days’ hard work made practically another boat.
They were then able to proceed, and, going past Bright Angel Creek,
arrived on February 6th at what Stanton describes as “the most powerful
and unmanageable rapid” on the river. This, I believe, was the place
where we were capsized. Thompson at that time, before we ran it,
declared it looked to him like the worst rapid we had encountered but
at the stage of water then prevailing we could not get near it. Stanton
wisely made a portage, of the supplies and let the boats down by lines.
His boat, the _Bonnie Jean_, played all sorts of pranks, rushing out
into the current, ducking and diving under water, and finally floating
down sideways. Then they thought they would try what Stanton calls
Powell’s plan of shooting a boat through and catching it below. Such a
harum-scarum method was never used on our expedition, and I never heard
Powell suggest that it was on the first. Stanton cites as authority one
of Powell’s statements in the Report. At any rate in this instance it
was as disastrous as might have been expected. The poor _Marie_ was
again the sufferer, and came out below “in pieces about the size of
toothpicks.” The _Lillie_ was then carried down and reached the river
beyond in safety. A day or two after this McDonald decided to leave the
party, and started up a little creek coming in from the north, to climb
out to the plateau, and make his way to Kanab. This he succeeded in
doing after several days of hard work and tramping through the heavy
snow on the plateau. The other ten men concluded to remain with Stanton
and they all went on in the two boats. Several days later they passed
the mouth of the Kanab. The terrible First Granite Gorge was well
behind them. But now the river began to rise. Before reaching the Kanab
it rose four feet and continued to rise for two days and nights,
altogether some ten or twelve feet. A little below the Kanab, where the
canyon is very narrow, they came upon a peculiar phenomenon. They heard
a loud roar and saw breakers ahead. Thinking it a bad rapid, they
landed immediately on some rocks, and, going along these to examine the
place, the breakers had disappeared, but as they stood in amazement
there suddenly arose at their feet the same huge waves, twelve or
fifteen feet high and one hundred and fifty feet long, across the
river, “rolling down-stream like great sea waves, and breaking in white
foam with a terrible noise.” These waves, as was later ascertained,
were the result of a cloudburst on the headwaters of the Little
Colorado, and indicate what might be expected in here in the event of a
combination of such waves with the highest stage of water. The next day
they were diminished, and the river fell somewhat, but it was still so
powerful they could barely control the boats and had a wild and
tumultuous ride, sometimes being almost bodily thrown out of the boats.
By this time their rations were getting low, but by pushing on as fast
as possible they reached Diamond Creek on March 1st, where supplies
were planned to meet them. Remaining there ten days to recuperate they
went on with only eight men, three concluding to leave at this place.
The Second Granite Gorge begins about eighteen miles above Diamond
Creek, and is about thirty miles long. It is much like the First
Granite Gorge, being the same formation, excepting that it is shorter
and that the declivity of the river is not so great. From Diamond Creek
down to the end of the canyon is about fifty miles. It is a bad
stretch, and contains some heavy falls which, as the river was still
somewhat high, were often impossible to get around, and they were
obliged to run them. The stage of water in both these Granite Gorges
makes a great difference in the character of the falls. For example, in
the Second Gorge, when Wheeler made his precarious journey in 1871, he
was able, coming from below, to surmount the rapids along the sides
with two of his boats, because the water happened to be at a stage that
permitted this, whereas Stanton found it impossible to pass some of
them without running, and Powell found the one that split his party the
same way. So it appears that one day finds these gorges easier or
harder than another; but at their easiest they are truly fearful
places. At one of the worst falls Stanton’s boat suddenly crashed upon
a rock that projected from the shore, and there she hung, all the men
being thrown forward. The boat filled and stuck fast, while the great
waves rolled over her and her crew. Stanton tried to straighten himself
up, and was taken in the back by a breaker and washed out of the craft
altogether into a whirlpool, and finally shot to the surface fifty feet
farther down. He had on his cork jacket and was saved, though he was
ducked again and carried along swiftly by the tremendous current. The
second boat had better luck and came through in time to pick Stanton
up. The damaged boat was gotten off with a hole in her side ten by
eighteen inches, which was closed by a copper patch, at the first
chance, the air chambers having kept the craft afloat. After this the
bad rapids were soon ended, and on the morning of March 17th (1890) the
party emerged into an open country and upon a peaceful, quiet river.
Continuing down through Black and the other canyons, and through the
intervening valleys, they reached, on the 26th of April, the salt tide
where Alarçon, three and a half centuries earlier, had first put a keel
upon these turbulent waters, the only party thus far to make the entire
passage from the Junction to the sea. And as yet no one has made the
complete descent from Green River Valley to the counter-current of the
Tidal Bore, so if there is any reader who desires to distinguish
himself here is a feat still open to him.


Looking up the Grand Canyon, at the Foot of Toroweap, Uinkaret
Division. Looking up the Grand Canyon, at the Foot of Toroweap,
Uinkaret Division.
Depth of inner gorge about 3000 feet—width, brink to brink, about 3500
feet.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.



The Grand Canyon—Lava Falls. The Grand Canyon—Lava Falls.
Just below the Toroweap. Total depth of canyon about 4500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.



On the Bright Angel Trail. On the Bright Angel Trail.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.


Stanton deserves much praise for his pluck and determination and good
judgment in carrying this railway survey to a successful issue,
especially after the discouraging disasters of the first attempt. He
holds the data and believes the project will some day be carried out.
From the foregoing pages the reader may judge the probabilities in the
case.

Since the Stanton party several descents successful and unsuccessful
have been made. The first was the “Best party,” representing the
Colorado Grand Canyon Mining and Improvement Company, with eight men
and two boats similar to those used by Stanton. The expedition left
Green River, Utah, July 10, 1891. The members were James S. Best, Harry
McDonald, John Hislop, William H. Edwards, Elmer Kane, L. H. Jewell, J.
H. Jacobs, A. J. Gregory, and J. A. McCormick. Four of these, Hislop,
McDonald, Kane, and Edwards had been with Mr. Stanton, to whom I am
indebted for this information. The men had cork life-jackets. In
Cataract Canyon one boat was wrecked but no one was lost, and they made
their way to Lee Ferry with the remaining boat and there abandoned the
expedition.

In 1891, a steam launch, the _Major Powell_, thirty-five feet long,
with two six-horsepower engines driving twin screws was brought out in
the summer from Chicago by way of the Rio Grande Western Railway to the
crossing of Green River, and there launched in September of that year.
A screw was soon broken, and the attempt to go down the river
abandoned. In 1892 another effort was made, but this also was given up
after a few miles. But in 1893, W. H. Edwards, who had been with the
Stanton party, together with L. H. Johnson and some others, took the
_Major Powell_ down to the Junction and back, making a second trip in
April. The round trip took fourteen days. They also went up the Grand
some distance. Entering the jaws of Cataract Canyon they went to the
head of the first rapid. On trying to return the current proved almost
too much for the power. With block and tackle to help the engines they
finally got above the swift water, and had no further serious trouble.
Mr. Johnson says the launch came near being wrecked. Several other
steam craft were later put on the river, the Undine being the most
pretentious (see cut, page 390). She was wrecked trying to run up a
rapid on Grand River above Moab. In 1894 Lieut. C. L. Potter made an
unsuccessful attempt to go from Diamond Creek to the mouth of the
Virgin, September 20th, 1895, N. Galloway and William Richmond started
from Green River, Wyoming, and went down in flat, bottomed boats to Lee
Ferry. September, 1896, they started again from Henry’s Fork, Wyoming,
and went to the Needles reaching there February 10, 1897. Since that
time Galloway has made several successful descents. In August, 1896,
George F. Flavell and a companion left Green River, Wyoming, and
successfully descended to Yuma in flat-bottomed boats, reaching there
December, 1896.

In 1907, three miners, Charles Russell, E. R. Monett, and Albert Loper,
with three steel boats each sixteen feet long, left Green River, Utah,
September 20th, to make the descent. Loper and one damaged boat were
left at Hite near the mouth of Frémont river, while Russell and Monett
proceeded. In the beginning of the Grand Canyon they lost a boat, but
with the remaining one after various disasters, they finally made their
exit from the Grand Canyon, January 31, 1908. Their boats of steel were
about the most unsuitable of any ever put on the river. They carried a
copy of this volume all the way through and found it of value.

A view of the Grand Canyon may now be had without risk or discomfort of
any kind, as the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fé Railway runs trains
direct to Hotel Tovar at the very edge of the gorge at one of the
grandest portions, opposite Bright Angel Creek. There are several
trails in this region leading down to the river besides the one from
the hotel. It is always a hard climb for those unaccustomed to
mountaineering. From the north, for any who are fond of camping, an
interesting trip may be made from Modena on the Salt Lake to Los
Angeles Railway via St. George to the Toroweap and the Kaibab country,
though this is a matter of several weeks, and necessitates an outfit.

The Grand Canyon may be crossed at two points, Bright Angel Trail and
Bass’s Trail, and the heights of the north rim gained in that manner
though it is not an easy trip.

In a general way we have now traced the whole history of the discovery
and exploration of this wonderful river, which after nearly four
centuries still flings defiance at the puny efforts of man to cope with
it, while its furious waters dash on through the long, lonely gorges,
as untrammelled to-day as they were in the forgotten ages. Those who
approach it respectfully and reverently are treated not unkindly, but
woe and disaster await all others. The lesson of these pages is plain,
and the author commends it to all who hereafter may be inspired to add
their story to this Romance of the Colorado River.

Agreement made by Major Powell with men of his first expedition. From a
copy in the handwriting of one of the party.

(COPY) This agreement made this twenty-fifth day of February,
eighteen-hundred-and-sixty-nine, between J. W. Powell, party of the
first part, and J. C. Sumner, W. H. Dunn, and O. G. Howland, party of
the second part, witnesseth, that the said party of the second part
agree to do the following work, respectively, for the party of the
first part, namely: J. C. Sumner agrees to do all necessary work
required with the sextant; W. H. Dunn to make barometrical observations
night and morning of each day, when required, also to make observations
when needed for determining altitude of walls of the Cañon, also to
make not more than sixty-two hourly series of not more than eight days
each, he to have the aid of an assistant for the last two mentioned
classes of observations; O. G. Howland to make a topographical drawing
of the course of the rivers. The above and foregoing work to be
performed during the proposed exploration of the Green River, from
Green River City, Wyoming Territory, to the Colorado River, and of the
Colorado River from that point to Callville, (blank space left here
evidently for the insertion of the name of the territory in which
Callville was situated. F.S.D.) ———; the party of the second part to
perform the foregoing work to the best of their ability; the party of
the second part also agreeing to do a fair proportion of the work
necessary in getting supplies and boats safely through the channels of
the aforementioned rivers, for use of the expedition; and also agreeing
to save for specimens for stuffing, for the party of the first part,
all suitable skins of animals which they may collect while engaged in
the above exploration of the Green and Colorado rivers, J. W. Powell,
party of the first part, agreeing to allow the party of the second part
five days at one time for prospecting for gold and silver, if not too
often; also to allow thirty days to the party of the second part for
hunting and trapping between the first day of September and the first
day of December, eighteen-hundred-and-sixty-nine, and sixty days
between the first day of January and the first day of June,
eighteen-hundred-and-seventy; the party of the first part also agreeing
to pay to the party of the second part, respectively, twenty-five
dollars each per month for the time employed in all such service, and
also agreeing to pay in addition the annexed prices for all skins
procured for him by the party of the second part; J. W. Powell, the
party of the first part, to furnish boats, supplies, ammunition, etc.,
sufficient for the use of the expedition. This agreement to go into
effect the first day of June eighteen-hundred-and-sixty-nine, and not
to continue over one year.

Should it be necessary to proceed on the journey, without delay on
account of disaster to boats or loss of rations, then the time
specified for hunting may not be required by either party, nor shall it
be deemed a failure of contract to furnish supplies should such
supplies be lost in transit.

   J. C. Sumner               J.W. Powell William H. Dunn            In
   Charge of Col. River Ex. O. G. Howland
   Deer . .  $1.25 each  Martin .$1.50 each  Weasel                $.35
   each Sheep .    1.25  "    Otter    3.50  "    Bear (grown grizzly)
   10.00  " Antelope   1.00  "    Beaver   1.00  "    " cub   . . .    
       1.00  " Elk . .    2.00  "    Wildcat   .50  "    grown cinnamon
          5.00  " Wolf (grey)1.00  "    Porcupine .50  "    " cub   . .
   .         1.00  " "  coyote   .50  "    Squirrel  .35  "    grown
   black . .       3.00  " Fox (cross)1.50  "    Rabbit    .35  "    "
   cub  . . .          1.00  " " red .  .  .75  "    Woodchuck .35  "
   Mink. .    1.50  "    Badger    .50  "
   and all other skins at proportionate rates.







EPILOGUE




Major Powell had kindly consented to write an introduction to this
volume wherein I have inadequately presented scenes from the great
world-drama connected with the Colorado River of the West, but a
prolonged illness prevented his doing any writing whatever, and on
September 23, 1902, while, indeed, the compositor was setting the last
type of the book, a funeral knell sounded at Haven, Maine, his summer
home, and the most conspicuous figure we have seen on this stage, the
man whose name is as inseparable from the marvellous canyon-river as
that of De Soto from the Mississippi, or Hendrik Hudson from the placid
stream which took from him its title, started on that final journey
whence there is no returning. A distinguished cortege bore the remains
across the Potomac, laying them in a soldier’s grave in the National
Cemetery at Arlington. Thus the brave sleeps with the brave on the
banks of the river of roses, a stream in great contrast to that other
river far in the West where only might be found a tomb more appropriate
within sound of the raging waters he so valiantly conquered.

In the history of the United States the place of John Wesley Powell is
clear.[1] A great explorer, he was also foremost among men of science
and probably he did more than any other single individual to direct
Governmental scientific research along proper lines. His was a
character of strength and fortitude. A man of action, his fame will
endure as much by his deeds as by his contributions to scientific
literature. Never a seeker for pecuniary rewards his life was an
offering to science, and when other paths more remunerative were open
to him he turned his back upon them. He believed in sticking to one’s
vocation and thoroughly disapproved of wandering off in pursuit of
common profit. The daring feat of exploring the canyons of the Colorado
was undertaken for no spectacular effect or pecuniary reward, but was
purely a scientific venture in perfect accord with the spirit of his
early promise. As G. K. Gilbert remarks in a recent number of
_Science_[2] it was “of phenomenal boldness and its successful
accomplishment a dramatic triumph. It produced a strong impression on
the public mind and gave Powell a national reputation which was
afterwards of great service, although based on an adventurous episode
by no means essential to his career as an investigator.” The qualities
which enabled him so splendidly to perform his many self-imposed tasks
were an inheritance from his parents, who possessed more than ordinary
intelligence. Joseph Powell, his father, had a strong will, deep
earnestness, and indomitable courage, while his mother, Mary Dean, with
similar traits possessed also remarkable tact and practicality. Both
were English born, the mother well educated, and were always leaders in
the social and educational life of every community where they dwelt.
Especially were they prominent in religious circles, the father being a
licensed exhorter in the Methodist Episcopal Church. Both were
intensely American in their love and admiration of the civil
institutions of the United States and both were strenuously opposed to
slavery, which was flourishing in America when they arrived in 1830.
For a time they remained in New York City and then removed to the
village of Palmyra whence they went to Mount Morris, Livingston County,
New York, where, on March 24, 1834, the fourth of their nine children,
John Wesley, was born. Because of the slavery question Joseph Powell
left the Methodist Episcopal Church on the organisation of the Wesleyan
Methodist Church and became a regularly ordained preacher in the
latter. It was in this atmosphere of social, educational, political,
and religious fervor that the future explorer grew up. When he was four
or five years old the family moved to Jackson, Ohio, and then, in 1846,
went on westward to South Grove, Walworth County, Wisconsin, where a
farm was purchased. They were in prosperous circumstances, and the boy
was active in the management of affairs, early exhibiting his trait for
doing things well. His ploughing, stack-building, and business ability
in disposing advantageously of the farm products and in purchasing
supplies at the lake ports received the commendation of the
countryside.

 [1] I am indebted to Major Powell’s brother-in-law, Prof. A. H.
 Thompson, for many of the facts herein stated, and for revision of
 dates to his brother Prof. W. B. Powell.


 [2] October 10, 1902.


Canyon John Wesley Powell.
1834–1902.


His early education was such as the country schools provided. He later
studied at Janesville, Wisconsin, earning his board by working nights
and mornings. His parents ever held before him the importance of
achieving the highest education possible. Thus he continually turned to
books, and while his oxen were eating or resting, he was absorbed in
some illuminating volume. In 1851 his family removed to Bonus Prairie,
Boone County, Illinois, where a larger farm had been purchased. About
1853 the Wesleyan College was established at Wheaton, Illinois, and the
family removed there in order to take advantage of the opportunities
afforded. The father became one of the trustees and Powell entered the
preparatory classes. With intervals of teaching and business pursuits,
he continued here till 1855, when, largely through the influence of the
late Hon. John Davis, of Kansas, he entered the preparatory department
of Illinois College at Jacksonville, Illinois. Thus far he had shown no
special aptitude for the natural sciences, though he was always a close
observer of natural phenomena. His ambition at this period, which was
also in accord with the dearest wishes of his parents, was to complete
his college course and enter the ministry. Illinois College not
possessing a theological atmosphere after a year spent there he
departed, and in 1857 began a course of study at Oberlin College, Ohio.
Among his studies there was botany, and in this class Powell at last
discovered himself and his true vocation—the investigation of natural
science. He became an enthusiastic botanist and searched the woods and
swamps around Oberlin with the same zeal and thoroughness which always
characterised his work. He made an almost complete herbarium of the
flora of the county, organising the class into a club to assist in its
collection. In the summer of 1858, having returned to Wheaton,
Illinois, where the family had settled in 1854, he joined the Illinois
State Natural History Society, then engaged in conducting a natural
history survey of the State through the voluntary labour of its
members. To Powell was assigned the department of conchology. This work
he entered upon with his usual application and made the most complete
collection of the mollusca of Illinois ever brought together by one
man. Incidentally, botany, zoology, and mineralogy received attention,
and in these lines he secured notable collections. With the broad
mental grasp which was a pronounced trait, he perceived that these
studies were but parts of the greater science of geology, which he then
announced, to at least one of his intimate friends, was to be the
science to which he intended to devote his life. The next year was
given to study, teaching, and lecturing, usually on some topic
connected with geology.

In the spring of 1860, on a lecturing tour, he visited some of the
Southern States, and while there closely observed the sentiment of the
people on the subject of slavery, with the result that he expressed the
conviction that nothing short of war could settle the matter. In the
summer of 1860 he became principal of the public schools of Hennepin,
Illinois. These he organised, graded, and taught with a vigour which
was characteristic, yet never forgetting his geological investigations
in the neighbouring country, where, on Saturdays and at other times
when the schools were not in session, he made botanical and zoological
collections.

Convinced that war was inevitable, the winter of 1860-61 found him
studying military tactics and engineering. When the call came for
troops, he was the first man to enroll, and largely through his efforts
Company H of the 20th Regiment, Illinois Infantry, was raised in Putnam
County. When the regiment was organised at Joliet, Illinois, he was
appointed sergeant-major, and in this capacity went to the front. When
the force was sent to Cape Girardeau, Missouri, his prescience in
studying military engineering made him invaluable. He was practically
given charge of planning and laying out and constructing the
fortifications at that place, a work he executed so well that it
received the unqualified commendation of General Frémont. The second
lieutenant of Company H resigning, Powell was elected to fill the
vacancy. After a service of a few weeks with his company he was put in
charge of the fortifications he had constructed, being retained in this
post after the departure of his regiment. In the early winter of
1861-62 he recruited a company of artillery, largely from loyal
Missourians. This company was mustered into service as Battery F, 2d
Illinois Artillery, John Wesley Powell, Captain. After drilling a few
weeks he was ordered to proceed with his battery to Pittsburg Landing,
Tennessee, where he arrived the latter part of March, 1862. The battery
took part in the battle of Shiloh, April 6th of that year, and during
the engagement, as Powell raised his arm, a signal to fire, a rifle
ball struck his hand at the wrist glancing toward the elbow. The
necessary surgery was done so hastily that later a second operation was
imperative, which left him with a mere stump below the elbow-joint.
Never for long at a time afterward was he free from pain and only a few
years ago a third operation was performed which brought relief.

As soon as the original wound was healed he went back to his command,
assisting as Division Chief of Artillery in the siege of Vicksburg.
After the fall of this place he took part in the Meridian Raid. Then he
served on detached operations at Vicksburg, Natchez, and New Orleans
until the summer of 1864, when he was re-assigned to the former command
in the Army of the Tennessee. In all the operations after the fall of
Atlanta he bore an active part, and when Sherman commenced the march to
the sea, Powell was sent back to General Thomas at Nashville, in
command of twenty batteries of artillery. At the battle of Nashville he
served on the staff of Thomas and continued with this command till
mustered out in the early summer of 1865. As a soldier his career was
marked by a thorough study and mastery not only of the details of
military life, but of military science. Especially was he apt in
utilising material at hand to accomplish his ends—a trait that was also
prominent in his civil life. Bridges he built from cotton-gin houses,
mantelets for his guns from gunny bags and old rope, and shields for
his sharpshooters from the mould-boards of old ploughs found on the
abandoned plantations. All this time wherever possible he continued his
studies in natural science. He made a collection of fossils unearthed
in the trenches around Vicksburg, land and river shells from the
Mississippi swamps, and a large collection of mosses while on detached
duty in Illinois. He also familiarised himself with the geology of
regions through which the armies passed to which he was attached. Time
and again he was commended for his services and declined promotion to
higher rank in other arms of the service. “He loved the scarlet facings
of the artillery, and there was something in the ranking of batteries
and the power of cannon,” writes Thompson, “that was akin to the
workings of his own mind.”

In 1862 he was married to his cousin, Miss Emma Dean, of Detroit, who
still lives in Washington with their daughter, an only child. Mrs.
Powell was often his companion in the army and early Western journeys.
Upon the return of Powell to civil life in 1865 he was tendered a
nomination to a lucrative political office in Du Page County, Illinois,
and at the same time he was offered the chair of geology in the
Wesleyan University, a struggling Methodist College at Bloomington,
Illinois. There was no hesitation on his part. He declined the
political honour and its emoluments and accepted the professorship,
which he retained two years. At the session of the Illinois Legislature
in 1867 a bill was passed, largely through his effort, creating a
professorship of geology and natural history in the State Normal
University at Normal, Illinois, with a salary of fifteen hundred
dollars and an appropriation of one thousand dollars annually to
increase the geological and zoological collections. He was elected to
this chair and at about the same time was also chosen curator of the
Illinois State Natural History Society, whose collections were
domiciled in the museum of the Normal University. Attracted by the Far
West as a field for profitable scientific research, the summer of 1867
found him using his salary and the other available funds to defray the
expense of an expedition to the then Territory of Colorado for the
purpose of securing collections. He organised and outfitted at
Plattsmouth, Nebraska. All his assistants were volunteers except the
cook. A. H. Thompson, afterwards so closely associated with him in the
detailed exploration of the Colorado and in subsequent survey work, was
the entomologist of the party. They crossed the plains with mule teams
to Denver, worked along the east slope of the Front Range, climbed
Pike’s Peak, and went westerly as far as South Park. Without realising
it, apparently, Powell was all these years steadily approaching the
great exploit of his life, as if led on and prepared by some unseen
power. Now the project of exploring the mysterious gorges of which he
heard such wonderful tales dawned upon him. It was as near an
inspiration as can be imagined. Henceforth his mind and energy were
directed irresistibly toward the accomplishment of this conception.
Again in 1868 he was in the field with the same financial backing, to
which was added a small allotment from the Illinois Industrial
University at Champaign, Illinois, a State school. All but Mrs. Powell
and his brother Walter, of this 1868 party, returned East on the
approach of autumn, while with these and several trappers and hunters,
among whom were the two Rowlands, William Dunn, and William Rhodes
Hawkins, afterwards of his party to explore the canyons, he crossed the
range to White River and wintered there near the camp of Chief Douglass
and his band of Utes. When spring came in 1869 he went out to Granger,
on the Union Pacific Railway, and there disposed of his mules and
outfit, proceeding immediately to Washington, where he induced Congress
to pass a joint resolution endorsed by General Grant authorising him to
draw rations from Western army posts for a party of twelve men while
engaged in making collections for public institutions. Never was
assistance better deserved. Then he returned to Illinois and obtained
from the trustees of the Normal University permission to again divert
his salary and the other funds to Western work. The trustees of the
Illinois Industrial University allotted him five hundred dollars, and
the Chicago Academy of Sciences, through the influence of Dr. Andrews,
the curator, also contributed two hundred and fifty or five hundred
dollars. In addition some personal friends contributed small sums.


Green River from the U.P. Railway to White River, showing gorges
through the Uinta Mountains. Green River from the U.P. Railway to White
River, showing gorges through the Uinta Mountains.


The object proposed was to make collections in natural history to be
shared accordingly with the contributing institutions. While these
collections were one of Powell’s objects, others were the examination
of the geology, and particularly the solution of the greatest remaining
geographical problem of the United States, the canyons of the Green and
Colorado rivers. The Green, as has been explained in preceding pages,
was known as far as the Uinta Mountains, and here and there at widely
separated points on down to about Gunnison Valley. But there were long
gaps, and below Gunnison Crossing as far as the Grand Wash the
knowledge of the canyons as already pointed out was vague in the
extreme. The altitude of Green River Station, Wyoming, was known to be
about six thousand feet above sea level, and that of the mouth of the
Virgen less than one thousand. How the river made up this difference
was not understood and this problem was what Powell now confronted. His
fortitude, nerve, courage, and war experience served him well in this
endeavour upon which he started, as previously described, in the spring
of 1869. The War Department and perhaps the Smithsonian Institution,
furnished some instruments. This expedition met with so many disasters
that Powell deemed a second descent in the interest of science
desirable, and for a continuation of his explorations, Congress voted
in 1870 an appropriation of ten thousand dollars. This second
expedition was successful, performing its work in the years 1871-72-73.
At the Session of 1871-72 another appropriation was made by Congress
for proceeding with the topographical and geological survey of the
country adjacent to the river. These appropriations were expended under
the supervision of the Smithsonian Institution and were continued
annually for work under the titles, Exploration of the Colorado River
and its Tributaries, and Survey of the Rocky Mountain Region, up to
1879, when the work was consolidated largely through Powell’s
endeavour, with two other surveys, Hayden’s and Wheeler’s. The latter
thought all this work ought to be done by the War Department, but
Powell believed otherwise and his view prevailed. Out of these grew by
the consolidation the Geological Survey, of which Clarence King was
made director, Powell, because of the earnest efforts he had made to
bring about the consolidation, refusing to allow his name to be
presented. The new Geological Survey was under the Interior Department,
and in 1881, when King resigned the directorship, Powell was
immediately appointed in his place. The results of Powell’s original
field-work were topographic maps of a large part of Utah, and
considerable portions of Wyoming, Arizona, and Nevada, constructed
under the direction of Powell’s colleague, Prof. A. H. Thompson. There
were also many volumes of reports and monographs, among them the
account of the expedition of 1869, entitled _The Exploration of the
Colorado River of the West, 1869 to 1872; The Geology of the Uinta
Mountains, by Powell; Lands of the Arid Region_ by Powell; _Geology of
the High Plateaus of Utah_, by C. E. Dutton of the Ordnance Department,
U.S.A.; _Geology of the Henry Mountains_, by G. K. Gilbert; and four
volumes of _Contributions to North American Ethnology_, one of which
contained Lewis H. Morgan’s famous monograph on “Houses and House Life
of the American Aborigines.” Early in his Western work Powell became
interested in the native tribes. In the winter of 1868, while on White
River, he studied language, tribal organisation, customs, and mythology
of the Utes and from 1870 to 1873 he carried on studies among the Pai
Utes, the Moki, etc., being adopted into one of the Moki clans. On his
journeys during these periods he often took with him several of the
natives for the purpose of investigating their myths and language.
Eventually he became the highest authority on the Shoshonean tribes. In
1874 he was one of the commissioners to select and locate the Southern
Pai Utes on a reservation in south-eastern Nevada.


The Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon.
Boats of the second Powell Expedition, showing armchair in which Powell
sat.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.


North American archæology also claimed his interest and about the time
of the consolidation of the Surveys Powell proposed the establishment
of a Bureau of Ethnology to carry on investigations in this field as
well as the ethnologic. This was done and the Bureau was attached to
the Smithsonian Institution with Powell as director, an office that he
held without salary till his resignation as head of the Geological
Survey in 1894. After this he received a salary as chief of the Bureau
of Ethnology in which office he remained till his death. The widely
known extensive series of valuable volumes published by the Bureau,
constituting a mine of information, attest the efficacy of his
supervision. He contributed much to these and also wrote numerous
papers on anthropological subjects and made many addresses. His labours
as a pioneer in and organiser of the science of ethnology have been
recognised by learned institutions and societies throughout the world.
The results of his direction of the Geological Survey are seen in the
maps, reports, bulletins, and monographs, constituting an imperishable
monument to his ability as an organiser and administrator.

He delivered many lectures and once, when he appeared on the platform
at the University of Michigan, an incident occurred which illustrates
his tact and his faculty for seizing means at hand to accomplish his
end. At this time it was the habit of the students at public lectures
to guy the speaker, even Charles Sumner having been a victim. Powell
had been warned of this practice. As he advanced in evening dress a
voice called out “How are your coat tails?”—a greeting which was
repeated from all parts of the house. During a momentary lull he
exclaimed with the peculiar squinting of the eyes and the half-laugh
his friends so well remember: “Your greeting reminds me of Dave
Larkins’s reply when criticised for wearing a wamus[3] in July. Dave
said, with his slow drawl, ‘If you don’t like my wamus I can take it
off.’” The suggestion took with the students and when the laughter had
ceased, cries of “You’ll do—go on,” came from everywhere. The incident
roused Powell, and he has often said he never talked better nor had a
more attentive audience. He was rewarded with enthusiastic applause.
With his closing sentence he said: “I have given you the finest account
of the exploration of the Colorado River my command of language
permits. I have been as dramatic and as eloquent as I thought this
occasion demanded. If any one wishes a plain statement regarding the
exploration, I will be happy to give it to him at my hotel.” There was
a hush for a moment as the students grasped the implication and cries
of “Sold!” burst from them. A large number did call the next morning to
discover whether he had actually stated facts, which of course he had.

 [3] A wamus in old times was a very heavy woollen garment.


He possessed absolute independence of thought and never accepted what
was-told him unless he could demonstrate its accuracy. Often in his
explorations he was told he could not travel in certain places, but he
went on just the same to find out for himself. He had a rare faculty of
inducing enthusiasm in others, and by reposing complete confidence in
the individual, impelled him to do his very best. Thus he became the
mainspring for much that was never credited to him, and which was
really his in the germ or original idea. Gilbert truly says, “it is not
easy to separate the product of his personal work from that which he
accomplished through the organisation of the work of others. He was
extremely fertile in ideas, so fertile that it was quite impossible
that he should personally develop them all, and realising this, he gave
freely to his collaborators. The work which he inspired and to which he
contributed the most important creative elements, I believe to be at
least as important as that for which his name stands directly
responsible.”[4]

 [4] _Science_, Oct. 10,1902. See also “John Wesley Powell,” edited by
 G. K. Gilbert, reprinted from The Open Court, 1903.


Pilling’s Cascade. Pilling’s Cascade.
Creeks of the high Plateaus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.


In the field of geology he was particularly facile in the invention of
apt descriptive terms, and indeed he was never at a loss for words to
express new meanings, coining them readily where none had existed that
were appropriate. Some of his ideas have been developed by younger men,
till they have become distinct divisions of the larger science to which
they belong. His greatest work in the Geological Survey, that which was
more the result of his personal effort, may be summed up under three
heads: First, the development of a plan for making a complete
topographic map of the United States; second, the organisation of a
Bureau for the collection of facts and figures relating to the mineral
resources of the country; and third, his labours to preserve for the
people the waters and irrigable lands of the Arid Region. It is hard to
say which of these is greater or which was nearer his heart. Together
they constitute a far-reaching influence in the development of the
country such as no one man heretofore has contributed. His Studies and
recommendations with regard to the arid lands of the West are of the
greatest importance to that district and to the country at large and
the nearer they can be carried out the better will it be for posterity.
He perceived at once that the reservation of sites for storage
reservoirs was of the first importance and this was one of the earliest
steps he endeavoured to bring about.

Of late years when he might have relaxed his labours, he turned his
attention to the field of psychology and philosophy, working till his
malady, sclerosis of the arteries, produced his last illness. The
result was two treatises in this line. _Truth and Error_, published in
1899, and “treating of matter, motion, and consciousness as related to
the external universe or the field of fact,” as Gilbert describes it,
and _Good and Evil_, running as a series of essays in the _American
Anthropologist_, treating of the same factors as related to humanity or
to welfare. A third volume was planned to deal with the emotions, and
he had also woven these ideas into a series of poems, of which only one
has been published. Few understand these later products of Powell. Many
condemn them; but Gilbert expresses his usual clear, unbiassed view of
things and says (and I can do no better than to quote him, a man of
remarkably direct thought, and for many years very close to Powell):
“His philosophic writings belong to a field in which thought has ever
found language inadequate, and are for the present, so far as may be
judged from the reviews of _Truth and Error_, largely misunderstood.
Admitting myself to be of those who fail to understand much of his
philosophy, I do not therefore condemn it as worthless, for in other
fields of his thought events have proved that he was not visionary, but
merely in advance of his time.”

One inexplicable action in his career, to my mind, was his complete
ignoring in his report of the men and their work, of his second river
expedition, particularly of his colleague, Prof. Thompson, whose skill
and energy were so largely responsible for the scientific and practical
success of the second expedition. The report embodied all the results
achieved by this expedition and gave no credit to the men who with
unflagging zeal, under stress and difficulties innumerable accumulated
the data. This has ever appeared to me unjust, but his reasons for it
were doubtless satisfactory to himself. The second expedition is put on
record, for the first time in this volume, except for a lecture of mine
printed some years ago in the _Bulletin_ of the American Geographical
Society.

The life of Powell is an example of the triumph of intelligent,
persistent endeavour. Long ago he had formulated many of his plans and
as far back as 1877, and even 1871, as I understood them, he carried
them out with remarkable precision. Before the authorisation of the
Bureau of Ethnology, its scope was developed in his mind and he saw
completed the many volumes which have since been published. His power
to observe the field ahead, standing on the imperfections of the
present, was extraordinary. As a soldier he was a patriot, as an
explorer he was a hero. As a far-seeing scientific man, as an organiser
of government scientific work, as a loving, friendly, and a delightful
comrade whether by the camp-fire or in the study, and as a true
sympathiser with the aspirations and ambitions of subordinates or
equals, there has seldom been his superior.




APPENDIX


In the Marble and Grand Canyons the fall is as follows.[1] The vertical
dotted lines of diagram on page 57 give these divisions, beginning at
the left with 2.

 [1] After Dutton, _Tertiary History_, p. 240.

                                             DISTANCE   FALL   FALL
                                             IN         IN     IN
                                             MILES      FEET   FEET PER
   MILE
   I. Marble Canyon...........................65.2——-510——-7.82
   2. Little Colorado to the Granite..........18.2——-110——-6.04
   3. Granite Falls...........................10———-210——21.
   4. To Powell’s Plateau in the Granite......26.4——-320——12.13
   5. Around western base of Powell’s Plateau.10.8——-100——-9.26
   6. Head of Kanab Division..................4.0———-50——10.42
   7. Main Kanab and Uinkaret Division........65.2——-310——-4.75
   8. Shewits Division to Granite.............12————70——-5.83
   9. Granite to Diamond Creek................ 8———-210——11.66
   10. Granite below Diamond Creek............ 7.2———25——-3.47
   ll. Granite below Diamond Creek............10.8——-100——-9.26
   12. Shewits Granite to End of Canyon.......35———-175——-5.

   From Little Colorado to Kaibab Division.....9.6———60——-6.25
   Kaibab Division............................58———-700——12.07
   Kanab Division.............................47.6——-240——-5.01
   Uinkaret Division..........................19.2——-100——-5.21
   Shewits Division...........................84———-540——-6.43

The exact number of rapids cannot be given, as in some portions of
Lodore, Cataract, Marble, and the Grand Canyon it is difficult to
divide the almost continuous fall into parts. The number also varies
with the stage of water, a high stage covering up some of the smaller
rapids. I count 62 rapids in Cataract Canyon. but Stanton makes it 75.
The discrepancy arises in the way of dividing some of the descent in
the worst portions. Lodore for a large part of its length is so nearly
one continuous rapid that it is difficult to count the special drops.
In Marble Canyon I counted 63, and in the distance from the Little
Colorado to the mouth of the Kanab, 131. We counted about 600 from
Green River Valley to the Kanab Canyon, and Stanton’s party counted 520
large rapids from Frémont River to the Grand Wash, or about 600 from
the Junction. From Green River Valley to the foot of Black Canyon
something over 1000 would be a near estimate of the total number of
rapids. The velocity is always tremendous. The width of the river
varies according to the locality. Green River is from 250 to 400 feet
in the canyons, and 800 to 1000 in the valleys. The Colorado is from 75
to 400 or 500 in the canyons and from 1200 to 1500 in the valleys. In
the Granite Gorges there are points where the distance between the
buttresses at the water is no more than 50 feet. In Marble Canyon there
are a dozen places where the width is not over 60 to 75 feet. The depth
varies from several feet to an unknown quantity in the narrow parts.
There is also a variation of depth with the year and the season. Years
when the high mountains receive an abnormal snow-fall the river rises
to abnormal heights and at such times the depth of water in the Grand
Canyon is enormous and the velocity appalling. Ordinarily the current
varies from three miles per hour to twenty or more.

Our method of navigating was to go with caution. A landing was made
above every rapid where possible, and the rapid inspected. Sticks were
thrown in when practicable and watched to find the set of the main
current which was the one we tried to follow. If it dashed against a
cliff, our plans were laid accordingly.

We went into a rapid with as little headway as possible, and often
executed “back-water” to retard the boat. The steering oar was used to
throw the boat one way or another in rapids, but it was mainly on the
side oars that we relied for steering.

In our boat Powell looked ahead, and gave orders “left” or “right,”
referring not to the direction in which he wished to go but to the oar
which we were to pull with reference to our left or right not his.
“Steady” meant to let the boat take her course.

N. Galloway, who has since made several descents, goes through rapids
stern foremost. He can thus see how to guide with the oars.




List of Illustrations


Looking up the Bright Angel Trail.
This is one of the modern trails into the Grand Canyon, which at this point is
some 6000 feet deep.
From water-color sketch by Thomas Moran, N.A.

In Glen Canyon.
Walls of homogeneous sandstone 1000 feet high.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colorado River Expedition.

Looking into the First Granite Gorge, Grand Canyon foot
of Bright Angel Trail.
Canyon 300 miles long. River 1000 feet below point of view. Total depth between
5000 and 6000 feet.
Photograph by HALL.

The Inner Gorge of the Grand Canyon at the foot of
Toroweap.
Depth from point of view about 3000 feet. Total depth about 4500 feet. Width
about 3500 feet from brink to brink.
Negative 20x24 by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

House Ruins on Cliff of Glen Canyon.
There were habitations also under the heavy top ledge.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Wytfliet-Ptolemy Map of 1597.
From BANCROFT’S _History of Arizona and New Mexico_.

The Ancient Ruin on the Cliff.
Glen Canyon.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Western Part United States.
Relief map by E.E. HOWELL.

Gulf of Calfornia at the Mouth of the Colorado.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

Alarçon’s Ships Struggling With the Great Bore of
the Colorado—1540.
Drawing by  F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Native Ladies of the Colorado.

Freaks of Erosion.

One of the Cocopa Giants. Height, 6 feet, 4 inches.
The costume in early days was “nothing.”
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

Komohoats.
A Pay Ute Boy—S.W. Nevada.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Sur.

Professor McGee and a Group of Cocopas.
Originally the Cocopas wore no clothing.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

The Colorado at the Junction of the Gila.
Looking up stream, Gila right hand lower corner. Colorado about 500 yards wide.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

An Arizona Landscape.
There are Navajo Gardens at the bottom of this canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

Cocopa Tule Raft.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Hotel.
12 miles to opposite rim. Total depth here between 5000 and 6000 feet.
Photograph by HALL.

The Grand-Marble Canyon Region.
Scale about 30 miles to the inch.
This is not as accurate as the map opposite page 41, but is given as an aid to
the understanding of that. Compare also map on page 12.

The Work of Erosion.
The Witch of Endor and Cerberus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

The Work of Corrasion
Paranuweap Canyon of the Virgen River, Southern Utah. 20 to 30 feet wide and
1500 feet deep and 18 miles long.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

The Grand Canyon and Terrace Plateau Region.

The “Hole in the Wall,” near Ft. Defiance,
Arizona.
This kind of sandstone has the peculiarity of weathering in this way, sometimes
producing larger arches, alcoves, etc.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.

Looking down upon Glen Canyon.
Cut through homogeneous sandstone.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Pinnacle in the Canyon the Chelly.
About 1500 feet high. It is much wider from the side.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.

Bad Lands on Black’s Fork of Green River.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.

In Lower Kanab Canyon.
Width about 75 feet, depth 2500 to 3000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

The Pink Cliffs.
Southern end of High Plateaus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Towers at Short Creek. Southern Utah.
This is a part of the great line of the Vermillion Cliffs. The region here
represented possesses some of the most magnificent scenery of the whole West.
Outline drawing by W.H. HOLMES.

Map from a United States Geological Survey

Gray’s Peak, 14,341 feet. Torrey’s Peak, 14,336 feet.
Tip-top of the Continental Divide whence the Colorado derives flood waters.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.

Balanced Rock.
On Trail from House Rock Valley to Lee’s Ferry.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

Outline Sketch of the Grand Canyon from Point Sublime.
Drawn by W.H. HOLMES.

Character of the Mountains and High Plateau Regions of the Basin of the Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.

Profile of the Colorado through the Grand Canyon.
From Powell’s Report.

Looking across the Grand Canyon (Inner Gorge) near the Foot of the Toroweap.
Depth 3000 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Pinnacles in Split Mountain Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Head of the Canyon of Lodore just inside the “Gate”.
Walls 2500 feet high; river 300 feet wide.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Pot-hole in Intermittent Water Course, Glen Canyon.
Homogeneous sandstone. These holes are often 10 to 15 feet deep, with the
stones which ground them lying in the bottom.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Looking up Green River Valley from below Union Pacific Railway Bridge.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

Specimen of a Navajo.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Young Warriors of the North.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

The Joshua Tree.
Clistoyucca Arborescens. Southern Nevada.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

A Pai Ute Family at Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Barrel Cactus.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Vegetation of the Southwest.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

A Kaibab Pai Ute.
Posed by THOMAS MORAN.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Side Canyon of Glen Canyon.
Homogeneous Sandstone.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Entrance to Acoma, N.M.
The town is on top of a mesa, and was a prominent point on the highway from the
Rio Grande to Zuñi.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.

Across the House Tops of Zuñi.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.

Ruin called Casa Grande, Arizona.
From a photograph by COSMOS MINDELEFF, U.S. Bu. Eth.

Padre Kino’s Map of 1701.
The first map giving the head of the Gulf correctly.
From BANCROFT’S _History of Arizona and New Mexico_.

A Lateral Canyon of Escalante River.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Moki Town of Wolpi, Arizona.
700 feet above the valley.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Church of San Xavier del Bac, near Tucson.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH, after a photograph.

Cocopa Woman Grinding Corn.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Trail.
Painting by THOMAS MORAN.

The Moki Town of Mishongnuvi, Arizona.
The hill surmounted by the town lies itself on top of a mesa.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

The Canyon of the Little Colorado.
Photograph by C. BARTHELMESS.

A Court in Wolpi, Arizona.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

A Zuñi Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

The Governors of Zuñi.
Shows well the genreal type of the Puebloans of the Basin of the Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.

Upper Waters of Rio Virgin.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Pai Ute Girls, Southern Utah, Carrying Water.
The jugs are wicker made tight with pitch.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Ashtishkel, a Navajo Chief.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Map of Green River through the Uinta Mountains.

Flaming Gorge, Green River. Beginning of the Canyons.
Picture just taken inside the entrance. Walls 1300 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Red Canyon at Low Water.
Length 25 miles. Walls 1800 to 2500 feet high. Average width of river, 250 feet.

Ashley Falls, Red Canyon, Green River.
General Ashley wrote his name on a rock about half way up the picture, on the
right, in 1825.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Trail looking East.
Point of view 1000 feet above the water. Total depth between 5000 and 6000 feet.
Photograph by ROSE.

Entrance to Black Canyon, first seen by James O. Pattie.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.

The Navajo Type.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Upper Valley of the Virgen.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

The “Navajo Church,” a Freak of Erosion
near Ft. Wingate, N.M.
The Basin of the Colorado is full of such architectural forms.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.

Cliffs of the Rio Virgin, about 2500 Feet High.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

The “Colob” Country, Southern Utah.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

In the Canyon of Lodore.
Walls about 2500 feet, width of river about 400 feet.

Uinta Utes, Saiar’s Home.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Kaibab Pai Ute Boys Playing a Game of Wolf and Deer.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Canyon of Lodore, Green River. Looking up the Canyon.
Walls 2000 to 2500 feet. “Wheatstack” in distance.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Las Vegas, Southern Nevada, on the Old Spanish Trail.
From an oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

A Canyon in the Cliffs, Southern Nevada.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Crossing the Lower Colorado.
Width 400 to 500 yards.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

A Cocopa Dwelling, near Mouth of the Colorado.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

On the Yuma Desert.
Photograph by DELANCY GILL.

A Uinta Ute.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

“Judy,” a Navajo.
From a photograph by J.K. HILLERS.

One of the Parks on the Kaibab.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.

The Ruins in Canyon de Chelly, Arizona, called “Casa Blanca”.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

The Queen.
Pinnacle 200 feet high on Vermillion Creek.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Part of Map No. 1, by Lieut. J.C. Ives, 1858.
From the Gulf to the Mouth of the Gila.

Robinson’s Landing.
Mouth of the Colorado River. Starting-point of Lieut. Ives’s Exploration.
Photograph by Lieut. IVES, redrawn by J.J. YOUNG.

The Steamer “Explorer” in which Lieut. Ives in 1857
Ascended the Colorado to Foot of Black Canyon.
Sketch by H.B. MOLLHAUSEN.

Looking down the Grand Canyon from the Mouth of the Kanab.
Depth about 4000 feet.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Black Canyon—Looking Down.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.

Fortification Rock.
Castellated Gravels at the foot. Near the head of Black Canyon.
Photograph by WHEELER EXPEDITION.

The Canyon of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by W.H. JACKSON.

Fort Yuma and the Old Railway Bridge of the Southern Pacific.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

At the Junction of the Green and Grand on the Surface.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Barrel Cactus Compared with the Height of a Man.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

Canyon of San Juan River Looking West at Honiket Trail, Utah.
2000 feet deep.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.

A Glen of Glen Canyon.
These are numerous, hence the name.

Cataract Canyon Rapid at Low Water.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Looking up the Grand Canyon from Mouth of Kanab Canyon.
Pencil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

John Wesley Powell.
Explorer of the Canyons of the Colorado. Founder and, till his death, Director
of the Bureau of American Ethnology, and long Director of the U.S. Geological
Survey. As he looked during the decade following his two descents of the
Colorado. Taken about 1876 in Washington. Major Powell died September 23d,
1902.

Character of Green River Valley in the Vicinity of the Crossing of the U.P. Railway.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Part of a Rapid.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Canyon of Lodore—The Wheatstack.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Green River above Flaming Gorge.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Red Canyon—Green River. Upper Portion. Looking up Stream.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Lodore—Upper Part of Disaster Falls.
Where Powell lost the _No-Name_ in 1869.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Brush Creek—Looking Up.
This stream enters the Green not far below foot of Split-Mountain Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Lodore.
Looking down on Triplet Falls. Depth about 2500 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN U.S. Geol. Survey.

Echo Rock on Right, from which Echo Park Takes its Name.
To one sitting in a boat near foreground a sentence of ten words is repeated.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Desolation—Sumner’s Amphitheatre.
Walls about 1200 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Desolation—Low Water.
Cliffs about 2700 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Junction of the Grand and Green.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

In Cataract Canyon.
Highest Walls in this canyon 2700 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Craggs at Millecrag Bend, foot of Cataract Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Music Temple Alcove, Glen Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Depths of the Grand Canyon at Sunset.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH, in the possession of
Prof. A.H. Thompson, who considers it the best representation of the canyon
from below that he has seen, “the truest—far better than any
photograph because more comprehensive.”

The Grand Canyon. The “Sockdologer” Rapid.
Fall of about 80 feet in one third of a mile.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Bottom of the Grand Canyon.
Looking down from foot of Bright Angel Trail.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.

In the Midst of a Grand Canyon Rapid.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

The Grand Canyon-Granite Buttresses.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Basket Maker.
Old woman of the Kaibab Pai Utes. Behind is the typical Pai Ute dwelling of boughs
and brush. The dwellings of the Shewits are similar.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Brother Belder’s—Virgen City.
A typical frontier Mormon home.
Photograph by U.S. Geol. Survey.

Green River Station, U.P. Ry., Wyoming, 1871.
Starting point of the two Powell expeditions.

Thompson, Hattan, Jones, Steward, W.C. Powell, Richardson,
Dellenbaugh, Bishop.
Our First Camp, Green River, Wyoming. U.S. Colorado River Expedition, 1871.
The borrowed table was, of course, left behind.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

The Boats of Powells Second Expedition on the Beach at
Green River, Wyoming.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Ruins of Green River Terminus.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Almon Harris Thompson.
Powell’s colleague in the second descent of the Colorado and subsequent
work. For over thirty years prominently connected with United States survey
work in the basin of the Colorado and adjacent country, and in the Eastern
States.
Recent photograph by CLINEDINST.

Ready for the Start, U.S. Colorado River Expedition,
Green River, Wyoming 1871.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

Portraits of All but Two Members of the Boat Party of
the U.S. Colorado River Expedition of 1871.

Green River Valley. Camp at Tilted Ledge near Henry’s Fork.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Head of Kingfisher Canyon, Green River.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Heart of Lodore.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Lodore. Looking down Stream.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Canyon of Lodore. Looking across a Rapid.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Canyon of Lodore at Triplet Falls.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Island Park. Green River.
Between Whirlpool and Split-Mountain Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Entrance to Split-Mountain Canyon, Right Hand Cliffs.
Heigth about 2000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

In Split-Mountain Canyon.
Highest Walls 2700 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Split-Mountain Canyon.
Looking down from top near entrance, 3000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Men of the 1871 Expedition of an Abandoned Cabin
Opposite the Mouth of the Uinta River.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Runaways. White River Utes.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Canyon of Desolation.
Walls 2000 feet.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

A Halt for Observations.
Second Powell Expedition.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Uinte Ute Tipi and a Summer Shelter and Outlook,
Showing the Old-time Notched Log for a Ladder.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Dellenbaugh Butte, Green River near the San Rafael.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Gunnison Butte.
Head of Gunnison Valley and foot of Gray Canyon. Powell Expedition of 1871
repairing boats.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Labyrinth Canyon, Trinalcove.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Bonito Bend, between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Butte of the Cross, between Labyrinth and Stillwater Canyons.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Head of Cataract Canyon, Looking down from Top of
Walls near the Junction of the Grand and Green.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon.
1500 feet deep—20 feet wide at bottom, 300 feet at top.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Side Canyon of Cataract Canyon.
See figures of men, centre foreground on brink of lower terrace.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Cataract Canyon, Right-hand Wall toward Lower End.
Height about 2700 feet. Note figures of men near edge of water, lower
right-hand corner. They show as very small upright dark lines.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Town of Bluff.
Upper Valley of the San Juan River.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.

Glen Canyon Wall.
About 1200 feet high. Homogeneous sandstone on top of thin bedded sandstone.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Glen Canyon.
Sandstone wall about 1200 feet high.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Glen Canyon, Sentinel Rock.
Between the Crossing of the Fathers and Lee’s Ferry—about 300 feet high.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Grand Canyon.
Cliffs opposite the mouth of Diamond Creek. The highest point visible is about
3500 feet above the river.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.

The Beginning of a Natural Arch.
Photograph by C.R. SAVAGE.

The Grand Canyon.
Near mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.

The Crew of the “Trilobite.”
At the mouth of Diamond Creek.
Photograph by T.H. O’SULLIVAN, Wheeler Exp.

The Dining-table in Camp.
Dutch oven, left foreground.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Winter Headquarters at Kanab, 1872–3.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS.

The Uinkaret Mountains at Sunset, from the North-east.
Mt. Trumbull in middle, Mt. Logan in the far distance.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Major Powell and a Pai Ute. Southern Utah, 1872.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Expedition Photographer in the Field.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Lake on the Aquarius Plateau.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Butte in Grand Gulch.
A tributary of the San Juan.
Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.

Repairing Boat Near Mouth of Frémont River on the Colorado River, 1872.
Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Major Powell in the Field, 1872.

Navajos in Characteristic Dress.
Photograph by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Marble Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Marble Canyon near the Lower End.
Walls about 3500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

F.S. Dellenbaugh, 1872.
Tintype by J.K. HILLERS.

Granite Falls, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Running the Sockdologer, Grand Canyon.
Fall 80 feet in ⅓ mile.
Studio painting by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

Looking up a Side Canyon of the Grand Canyon in the Kaibab Division.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

A Capsize in the Grand Canyon.
Drawing by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

The Grand Canyon. Looking down from Mouth of Kanab
Canyon in Winter.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

The Outlet of the Creek in Surprise Valley, near the
Mouth of Kanab Canyon, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN.

Mouth of Kanab Canyon.
Abandoned boats of the U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp., 1872.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Camp at Oak Spring, Uinkaret Mountains.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Mukoontuweap Canyon, North Fork of the Virgen.
Ten miles long, 3500 feet deep.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.

Looking down the Canyon de Chelly, a Tributary of the
San Juan and Containing many Cliff Houses.
Photograph by BEN WITTICK.

A Cave-Lake in a Sandstone Cliff near Kabab, S. Utah.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

In Marble Canyon, about Midway between Paria and Little Colorado.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Marble Canyon, Lower Portion.
Walls about 3500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Looking West from Jacob’s Pool on Road to
Lee’s Ferry. Vermilion Cliffs in Distance.
Photograph by W. BELL.

Tapeets Creek.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Grand Canyon.
In the First Granite Gorge.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

The Great Unconformity.
Top of the Granite, Grand Canyon.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.

Looking up the Grand Canyon, at the Foot of Toroweap,
Uinkaret Division.
Depth of inner gorge about 3000 feet—width, brink to brink, about 3500
feet.
Oil sketch by F.S. DELLENBAUGH.

The Grand Canyon—Lava Falls.
Just below the Toroweap.
Total depth of canyon about 4500 feet.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

On the Bright Angel Trail.
Photograph by MITCHELL PRUDDEN.

John Wesley Powell, 1834–1902.

Green River from the U.P. Railway to White River,
showing gorges through the Uinta Mountains.

The Grand Canyon.
Boats of the second Powell Expedition, showing armchair in which Powell sat.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Pilling’s Cascade.
Creeks of the high Plateaus.
Photograph by J.K. HILLERS, U.S. Geol. Survey.