Return of the Major--Some Mormon Friends--No Rations at the
Elusive Dirty Devil--Captain Gunnison's Crossing--An All-night
Vigil for Cap. and Clem--The Land of a Thousand Cascades--A
Bend Like a Bow-knot and a Canyon Labyrinthian--Cleaving an
Unknown World--Signs of the Oldest Inhabitant--Through the
Canyon of Stillwater to the Jaws of the Colorado.
There was little energy in our camp the day after our arrival at the end
of the long struggle with Desolation and Gray canyons, and, also, it
being Sunday, we lounged around in a state of relaxation, joyful that we
did not have to roll up our blankets and stow them and everything else
in the rubber bags and pack the cabins to go on. The boats had been
unloaded and hauled on the beach, which was smooth sand, to dry out
preparatory to our caulking and repairing them with the pine gum
collected in Desolation. During the morning Prof. sent Jack and me down
the river a short distance to put up a signal, a small American flag, on
the lower end of an island, where it could easily be seen by any one
looking for us. All hands kept an ear open for signal shots, which we
hoped to hear soon, and have the Major once more in our company. After
dinner Prof. and Steward took another walk down the open valley about
five miles to reconnoitre, but though they came upon remains of a great
many Indian camps, all were old, and the valley appeared as silent and
deserted as it was desolate and barren. Along the river there were a few
groves of cottonwood, the only vegetation of any consequence to be seen.
[Illustration: A. Map by the U. S. War Department--1868.
Supplied by the courtesy of General Mackenzie, U. S. A., showing the
knowledge of the Colorado River basin just before Major Powell began
operations. The topography above the junction of the Green and Grand is
largely pictorial and approximate. The white space from the San Rafael
to the mouth of the Virgin is the unknown country referred to in this
volume, which was investigated in 1871-72-73. Preliminary Maps B, C, and
D, at pages 244, 246, and 207, respectively, partly give the results of
the work which filled in this area.]
Through this valley passed the famous trail from Santa Fé to Los
Angeles, laid out in 1830 by that splendid pioneer, William Wolfskill.
The reason he came so far north was because there was no place to cross
the canyons below that was known.[13] This path was occasionally
travelled for years, and became celebrated as the "Old Spanish Trail."
Here it was that Captain Gunnison of our army in his notable
explorations crossed in 1853 on his westward journey, which a few days
later proved fatal to him, as he was killed by the Gosi-Utes. Before
leaving he established the latitude and longitude of this crossing,
which ever after bore his name.[14] Together with the mouth of the
Uinta, the mouth of Henry's Fork, and the mouth of Diamond Creek, this
made four points astronomically fixed before the Major came between the
Union Pacific crossing and the end of the Grand Canyon. Diamond Creek
mouth was determined accurately by Ives in 1858. The trappers and fur
hunters between 1824 and 1840, men like Jim Bridger and Kit Carson, had
roamed more or less over the region we had come through, and
occasionally they had tried to see the river in the canyons. The aridity
of the country generally held them back. Ashley, as already noted, had
made the passage of Red Canyon, and the trapper Meek with several
companions had gone through Lodore and Whirlpool one winter on the ice.
Frémont, Simpson, Berthoud, Selden, and some other scientific explorers
had passed here and there reconnoitring, and Macomb in 1859 had made a
reconnaissance to the south and south-west of Gunnison Crossing, so that
a general idea of the character of the region had been obtained and a
kind of approximate topography had been tentatively thrown in, yet it
was mainly an unknown wilderness so far as record went, particularly
contiguous to the river. But south from the San Rafael to the Paria and
west to the High Plateaus forming the southward continuation of the
Wasatch Range, an area of at least 10,000 square miles, there was still
a completely unknown country. Indeed, even from the Paria on down to the
Grand Wash the region on the right was hardly better understood, though
there were several Mormon settlements on the headwaters of the Virgin,
and recently the settlement of Kanab had been made farther east. On the
south of the Grand Canyon Ives had reconnoitred to some extent, reaching
the river at the mouth of Diamond Creek, but at no other point above
that did he come to the river nor get anywhere near its canyon above the
tributary Habasu (Cataract).
In the entire stretch from Gunnison Crossing to the end of the Grand
Canyon, a distance of 587-1/2 miles, but two points were known where
the river could be crossed, the Crossing of the Fathers (El Vado de los
Padres), about latitude 37, and the mouth of the Paria, only thirty-five
miles lower down. This latter place had been discovered by Jacob
Hamblin, or "Old Jacob," as he was familiarly called, and he was the
first white man to cross there, which he did in October, 1869. He was a
well-known Mormon scout and pioneer of those days. He forded at El Vado
his first time in 1858, possibly the first white man after Escalante,
though the ford was known to at least Richard Campbell, the trapper, in
1840 or earlier. In 1862 Jacob circumtoured the Grand and Marble
canyons, going from St. George by way of the Grand Wash to the Moki
Towns and returning by way of El Vado. Thus the region below us to the
left or east had been reconnoitred in a general way by Macomb, while
that to the right or west had not had even bird's-eye exploration. Until
the Major's unrivalled first descent in 1869 the river was equally
unknown. Even above Gunnison Crossing, despite the spasmodic efforts at
exploration referred to, the river had remained a geographical enigma,
and to the Major belongs the sole credit for solving this great problem
throughout its length from the Union Pacific crossing in Wyoming to the
mouth of the Virgin River--the last problem of this kind within the
United States. Hampered as the first party was by loss of provisions and
instruments, they nevertheless made a plat of the immediate course of
the stream, portions of which were lost with the men who were killed by
the Shewits on leaving the party near the end of the Grand Canyon. So
far we had not been bothered in the least by lack of provisions,
instruments, time, health, or strength, and we had been able to make an
accurate meander of the river, note the topography and geology as we
went along, climb out frequently to examine the surrounding country, and
in every way carry forward the scientific work as planned. It was now a
question whether or not we would get our supplies at the next appointed
station, the mouth of the Dirty Devil River, or whether we would be
obliged to weigh out what we had, and by limiting ourselves to strict
rations put the work through anyhow. By September 5th we would probably
have information on this point, that being the limit set for our
waiting. Should the Major not arrive by that time, it would mean that
we were to go on as best we could with the supplies on hand.
Monday was devoted to overhauling the boats, while Prof. took
observations. During a rest he also read aloud to us from Tennyson,
"A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land; far off three mountain-tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset-flushed; and, dew'd with showery drops,
Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the copse."
He was an excellent reader and we enjoyed his various selections. They
gave variety and new drift to our thought which was refreshing and
beneficial. When the boats were completed they were returned to the
river, but for the time being the rations and other things forming their
cargoes were permitted to remain on shore covered by the paulins. The
boats swung gracefully at their lines and Jack was tempted to get out
his fishing tackle in the early evening and seat himself on one of the
cabins to wait patiently for a bite. Softly the river rippled by with an
innocent murmur as if it had never been guilty of anything but the
calmest and best-behaved motion such as now reflected the great pinnacle
across the way standing 1200 feet clear cut against the glowing sky. The
air was balmy, no wind blew, and a universal quiet prevailed when
suddenly Jack uttered several exclamations not entirely in harmony with
the moment. He thought his precious hook was caught on a snag. Pulling
gently in order not to break his line the snag lifted with it and
presently he was astounded to see, not the branch of a tree or a
water-logged stick, but the head of an enormous fish appear above the
surface. Had there been some splashing he would have been prepared for
the extraordinary sight but the monster came with barely a wriggle as if
he did not know what it was to be caught. He was successfully landed in
the middle cabin of the boat, which was empty except for some water, and
lay there unhurt as if it were the natural place for him. Casting again
another of the same kind came forth and then a third. The longest
appeared to be the length of the cabin, as he floated in the water, and
that was four feet. He was at least thirty or thirty-six inches with a
circumference of fifteen inches. The others were considerably shorter
but nevertheless very large fish. The big one was killed for food and
Steward noted that the heart after removal kept up pulsations of twenty
beats to the minute for half an hour. These fish are now called Colorado
River salmon. The flesh was white and they seemed to us good eating.
[Illustration: Colorado River White Salmon.
Photograph by the Denver, Colorado Canyon, and Pacific Railway Survey
under Robert Brewster Stanton, 1889.]
On Tuesday, August 29th, the third day of our waiting, as we were about
to return to various occupations after dinner three rapid shots broke
suddenly on the quiet air from down the valley. It was our signal. "The
Major" cried all in a breath, and a reply signal was instantly fired.
Clem and I were sent immediately to the end of the island, carrying our
rifles, of course, for while we had little doubt as to who it was, there
might be a surprise. We hurried down while the others watched the bank
beyond. As soon as we cleared the bushes and could see the western shore
we distinguished the Major and a stranger by his side, with horses. We
shouted to them directions for reaching our camp and they rode up till
they came opposite to it whence they were ferried over while Jones took
the horses down to their camp about four miles below. The Major reported
an absolute failure in the attempt to find a way to the mouth of the
Dirty Devil River and he had not himself been able to do anything about
it. The first trial was eastward from Glencove, a Mormon settlement on
the Sevier. It failed because the Indian guides refused to proceed
beyond fifty miles and it was not practicable to go on without them. A
second party was then sent in a little later under Old Jacob
north-eastward from Kanab. They reached a river flowing to the Colorado
at about the right place and for many miles followed it with extreme
difficulty and hazard even at the low stage of water prevailing, down
through a deep, narrow canyon. Sometimes they were compelled to swim
their horses where the rapid stream filled the chasm from wall to wall,
and continual crossing and re-crossing were necessary from one footing
to another. This perilous effort was also abandoned. The Major had gone
to Salt Lake and from there, being informed of these results, down to a
village called Manti whence he made his way across country to our
present position, with several pack animals bringing three hundred
pounds of flour, a quantity of jerked beef, and twenty pounds of sugar.
This was not exactly adequate to the circumstances but he probably
thought it was all he could get through with to the meeting place
appointed in the time alloted. While he and Fred Hamblin, the man
accompanying him, were eating their dinner, we packed the boats, and
when all was ready took them on board, the Major in his old place in the
armchair on our boat, and Hamblin on the middle deck of another. In the
run down to the camp Hamblin was very uncomfortable for he was not
accustomed to boats, especially to boats that ran so fast. There were
two little rapids, some swift chutes, and in several places the river
shoaled and we grated slightly on the gravel.
Stretching away westward from Gunnison Butte we saw an exquisitely
modelled line of cliffs, some portions being a clear azure blue. At
first it was proposed to name them Henry Cliffs, but they were finally
called from their colour, Azure. Presently we arrived at the camp where
we found another man, Lyman Hamblin, a son of Jacob and nephew of Fred.
They were both Mormons from Kanab near the Arizona line in southern
Utah. They had a large amount of mail for us and every one fell to
reading letters and papers. August 30th and 31st were spent here getting
our work in shape, making sketches and observations, as well as writing
letters and helping the Hamblins prepare for their trip back through the
wild country. They had met with no Indians on the way in and they hoped
to be equally fortunate going back having no desire to see any. In this,
as they told me afterwards, they were not successful. They mounted their
horses, Friday, September 1st, about four in the afternoon when the west
was taking on a rich evening glow and turning in that direction
vanished, with a wave of the hand and a good-bye, into the mystery of
colour, bearing our letters, the geographic data, the geologic notes,
and all the other material which we had collected since leaving the
mouth of the Uinta, and which it was thought advisable to send out both
for safety and to relieve our crowded cabins. They said that the next
evening before they realised it they found themselves so near a large
encampment of Indians that there was no getting away, and they did the
only thing they could sensibly do, rode boldly on straight into the
midst of the strangers with the hope that the band belonged where they
were on the west side of the river, in which case they were surely
peaceful. Both men spoke Ute well and they had had long experience. The
Indians proved to be entirely friendly, and the Hamblins camped with
them for the night; not because they wanted to but because they thought
it inexpedient to do otherwise. When they left us we felt that they were
old friends for they were fine men and most agreeable. Besides, with the
exception of Basor who had driven the team down from Salt Lake to the
Uinta with our rations, they were the only white men which those of us
who had not visited the Uinta Agency had seen since the Harrells in
Brown's Park, nearly three months before. An hour after their departure
we pushed off and ran down about half a mile, passing one little rapid,
to the old crossing where we stopped on the left for the night. Beaman
and I were commissioned to go back to our Camp Gunnison to get a saw
which had been forgotten there; we could not afford to lose so valuable
an implement. A well-beaten Indian trail leading up the river gave us
easy going and we made good time. The effects of light and colour all
around us playing over the mountains and valley gave the surroundings a
weird interest. The day was ending. Long shadows stole across the
strange topography while the lights on the variegated buttes became
kaleidoscopic. As for us, we appeared ridiculously inadequate. We ought
to have been at least twenty feet high to fit the hour and the scene.
Gradually the lights faded, the shadows faded, then both began to merge
till a soft grey-blue dropped over all blending into the sky everywhere
except west where the burnish of sunset remained. Before dark the old
camp was reached; we found the saw by the last dying rays and then
picked our backward path by starlight following the trail as we had
come. Silence and the night were one as in the countless years that had
carved the dim buttes from the rocks of the world primeval when man was
not. Beautiful is the wilderness at all times, at all times lovely, but
under the spell of the twilight it seems to enfold one in a tender
embrace, pushing back the sordid, the commonplace, and obliterating
those magnified nothings that form the weary burden of civilised man.
With keen appreciation we tramped steadily on till at last we perceived
through the night gloom the cheerful flicker of our camp-fire, a sight
always welcome, for the camp-fire to the explorer is home.
At eight the next morning our business was resumed with the Major happy
in his accustomed place. We made a nice run of eighteen miles on a
smooth, shallow river, with broken, picturesque low cliffs and isolated
buttes everywhere. The valley was wide and filled with these rocky
hills. For a quarter of a mile on each side of the river there were
cottonwood groves offering fine spots for camping, before and after
crossing. There seemed to be several places where crossing was
accomplished. At one of these we discovered where some Indians had been
in camp a few hours before. The placidity of the river permitted the
lashing together of the boats once more for a time and while we drifted
this way down with the easy current the Major and Prof. took turns at
reading aloud from Whittier. _Mogg Megone_ was one selection that was
quite in harmony with the surroundings while other poems offered a
delightful contrast. There were songs, too, and I specially identify
with this particular locality that old college favourite, _Dear Evelina,
Sweet Evelina_ which everybody sang, and which the Major often sang
alone as he peered ahead into the vista unfolding.
Before night the valley narrowed, the banks looked more like low canyon
walls, and the current stiffened. A clump of small cottonwoods suggested
a camp as the sun ran down and there we halted. Nor did we go on the
next day as the Major desired to go out to a ridge lying to the west,
which he had seen from his horse on his way to us across country. Jones
went with him and they came back with a fine collection of Cretaceous
fossils. Steward and Cap. also went collecting and were successful. Our
surroundings were now even more peculiar than heretofore. In many places
the region was absolutely barren of all vegetation; thousands of acres
at a time had upon them hardly a living plant of any description, being
simply bare and barren rock, as devoid of soil as the deck of a ship.
Prof. took observations for latitude and longitude and the rest of us
were busy at our usual affairs. We had very little time to spare when
the various necessary duties had been regularly attended to.
[Illustration: Dellenbaugh Butte.
Near Mouth of San Rafael.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
As we went on the next morning the desolation of the surroundings
increased, if that were possible, and it was easy to read in this one
cause of the tardiness of its exploration. The acreage of bare rock grew
wider and broader. The buttes now often turned to walls about 150 feet
high, all much broken, but indicating the approach to another closing in
of the rocks upon us. Many of these buttes were beautiful in their
castellated form as well as because of a picturesque banded character,
and opposite our dinner-camp, which was on a ledge of rock, was one
surprisingly symmetrical, resembling an artificial structure. I thought
it looked like an art gallery, and the Major said it ought to be named
after the artist, so he called it "Dellenbaugh's Butte" then and there.
Another singular feature of this day was a number of alkaline springs
discovered bubbling up from the bottom of a sort of bayou or branch of
the river. There were at least seventy-five of them, one throwing a
column six or eight inches above the surface of the water here about two
feet deep. We thought the place worth a name, and called it Undine
Springs. Three or four miles below the butte named after me we arrived
at the mouth of a river, twenty-five feet wide and eight or ten inches
deep, coming in from the right. This was the San Rafael. Our camp was
made near some cottonwoods between its left bank and the Green. As soon
as we landed we perceived that the ground was strewn with flaked chips
of chalcedony, jasper, and similar stones. It was plain that here was a
favourite workshop of the native arrowhead maker, an artisan now
vanished forever. Numerous well-finished beautiful arrow-heads of stone
were found, all being placed in the general collection for the
Smithsonian Institution. Our Camp 54 was elevated considerably above the
river, and the surroundings being open, we had views in all directions.
Towards the east we could see the Sierra La Sal, two clusters of rounded
peaks, forty or fifty miles away, forming a majestic picture. The place
was easy of access, and had been a favourite resort for natives, several
acres of camp remains being found. In the morning Prof. began a series
of observations to fix the position of the mouth of the San Rafael,
while the Major and Jones, with rations, blankets, etc., on their backs
for a two days' trip, started early up the tributary stream to see what
kind of a country it flowed through. Steward feeling somewhat under the
weather did not attempt to do anything, while the photographer and the
others busied themselves in their respective lines. The following day
the Major and Jones returned as planned, having traced the San Rafael
for twenty-five miles. Before they arrived Cap. and Clem went across the
Green to travel eastward to some high red buttes, one of which they
intended to climb for topographical purposes. These buttes loomed up in
a striking way, and appeared to be no more than six miles off even to
Cap.'s experienced eye. The Major described the drainage basin of the
San Rafael as wofully barren and desolate, like the rest of our
surroundings. They had seen mountains lying beyond the Dirty Devil
River, which were the range we then called the Unknown Mountains, there
being no record of any one ever having seen them before the Major on his
first trip.
Steward, recovering his poise, walked back alone on the east bank of the
Green four miles to Dellenbaugh's Butte to examine it and the
intervening geology. He found the butte to be about four hundred feet
high and composed of stratified gypsum, thinly bedded and of fine
quality.
As evening approached we looked for the return of Cap. and Clem,
especially when the supper hour arrived, but twilight came, then
darkness, and still their footfall was not heard. The Major was greatly
disturbed over their failure to come, fearing they had gotten out of
water, missed their way, and might now be suffering or demoralised in
the arid wastes to eastward. He ordered a large fire to be built on a
high spot near camp, where it would be visible for miles in the
direction the missing men had gone. We divided into watches of two hours
each to keep the fire going, in order that the men should have a guide
if they were trying to reach the river in the night. I was called for
my turn at two in the morning, and read Whittier while feeding the
flames. The sky was mottled with clouds driving impetuously across the
zenith, the bright moon gleaming through the interstices as they rapidly
passed along. My attention was divided between the Quaker poet, the
blazing fire, the mysterious environment into which I peered from time
to time, and the flying scud playing hide-and-seek with the moon. At
three I called Andy, who had breakfast ready before five, and all hands
were up prepared to start on a search. By the time we had eaten there
was light enough for operations to begin, and the Major, accompanied by
Jack, carrying between them two days' rations and as much water as
possible, were put across the Green to strike out directly eastward. A
couple of hours later Prof. took a boat, with Steward and me to man it
and another supply of food and water, and ran down the river a mile,
where we headed back into the dry region to intersect at a distance the
route the Major was following. We had not gone far before signal shots
came to our ears, and through a glass turned in that direction we
rejoiced to see that the Major and Jack had met the lost ones and all
was well.
Prof. directed me to go back on foot to our camp with instructions for
the other boats to come down, while he, in response to further signals,
dropped his boat to a point nearer to the position of the rescue party
and easier for them to reach. Cap. had underestimated the distance to
the butte, which was twice as far as he thought. They walked eight hours
to get there only to discover that scaling it was out of the question. A
mile and a half beyond they found one they could climb, but by the time
they had completed their observations on top of this evening overtook
them and they were at least fifteen miles from camp. Having consumed
their lunch at noon and drank all their water they were in something of
a predicament, but luckily found some water-pockets in the barren rock,
recently filled by the rains, so they did not suffer for thirst, and
going hungry is not dangerous. Over the wide surfaces of bare rock they
travelled toward camp till night forced them to wait for daylight, when
they kept on till they met the Major and Jack with water and food.
No sooner had I arrived at the camp than the sky which was leaden and
low began to drop its burden upon us. Packing up could not be done till
the rain slackened, and we sheltered ourselves as well as we could. As
we waited a deep roaring sound from not far off presently fell on our
ears and we were puzzled to explain it till an examination showed a
recently dry gulch filled with a muddy torrent which leaped the low
cliff into the river, a sullen cascade. The San Rafael, too, was a
booming flood. We packed the boats as soon as we could and ran down
about two miles and a half to where the first boat was. Cliffs bordered
the river again, 50 to 100 feet high, then 200 or 300, and we saw we
were in the beginning of the next canyon called from its winding course,
Labyrinth. Over these straight walls hundreds of beautiful cascades born
of the rain were plunging into the river. They were of all sizes, all
heights, and almost all colours, chocolate, amber, and red
predominating. The rocky walls, mainly of a low purplish-red tint, were
cut into by the river till the outside curves of the bends were
perpendicular and sometimes slightly more than perpendicular, so that
some of the cascades fell clear without a break. The acres of bare rock
composing the surface of the land on both sides collected the rain as
does the roof of a house, and the rills and rivulets rapidly uniting
soon formed veritable floods of considerable proportions seeking the
bosom of the river. This seemed the most fantastic region we had yet
encountered. Buttes, pinnacles, turrets, spires, castles, gulches,
alcoves, canyons and canyons, all hewn, "as the years of eternity roll"
out of the verdureless labyrinth of solid rock, made us feel more than
ever a sense of intruding into a forbidden realm, and having permanently
parted from the world we formerly knew.
About noon we caught up to the other boat and all had dinner together,
happy that nothing serious had befallen Cap. and Clem. During the whole
afternoon rain steadily fell upon the top of this rock-roofed world till
the river rose several inches while its colour turned to a dull yellow,
then to a red, showing how heavy the rainfall had been in the back
country. We had our rubber ponchos on but we were more or less damp and
we began to notice that summer had passed for the air was chilly. The
river was perfectly smooth making navigation easy and we were able to
pull steadily along with no interruption from rapids. The walls ever
increased their height while over the edges the numberless astonishing
rain cascades continued to play, varying their volume according to the
downpour from the sky. Before long the cliffs were from 800 to 1000 feet
high, often perpendicular, giving the waterfalls grand plunges. These
graceful tributaries were now occasionally perfectly clear and they
sometimes fell so far without a break that they vanished in feathery
white spray. A projecting ledge at times might gather this spray again
to form a second cascade before the river level was reached. The scene
was quite magical and considering the general aridity for a large part
of the year, it appeared almost like a phantasm.
"A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go."
The river twisted this way and that with the tongues of the bends filled
with alluvial deposit bearing dense clumps of scrub-oak, and grass. Each
new bend presented a fresh picture with the changing waterfalls leaping
over by the dozen till we might have thought ourselves in some Norwegian
fiord, and we gave far more attention to admiring the scenery than to
navigating the boats. Late in the day we landed at the left on the point
of a bend and chopped a path through the thick oak brush to a grassy
glade, where we soon had the paulins stretched across oars supported by
other oars forming comfortable shelters in front of which huge fires of
dead oak and driftwood were kept going to dry things out. Andy set his
pots to boiling and supper was soon prepared.
All night the rain fell but our shelters kept us dry and every one had a
good rest. When the morning of September 8th dawned clear and bracing we
met it with good spirits, though the spirits of our party seldom varied
no matter what the circumstances, and every man took as much personal
interest in the success of the expedition as if he were entirely
responsible for it.
In order that Beaman might take some pictures and the topographers get
notes, no move was made. Prof. climbed out obtaining a wide view in all
directions and securing valuable data. I also went up on the cliffs and
made a pencil sketch, and in the afternoon we explored a peculiar
three-mouthed side canyon across the river. Three canyons came together
at their mouths and we called the place Trin Alcove. Prof. and the Major
walked up it some distance and then sent for Beaman to come to
photograph. At nightfall rain began once more, and the shelters were
again erected over the oars. Another morning came fair and we went on
leaving Beaman to finish up views and the _Nell_ crew for other work. As
we proceeded we would occasionally halt to wait but it was noon before
they overtook us. Rain had begun before this and continued at intervals
during the dinner stop. As soon as we started we ran into a heavy
downpour and while pulling along in the midst of this our boat ran on a
sand-bar and got so far and fast aground that it required all ten men to
get her off, the other crews walking in the water to where we were, as
the shoal was very wide. While thus engaged a beautiful colour effect
developed softly before us through an opalescent, vaporous shroud. The
sun came forth with brilliant power upon the retreating mists creating a
clear, luminous, prismatic bow ahead of us arching in perfect symmetry
from foot to foot of the glistening walls, while high above it resting
each end on the first terraces a second one equally distinct bridged the
chasm; and, exactly where these gorgeous rainbows touched the rocks,
roaring rain cascades leaped down to add their charm to the enchanting
picture.
We were now at the beginning of a very long loop of the river, which we
named Bow-knot Bend. Just at the start of this great turn we camped with
a record for the whole day of 15-1/8 miles. Steward found some fragments
of pottery. The next morning we remained here till ten for views, and
then we left Beaman on the summit of the low dividing ridge, where one
could look into the river on either side and see a point which we rowed
more than five miles to reach.[15] On the right bank we stopped for
dinner, and when it was about ready several of us crossed, and, helping
Beaman down with his heavy boxes, ferried him to our side. The opposite
bank was no more than one thousand feet in a straight line from our
starting-place of the morning. Instead of now going on, a halt was
made, because Steward, prowling around after his custom, had found some
fossils that were important and he wanted more. The Major, with Jack,
crossed the river for further geological investigations, while Prof. and
Jones started to climb out, though the prospect was not encouraging.
They ascended over rock, strangely eroded by water into caverns and
holes, then along a ledge till Jones, being a taller man than Prof., got
up and pulled Prof. after him with his revolver belt. They obtained a
remarkable view. Buttes, ridges, mountains stood all round, with the
river so completely lost in the abruptness of its chasm that a mile from
the brink the whole region was apparently solid, and the existence of
the gorge with a river at bottom would not even be suspected. They could
trace the line of Grand River by tower-like buttes and long ridges, and
just at the gap formed by the junction with the Green a blue mountain
arose. The Sierra La Sal, too, could be seen lying on the horizon like
blue clouds. "Weird and wild, barren and ghost-like, it seemed like an
unknown world," said Prof. The country was a vast plateau similar to the
one through which the Canyon of Desolation is carved, that is tilting
northward and increasing in altitude towards the south, so that as the
river runs on its canyon becomes deeper from this cause as well as its
cutting. These great terraces sloping to the north were not before
understood. They terminate on the south in vertical cliffs through which
the river emerges abruptly. From such features as these the Major named
this the Plateau Province. The cliffs terminating each plateau form
intricate escarpments, meandering for many miles, and they might be
likened to a series of irregular and complicated steps. Occasional high
buttes and mountain masses break the surface, but in general the whole
area forming the major part of the basin of the Colorado may be
described as a plateau country--a land of mesas, cliffs, and canyons.
[Illustration: Labyrinth Canyon--Bowknot Bend.
The Great Loop Is behind the Spectator.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
The next day, September 11th, we were on the river at 7.30, and ran
about seven miles on smooth water before we stopped for a mid-day rest
and dinner on the right bank, as well as to enable Beaman to take some
views he desired. Another three miles and we halted again for
geologising and for photographs, while Prof., taking Andy in his boat,
went ahead to establish a camp somewhere below for the night, in order
that we would not be so late getting supper. The days were now growing
short, and supper by firelight was a common thing. Rain soon began again
and put a stop to the work, driving us forward between the scores of
cascades which soon began to leap anew from every height to the river.
At one place a waterfall shot out from behind an arch set against the
wall, making a singular but beautiful effect, and revealing to us one
method by which some of the arches are formed. The place Prof. had
selected for camp was reached almost the same time that he got there. It
was on the left among the greasewood bushes, and there we put up our
paulins for shelter on oars as before. We had made about fifteen miles.
The walls receded from the river, forming what the Major named the
Orange Cliffs, and were much broken, while the back country could be
seen in places from our boats. Scores, hundreds, multitudes of buttes of
bare rock of all shapes and sizes were in sight, and one was called the
Butte of the Cross, because it suggested a cross lying down from one
position, though from another it was seen to be in reality two distinct
masses. Here ended Labyrinth Canyon according to the Major's decision.
We credited it with a length of 62-1/2 miles. Although winding through
an extremely arid country, it had for us been a place of rain and
waterfalls, and even though rapids were absent we had been nevertheless
kept rather wet.
There was not much change in structure between Labyrinth Canyon and the
following one of the series, Stillwater. The interval was one of
lowered, much broken walls, well back from the river, leaving wide
bottom lands on the sides. We went ahead in the morning on quiet water
for seven or eight miles, and stopped on a high bank for dinner and for
examinations. Prof., Cap., Steward, and the Major climbed out. Steward
got separated from the others by trying to reach a rather distant butte,
and when he tried to rejoin us he had considerable difficulty in doing
so. For half an hour he searched for a place to get down, and we looked
for one also from the bottom, and finally he was compelled to go down
half a mile farther, where he made the descent only to find himself in a
dense jungle of rose-bushes, willows, and other plants. We had to cut a
way in to relieve him. The luxuriant growth of these plants seemed to
indicate that the barrenness of the plateau was due not so much to
aridity as to the peculiar rock formation, which, disintegrating easily
under the frosts and rains, prevented the accumulation of soil. The soil
was washed away by every rain and carried by thousands of cataracts into
the river. Only when the country reaches the "base level of erosion," as
the Major called it, would vegetation succeed in holding its place; that
is when the declivity of the surrounding region became reduced till the
rain torrents should lack the velocity necessary to transport any great
load of detritus, and the disintegrated material would accumulate, give
a footing to plants, and thus further protect itself and the rocks.
[Illustration: Stillwater Canyon.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.]
The Major and Prof. now decided to use up all the photographic material
between this point and the Dirty Devil, and leave one boat at the latter
place till the next season, when a party would come in for it and take
it down to the Paria. We would be obliged to examine the Dirty Devil
region then in any event. Three miles below our dinner camp we arrived
at a remarkably picturesque bend, and on the outer circumference we made
our sixtieth camp, but so late that supper was eaten by firelight. The
bend was named by Beaman "Bonito," and in the morning he made a number
of views. The bottom lands along the river had evidently been utilised
by the aboriginal inhabitants for farming, as fragments of pottery
occasionally found indicated their presence here in former days. It was
afternoon when we pushed off and left Bonito Bend behind. After a few
miles the Major and Prof. tried to climb out, but they failed. A buff
sandstone, resting on red shale, was vertical for about 140 feet
everywhere and could not be surmounted. Above this stood another
vertical wall of five hundred feet, an orange coloured sandstone, in
which no break was apparent. These walls closed in on the river,
leaving barely a margin in many places. There were few landings, the
current, rather swift and smooth, swirling along the foot of the rocks,
which rose vertically for 250 feet and were about four hundred feet
apart. As the evening came on we could find no place to stop that
offered room enough for a camp, and we drifted on and on till almost
dark, when we discovered a patch of soil on the right that would give us
sufficient space. The 13th of September happened to be my birthday, and
Andy had promised to stew a mess of dried apples in celebration. This
does not sound like a tremendous treat, but circumstances give the test.
Our supply of rations being limited and now running low, Andy for some
time had been curbing our appetites. Stewed dried apples were granted
about once a week, and boiled beans were an equal luxury. It was
consequently a disappointment not to get the promised extra allowance of
apples on this occasion. Not only was the hour late, but there was
little wood to be had, though diligent raking around produced enough
driftwood to cook our supper of bacon, coffee, and bread. Our camp was
beneath an overhanging cliff about six hundred feet high, and the walls
near us were so heavily coated with salt that it could be broken off in
chunks anywhere. The quarters were not roomy, but we got a good sleep.
In the morning before he was fairly awake Steward discovered fossils in
the rocks over his head, and we remained till one o'clock in order that
an investigation could be made. He collected about a peck of fine
specimens. When we started again the canyon was so interesting,
particularly to the geologists, that we stopped several times in a run
of five miles between vertical walls not over six hundred feet apart.
Camp was finally made on the right in a sort of alcove, with a level
fertile bottom of several acres, where the ancients had grown corn.
Evidences of their former life here were numerous. Steward, climbing on
the cliffs, suddenly gave a loud shout, announcing a discovery. He had
found two small huts built into the rocks. Several of us went up to look
at them. They were of great age and so small that they could have been
only storage places. Withered and hardened corncobs were found within
them.
On returning to camp we learned that the Major had found some larger
house ruins on a terrace some distance up the river. Around the
camp-fire that evening he told us something about the Shinumos, as he
called them, who long ago had inhabited this region, and in imagination
we now beheld them again climbing the cliffs or toiling at their
agriculture in the small bottom land.
At daylight Steward, Clem, and I went up to the ruins, which stood on a
terrace projecting in such a way that a clear view could be had up and
down the river. There were two houses built of stone slabs, each about
13 × 15 feet, and about six feet of wall were still standing. Thirty
feet or more below ran the river, and there were remains of an old
stairway leading down through a crevice to the river, but too much
disintegrated for us to descend. These were the first ruins of the kind
I had ever seen, and I was as much interested in them as I afterwards
was in the Colosseum.
Prof., being desirous of arriving as speedily as possible at the
junction of the Grand with the Green, which was now not far off, for the
purpose of getting an observation for time, left us at seven o'clock and
proceeded in advance, while the remainder of the party turned their
attention to the locality where we were. We could see traces of an old
trail up the cliffs, and the Major, Jack, Andy, and Jones started to
follow this out. With the aid of ropes taken along and stones piled up,
as well as a cottonwood pole that had been placed as a ladder by the
ancients, they succeeded in reaching the summit. Clem and I went back to
the large house ruins for a re-examination, and looked over the
quantities of broken arrowheads of jasper and the potsherds strewing the
place in search of specimens of value. On the return trip of the
climbers Andy discovered an earthen jar, fifteen inches high and about
twelve inches in diameter, of the "pinched-coil" type, under a
sheltering rock, covered by a piece of flat stone, where it had rested
for many a decade if not for a century. It contained a small coil of
split-willow, such as is used in basketry, tied with cord of aboriginal
make. Some one had placed it there for a few moments.
After dinner we continued down the canyon, taking the pot with us. The
walls were nearly vertical on both sides, or at any rate appeared so to
us from the boats, and they often came straight into the water, with
here and there a few willows. They were not more than 450 feet apart.
No rapids troubled us, and the current was less than three miles an
hour, but we seemed to be going swiftly even without rowing. After about
seven miles the trend of the chasm became easterly, and we saw the mouth
of the Grand, the Junction, that hidden mystery which, unless we count
D. Julien, only nine white men, the Major's first party, had ever seen
before us. The Grand entered through a canyon similar to that of the
Green, all the immediate walls being at least 800 feet and the summit of
the plateau about 1500 feet above the river. On the right was a small
bench, perhaps one-third of a mile long and several rods wide, fringed
by a sand-bank, on which we found the crew of the _Nell_ established in
Camp 62. Between the two rivers was another footing of about two acres,
bearing several hackberry trees, and it was on this bank up the Grand
River side that the first party camped. Across on the east shore we
could see still another strip with some bushes, but there was no more
horizontal land to be found here. The two rivers blended gracefully on
nearly equal terms, and the doubled volume started down with reckless
impetuosity. This was the end of Stillwater Canyon, with a length of
42-3/4 miles. At last we had finished the canyons of the Green, with
every boat in good condition and not a man injured in any way, and now
we stood before the grim jaws of the Colorado. Our descent from Gunnison
Crossing was 215 feet, with not a rapid that was worth recording, and
from the Union Pacific crossing in feet, 2215, and in miles, 539. The
altitude of the Junction is 3860 feet above sea-level.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 13: In fact there was only one practicable place, El Vado de
los Padres, and that was difficult. The alternative would have been to
cross Arizona south of the Colorado. By this Gunnison Crossing route
there were better wood, water, and grass to compensate for distance.]
[Footnote 14: It is here that the Denver and Rio Grande railway crossed,
bridging the river in 1883. From here also the Brown Expedition started
in May, 1889, and the Best Expedition in 1891.]
[Footnote 15: Many years afterward on a rock face half-way round this
bend the inscription, D. Julien 1836 3 Mai, was found. The same
inscription was also found in two other places just below the mouth of
Grand River and near the end of Cataract Canyon.]