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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE._
OCTOBER, 1880.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by J. B.
LIPPINCOTT & CO., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington.
A CHAPTER OF AMERICAN EXPLORATION.
[Illustration: GLEN CANON.]
Those adventurous gentlemen who derive exhilaration from peril, and
extract febrifuge for the high pressure of a too exuberant constitution
from the difficulties of the Alps, cannot find such peaks as the
Aiguille Verte and the Matterhorn, with their friable and precipitous
cliffs, among the Rocky Mountains. The geological processes have been
gentler in evolving the latter than the former, and in the proper season
summits not less elevated nor less splendid or comprehensive than that
of the Matterhorn, upon which so many lives have been defiantly wasted,
may be attained without any great degree of danger or fatigue. All but
the apex may often be reached in the saddle. The _bergschrund_ with its
fragile lip of ice, the _crevasse_ with its treacherous bridges, and the
_avalanche_ which an ill-timed footstep starts with overwhelming havoc,
do not threaten the explorer of the Western mountains; and ordinarily he
passes from height to height--from the base with its wreaths of
evergreens to the zone where vegetation is limited to the gnarled
dwarf-pine, from the foot-hills to the basin of the crisp alpine lake
far above the life-limits--without once having to scale a cliff,
supposing, of course, that he has chosen the best path. The trail may be
narrow at times, with nothing between it and a gulf, and it may be
pitched at an angle that compels the use of "all-fours;" but with
patience and discretion the ultimate peak is conquered without
rope-ladder or ice-axe, and the vastness of the world below, gray and
cold at some hours, and at others lighted with a splendor which words
cannot transcribe, is revealed to the adventurer as satisfaction for his
toil.
But, though what may be called the pure mountain-peaks do not entail the
same perils and difficulties as the members of the Alpine Club discover
in Italy, France, Switzerland and Germany, the volcanic cones and
canon-walls of the West have an unstable verticality which, when it is
not absolutely insurmountable, is more difficult than the top of the
Matterhorn itself; and though the various expeditions under Wheeler,
Powell, King and Hayden have not had Aiguilles Vertes to oppose them,
they have been confronted by obstacles which could only be overcome by
as much courage as certain of the clubmen have required in their most
celebrated exploits. Indeed, nothing in the journals of the Alpine Club
compares in the interest of the narrative or the peril of the
undertaking with Major Powell's exploration of the canons of the
Colorado, which, though its history has become familiar to many readers
through the official report, gathers significance in contrast with all
other Western expeditions, and stands out as an achievement of
extraordinary daring.
The Colorado is formed by the junction of the Grand and Green Rivers.
The Grand has its source in the Rocky Mountains five or six miles west
of Long's Peak, and the Green heads in the Wind River Mountains near
Fremont's Peak. Uniting in the Colorado, they end as turbid floods in
the Gulf of California, a goal which they reach through gorges set deep
in the bosom of the earth and bordered by a region where the mutations
of Nature are in visible process. In all the world there is no other
river like this. The phenomenal in form predominates: the water has
grooved a channel for itself over a mile below the surrounding country,
which is a desert uninhabited and uninhabitable, terraced with long
series of cliffs or _mesa_-fronts, verdureless, voiceless and
unbeautiful. It is a land of soft, crumbling soil and parched rock, dyed
with strange colors and broken into fantastic shapes. Nature is titanic
and mad: the sane and alleviating beauty of fertility is displaced by an
arid and inanimate desolateness, which glows with alien splendor in
evanescent conditions of the atmosphere, but which in those moments when
the sun casts a fatuous light upon it is more oppressive in its
influence upon the observer than when the blaze of high noon exposes all
of its unyielding harshness. To the feeling of desolation which comes
over one in such a region as this a quickened sense and apprehension of
the supernatural are added, and we seem to be invaders of a border-land
between the solid earth and phantasy. Nature is distraught; and so much
has man subordinated and possessed her elsewhere that here, where
existence is defeated by the absolute impossibility of sustenance, a
poignant feeling of her imperfection steals over us and weighs upon the
mind.
Perhaps no portion of the earth's surface is more irremediably sterile,
none more hopelessly lost to human occupation, and yet, an eminent
geologist has said, it is the wreck of a region once rich and beautiful,
changed and impoverished by the deepening of its draining streams--the
most striking and suggestive example of over-drainage of which we have
any knowledge. Though valueless to the agriculturist, dreaded and
shunned by the emigrant, the miner and the trapper, the Colorado plateau
is a paradise to the geologist, for nowhere else are the secrets of the
earth's structure so fully revealed as here. Winding through it is the
profound chasm within which the river flows from three thousand to six
thousand feet below the general level for five hundred miles in
unimaginable solitude and gloom, and the perpendicular crags and
precipices which imprison the stream exhibit with, unusual clearness the
zoological and physical history of the land.
[Illustration: SWALLOW CAVE, GREEN RIVER.]
[Illustration: INDIANS NEAR FLAMING GORGE (SAI-AR AND FAMILY).]
It was this chasm, with its cliffs of unparalleled magnitude and its
turbulent waters, that Major Powell explored, and no chapter of Western
adventure is more interesting than his experiences. His starting-point
was Green River City, Wyoming Territory, which is now reached from the
East by the Union Pacific Railway. On the second morning out from Omaha
the passengers find themselves whirling through sandy yellowish gullies,
and, having completed their toilettes amid the flying dust, they emerge
at about eight o'clock in a basin of gigantic and abnormal forms, upon
which lie bands of dull gold, pink, orange and vermilion. In some
instances the massive sandstones have curious architectural
resemblances, as if they had been designed and scaled on a
draughting-board, but they have been so oddly worked upon by the
elements, by the attrition of their own disintegrated particles and the
intangible carving of water, that while one block stands out as a castle
embattled on a lofty precipice, another looms up in the quivering air
with a quaint likeness to something neither human nor divine. This is
where the Overland traveller makes his first acquaintance with those
erosions which are a characterizing element of Western scenery. A broad
stream flows easily through the valley, and acquires a vivid emerald hue
from the shales in its bed, whence its name is derived. Under one of
the highest buttes a small town of newish wooden buildings is scattered,
and this is ambitiously designated Green River City, which, if for
nothing else, is memorable to the tourist for the excellence of the
breakfast which the tavern-keeper serves.
[Illustration: INDIAN LODGE NEAR FLAMING GORGE.]
But it was from here, on May 28, 1869, that Major Powell started down
the canon on that expedition from which the few miners, stock-raisers
and tradespeople who saw his departure never expected to see him return
alive. His party consisted of nine men--J.C. Sumner and William H. Dunn,
both of whom had been trappers and guides in the Rocky Mountains;
Captain Powell, a veteran of the civil war; Lieutenant Bradley, also of
the army; O. G. Howland, formerly a printer and country editor, who had
become a hunter; Seneca Howland; Frank Goodman; Andrew Hall, a Scotch
boy; and "Billy" Hawkins, the cook, who had been a soldier, a teamster
and a trapper. These were carefully selected for their reputed courage
and powers of endurance. The boats in which they travelled were four in
number, and were built upon a model which, as far as possible, combined
strength to resist the rocks with lightness for portages and protection
against the over-wash of the waves. They were divided into three
compartments, oak being the material used in three and pine in the
fourth. The three larger ones were each twenty-one feet long: the other
was sixteen feet long, and was constructed for speed in rowing.
Sufficient food was taken to last ten months, with plenty of ammunition
and tools for building cabins and repairing the boats, besides various
scientific instruments.
Thus equipped and in single file, the expedition left Green River City
behind and pulled into the shadows of the phenomenal rocks in the early
morning of that May day of 1869. During the first few days they had no
serious mishap: they lost an oar, broke a barometer-tube and
occasionally struck a bar. All around them abounded examples of that
natural architecture which is seen from the passing train at the
"City"--weird statuary, caverns, pinnacles and cliffs, dyed gray and
buff, red and brown, blue and black--all drawn in horizontal strata like
the lines of a painter's brush. Mooring the boats and ascending the
cliffs after making camp, they saw the sun go down over a vast landscape
of glittering rock. The shadows fell in the valleys and gulches, and at
this hour the lights became higher and the depths deeper. The Uintah
Mountains stretched out in the south, thrusting their peaks into the sky
and shining as if ensheathed with silver. The distant pine forests had
the bluish impenetrability of a clear night-sky, and pink clouds floated
in motionless suspense until, with a final burst of splendor, the light
expired.
At the end of sixty-two miles they reached the mouth of Flaming Gorge,
near which some hunters and Indians are settled. Flaming Gorge is a
canon bounded by perpendicular bluffs, banded with red and yellow to a
height of fifteen hundred feet, and the water flowing through it is a
positive malachite in color, crossed and edged with bars of glistening
white sand. It leads into Red Canon, and in 1869 it was the gateway to a
region which was almost wholly unknown. An old Indian endeavored to
deter Major Powell from his purpose. He held his hands above his head,
with his arms vertical, and, looking between them to the sky, said,
"Rocks h-e-a-p, h-e-a-p high; the water go h-oo-woogh; water-pony (boat)
heap buck. Water catch 'em, no see 'em squaw any more, no see 'em Injin
any more, no see 'em pappoose any more." The prophecy was not
encouraging, and with some anxiety the explorers left the last vestige
of civilization behind them. Below the gorge they ran through Horseshoe
Canon, which describes an elongated letter U in the mountains, and
several portages became necessary. The cliffs increased a thousand feet
in height, and in many places the water completely filled the channel
between them; but occasionally the canon opened into a little park, from
the grassy carpet of which sprang crimson flowers on the stems of
pear-shaped cactus-plants, patches of blue and yellow blossoms, and a
fragrant _Spiraea_.
As often as a rapid was approached Major Powell stood on the deck of the
leading boat to examine it, and if he could see a clear passage between
the rocks he gave orders to go ahead, but if the channel was barricaded
he signalled the other boats to pull ashore, and landing himself he
walked along the edge of the canon for further examination. If still no
channel could be found, the boats were lowered to the head of the falls
and let down by ropes secured to the stem and stern, or when this was
impracticable both the cargoes and the boats were carried by the men
beyond the point of difficulty. When it was decided to run the rapids
the greatest danger was encountered in the first wave at the foot of the
falls, which gathered higher and higher until it broke. If the boat
struck it the instant after it broke she cut through it, and the men had
all they could do to keep themselves from being washed overboard. If in
going over the falls she was caught by some side-current and borne
against the wave "broadside on," she was capsized--an accident that
happened more than once, without fatal results, however, as the
compartments served as buoys and the men clung to her and were dragged
through the waves until quieter water was reached. Where these rapids
occur the channel is usually narrowed by rocks which have tumbled from
the cliffs or have been washed in by lateral streams; but immediately
above them a bay of smooth water may usually be discovered where a
landing can be made with ease.
[Illustration: INDIANS GAMBLING.]
In such a bay Major Powell landed one day, and, seeing one of the rear
boats making for the shore after he had given his signal, he supposed
the others would follow her example, and walked along the side of the
canon-wall to look for the fall of which a loud roar gave some
premonition. But a treacherous eddy carried the boat manned by the two
Howlands and Goodman into the current, and a moment later she
disappeared over the unseen falls. The first fall was not great--not
more than ten or twelve feet--but below the river sweeps down forty or
fifty feet through a channel filled with spiked rocks which break it
into whirlpools and frothy crests. Major Powell scrambled around a crag
just in time to see the boat strike one of these rocks, and, rebounding
from the shock, careen and fill the open compartment with water. The
oars were dashed out of the hands of two of the crew as she swung around
and was carried down the stream with great velocity, and immediately
after she struck another rock amidships, which broke her in two and
threw the men into the water. The larger part of the wreck floated
buoyantly, and seizing it the men supported themselves by it until a few
hundred feet farther down they came to a second fall, filled with huge
boulders, upon which the wreck was dashed to pieces, and the men and the
fragments were again carried out of Major Powell's sight. He struggled
along the scant foothold afforded by the canon-wall, and coming suddenly
to a bend saw one of the men in a whirlpool below a large rock, to which
he was clinging with all possible tenacity. It was Goodman, and a little
farther on was Howland tossed upon a small island, with his brother
stranded upon a rock some distance below. Howland struck out for Goodman
with a pole, by means of which he relieved him from his precarious
position, and very soon the wrecked crew stood together, bruised, shaken
and scared, but not disabled. A swift, dangerous river was on each side
of them and a fall below them. It was now a problem how to release them
from this imprisonment. Sumner volunteered, and in one of the other
boats started out from above the island, and with skilful paddling
landed upon it. Together with the three shipwrecked men he then pushed
up stream until all stood up to their necks in water, when one of them
braced himself against a rock and held the boat while the three others
jumped into her: the man on the rock followed, and all four then pulled
vigorously for the shore, which they reached in safety. Many years
before an adventurous trapper and his party had been wrecked here and
several lives had been lost. Major Powell named the spot Disaster Falls.
The cliffs are so high that the twilight is perpetual, and the sky seems
like a flat roof pressed across them. As the worn men stretched
themselves out in their blankets they saw a bright star that appeared
to rest on the very verge of the eastern cliff, and then to float from
its resting-place on the rock over the canon. At first it was like a
jewel set on the brink of the cliff, and as it moved out from the rock
they wondered that it did not fall. It did seem to descend in a gentle
curve, and the other stars were apparently in the canon, as if the sky
was spread over the gulf, resting on either wall and swayed down by its
own weight.
Sixteen days after leaving Green River City the explorers reached the
end of the Canon of Lodore, which is nearly twenty-four miles long. The
walls were never less than two thousand feet high except near the foot.
They are very irregular, standing in perpendicular or overhanging cliffs
here, terraced there, or receding in steep slopes broken by many
side-gulches. The highest point of the wall is twenty-seven hundred
feet, but the peaks a little distance off are a thousand feet higher.
Yellow pines, nut pines, firs and cedars stand in dense forests on the
Uintah Mountains, and clinging to moving rocks they have come down the
walls to the water's edge between Flaming Gorge and Echo Park. The red
sandstones are lichened over, delicate mosses grow in the moist places
and ferns festoon the walls.
[Illustration: HORSESHOE CANON.]
A few days later they were upset again, losing oars, guns and
barometers, and on July 18th they had only enough provisions left for
two months, though they had supplied themselves with quantities which,
barring accidents, should have lasted ten months. On July 19th the Grand
Canon of the Colorado became visible, and from an eminence they could
follow its course for miles and catch glimpses of the river. The Green,
down which they had come so far, bears in from the north-west through a
narrow, winding gorge. The Grand comes in from the north-east through a
channel which from the explorer's point of view seems bottomless. Away
to the west are lines of cliffs and ledges of rock, with grotesque forms
intervening. In the east a chain of eruptive mountains is visible, the
slopes covered with pines, the summits coated with snow and the gulches
flanked by great crags. Wherever the men looked there were rocks, deep
gorges in which the rivers were lost under cliffs, towers and pinnacles,
thousands of strangely-carved forms, and mountains blending with the
clouds. They passed the junction of the Grand and Green, and on July
21st they were on the Colorado itself. The walls are nearly vertical,
and the river is broad and swift, but free from rocks and falls. From
the edge of the water to the brink of the cliffs is nearly two thousand
feet, and the cliffs are reflected on the quiet surface until it seems
to the travellers that there is a vast abyss below them. But the
tranquillity is not lasting: a little way below this space of majestic
calm it was necessary to make three portages in succession, the distance
being less than three-quarters of a mile, with a fall of seventy-five
feet. In the evening Major Powell sat upon a rock by the edge of the
river to look at the water and listen to its roar. Heavy shadows settled
in the canon as the sun passed behind the cliffs, and no glint of light
remained on the crags above, but the waves were crested with a white
that seemed luminous. A great fall broke at the foot of a block of
limestone fifty feet high, and rolled back in immense billows. Over the
sunken rocks the flood was heaped up into mounds and even cones. The
tumult was extraordinary. At a point where the rocks were very near the
surface the water was thrown up ten or fifteen feet, and fell back in
gentle curves as in a fountain.
On August 3d the party traversed a canon of diversified features. The
walls were still vertical in places, especially near the bends, and the
river sweeping round the capes had undermined the cliffs. Sometimes the
rocks overarched: again curious narrow glens were found. The men
explored the glens, in one of which they discovered a natural stairway
several hundred feet high leading to a spring which burst out from an
overhanging cliff among aspens and willows, while along the edges of the
brooklet there were oaks and other rich vegetation. There were also many
side-canons with walls nearer to each other above than below, giving
them the character of grottoes; and there were carved walls, arches,
alcoves and monuments, to all of which the collective name of Glen Canon
was given.
One morning the surveyors came to a point where the river filled the
entire channel and the walls were sheer to the water's edge. They saw a
fall below, and in order to inspect it they pulled up against one of the
cliffs, in which was a little shelf or crevice a few feet above their
heads. One man stood on the deck of the boat while another climbed over
his shoulders into this insecure foothold, along which they passed until
it became a shelf which was broken by a chasm some yards farther on.
They then returned to the boat and pulled across the stream for some
logs which had lodged on the opposite shore, and with which it was
intended to bridge the gulf. It was no easy work hauling the wood along
the fissure, but with care and patience they accomplished it, and
reached a point in the cliffs from which the falls could be seen. It
seemed practicable to lower the boats over the stormy waters by holding
them with ropes from the cliffs; and this was done successfully, the
incident illustrating how laborious their progress sometimes became.
The scenery was of unending interest. The rocks were of many
colors--white, gray, pink and purple, with saffron tints. At an elbow of
the river the water has excavated a semicircular chamber which would
hold fifty thousand people, and farther on the cliffs are of
softly-tinted marble lustrously polished by the waves. At one place
Major Powell walked for more than a mile on a marble pavement fretted
with strange devices and embossed with a thousand different patterns.
Through a cleft in the wall the sun shone on this floor, which gleamed
with iridescent beauty. Exploring the cleft, Major Powell found a
succession of pools one above another, and each cold and clear, though
the water of the river was a dull red. Then a bend in the canon
disclosed a massive abutment that seemed to be set with a million
brilliant gems as they approached it, and every one wondered. As they
came closer to it they saw many springs bursting from the rock high
overhead, and the spray in the sunshine forms the gems which glitter in
the walls, at the base of which is a profusion of mosses, ferns and
flowers. To the place above where the three portages were necessary the
name of Cataract Canon was given; and they were now well into the Grand
Canon itself. The walls were more than a mile in height, and, as Major
Powell says, a vertical altitude like this is not easily pictured.
"Stand on the south steps of the Treasury Building in Washington and
look down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol Park, and measure this
distance overhead, and imagine cliffs to extend to that altitude, and
you will understand what I mean," the explorer has written; "or stand at
Canal street in New York and look up Broadway to Grace Church, and you
have about the distance; or stand at the Lake street bridge in Chicago
and look down to the Central Depot, and you have it again." A thousand
feet of the distance is through granite crags, above which are slopes
and perpendicular cliffs to the summit. The gorge is black and narrow
below, red and gray and flaring above.
[Illustration: THE HEART OF CATARACT CANON.]
Down these gloomy depths the expedition constantly glided, ever
listening and ever peering ahead, for the canon is winding and they
could not see more than a few hundred yards in advance. The view
changed every minute as some new crag or pinnacle or glen or peak became
visible; but the men were fully engaged listening for rapids and looking
for rocks. Navigation was exceedingly difficult, and it was often
necessary to hold the boats from ledges in the cliffs as the falls were
passed. The river was very deep and the canon very narrow. The waters
boiled and rushed in treacherous currents, which sometimes whirled the
boats into the stream or hurried them against the walls. The oars were
useless, and each crew labored for its own preservation as its frail
vessel was spun round like a top or borne with the speed of a locomotive
this way and that.
[Illustration: MARY'S VEIL, A SIDE CANON.]
While they were thus uncontrollable the boats entered a rapid, and one
of them was driven in shore, but as there was no foothold for a portage
the men pushed into the stream again. The next minute a reflex wave
filled the open compartment and water-logged her: breaker after breaker
rolled over her, and one capsized her. The men were thrown out, but they
managed to cling to her, and as they were swept down the other boats
rescued them.
Heavy clouds rolled in the canon, filling it with gloom. Sometimes they
hung above from wall to wall and formed a roof: then a gust of wind from
a side-canon made a rift in them and the blue heavens were revealed, or
they dispersed in patches which settled on the crags, while puffs of
vapor issued out of the smaller gulches, and occasionally formed bars
across the canon, one above another, each opening a different vista.
When they discharged their rains little rills first trickled down the
cliff, and these soon became brooks: the brooks grew into creeks and
tumbled down through innumerable cascades, which added their music to
the roar of the river. As soon as the rain ceased rills, brooks, creeks
and cascades disappeared, their birth and death being equally sudden.
[Illustration: LIGHTHOUSE ROCK IN THE CANON OF DESOLATION.]
Desolate and inaccessible as the canon is, many ruins of buildings are
found perched upon ledges in the stupendous cliffs. In some instances
the mouths of caves have been walled in, and the evidences all point to
a race for ever dreading and fortifying itself against an invader. Why
did these people chose their embattlements so far away from all
tillable land and sources of subsistence? Major Powell suggests this
solution of the problem: For a century or two after the settlement of
Mexico many expeditions were sent into the country now comprised in
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 unexplored; and there are traditions among the existing Pueblos
that the canons were these lands. The Spanish conquerors had a monstrous
greed for gold and a lust for saving souls. "Treasure 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 around his throat. Lines run from these two
groups to a central figure, a man with a beard and full Spanish panoply.
The interpretation of the picture-writing is this: 'Be baptized as this
saved heathen, or be hanged as this damned heathen.' Doubtless some of
the people preferred a third alternative, and rather than be baptized or
hanged they chose to be imprisoned within these canon-walls."
The rains and the accidents in the rapids had seriously reduced the
commissary by this time, and the provisions left were more or less
injured. The bacon was uneatable, and had to be thrown away: the flour
was musty, and the saleratus was lost overboard. On August 17th the
party had only enough food remaining for ten days' use, and though they
hoped that the worst places had been passed, the barometers were broken,
and they did not know what descent they had yet to make. The canvas
which they had brought with them for covering from Green River City was
rotten, there was not one blanket apiece for the men, and more than half
the party were hatless. Despite their hopes that the greatest obstacles
had been overcome, however, on the morning of August 27th they reached a
place which appeared more perilous than any they had so far passed. They
landed on one side of the river, and clambered over the granite
pinnacles for a mile or two without seeing any way by which they could
lower the boats. Then they crossed to the other side and walked along
the top of a crag. In his eagerness to reach a point where he could see
the roaring fall below, Major Powell went too far, and was caught at a
point where he could neither advance nor retreat: the river was four
hundred feet below, and he was suspended in front of the cliff with one
foot on a small projecting rock and one hand fixed in a little crevice.
He called for help, and the men passed him a line, but he could not let
go of the rock long enough to seize it. While he felt his hold becoming
weaker and expected momentarily to drop into the canon, the men went to
the boats and obtained three of the largest oars. The blade of one of
them was pushed into the crevice of a rock beyond him in such a manner
that it bound him across the body to the wall, and another oar was fixed
so that he could stand upon it and walk out of the difficulty. He
breathed again, but had felt that cold air which seems to fan one when
death is near.
Another hour was spent in examining the river, but a good view of it
could not be obtained, and they once more went to the opposite side.
After some hard work among the cliffs they discovered that the lateral
streams had washed a large number of boulders into the river, forming a
dam over which the water made a broken fall of about twenty feet, below
which was a rapid beset by huge rocks for two or three hundred yards.
This was bordered on one side by a series of sharp projections of the
canon-walls, and beyond it was a second fall, ending in another and no
less threatening rapid. At the bottom of the latter an immense slab of
granite projected fully halfway across the river, and upon the inclined
plane which it formed the water rolled with all the momentum gained in
the falls and rapids above, and then swept over to the left. The men
viewed the prospect with dismay, but Major Powell had an insatiable
desire to complete the exploration. He decided that it was possible to
let the boats down over the first fall, then to run near the right cliff
to a point just above the second fall, where they could pull into a
little chute, and from the foot of that across the stream to avoid the
great rock below. The men shook their heads, and after supper--a sorry
supper of unleavened flour and water, coffee and rancid bacon, eaten on
the rocks--the elder Howland endeavored to dissuade the leader from his
purpose, and, failing to do so, told him that he with his brother and
Dunn would go no farther. That night Major Powell did not sleep at all,
but paced to and fro, now measuring the remaining provisions, then
contemplating the rushing falls and rapids. Might not Howland be right?
Would it be wise to venture into that maelstrom which was white during
the darkest hours of the night? At one time he almost concluded to leave
the river and to strike out across the table-lands for the Mormon
settlements. But this trip had been the object of his life for many
years, looked forward to and dreamed of, and to leave the exploration
unfinished when he was so near the end, to acknowledge defeat, was more
than he could reconcile himself to.
[Illustration: GRANITE WALLS.]
In the morning his brother, Captain Powell, Sumner, Bradley, Hall and
Hawkins promised to remain with him, but the Howlands and Dunn were
fixed in their determination to go no farther. The provisions were
divided, and one of the boats was left with the deserters, who were also
provided with three guns: Howland was also entrusted with duplicate
copies of the records and with some mementos the voyagers desired to
have sent to friends and relatives should they not be heard of again. It
was a solemn parting. The Howlands and Dunn entreated the others not to
go on, telling them that it was obvious madness; but the decision had
been made, and the two boats pushed out into the stream.
They glided rapidly along the foot of the wall, grazing one large rock,
and then they pulled into the falls and plunged over them. The open
compartment of the major's boat was filled when she struck the first
wave below, but she cut through the upheaval, and by vigorous strokes
was drawn away from the dangerous rock farther down. They were scarcely
a minute in running through the rapids, and found that what had seemed
almost hopeless from above was really less difficult than many other
points on the river. The Rowlands and their companion were now out of
sight, and guns were fired to indicate to them that the passage had been
safely made and to induce them to follow; but no answer came, and after
waiting two hours the descent of the river was resumed.
[Illustration: CANON IN ESCALANTE BASIN.]
A succession of falls and rapids still had to be overcome, and in the
afternoon the explorers were once more threatened with defeat. A little
stream entered the canon from the left, and immediately below the river
broke over two falls, beyond which it rose in high waves and subsided in
whirlpools. The boats hugged the left wall for some distance, but when
the men saw that they could not descend on this side they pulled up
stream several hundred yards and crossed to the other. Here there was a
bed of basalt about one hundred feet high, which, disembarking, they
followed, pulling the boats after them by ropes. The major, as usual,
went ahead, and discovered that it would be impossible to lower the
boats from the cliff; but the men had already brought one of them to the
brink of the falls and had secured her by a bight around a crag. The
other boat, in which Bradley had remained, was shooting in and out from
the cliffs with great violence, now straining the line by which she was
held, and now whirling against the rock as if she would dash herself to
pieces. An effort was made to pass another rope to Bradley, but he was
so preoccupied that he did not notice it, and the others saw him take a
knife out of its sheath and step forward to cut the line. He had decided
that it was better to go over the falls with her than to wait for her to
be completely wrecked against the rocks. He did not show the least
alarm, and as he leaned over to cut the rope the boat sheered into the
stream, the stern-post broke and he was adrift. With perfect composure
he seized the large scull-oar, placed it in the stern rowlock and pulled
with all his strength, which was considerable, to turn the bow down
stream. After the third stroke she passed over the falls and was
invisible for several seconds, when she reappeared upon a great wave,
dancing high over its crest, then sinking between two vast walls of
water. The men on the cliff held their breath as they watched. Again she
disappeared, and this time was out of sight so long that poor Bradley's
fate seemed settled; but in a moment more something was noticed emerging
from the water farther down the stream: it was the boat, with Bradley
standing on deck and twirling his hat to show that he was safe. He was
spinning round in a whirlpool, however, and Sumner and Powell were sent
along the cliff to see if they could help him, while the major and the
others embarked in the remaining boat and passed over the fall. After
reaching the brink they do not remember what happened to them, except
that their boat was upset and that Bradley pulled them out of the water.
Powell and Sumner joined them by climbing along the cliff, and, having
put the boats in order, they once more started down the stream.
[Illustration: PA-RU-NU-WEAP CANON.]
On the next day, August 29th, three months and five days after leaving
Green River City, they reached the foot of the Grand Canon of the
Colorado, the passage of which had been of continuous peril and toil,
and on the 30th they ended their exploration at a ranch, from which the
way was easy to Salt Lake City. "Now the danger is over," writes Major
Powell in his diary; "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 Canon,
talking of home, but chiefly talking 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?"
It was about a year afterward that their fate became known. Major Powell
was continuing his explorations, and having passed through Pa-ru-nu-weap
(or Roaring Water) Canon, he spent some time among the Indians in the
region beyond, from whom he learned that three white men had been
killed the year before. They had come upon the Indian village starving
and exhausted with fatigue, saying that they had descended the Grand
Canon. They were fed and started on the way to the settlements, but they
had not gone far when an Indian arrived from the east side of the
Colorado and told of some miners who had killed a squaw in a drunken
brawl. He incited the tribe to follow and attack the three whites, who
no doubt were the murderers. Their story of coming down the Grand Canon
was impossible--no men had ever done that--and it was a falsehood
designed to cover their guilt. Excited by a desire for revenge, a party
stole after them, surrounded them in ambush and filled them with arrows.
This was the tragic end of Dunn and the Rowland brothers.
Little need be added. The unflinching courage, the quiet persistence and
the inexhaustible zeal of Major Powell enabled him to achieve a
geographical exploit which had been deemed wholly impracticable, and
which in adventurousness puts most of the feats of the Alpine Club in
the shade. But the narrative may derive a further interest from one
other fact concerning this intrepid explorer, whom we have seen standing
at the bow of his boats and guiding them over tempestuous falls, rapids
and whirlpools, soaring among the crags of almost perpendicular
canon-walls and suspended by his fingers from the rocks four hundred
feet above the level of the river: Major Powell is a one-armed man!
WILLIAM H. RIDEING.
ADAM AND EVE.
CHAPTER XXX.
For an instant every one seemed paralyzed and transfixed in the position
into which upon Jonathan's entrance they had started. Then a sudden rush
was made toward the door, which several of the strongest blocked up,
while Adam called vainly on them to stand aside and give the chance of
more air. Joan flew for water, and Jerrem dashed it over Jonathan.
There was a minute of anxious watching, and then slowly over Jonathan's
pallid face the signs of returning animation began to creep.
"Now, stand back--stand back from him, do!" said Adam, fearing the
effect of so many faces crowding near would only serve to further daze
his scared senses.--"What is it, Jonathan? what is it, lad?" he asked,
kneeling down by him.
Jonathan tried to rise, and Adam motioned for Barnabas Tadd to come and
assist in getting him on his feet.
"Now, sit down there," said Adam, "and put your lips to this, and then
tell us what's up."
Jonathan cowered down as he threw a hasty glance round, the meaning of
which was answered by a general "You knaws all of us, Jonathan, don't
ee?"
"Iss," said Jonathan, breaking into a feeble laugh, "but somehows I'd a
rinned till I'd got 'em all, as I fancied, to my heels, close by."
"And where are they, then?" said Adam, seizing the opportunity of
getting at the most important fact.
"Comin' 'long t' roadway, man by man, and straddled on to their horses'
backs. They'm to take 'ee all, dead or livin', sarch by night or day.
Some o' 'em is come all the ways fra Plymouth, vowin' and swearin'
they'll have blid for blid, and that if they can't pitch 'pon he who
fired to kill their man every sawl aboard the Lottery shall swing
gallows-high for un."
A volley of oaths ran through the room, Joan threw up her arms in
despair, Eve groaned aloud.
Suddenly there was a movement as if some one was breaking from a
detaining hand. 'Twas Jerrem, who, pushing forward, cried out, "Then
I'll give myself up to wance: nobody sha'n't suffer 'cos o' me. I did
it, and I wasn't afeared to do it, neither, and no more I ain't afeared
to answer for it now."
The buzz which negatived this offer bespoke the appreciation of Jerrem's
magnanimity.
Adam alone had taken no part in it: turning, he said sternly, "Do we
risk our lives together, then, to skulk off when danger offers and leave
one to suffer for all? Let's have no more of such idle talk. While
things promised to run smooth you was welcome to the boast of havin'
fired first shot, but now every man aboard fired it; and let he who says
he didn't stand out and say it now."
"Fair spoke and good sense," said the men.
"Then off with you, each to the place he thinks safest.--Jerrem and you,
father, must stay here. I shall go to the mill, and, Jonathan, for the
night you'd best come along with me."
With little visible excitement and but few words the men began to
depart, all of them more or less stupefied by the influence of drink,
which, combined with this unexpected dash to their hopes and overthrow
of their boastings, seemed to rob them of all their energy. They were
ready to do whatever they were asked, go wherever they were told, listen
to all that was said, but anything beyond this was then impossible. They
had no more power of deciding, proposing, arranging for themselves, than
if they had been a flock of sheep warned that a ravenous wolf was near.
The one necessary action which seemed to have laid hold upon them was
that they must all solemnly shake hands; and this in many cases they
did over and over again, repeating each time, with a warning nod of the
head, "Well, mate, 'tis a bad job o' it, this," until some of the more
collected felt it necessary to interfere and urge their immediate
departure: then one by one they stole away, leaving the house in
possession of its usual occupants.
Adam had already been up stairs to get Uncle Zebedee--now utterly
incapable of any thought for himself--safely placed in a secret closet
which was hollowed in the wall behind the bed. Turning to Jerrem as he
came down, he said, "You can manage to stow yourself away; only mind, do
it at once, so that the house is got quiet before they've time to get
here."
"All right," said Jerrem doggedly, while Joan slid back the seat of the
settle, turned down a flap in the wall, and discovered the hole in which
Jerrem was to lie concealed. "There! there ain't another hidin'-place
like that in all Polperro," she said. "They may send a whole reg'ment o'
sodgers afore a man among 'em 'ull pitch on 'ee there, Jerrem."
"And that's the reason why I don't want to have it," said Jerrem. "I
don't see why I'm to have the pick and choice, and why Adam's to go off
to where they've only got to search and find."
"Well, but 'tis as he says," urged Joan. "They may ha' got you in their
eye already. Come, 'tis all settled now," she continued persuasively;
"so get 'longs in with 'ee, like a dear."
Jerrem gave a look round. Eve was busy clearing the table, Adam was
putting some tobacco into his pouch. He hesitated, then he made a step
forward, then he drew back again, until at last, with visible effort, he
said, "Come, give us yer hand, Adam." With no affectation of cordiality
Adam held out his hand. "Whatever comes, you've spoke up fair for me,
and acted better than most would ha' done, seem' that I've let my tongue
run a bit too fast 'bout you o' late."
"Oh, don't think I've done any more for you than I should ha' done for
either one o' the others," said Adam, not willing to accept a feather's
weight of Jerrem's gratitude. "However," he added, trying to force
himself into a greater show of graciousness, "here's wishin' all may go
well with you, as with all of us!"
Not over-pleased with this cold reception of his advances, Jerrem turned
hastily round to Joan. "Here, let's have a kiss, Joan," he said.
"Iss, twenty, my dear, so long as you'll only be quick 'bout it."
"Eve!"
"There! nonsense now!" exclaimed Joan, warned by an expression in Adam's
face: "there's no call for no leave-takin' with Eve: her'll be here so
well as you."
The words, well-intentioned as they were, served as fuel to Adam's
jealous fire, and for a moment he felt that it was impossible to go away
and leave Jerrem behind; but the next instant the very knowledge of that
passing weakness was only urging him to greater self-command, although
the effort it cost him gave a hardness to his voice and a coldness to
his manner. One tender word, and his resolve would be gone--one soft
emotion, and to go would be impossible.
Eve, on her part, with all her love reawakened, her fears excited and
her imagination sharpened, was wrought up to a pitch of emotion which
each moment grew more and more beyond her control. In her efforts to
keep calm she busied herself in clearing the table and moving to and fro
the chairs, all the time keenly alive to the fact that Joan was hovering
about Adam, suggesting comforts, supplying resources and pouring out a
torrent of wordy hopes and fears. Surely Adam would ask--Joan would
think to give them--one moment to themselves? If not she would demand
it, but before she could speak, boom on her heart came Adam's "Good-bye,
Joan, good-bye." What can she do now? How bear this terrible parting? In
her efforts to control the desire to give vent to her agony her powers
of endurance utterly gave way. A rushing sound as of many waters came
gurgling in her ears, dulling the voice of some one who spoke from far
off.
"What are they saying?" In vain she tried to catch the words, to speak,
to move: then, gathering up all her strength, with a piercing cry she
tried to break the spell. The room reeled, the ground beneath her gave
way, a hundred voices shrieked good-bye, and with their clamor ringing
in her ears Eve's spirit went down into silence and darkness. Another
minute, and she was again alive to all her misery: Joan was kneeling
beside her, the tears streaming from her eyes.
"What is it? Where's Adam?" exclaimed Eve, starting up.
"Gone," said Joan: "he said 'twas better to, 'fore you comed to yourself
agen."
"Gone! and never said a word?" she cried. "Gone! Oh, Joan, how could he?
how could he?"
"What would 'ee have un do, then?" said Joan sharply. "Bide dallyin'
here to be took by the hounds o' sodgers that's marchin' 'pon us all?
That's fine love, I will say." But suddenly a noise outside made them
both start and stand listening with beating hearts until all again was
still and quiet: then Joan's quick-roused anger failed her, and,
repenting her sharp speech, she threw her arms round Eve's neck, crying,
"Awh, Eve, don't 'ee lets you and me set 'bout quarrellin', my dear, for
if sorrow ain't a-drawin' nigh my name's not Joan Hocken. I never before
felt the same way as I do to-night. My spirits is gived way: my heart
seems to have falled flat down and died within me, and, be doing what I
may, there keeps soundin' in my ears a nickety-knock like the tappin' on
a coffin-lid."