FROM THE LITTLE COLORADO TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
AUGUST 13.--We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown.
Our boats, tied to a common, stake, chafe each other as they are tossed
by the fretful river. They ride high and buoyant, for their loads are
lighter than we could desire. We have but a month's rations remaining.
The flour has been resifted through the mosquito-net sieve; the spoiled
bacon has been dried and the worst of it boiled; the few pounds of dried
apples have been spread in the sun and reshrunken to their normal bulk.
The sugar has all melted and gone on its way down the river. But we have
a large sack of coffee. The lightening of the boats has this advantage:
they will ride the waves better and we shall have but little to carry
when we make a portage.
We are three quarters of a mile in the depths of the earth, and the
great river shrinks into insignificance as it dashes its angry waves
against the walls and cliffs that rise to the world above; the waves are
but puny ripples, and we but pigmies, running up and down the sands or
lost among the boulders.
We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river to explore.
What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we
know not; what walls rise over the river, we know not. Ah, well! we may
conjecture many things. The men talk as cheerfully as ever; jests are
bandied about freely this morning; but to me the cheer is somber and the
jests are ghastly.
With some eagerness and some anxiety and some misgiving we enter the
canyon below and are carried along by the swift water through walls
which rise from its very edge. They have the same structure that we
noticed yesterday--tiers of irregular shelves below, and, above these,
248 8 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
steep slopes to the foot of marble cliffs. We run six miles in a little
more than half an hour and emerge into a more open portion of the
canyon, where high hills and ledges of rock intervene between the river
and the distant walls. Just at the head of this open place the river
runs across a dike; that is, a fissure in the rocks, open to depths
below, was filled with eruptive matter, and this on cooling was harder
than the rocks through which the crevice was made, and when these were
washed away the harder volcanic matter remained as a wall, and the river
has cut a gateway through it several hundred feet high and as many wide.
As it crosses the wall, there is a fall below and a bad rapid, filled
with boulders of trap; so we stop to make a portage. Then on we go,
gliding by hills and ledges, with distant walls in view; sweeping past
sharp angles of rock; stopping at a few points to examine rapids, which
we find can be run, until we have made another five miles, when we land
for dinner.
Then we let down with lines over a long rapid and start again. Once more
the walls close in, and we find ourselves in a narrow gorge, the water
again filling the channel and being very swift. With great care
and constant watchfulness we proceed, making about four miles this
afternoon, and camp in a cave.
August 14---At daybreak we walk down the bank of the river, on a little
sandy beach, to take a view of a new feature in the canyon. Heretofore
hard rocks have given us bad river; soft rocks, smooth water; and a
series of rocks harder than any we have experienced sets in. The river
enters the gneiss! We can see but a little way into the granite gorge,
but it looks threatening.
After breakfast we enter on the waves. At the very introduction it
inspires awe. The canyon is narrower than we have ever before seen it;
the water is swifter; there are but few broken rocks in the channel; but
the walls are set, on either side, with pinnacles and crags; and sharp,
angular buttresses, bristling with wind- and wave-polished spires,
extend far out into the river.
Ledges of rock jut into the stream, their tops sometimes just below the
surface, sometimes rising a few or many feet above; and island ledges
and island pinnacles and island towers break the swift course of the
stream into chutes and eddies and whirlpools. We soon reach a place
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
249
where a creek comes in from the left, and, just below, the channel is
choked with boulders, which have washed down this lateral canyon and
formed a dam, over which there is a fall of 30 or 40 feet; but on the
boulders foothold can be had, and we make a portage. Three more such
dams are found. Over one we make a portage; at the other two are chutes
through which we can run.
As we proceed the granite rises higher, until nearly a thousand feet
of the lower part of the walls are composed of this rock.
powell-canyons-159.jpg
WALLS OF GNEISS.
About eleven o'clock we hear a great roar ahead, and approach it very
cautiously. The sound grows louder and louder as we run, and at last we
find ourselves above a long, broken fall, with ledges and pinnacles of
250
CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
rock obstructing the river. There is a descent of perhaps 75 or 80 feet
in a third of a mile, and the rushing waters break into great waves
powell-canyons-160.jpg
RUNNING A RAPID.
on the rocks, and lash themselves into a mad, white foam. We can land
just above, but there is no foothold on either side by which we can make
a portage. It is nearly a thousand feet to the top of the granite;
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 251
so it will be impossible to carry our boats around, though we can climb
to the summit up a side gulch and, passing along a mile or two, descend
to the river. This we find on examination; but such a portage would be
impracticable for us, and we must run the rapid or abandon the river.
There is no hesitation. We step into our boats, push off, and away we
go, first on smooth but swift water, then we strike a glassy wave and
ride to its top, down again into the trough, up again on a higher wave,
and down and up on waves higher and still higher until we strike one
just as it curls back, and a breaker rolls over our little boat. Still
on we speed, shooting past projecting rocks, till the little boat is
caught in a whirlpool and spun round several times. At last we pull out
again into the stream. And now the other boats have passed us. The open
compartment of the "Emma Dean" is filled with water and every breaker
rolls over us. Hurled back from a rock, now on this side, now on that,
we are carried into an eddy, in which we struggle for a few minutes,
and are then out again, the breakers still rolling over us. Our boat
is unmanageable, but she cannot sink, and we drift down another hundred
yards through breakers--how, we scarcely know. We find the other boats
have turned into an eddy at the foot of the fall and are waiting to
catch us as we come, for the men have seen that our boat is swamped.
They push out as we come near and pull us in against the wall. Our boat
bailed, on we go again.
The walls now are more than a mile in height--a vertical distance
difficult to appreciate. Stand on the south steps of the Treasury
building in Washington and look down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol;
measure this distance overhead, and imagine cliffs to extend to that
altitude, and you will understand what is meant; or stand at Canal
Street in New York and look up Broadway to Grace Church, and you have
about the distance; or stand at Lake Street bridge in Chicago and look
down to the Central Depot, and you have it again.
A thousand feet of this is up through granite crags; then steep slopes
and perpendicular cliffs rise one above another to the summit. The gorge
is black and narrow below, red and gray and flaring above, with crags
and angular projections on the walls, which, cut in many places by side
canyons, seem to be a vast wilderness of rocks. Down in these grand,
gloomy depths we glide, ever listening, for the mad waters keep
252 powell-canyons-161.jpg
HEAD OF THE GRAND CANYON.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 253
up their roar; ever watching, ever peering ahead, for the narrow canyon
is winding and the river is closed in so that we can see but a few
hundred yards, and what there may be below we know not; so we listen for
falls and watch for rocks, stopping now and then in the bay of a recess
to admire the gigantic scenery; and ever as we go there is some new
pinnacle or tower, some crag or peak, some distant view of the upper
plateau, some strangely shaped rock, or some deep, narrow side canyon.
Then we come to another broken fall, which appears more difficult than
the one we ran this morning. A small creek comes in on the right, and
the first fall of the water is over boulders, which have been carried
down by this lateral stream. We land at its mouth and stop for an hour
or two to examine the fall. It seems possible to let down with lines, at
least a 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 the water. Standing on this beach, some of the men take the
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 of
ours; then we let down the boats for 25 or 30 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, 40 or 50
feet above the water.
On this bench we camp for the night. It is raining hard, and we have
no shelter, but find a few sticks which have lodged in the rocks, and
kindle a fire and have supper. We sit on the rocks all night, wrapped in
our ponchos, getting what sleep we can.
254 powell-canyons-162.jpg
THE INNER GORGE.
255
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
August 15.--This morning we find we can let down for 300 or 400 yards,
and it is managed in this way: we pass along the wall by climbing from
projecting point to point, sometimes near the water's edge, at other
places 50 or 60 feet above, and hold the boat with a line while two men
remain aboard and prevent her from being dashed against the rocks and
keep the line from getting caught on the wall. In two hours we have
brought them all down, as far as it is possible, in this way. A few
yards below, the river strikes with great violence against a projecting
rock and our boats are pulled up in a little bay above. We must now
manage to pull out of this and clear the point below. The little boat is
held by the bow obliquely up the stream. We jump in and pull out only
a few strokes, and sweep clear of the dangerous rock. The other boats
follow in the same manner and the rapid is passed.
It is not easy to describe the labor of such navigation. We must prevent
the waves from dashing the boats against the cliffs. Sometimes, where
the river is swift, we must put a bight of rope about a rock, to prevent
the boat from being snatched from us by a wave; but where the plunge
is too great or the chute too swift, we must let her leap and catch her
below or the undertow will drag her under the falling water and sink
her. Where we wish to run her out a little way from shore through a
channel between rocks, we first throw in little sticks of driftwood and
watch their course, to see where we must steer so that she will pass the
channel in safety. And so we hold, and let go, and pull, and lift, and
ward--among rocks, around rocks, and over rocks.
And now we go on through this solemn, mysterious way. The river is very
deep, the canyon very narrow, and still obstructed, so that there is no
steady flow of the stream; but the waters reel and roll and boil, and we
are scarcely able to determine where we can go. Now the boat is carried
to the right, perhaps close to the wall; again, she is shot into the
stream, and perhaps is dragged over to the other side, where, caught in
a whirlpool, she spins about. We can neither land nor run as we please.
The boats are entirely unmanageable; no order in their running can be
preserved; now one, now another, is ahead, each crew laboring for its
own preservation. In such a place we come to another rapid. Two of the
boats run it perforce. One succeeds in landing, but there is no foothold
by which to make a portage and she is pushed out again into
256 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
the stream. The next minute a great reflex wave fills the open
compartment; she is water-logged, and drifts unmanageable. Breaker after
breaker rolls over her and one capsizes her. The men are thrown out; but
they cling to the boat, and she drifts down some distance alongside of
us and we are able to catch her. She is soon bailed out and the men are
aboard once more; but the oars are lost, and so a pair from the "Emma
Dean" is spared. Then for two miles we find smooth water.
Clouds are playing in the canyon to-day. Sometimes they roll down in
great masses, filling the gorge with gloom; sometimes they hang aloft
from wall to wall and cover the canyon with a roof of impending storm,
and we can peer long distances up and down this canyon corridor, with
its cloud-roof overhead, its walls of black granite, and its river
bright with the sheen of broken waters. Then a gust of wind sweeps down
a side gulch and, making a rift in the clouds, reveals the blue heavens,
and a stream of sunlight pours in. Then the clouds drift away into the
distance, and hang around crags and peaks and pinnacles and towers and
walls, and cover them with a mantle that lifts from time to time and
sets them all in sharp relief. Then baby clouds creep out of side
canyons, glide around points, and creep back again into more distant
gorges. Then clouds arrange in strata across the canyon, with
intervening vista views to cliffs and rocks beyond. The clouds are
children of the heavens, and when they play among the rocks they lift
them to the region above.
256
It rains! Rapidly little rills are formed above, and these soon grow
into brooks, and the brooks grow into creeks and tumble over the walls
in innumerable cascades, adding their wild music to the roar of the
river. When the rain ceases the rills, brooks, and creeks run dry. The
waters that fall during a rain on these steep rocks are gathered at once
into the river; they could scarcely be poured in more suddenly if some
vast spout ran from the clouds to the stream itself. When a storm bursts
over the canyon a side gulch is dangerous, for a sudden flood may come,
and the inpouring waters will raise the river so as to hide the rocks.
Early in the afternoon we discover a stream entering from the north--a
clear, beautiful creek, coming down through a gorgeous red canyon.
We land and camp on a sand beach above its mouth, under a great,
overspreading tree with willow-shaped leaves.
257 powell-canyons-163.jpg
SIGNAL OF DISCOVERY OR ALARM.
258 powell-canyons-164.jpg
SIGNAL, "WHO ARE YOU?" ANSWER, "PANI."
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 259
August 16.--We must dry our rations again to-day and make oars.
The Colorado is never a clear stream, but for the past three or four
days it has been raining much of the time, and the floods poured
over the walls have brought down great quantities of mud, making it
exceedingly turbid now. The little affluent which we have discovered
here is a clear, beautiful creek, or river, as it would be termed in
this western country, where streams are not abundant. We have named one
stream, away above, in honor of the great chief of the "Bad Angels," and
as this is in beautiful contrast to that, we conclude to name it "Bright
Angel."
Early in the morning the whole party starts up to explore the Bright
Angel River, with the special purpose of seeking timber from which to
make oars. A couple of miles above we find a large pine log, which has
been floated down from the plateau, probably from an altitude of more
than 6,000 feet, but not many miles back. On its way it must have passed
over many cataracts and falls, for it bears scars in evidence of the
rough usage which it has received. The men roll it on skids, and the
work of sawing oars is commenced.
This stream heads away back under a line of abrupt cliffs that
terminates the plateau, and tumbles down more than 4,000 feet in the
first mile or two of its course; then runs through a deep, narrow canyon
until it reaches the river.
Late in the afternoon I return and go up a little gulch just above this
creek, about 200 yards from camp, and discover the ruins of two or three
old houses, which were originally of stone laid in mortar. Only the
foundations are left, but irregular blocks, of which the houses
were constructed, lie scattered about. In one room I find an old
mealing-stone, deeply worn, as if it had been much used. A great deal
of pottery is strewn around, and old trails, which in some places are
deeply worn into the rocks, are seen.
It is ever a source of wonder to us why these ancient people sought
such inaccessible places for their homes. They were, doubtless, an
agricultural race, but there are no lands here of any considerable
extent that they could have cultivated. To the west of Oraibi, one
of the towns in the Province of Tusayan, in northern Arizona, the
inhabitants have actually built little terraces along the face of the
cliff where a
260 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
spring gushes out, and thus made their sites for gardens. It is possible
that the ancient inhabitants of this place made their agricultural
lands in the same way. But why should they seek such spots'? Surely the
country was not so crowded with people as to demand the utilization of
so barren a region. The only solution suggested of the problem is this:
We know that for a century or two after the settlement of Mexico many
expeditious were sent into the country now comprising Arizona and New
Mexico, for the purpose of bringing the town-building people under
the dominion of the Spanish government. Many of their villages were
destroyed, and the inhabitants fled to regions at that time unknown; and
there are traditions among the people who inhabit the pueblos that
still remain that the canyons were these unknown lauds. It may be these
buildings were erected at that time; sure it is that they have a much
more modern appearance than the ruins scattered over Nevada, Utah,
Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico. Those old Spanish conquerors had
a monstrous greed for gold and a wonderful lust for saving souls.
Treasures they must have, if not on earth, why, then, in heaven; and
when they failed to find heathen temples bedecked with silver, they
propitiated Heaven by seizing the heathen themselves. There is yet
extant a copy of a record made by a heathen artist to express his
conception of the demands of the conquerors. In one part of the picture
we have a lake, and near by stands a priest pouring water on the head of
a native. On the other side, a poor Indian has a cord about his throat.
Lines run from these two groups to a central figure, a man with beard
and full Spanish panoply. The interpretation of the picture-writing is
this: "Be baptized as this saved heathen, or be hanged as that damned
heathen." Doubtless, some of these people preferred another alternative,
and rather than be baptized or hanged they chose to imprison themselves
within these canyon walls.
August 17.--Our rations are still spoiling; the bacon is so badly
injured that we are compelled to throw it away. By an accident, this
morning, the saleratus was lost overboard. We have now only musty flour
sufficient for ten days and a few dried apples, but plenty of coffee.
We must make all haste possible. If we meet with difficulties such as we
have encountered in the canyon above, we may be compelled to give up the
expedition and try to reach the Mormon settlements to the north.
261 powell-canyons-165.jpg
SIGNAL OF SUCCESSFUL WAR PARTY.
262 powell-canyons-166.jpg
A SIGNAL OF PEACE.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 263
Our hopes are that the worst places are passed, but our barometers are
all so much injured as to be useless, and so we have lost our reckoning
in altitude, and know not how much descent the river has yet to make.
The stream is still wild and rapid and rolls through a narrow channel.
We make but slow progress, often landing against a wall and climbing
around some point to see the river below. Although very anxious to
advance, we are determined to run with great caution, lest by another
accident we lose our remaining supplies. How precious that little flour
has become! We divide it among the boats and carefully store it away, so
that it can be lost only by the loss of the boat itself.
We make ten miles and a half, and camp among the rocks on the right.
We have had rain from time to time all day, and have been thoroughly
drenched and chilled; but between showers the sun shines with great
power and the mercury in our thermometers stands at 115 degrees, so that
we have rapid changes from great extremes, which are very disagreeable.
It is especially cold in the rain to-night. The little canvas we have is
rotten and useless; the rubber ponchos with which we started from Green
River City have all been lost; more than half the party are without
hats, not one of us has an entire suit of clothes, and we have not
a blanket apiece. So we gather driftwood and build a fire; but after
supper the rain, coming down in torrents, extinguishes it, and we sit up
all night on the rocks, shivering, and are more exhausted by the night's
discomfort than by the day's toil.
August 18.--The day is employed in making portages and we advance but
two miles on our journey. Still it rains.
While the men are at work making portages I climb up the granite to
its summit and go away back over the rust-colored sandstones and
greenish-yellow shales to the foot of the marble wall. I climb so
high that the men and boats are lost in the black depths below and the
dashing river is a rippling brook, and still there is more canyon above
than below. All about me are interesting geologic records. The book is
open and I can read as I run. All about me are grand views, too, for the
clouds are playing again in the gorges. But somehow I think of the nine
days' rations and the bad river, and the lesson of the rocks and the
glory of the scene are but half conceived. I push on to an angle, where
I hope to get a view of the country
264 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
beyond, to see if possible what the prospect may be of our soon running
through this plateau, or at least of meeting with some geologic change
that will let us out of the granite; but, arriving at the point, I can
see below only a labyrinth of black gorges.
August 19.--Rain again this morning. We are in our granite prison still,
and the time until noon is occupied in making a long; bad portage.
After dinner, in running a rapid the pioneer boat is upset by a wave. We
are some distance in advance of the larger boats. The river is rough and
swift and we are unable to land, but cling to the boat and are carried
down stream over another rapid. The men in the boats above see our
trouble, but they are caught in whirlpools and are spinning about in
eddies, and it seems a long time before they come to our relief. At last
they do come; our boat is turned right side up and bailed out; the oars,
which fortunately have floated along in company with us, are gathered
up, and on we go, without even landing. The clouds break away and we
have sunshine again.
Soon we find a little beach with just room enough to land. Here we camp,
but there is no wood. Across the river and a little way above, we see
some driftwood lodged in the rocks. So we bring two boat loads over,
build a huge fire, and spread everything to dry. It is the first
cheerful night we have had for a week--a warm, drying fire in the midst
of the camp, and a few bright stars in our patch of heavens overhead.
August 20.--The characteristics of the canyon change this morning. The
river is broader, the walls more sloping, and composed of black slates
that stand on edge. These nearly vertical slates are washed out in
places--that is, the softer beds are washed out between the harder,
which are left standing. In this way curious little alcoves are formed,
in which are quiet bays of water, but on a much smaller scale than the
great bays and buttresses of Marble Canyon.
The river is still rapid and we stop to let down with lines several
times, but make greater progress, as we run ten miles. We camp on the
right bank. Here, on a terrace of trap, we discover another group of
ruins. There was evidently quite a village on this rock. Again we find
mealing-stones and much broken pottery, and up on a little natural shelf
in the rock back of the ruins we find a globular basket that would hold
265 powell-canyons-167.jpg
MOKI METHOD OF DRESSING THE HAIR.
266 powell-canyons-168.jpg
MOKI METHOD OF SPINNING.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 267
perhaps a third of a bushel. It is badly broken, and as I attempt to
take it up it falls to pieces. There are many beautiful flint chips,
also, as if this had been the home of an old arrow-maker.
August 21.--We start early this morning, cheered by the prospect of a
fine day and encouraged also by the good run made yesterday. A quarter
of a mile below camp the river turns abruptly to the left, and between
camp and that point is very swift, running down in a long, broken chute
and piling up against the foot of the cliff, where it turns to the
left. We try to pull across, so as to go down on the other side, but
the waters are swift and it seems impossible for us to escape the rock
below; but, in pulling across, the bow of the boat is turned to the
farther shore, so that we are swept broadside down and are prevented by
the rebounding waters from striking against the wall. We toss about for
a few seconds in these billows and are then carried past the danger.
Below, the river turns again to the right, the canyon is very narrow,
and we see in advance but a short distance. The water, too, is very
swift, and there is no landing-place. From around this curve there comes
a mad roar, and down we are carried with a dizzying velocity to the
head of another rapid. On either side high over our heads there are
overhanging granite walls, and the sharp bends cut off our view, so that
a few minutes will carry us into unknown waters. Away we go on one long,
winding chute. I stand on deck, supporting myself with a strap fastened
on either side of the gunwale. The boat glides rapidly where the water
is smooth, then, striking a wave, she leaps and bounds like a thing of
life, and we have a wild, exhilarating ride for ten miles, which we
make in less than an hour. The excitement is so great that we forget the
danger until we hear the roar of a great fall below; then we back on our
oars and are carried slowly toward its head and succeed in landing just
above and find that we have to make another portage. At this we are
engaged until some time after dinner.
Just here we run out of the granite. Ten miles in less than half a day,
and limestone walls below. Good cheer returns; we forget the storms and
the gloom and the cloud-covered canyons and the black granite and the
raging river, and push our boats from shore in great glee.
Though we are out of the granite, the river is still swift, and we wheel
about a point again to the right, and turn, so as to head back in the
268 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO,
direction from which we came; this brings the granite in sight again,
with its narrow gorge and black crags; but we meet with no more great
falls or rapids. Still, we run cautiously and stop from time to time
to examine some places which look bad. Yet we make ten miles this
afternoon; twenty miles in all to-day.
August 22.--We come to rapids again this morning and are occupied
several hours in passing them, letting the boats down from rock to rock
with lines for nearly half a mile, and then have to make a long portage.
While the men are engaged in this I climb the wall on the northeast to
a height of about 2,500 feet, where I can obtain a good view of a long
stretch of canyon below. Its course is to the southwest. The walls
seem to rise very abruptly for 2,500 or 3,000 feet, and then there is
a gently sloping terrace on each side for two or three miles, when we
again find cliffs, 1,500 or 2,000 feet high. From the brink of these the
plateau stretches back to the north and south for a long distance. Away
down the canyon on the right wall I can see a group of mountains, some
of which appear to stand on the brink of the canyon. The effect of the
terrace is to give the appearance of a narrow winding valley with high
walls on either side and a deep, dark, meandering gorge down its middle.
It is impossible from this point of view to determine whether or not we
have granite at the bottom; but from geologic considerations, I conclude
that we shall have marble walls below.
After my return to the boats we run another mile and camp for the night.
We have made but little over seven miles to-day, and a part of our flour
has been soaked in the river again.
August 23.--Our way to-day is again through marble walls. Now and then
we pass for a short distance through patches of granite, like hills
thrust up into the limestone. At one of these places we have to make
another portage, and, taking advantage of the delay, I go up a little
stream to the north, wading it all the way, sometimes having to plunge
in to my neck, in other places being compelled to swim across little
basins that have been excavated at the foot of the falls. Along its
course are many cascades and springs, gushing out from the rocks on
either side. Sometimes a cottonwood tree grows over the water. I come
to one beautiful fall, of more than 150 feet, and climb around it to the
right on the broken rocks. Still going up, the canyon is found to narrow
very
269 powell-canyons-169.jpg
AN ALCOVE IN THE RED WALL.
270 powell-canyons-170.jpg
KANAB CANYON, NEAR THE JUNCTION.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 271
much, being but 15 or 20 feet wide; yet the walls rise on either side
many hundreds of feet, perhaps thousands; I can hardly tell.
In some places the stream has not excavated its channel down vertically
through the rocks, but has cut obliquely, so that one wall overhangs the
other. In other places it is cut vertically above and obliquely below,
or obliquely above and vertically below, so that it is impossible to
see out overhead. But I can go no farther; the time which I estimated it
would take to make the portage has almost expired, and I start back on
a round trot, wading in the creek where I must and plunging through
basins. The men are waiting for me, and away we go on the river.
Just after dinner we pass a stream on the right, which leaps into' the
Colorado by a direct fall of more than 100 feet, forming a beautiful
cascade. There is a bed of very hard rock above, 30 or 40 feet in
thickness, and there are much softer beds below. The hard beds above
project many yards beyond the softer, which are washed out, forming a
deep cave behind the fall, and the stream pours through a narrow crevice
above into a deep pool below. Around on the rocks in the cavelike
chamber are set beautiful ferns, with delicate fronds and enameled
stalks. The frondlets have their points turned down to form spore cases.
It has very much the appearance of the maidenhair fern, but is much
larger. This delicate foliage covers the rocks all about the fountain,
and gives the chamber great beauty. But we have little time to spend in
admiration; so on we go.
We make fine progress this afternoon, carried along by a swift river,
shooting over the rapids and finding no serious obstructions. The
canyon walls for 2,500 or 3,000 feet are very regular, rising almost
perpendicularly, but here and there set with narrow steps, and
occasionally we can see away above the broad terrace to distant cliffs.
We camp to-night in a marble cave, and find on looking at our reckoning
that we have run 22 miles.
August 24.--The canyon is wider to-day. The walls rise to a vertical
height of nearly 3,000 feet. In many places the river runs under a cliff
in great curves, forming amphitheaters half-dome shaped.
Though the river is rapid, we meet with no serious obstructions and
run 20 miles. How anxious we are to make up our reckoning every time we
stop, now that our diet is confined to plenty of coffee, a very
272 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
little spoiled flour, and very few dried apples! It has come to be a
race for a dinner. Still, we make such fine progress that all hands are
in good cheer, but not a moment of daylight is lost.
August 25.--We make 12 miles this morning, when we come to monuments of
lava standing in the river,--low rocks mostly, but some of them shafts
more than a hundred feet high. Going on down three or four miles, we
find them increasing in number. Great quantities of cooled lava and
many cinder cones are seen on either side; and then we come to an abrupt
cataract. Just over the fall on the right wall a cinder cone, or extinct
volcano, with a well-defined crater, stands on the very brink of the
canyon. This, doubtless, is the one we saw two or three days ago. From
this volcano vast floods of lava have been poured down into the river,
and a stream of molten rock has run up the canyon three or four miles
and down we know not how far. Just where it poured over the canyon wall
is the fall. The whole north side as far as we can see is lined with the
black basalt, and high up on the opposite wall are patches of the same
material, resting on the benches and filling old alcoves and caves,
giving the wall a spotted appearance.
The rocks are broken in two along a line which here crosses the river,
and the beds we have seen while coming down the canyon for the last 30
miles have dropped 800 feet on the lower side of the line, forming what
geologists call a "fault." The volcanic cone stands directly over the
fissure thus formed. On the left side of the river, opposite, mammoth
springs burst out of this crevice, 100 or 200 feet above the river,
pouring in a stream quite equal in volume to the Colorado Chiquito.
This stream seems to be loaded with carbonate of lime, and the water,
evaporating, leaves an incrustation on the rocks; and this process has
been continued for a long time, for extensive deposits are noticed in
which are basins with bubbling springs. The water is salty.
We have to make a portage here, which is completed in about three hours;
then on we go.
We have no difficulty as we float along, and I am able to observe the
wonderful phenomena connected with this flood of lava. The canyon was
doubtless filled to a height of 1,200 or 1,500 feet, perhaps by more
than one flood. This would dam the water back; and in cutting through
this great lava bed, a new channel has been formed, sometimes on one
273 powell-canyons-171.jpg
KANAB CANYON, IN THE RED WALL LIMESTONE.
274 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
side, sometimes on the other. The cooled lava, being of firmer texture
than the rocks of which the walls are composed, remains in some places;
in others a narrow channel has been cut, leaving a line of basalt on
either side. It is possible that the lava cooled faster on the sides
against the walls and that the center ran out; but of this we can only
conjecture. There are other places where almost the whole of the lava is
gone, only patches of it being seen, where it has caught on the walls.
As we float down we can see that it ran out into side canyons. In some
places this basalt has a fine, columnar structure, often in concentric
prisms, and masses of these concentric columns have coalesced. In some
places, when the flow occurred the canyon was probably about the same
depth that it is now, for we can see where the basalt has rolled out on
the sands, and--what seems curious to me--the sands are not melted or
metamorphosed to any appreciable extent. In places the bed of the river
is of sandstone or limestone, in other places of lava, showing that it
has all been cut out again where the sandstones and limestones appear;
but there is a little yet left where the bed is of lava.
What a conflict of water and fire there must have been here! Just
imagine a river of molten rock running down into a river of melted snow.
What a seething and boiling of the waters; what clouds of steam rolled
into the heavens!
Thirty-five miles to-day. Hurrah!
August 26.--The canyon walls are steadily becoming higher as we advance.
They are still bold and nearly vertical up to the terrace. We still see
evidence of the eruption discovered yesterday, but the thickness of the
basalt is decreasing as we go down stream; yet it has been reinforced
at points by streams that have come down from volcanoes standing on the
terrace above, but which we cannot see from the river below.
Since we left the Colorado Chiquito we have seen no evidences that the
tribe of Indians inhabiting the plateaus on either side ever come down
to the river; but about eleven o'clock to-day we discover an Indian
garden at the foot of the wall on the right, just where a little stream
with a narrow flood plain comes down through a side canyon. Along the
valley the Indians have planted corn, using for irrigation the water
which bursts out in springs at the foot of the cliff. The corn is
looking quite
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
275
well, but it is not sufficiently advanced to give us roasting ears; but
there are some nice green squashes. We carry ten or a dozen of these
on board our boats and hurriedly leave, not willing to be caught in the
robbery, yet excusing ourselves by pleading our great want. We run down
a short distance to where we feel certain no Indian can follow, and what
a kettle of squash sauce we make! True, we have no salt with which to
season it, but it makes a fine addition to our unleavened bread and
coffee. Never was fruit so sweet as these stolen squashes.
After dinner we push on again and make fine time, finding many rapids,
but none so bad that we cannot run them with safety; and when we stop,
just at dusk, and foot up our reckoning, we find we have run 35 miles
again. A few days like this, and we are out of prison.
We have a royal supper--unleavened bread, green squash sauce, and strong
coffee. We have been for a few days on half rations, but now have no
stint of roast squash. powell-canyons-172.jpg
THE BRINK OF THE INNER GORGE.
276 powell-canyons-173.jpg
THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO, SHOWING AMPHITHEATER AND SCULPTURED
BUTTES.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON. 277
August 27.--This morning the river takes a more southerly direction. The
dip of the rocks is to the north and we are running rapidly into lower
formations. Unless our course changes we shall very soon run again into
the granite. This gives some anxiety. Now and then the river turns to
the west and excites hopes that are soon destroyed by another turn to
the south. About nine o'clock we come to the dreaded rock. It is with no
little misgiving that we see the river enter these black, hard walls.
At its very entrance we have to make a portage; then let down with lines
past some ugly rocks. We run a mile or two farther, and then the rapids
below can be seen.
About eleven o'clock we come to a place in the river which seems much
worse than any we have yet met in all its course. A little creek comes
down from the left. We land first on the right and clamber up over the
granite pinnacles for a mile or two, but can see no way by which to let
down, and to run it would be sure destruction. After dinner we cross to
examine on the left. High above the river we can walk along on the top
of the granite, which is broken off at the edge and set with crags and
pinnacles, so that it is very difficult to get a view of the river at
all. In my eagerness to reach a point where I can see the roaring fall
below, I go too far on the wall, and can neither advance nor retreat. I
stand with one foot on a little projecting rock and cling with my hand
fixed in a little crevice. Finding I am caught here, suspended 400 feet
above the river, into which I must fall if my footing fails, I call for
help. The men come and pass me a line, but I cannot let go of the rock
long enough to take hold of it. Then they bring two or three of the
largest oars. All this takes time which seems very precious to me;
but at last they arrive. The blade of one of the oars is pushed into a
little crevice in the rock beyond me in such a manner that they can hold
me pressed against the wall. Then another is fixed in such a way that I
can step on it; and thus I am extricated.
Still another hour is spent in examining the river from this side, but
no good view of it is obtained; so now we return to the side that was
first examined, and the afternoon is spent in clambering among the crags
and pinnacles and carefully scanning the river again. We find that the
lateral streams have washed boulders into the river, so as to form a
dam, over which the water makes a broken fall of 18 or 20 feet; then
there is
278 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
a rapid, beset with rocks, for 200 or 300 yards, while on the other
side, points of the wall project into the river. Below, there is a
second fall; how great, we cannot tell. Then there is a rapid, filled
with huge rocks, for 100 or 200 yards. At the bottom of it, from the
right wall, a great rock projects quite halfway across the river. It has
a sloping surface extending up stream, and the water, coming down with
all the momentum gained in the falls and rapids above, rolls up this
inclined plane many feet, and tumbles over to the left. I decide that
it is possible to let down over the first fall, then run near the right
cliff to a point just above the second, where we can pull out into a
little chute, and, having run over that in safety, if we pull with all
our power across the stream, we may avoid the great rock below. On my
return to the boat I announce to the men that we are to run it in the
morning. Then we cross the river and go into camp for the night on some
rocks in the mouth of the little side canyon.
After supper Captain Howland asks to have a talk with me. We walk up
the little creek a short distance, and I soon find that his object is to
remonstrate against my determination to proceed. He thinks that we had
better abandon the river here. Talking with him, I learn that he, his
brother, and William Dunn have determined to go no farther in the boats.
So we return to camp. Nothing is said to the other men.
For the last two days our course has not been plotted. I sit down and do
this now, for the purpose of finding where we are by dead reckoning.
It is a clear night, and I take out the sextant to make observation
for latitude, and I find that the astronomic determination agrees very
nearly with that of the plot--quite as closely as might be expected from
a meridian observation on a planet. In a direct line, we must be about
45 miles from the mouth of the Rio Virgen. If we can reach that point,
we know that there are settlements up that river about 20 miles. This 45
miles in a direct line will probably be 80 or 90 by the meandering line
of the river. But then we know that there is comparatively open country
for many miles above the mouth of the Virgen, which is our point of
destination.
As soon as I determine all this, I spread my plot on the sand and wake
Howland, who is sleeping down by the river, and show him where I suppose
we are, and where several Mormon settlements are situated.
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
279
We have another short talk about the morrow, and he lies down again;
but for me there is no sleep. All night long I pace up and down a little
path, on a few yards of sand beach, along by the river. Is it wise to
go on? I go to the boats again to look at our rations. I feel satisfied
that we can get over the danger immediately before us; what there may be
below I know not. From our outlook yesterday on the cliffs, the canyon
seemed to make another great bend to the south, and this, from our
experience heretofore, means more and higher granite walls. I am not
sure that we can climb out of the canyon here, and, if at the top of the
wall, I know enough of the country to be certain that it is a desert of
rock and sand between this and the nearest Mormon town, which, on the
most direct line, must be 75 miles away. True, the late rains have been
favorable to us, should we go out, for the probabilities are that we
shall find water still standing in holes; and at one time I almost
conclude to leave the river. But for years I have powell-canyons-174.jpg
CLIMBING THE GRAND CANYON WALL.
280 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
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 nearly accomplished it, is more than I am willing to
acknowledge, and I determine to go on.
I wake my brother and tell him of Howland's determination, and he
promises to stay with me; then I call up Hawkins, the cook, and he makes
a like promise; then Sumner and Bradley and Hall, and they all agree to
go on.
August 28.--At last daylight comes and we have breakfast without a word
being said about the future. The meal is as solemn as a funeral. After
breakfast I ask the three men if they still think it best to leave us.
The elder Howland thinks it is, and Dunn agrees with him. The younger
Howland tries to persuade them to go on with the party; failing in
which, he decides to go with his brother.
Then we cross the river. The small boat is very much disabled and
unseaworthy. With the loss of hands, consequent on the departure of the
three men, we shall not be able to run all of the boats; so I decide to
leave my "Emma Dean."
Two rifles and a shotgun are given to the men who are going out. I ask
them to help themselves to the rations and take what they think to be
a fair share. This they refuse to do, saying they have no fear but
that they can get something to eat; but Billy, the cook, has a pan of
biscuits prepared for dinner, and these he leaves on a rock.
Before starting, we take from the boat our barometers, fossils, the
minerals, and some ammunition and leave them on the rocks. We are going
over this place as light as possible. The three men help us lift our
boats over a rock 25 or 30 feet high and let them down again over the
first fall, and now we are all ready to start. The last thing before
leaving, I write a letter to my wife and give it to Howland. Sumner
gives him his watch, directing that it be sent to his sister should he
not be heard from again. The records of the expedition have been kept in
duplicate. One set of these is given to Howland; and now we are ready.
For the last time they entreat us not to go on, and tell us that it is
madness to set out in this place; that we can never get safely through
it; and, further, that the river turns again to the south into the
granite, and a few miles of such rapids and falls will exhaust our
entire stock of rations, and then
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
281
it will be too late to climb out. Some tears are shed; it is rather
a solemn parting; each party thinks the other is taking the dangerous
course.
My old boat left, I go on board of the "Maid of the Canyon." The three
men climb a crag that overhangs the river to watch us off. The "Maid
of the Canyon" pushes out. We glide rapidly along the foot of the wall,
just grazing one great rock, then pull out a little into the chute of
the second fall and plunge over it. The open compartment is filled when
we strike the first wave below, but we cut through it, and then the men
pull with all their power toward the left wall and swing clear of the
dangerous rock below all right. We are scarcely a minute in running it,
and find that, although it looked bad from above, we have passed many
places that were worse. The other boat follows without more difficulty.
We land at the first powell-canyons-175.jpg
TRIANGULATION STATION.
282 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
practicable point below, and fire our guns, as a signal to the men above
that we have come over in safety. Here we remain a couple of hours,
hoping that they will take the smaller boat and follow us. We are behind
a curve in the canyon and cannot see up to where we left them, and so we
wait until their coming seems hopeless, and then push on.
And now we have a succession of rapids and falls until noon, all of
which we run in safety. Just after dinner we come to another bad place.
A little stream comes in from the left, and below there is a fall, and
still below another fall. Above, the river tumbles down, over and among
the rocks, in whirlpools and great waves, and the waters are lashed into
mad, white foam. We run along the left, above this, and soon see that we
cannot get down on this side, but it seems possible to let down on the
other. We pull up stream again for 200 or 300 yards and cross. Now there
is a bed of basalt on this northern side of the canyon, with a bold
escarpment that seems to be a hundred feet high. We can climb it and
walk along its summit to a point where we are just at the head of the
fall. Here the basalt is broken down again, so it seems to us, and I
direct the men to take a line to the top of the cliff and let the boats
down along the wall. One man remains in the boat to keep her clear
of the rocks and prevent her line from being caught on the projecting
angles. I climb the cliff and pass along to a point just over the fall
and descend by broken rocks, and find that the break of the fall is
above the break of the wall, so that we cannot land, and that still
below the river is very bad, and that there is no possibility of a
portage. Without waiting further to examine and determine what shall
be done, I hasten back to the top of the cliff to stop the boats from
coming down. When I arrive I find the men have let one of them down to
the head of the fall. She is in swift water and they are not able to
pull her back; nor are they able to go on with the line, as it is not
long enough to reach the higher part of the cliff which is just before
them; so they take a bight around a crag. I send two men back for the
other line. The boat is in very swift water, and Bradley is standing in
the open compartment, holding out his oar to prevent her from striking
against the foot of the cliff. Now she shoots out into the stream and
up as far as the line will permit, and then, wheeling, drives headlong
against the rock, and then out and back again, now straining
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
283
on the line, now striking against the rock. As soon as the second line
is brought, we pass it down to him; but his attention is all taken up
with his own situation, and he does not see that we are passing him the
line. I stand on a projecting rock, waving my hat to gain his attention,
for my voice is drowned by the roaring of the falls. Just at this moment
I see him take his knife from its sheath and step forward to cut the
line. He has evidently decided that it is better to go over with the
boat as it is than to wait for her to be broken to pieces. As he leans
over, the boat sheers again into the stream, the stem-post breaks away
and she is loose. With perfect composure Bradley seizes the great scull
oar, places it in the stern rowlock, and pulls with all his power (and
he is an athlete) to turn the bow of the boat down stream, for he wishes
to go bow down, rather than to drift broadside on. One, two strokes he
makes, and a third just as she goes over, and the boat is fairly turned,
and she goes down almost beyond our sight, though we are more than a
hundred feet above the river. Then she comes up again on a great wave,
and down and up, then around behind some great rocks, and is lost in the
mad, white foam below. We stand frozen with fear, for we see no boat.
Bradley is gone! so it seems. But now, away below, we see something
coming out of the waves. It is evi- powell-canyons-176.jpg
CAVATE HOUSES
284 CANTONS OF THE COLORADO.
dently a boat. A moment more, and we see Bradley standing on deck,
swinging his hat to show that he is all right. But he is in a whirlpool.
We have the stem-post of his boat attached to the line. How badly she
may be disabled we know not. I direct Sumner and Powell to pass along
the cliff and see if they can reach him from below. Hawkins, Hall, and
myself run to the other boat, jump aboard, push out, and away we go over
the falls. A wave rolls over us and our boat is unmanageable. Another
great wave strikes us, and the boat rolls over, and tumbles and tosses,
I know not how. All I know is that Bradley is picking us up. We soon
have all right again, and row to the cliff and wait until Sumner and
Powell can come. After a difficult climb they reach us. We run two or
three miles farther and turn again to the northwest, continuing until
night, when we have run out of the granite once more.
August 29.--We start very early this morning. The river still continues
swift, but we have no serious difficulty, and at twelve o'clock emerge
from the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. We are in a valley now, and
low mountains are seen in the distance, coming to the river below. We
recognize this as the Grand Wash.
A few years ago a party of Mormons set out from St. George, Utah, taking
with them a boat, and came down to the Grand Wash, where they divided,
a portion of the party crossing the river to explore the San Francisco
Mountains. Three men--Hamblin, Miller, and Crosby--taking the boat, went
on down the river to Callville, landing a few miles below the mouth of
the Rio Virgen. We have their manuscript journal with us, and so the
stream is comparatively well known.
To-night we camp on the left bank, in a mesquite thicket.
The relief from danger and the joy of success are great. When he who
has been chained by wounds to a hospital cot until his canvas tent seems
like a dungeon cell, until the groans of those who lie about tortured
with probe and knife are piled up, a weight of horror on his ears that
he cannot throw off, cannot forget, and until the stench of festering
wounds and anaesthetic drugs has filled the air with its loathsome
burthen,--when he at last goes out into the open field, what a world he
sees! How beautiful the sky, how bright the sunshine, what "floods of
delirious music" pour from the throats of birds, how sweet the fragrance
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANYON.
285
of earth and tree and blossom! The first hour of convalescent freedom
seems rich recompense for all pain and gloom and terror.
Something like these are the feelings we experience to-night. 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. We
have watched with deep solicitude the steady disappearance of our scant
supply of rations, and from time to time have seen the river snatch a
portion of the little left, while we were a-hungered. And danger and
toil were endured in those gloomy depths, where ofttimes clouds hid the
sky by day and but a narrow zone of stars could be seen at night. Only
during the few hours of deep sleep, consequent on hard labor, has the
roar of the waters been hushed. Now the danger is over, now the toil has
ceased, now the gloom has disappeared, now the firmament is bounded only
by the horizon, and what a vast expanse of constellations can be seen!
The river rolls by us in silent majesty; the quiet of the camp is sweet;
our joy is almost ecstasy. We sit till long after midnight talking of
the Grand Canyon, talking of home, but talking chiefly of the three men
who left us. Are they wandering in those depths, unable to find a way
out? Are they searching over the desert lands above for water? Or are
they nearing the settlements?
August 30.--We run in two or three short, low canyons to-day, and on
emerging from one we discover a band of Indians in the valley below.
They see us, and scamper away in eager haste to hide among the rocks.
Although we land and call for them to return, not an Indian can be seen.
powell-canyons-177.jpg
STANDING BOCKS.
286 CANYONS OF THE COLORADO.
Two or three miles farther down, in turning a short bend of the river,
we come upon another camp. So near are we before they can see us that I
can shout to them, and, being able to speak a little of their language,
I tell them we are friends; but they all flee to the rocks, except a
man, a woman, and two children. We land and talk with them. They are
without lodges, but have built little shelters of boughs, under which'
they wallow in the sand. The man is dressed in a hat; the woman, in a
string of beads only. At first they are evidently much terrified; but
when I talk to them in their own language and tell them we are friends,
and inquire after people in the Mormon towns, they are soon reassured
and beg for tobacco. Of this precious article we have none to spare.
Sumner looks around in the boat for something to give them, and finds
a little piece of colored soap, which they receive as a valuable
present,--rather as a thing of beauty than as a useful commodity,
however. They are either unwilling or unable to tell us anything about
the Indians or white people, and so we push off, for we must lose no
time.
We camp at noon under the right bank. And now as we push out we are in
great expectancy, for we hope every minute to discover the mouth of the
Rio Virgen. Soon one of the men exclaims: "Yonder's an Indian in the
river." Looking for a few minutes, we certainly do see two or three
persons. The men bend to their oars and pull toward them. Approaching,
we see that there are three white men and an Indian hauling a seine, and
then we discover that it is just at the mouth of the long-sought river.
As we come near, the men seem far less surprised to see us than we do to
see them. They evidently know who we are, and on talking with them they
tell us that we have been reported lost long ago, and that some weeks
before a messenger had been sent from Salt Lake City with instructions
for them to watch for any fragments or relics of our party that might
drift down the stream.
Our new-found friends, Mr. Asa and his two sons, tell us that they are
pioneers of a town that is to be built on the bank. Eighteen or twenty
miles up the valley of the Rio Virgen there are two Mormon towns,
St. Joseph and St. Thomas. To-night we dispatch an Indian to the
last-mentioned place to bring any letters that may be there for us.
Our arrival here is very opportune. When we look over our store of
TO THE FOOT OF THE GRAND CANTON.
287
supplies, we find about 10 pounds of flour, 15 pounds of dried apples,
but 70 or 80 pounds of coffee.
August 31.--This afternoon the Indian returns with a letter informing us
that Bishop Leithhead of St. Thomas and two or three other Mormons
are coming down with a wagon, bringing us supplies. They arrive about
sundown. Mr. Asa treats us with great kindness to the extent of his
ability; but Bishop Leithhead brings in his wagon two or three dozen
melons and many other little luxuries, and we are comfortable once more.
September 1.--This morning Sumner, Bradley, Hawkins, and Hall, taking on
a small supply of rations, start down the Colorado with the boats. It is
their intention to go to Fort Mojave, and perhaps from there overland to
Los Angeles.
Captain Powell and myself return with Bishop Leithhead to St. Thomas.
From St. Thomas we go to Salt Lake City. powell-canyons-178.jpg
288 powell-canyons-179.jpg
MOUNT TRUMBULL, FROM MOUNT LOGAN.
289