Evidently a Hopi Stratagem. The Hopis of to-day, with whom I have talked, insist upon it that Cardenas was taken to the barren and desolate point near the junction of Marble Canyon, the Little Colorado Canyon and the Grand Canyon. Here, the river may be said to come from the northeast and turn toward the south-southwest, and the conditions are not at all like those described by the historian. But if one accepts this modern statement of the Hopis, he is met with the questions: Why make Cardenas travel fifty leagues to see an inaccessible river that could be reached in three or four days? Did Cardenas really travel fifty leagues? I do not know, but I hazard the conjecture that the Hopis gave Cardenas as much wandering about as they could, took him to this terribly bleak and barren spot where even to-day one can scarcely prevail upon a Hopi or Navaho to guide him, in order that he might be discouraged from making further explorations in the neighborhood. The Hopis had no use for explorers or strangers. They had suffered too much from foes, for too many decades, to welcome any one who seemed eager to possess anything of theirs, and, in my judgment, their treatment of Cardenas was a deliberate ruse to get rid of him. They had a trail over which they habitually traveled, that brought them to Huetha-wa-li, the White Rock Mountain,—opposite Bass Camp,—and on to the Havasupai villages. Several times a year they went to and fro over this trail. It crosses the Little Colorado where it would have been easy to show the Spaniards the Salt Spring, to which Castaneda later refers. There is another point on the river, some miles beyond Bass Camp, where the Hopis used to visit the Havasupais, and that is just beyond the Great Curve, where the river may be said to flow from the northeast to the southsouthwest. But both at Bass Camp and at this point, the Havasupais had made trails down to the river, of the existence of which the Hopis may, or may not, have known. So I freely confess that, as yet, I have not settled in my own mind at what point Cardenas and the Spaniards gazed into the depths of the Great Canyon.

Alarcon's Discovery of Colorado River. While the main portion of Coronado's army had been advancing eastward, a sea force sent out to cooperate with Coronado, under Alarcon, had sailed up the Gulf of California, and had entered the Colorado River, thus solving the problem of its exit into the Gulf. To Alarcon, belongs the discovery of the Colorado River, which he named the Buena Guia. He went up the river twice in boats, the second time ascending possibly as high as a hundred miles above the mouth of the Gila. Finally he entered "between certain very high mountains, through which this river passeth with a straight channel, and the boats went up against the stream very hardly for want of men to draw the same." He claims to have passed above this place undoubtedly one of the lesser canyons of the Colorado found below the Needles, where the Santa Fe Railway crosses the river—and here magicians tried to destroy him and his party by setting magic reeds in the water on both sides. Of course this failed, but Alarcon decided to go no further. Here he erected a very high cross, on which was carved a statement to the effect that he had reached this spot, so that if Coronado's men should find it, they would know he had ascended the river thus far.

Town of San Hieronimo is Established. In the mean time, a small force of seventy or eighty of the weakest and least reliable of the men of Coronado's army was left in September, 1540, at a town which Cabeza de Vaca had named Corazones, or hearts, because the people there fed him on the hearts of animals. Coronado's plan was to establish a town here, which he or his lieutenant in charge of this portion of the army called San Hieronimo de los Corazones. These men and the care of the new settlement were left to Melchior Diaz, with orders to protect the road between Cibola and New Spain, and also to attempt to find some means of communicating with the vessels under Alarcon. Diaz, with twenty-five selected men, started for the seacoast, went to the Gulf, across to the coast, back again up the river, where he found Alarcon's cross, and eventually returned to San Hieronimo, there to meet with death by an accident. Owing to the habit of the Indians at the lower portion of the river of warming themselves in cold weather with a burning stick, Diaz called the river El Rio del Tizon —the River of the Firebrand.

Disaster Comes to the Spaniards. Disappointed at what he had found at Cibola and Tiguex, Coronado now decided to go with his whole army to a place which had been described to him in most glowing terms by an Indian. He told of a place of fabulous wealth named Quivera, and, says the ancient historian: "He gave such a clear account of what he told, as if it was true and he had seen it, that it seemed plain afterward that the devil was speaking in him." Carried away by these glowing visions of wealth, Coronado sent Tovar back to San Hieronimo. Melchior Diaz was dead, and the little settlement was in an excitement, because one of the soldiers had just been killed by a poisoned arrow, shot by one of the natives. In trying to punish this offence, owing to the folly of the officer sent by Tovar in charge of the primitive force, seventeen more soldiers were killed by poisoned arrows, so that the ensign hastily abandoned the place, and moved with his sadly reduced force forty leagues toward Cibola, into a valley called Suya. From this point, he ultimately collected the best of his men, and marched on to Tiguex, to find Coronado already gone on his heartbreaking expedition to Quivera.

Coronado Returns to New Spain. After long and fruitless search, Coronado returned to New Spain, a disappointed man, disgraced and discarded. Tovar returned with him, but doubtless later found congenial work in other fields.



CHAPTER XXV. Fray Marcos And Garces, And Their Connection With The Grand Canyon

Hotel and Stations Named for Spanish Priests. At Williams, the gateway to the Canyon, the Santa Fe Railway Company recently has erected a typical Mission style hotel, to which the name of Fray Marcos has been given. Here Canyon visitors who stop off between trains find excellent accommodations. At Needles, California, on the Colorado River, is another reinforced concrete building, named after another Franciscan priest, Francisco Garces. Both Fray Marcos and El Garces are managed by Fred Harvey, who also has charge of El Tovar Hotel. The history of this part of the Southwest for the last thirty years cannot be written without mention of this masterful man, who made railway meal service a fine art. In accordance with a policy established some time ago by the Santa Fe Company, the architecture of their station hotels conforms to the Spanish Mission styles, as far as possible, and they are given names of those who are inseparably connected with the romantic history of this region.

Fray Marcos Comes to America. In the chapter "Tovar and the Discovery of the Grand Canyon," brief reference is made to the reconnaissance undertaken by Fray Marcos de Niza, a Franciscan friar, to determine the truth of the reports brought into Culiacan by Cabeza de Vaca. This narrative of Fray Marcos is taken, in the main, from George Parker Winship's introduction to his translation of Castaneda's narrative, published in the fourteenth annual report of the United States Bureau of Ethnology. This friar was born in Nice, then a part of Savoy, and he came to America about the year 1531. His contemporaries called him a Frenchman, though there is no evidence that he was of French parentage. He was sent as one of the religious to accompany Pizarro on his expedition to Peru, and was present at the trial and execution of the native king, Atahualpa. From Peru, he returned to Central America, and thence he returned on foot to Mexico. He was a man of known bravery and character, and already was appointed to the office of vice-commissary of his order. Thus Mendoza felt no hesitation at charging him with the arduous mission of penetrating to the heart of what are now Arizona and New Mexico, as far as the reported seven cities of Cibola, and bringing back to his superiors a truthful account of what he saw. The father provincial of the order, Fray Antonio de Ciudad Rodrigo, on August 26, 1539, certified to the high esteem in which Fray Marcos was held, and stated that he was skilled in cosmography, and in the arts of the sea, as well as in theology.

Mendoza Instructs Fray Marcos. Mendoza drew up for him a set of instructions as to how he should proceed. These were very explicit as to the good treatment the Indians were to receive at his hands, and required him to make certain scientific observations with due care and thoroughness. He was to leave letters at stated intervals, and also send back to the viceroy reports of his progress, wherever possible. Coronado escorted him as far as the new town of Culiacan, and on March 7, 1539, accompanied by a lay brother, Onorato, he started on his trip.

Courage of Spaniards. When it is remembered that this journey of several hundreds of miles was on foot,—for the rule of the Franciscans was that all their members should travel afoot save in cases of extreme necessity,— through a barren, almost waterless desert, roamed over, by warlike Indians, the courage of the man is apparent. Yet he was not remarkable in this. The history of Mexico and of all the Spanish colonies, as well as those of New Mexico (which used to include Arizona), Texas, and California, abounds in the names of men of equal courage and daring. On reaching Petatlan, Brother Onorato fell sick, and Marcos had to leave him behind; thence alone, as far as white men were concerned, he traveled to Cibola. Six Indian interpreters and a large number of natives accompanied and followed him, and Stephen, the negro, went ahead as his guide.

Investigates Regarding Pearl Islands. He reached Vacapa (now known as Matapa), in Central Sonora, two days before Passion Sunday, which in 1539 fell on March 23. From this point he sent to the seacoast for some Indians, in order that he might learn from them something about the pearl islands, of which rumors had come to Cabeza de Vara. He remained here until April 6.

Stephen, the Guide, Is Sent Ahead. In the meantime, Stephen had pushed on to the north, leaving on Passion Sunday, with orders from Fray Marcos not to go further than fifty or sixty leagues ahead. If he found any signs of a rich and populous country before he had gone that distance, he was not to proceed further, but was to return for Marcos, or remain, and send messengers for him, bearing a white cross the size of the palm of his hand. If the news was very promising, the cross was to be twice the size, and if the country about which he heard promised to be larger and better than New Spain (as Mexico was then generally known), a cross still larger than this was to be sent back. Castaneda says that Stephen was sent on ahead because he and Marcos did not agree well, the negro not only showing covetousness and the determination to acquire the turquoises of the natives, but also an amorousness that demanded of them their youngest and prettiest women.

Messengers Bring Good News to Marcos. Four days after his departure, messengers sent by Stephen reached Fray Marcos with a very large cross as tall as a man. This, according to the signs established between them, meant wonderful news. One of the messengers told what it was. He it was, indeed, who had given the news to the negro, and he, in turn, had sent the native on to Fray Marcos. This is what Marcos records of the Indian's story:

Report of Turquoise Stones. "There are seven very large cities in the first province, all under one lord, with large houses of stone and lime; the smallest one story high, with a flat roof above, and others two and three stories high, and the house of the lord four stories high. They are all united under his rule. And on portals of the principal houses there are many designs of turquoise stones, of which he says they have a great abundance and, the people in these cities are very well clothed. Concerning other provinces farther on, he said that each one of them amounted to much more than these seven cities."

Marcos got a very clear idea of what actually existed, though he misunderstood the democratic community rule of the people of Cibola, under a chief whom they had elected to the office, for the rule of an overlord. The houses were built about as he describes, and whitewashed inside and out with gypsum, and though the placing of turquoises in the door jambs is discontinued, the traditions of the people clearly indicate that at one time that was their general practice.

Messenger from the Coast Returns. Had he been a man of great impatience, Marcos would have started off at once to discover the truth or falsity of these reports, but he waited until his messenger who had been sent to the coast returned, with natives of that region. These told him of pearls found in quantity near their homes. Other Indians, with painted or tattooed faces, chests and arms, living to the east (doubtless the Pimas or Sobaipuris), also visited him, and told him of the seven villages with which they claimed to be familiar.

Marcos Follows Stephen. The friar was now ready to start, and on the second day following Easter (April 6), he left, expecting to find Stephen waiting for him at the village from which his messenger had been sent. Instead, he met a second cross, much larger than the first one, with messengers who gave a fuller and completer account of the seven villages, but agreeing in every particular with what had been told before. All this was confirmed when Friar Marcos reached the first village, so he hastened on, doubtless annoyed somewhat that Stephen had disobeyed his orders, and journeyed beyond the prescribed distance. But it was perhaps well for him that Stephen had done so. Gathering turquoises and women as he proceeded, and followed by an increasing number of natives, the negro pushed on to Cibola. Before arriving at the principal town, he sent forward a notice of his approach in the shape of a gourd, to which were attached a few strings of rattles and two plumes, one white and the other red. This was unfortunate for Stephen, for undoubtedly it was part of the paraphernalia of a medicine man of a tribe hostile to the Cibolans. Its receipt made the people both angry and suspicious. The chief who received the gourd threw it upon the ground, and told the messengers that "when their people reached the village, they would find out what sort of men lived there, and that instead of entering the place, they would all be killed." Stephen paid no attention to this warning, but recklessly entered the village. He was duly received by the chief, but instead of his being acclaimed, and a generous welcome accorded him, he was coldly requested to remain without the walls, and occupy a house that was pointed out to him. This for years has been the habit of the Zuni people of our time, in dealing with strange Mexicans who come to visit them, owing to their religious ceremonies.

Stephen Is Killed. Poor Stephen's confidence doubtless began to leave him the following day, when his turquoises and women were taken from him, and he found himself a prisoner without food or drink. As much afraid now as he had been over-confident before, he endeavored, during the early morning hours, to escape, but was overtaken and killed, together with some of his followers. The others, to the number of sixty, returned to Fray Marcos with the appalling news.

Indian Followers Wish to Desert. But, undaunted and unafraid, the brave friar kept on his way. He was sent to see the villages of Cibola, and make a report on them. He had injured no one, and intended to injure no one. While he must be circumspect and not risk his life unnecessarily, he must perform his duty, even though by so doing he put his life in jeopardy. Another difficulty confronted him. The first reports of Stephen's death were accompanied with the statement that all of his native followers were also slain. As soon as the Indians who were with Fray Marcos heard this, they wished to desert and return home at once; but he opened up some bundles of presents he had with him, and by a free distribution of them prevailed upon his escort to remain. Then he went apart to pray, and while he was gone the ingrate Indians decided to kill him as the source of all their troubles. It took a good deal of argument, more presents, and some threats, to persuade them that to kill him would be the height of folly. Before they had time to hatch up any more plots, he succeeded in getting two of the chief men to go with him to a hilly place overlooking the city of Cibola, which he describes as a city on a plain, on the slope of a round height. In his report he writes:

Marcos' Description of Cibola. "It has a very fine appearance for a village, the best that I have seen in these parts. The houses, as the Indians had told me, are all of stone, built in stories, and with flat roofs. Judging by what I could see from the height where I placed myself to observe it, the settlement is larger than the City of Mexico.... It appears to me that this land is the best and largest of all those that have been discovered."

Marcos Returns with His Report. With "far more fright than food," says the candid friar, he hastened back to New Spain, and made his report to Coronado in person at Compostela. Later he wrote it officially to the viceroy, also to the head of his order, and on September 2, in the presence of both Mendoza and Coronado, swore to the truth of what he had written.

High Office Is Given Him. I have already (in another chapter) told of the effect of Fray Marcos's report. It made a most popular man of him, and soon thereafter, when the position of father provincial of his order was vacant, he was chosen to fill the office,—the highest in the district. Henceforth he was called to fill all the pulpits of the region. He became known as a great preacher, and doubtless interlarded his sermons with many references to his wonderful adventures in search of the famous "seven cities." The result was the whole country became excited, and many went on the expedition, the failure of which we are familiar with.

Cortez Discredits Marcos. In the meantime, Cortez was not quiet. It must not be forgotten that he claimed all this northern country by right of discovery, and he protested most vigorously against the sending forth of Coronado's expedition. Just as Coronado was about to start, Cortez returned to Spain, and there presented a memorial to the king (June 25, 1540), setting forth in detail the ill-treatment which he had received from Mendoza. In this, according to Winship, "he declared that after the viceroy had ordered him to withdraw his men from their station on the coast of the mainland toward the north, where they were engaged in making ready for extended inland explorations, he had a talk with Fray Marcos. 'And I gave him,' says Cortez, 'an account of this said country, and of its discovery, because I had determined to send him in my ships to follow up the said northern coast and conquer that country, because he seemed to understand something about matters of navigation. The said friar communicated this to the said viceroy, and he says that, with his permission, he went by land in search of the same coast and country as that which I had discovered, and which it was and is my right to conquer. And since his return, the said friar has published the statement that he came within sight of the said country, which I deny that he has either seen or discovered; but instead, in all that the said friar reports that he has seen, he only repeats the account I had given him regarding the information which I obtained from the Indians of the said country of Santa Cruz, because anything which the said friar says that he discovers is just the same as what these said Indians had told me; and in enlarging upon this and in pretending to report what he neither saw nor learned, the said Friar Marcos does nothing new, because he has done this many other times, and this was his regular habit, as is notorious in the provinces of Peru and Guatemala; and sufficient evidence regarding this will be given to the court whenever it is necessary.'"

Marcos an Exaggerator. Cortez never made any attempt to confirm his statements, and it is well known that he himself was very reckless in his handling of the truth where his own purposes were to be served, or the plans of his enemies defeated. It seems a pretty clear matter that, while the friar told the truth as nearly as possible as to what he actually saw, he did not hesitate to let the more exaggerated statements of the things he had merely heard have as full weight as the people to whom he told them desired. Anyhow, he has suffered a great deal of abuse as an exaggerator, and even worse, though it must never be forgotten that people who fail are always ready to blame every one concerned except themselves. Bandelier warmly defends Fray Marcos, and his knowledge is confessedly great; but Winship thinks he treats the charge too lightly.

Poor Fray Marcos, afflicted with rheumatism, had a painful time during the remainder of his life, and finally died March 25, 1558, in the house of his order, in the City of Mexico. Religious Zeal of Garces. It is appropriate also that Fray Francisco Garces should find an honored place in these necessarily brief historical notices. Fired with a wonderful zeal for souls, without the urging or backing of any superior save the Spirit of God, which spoke to his own soul, he marched from San Xavier del Bac, his station in Northern Mexico (now Arizona), across these inhospitable wilds, merely seeking opportunities for the establishment of mission settlements, where the natives could learn of the way of Christ, salvation from sin, and heaven. Five times he left his mission and made entradas (as they are called) into the interior country, anxious to expand his work and his influence. On the third of these, he followed the course of the Gila down to the Colorado River, and descended along its banks, possibly as far as its mouth. His fourth journey was with the intrepid Captain Juan Bautista de Anza, when he set forth in 1774. to discover a road from the missions already established in Northern Mexico, over the then unknown Arizona and Colorado deserts, to the new missions of California. The road was discovered and, in spite of its hardships, deemed feasible, for in 1775-1776 De Anza went over it again, accompanied by the band he had gathered together for the establishment of a Spanish colony at San Francisco. His chaplain on this occasion was Padre Pedro Font. Fray Garces, a fellow Franciscan, also went along as far as the Colorado River. Here he left the party, journeyed down the Colorado to the Gulf, returned to the Mohaves, then crossed the Colorado Desert to San Gabriel Mission in California, back again to the Mohaves, and finally across the Arizona desert to the province of Tusayan, the land of the Hopis.

Havasupais Guide Garces to the Hopi Towns. It was on June 4, 1776—memorable year in American annals—that Garces started under the guidance of some Wallapais for the Hopi towns. They had given him fair details of the country he would have to travel over. Passing by their own home in Diamond Creek (one of the earliest approaches to the Grand Canyon), he decided to visit the Havasupais, whom he calls Yabesuas. Those familiar with Spanish spelling and pronunciation will readily recognize that they are almost one and the same. The Wallapais took the priest down their own trail into Havasu or Cataract Canyon,—a trail which made his head swim, and where his mule had to be left behind, to be brought to him later by another route. He also describes the ladder down which he climbed just before reaching the place where the innumerable springs flow out of the solid rock and form Havasu Creek. It was the same ladder descended eighty years later by Egloffstein, Lieutenant Ives's artist, who was so heavy that he took down ladder and all with him. Here Garces stayed five days, being hospitably treated by the natives, who brought him melons, squash, corn, beans, etc., and who had thriving trees of peaches and apricots.

The Grand Canyon Is Reached. Leaving the kindhearted Havasupais, he returned to the plateau above, and soon saw for the first time the deep gorge of the Colorado River itself,—the Grand Canyon. He describes with surprising accuracy of detail the break in the Kaibabs, where the Marble and Little Colorado Canyons unite and form the Grand Canyon, and then, a little later, he gives a true description of the Little Colorado Canyon. From his account, he doubtless went down by the old Hopi Salt Trail into the gorge of the Little Colorado, and thus on to Oraibi, which he reached July 2, 1776.

Wishes to Baptize the Indians. About this time those interesting, exciting and most important of all discussions were raging in the Continental Congress on the eastern side of the continent, which, two days later, were to result in the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Jefferson had undoubtedly written it at this time, but Garces knew not the name of the great patriot and his compeers. He was bent on a different mission. He wished to declare to the Hopis how they might have freedom,—freedom from sin and the fear of hell. For, as Elliott Coues (the scholarly translator of Garces's diary, published a few years ago by F. P. Harper of New York) expresses it: "It made him sick at heart to see so many natives going to hell for lack of the three drops of water he would sprinkle over them if only they would let him do it."

Garces Reaches Oraibi. His arrival at Oraibi caused great excitement, though a priest had been at work there as early as 1650. There were four priests laboring among the Hopis in 1680, when the great native uprising throughout New Mexico and Arizona occurred, and all of them, with many others (laymen and soldiers as well) were slain at that time. Then, too, the remembrance had not died away of the total destruction of the town of Awatobi (one of the Hopi towns of that day) in the year 1700, because the people of that place were hospitable and tolerant of the "long gowns." The medicine men and leaders of all the adjacent towns gathered together, and led a force which fell upon Awatobi in the dead of the night. Every male in it was slain, and only some of the women and girls were saved and taken to the other towns. The place was fired, and remained a neglected ruin, until the scholarship and labors of recent ethnologists dug up both the town and its tragic history.

Indians Are Hostile. Poor Garces! The hostility of the Oraibis was apparent. They refused to allow him to enter a house, and he was compelled to camp outside, in a corner formed by a jutting wall, while his guide sheltered his mule in a sheep corral. He built his little camp fire, cooked his frugal meal, and slept there during the night, doubtless committing himself and the people who refused to receive him to the protecting mercies of God. The next day the chiefs of the town came to him, clothed in their ceremonial costumes and feathery head-dresses, and bade him leave the place. He held up his crucifix as an index of his mission, and endeavored to tell them that he came solely to do them good. But they would have none of him, and on the following day, the memorable Fourth of July, they expelled him peaceably but forcibly from their town. He returned to the Colorado River again on July 25, and soon to San Xavier, his mission, a failure.

Establishes Missions among the Yumas. Now he threw his whole heart into the two missions which the authorities had decided to place among the Yumas. Captain Palma, a Yuma chief, who had been very friendly, had urged it repeatedly, and now the desires of both were to be fulfilled. In 1779, Garces went to prepare the way, and the following year the establishment took place. The missions were eight miles apart; one was named La Purisima Concepcion; the other, San Pedro y San Pablo de Bicuner. Garces and Barraneche took charge of the upper mission, and Diaz and Moreno of the lower.

Garces Is Killed. The missions were a failure from the start. The few Spanish soldiers sent to guard the padres were obliged to utilize some of the best lands which were tilled for their own benefit. The appropriations from the treasury were too small to permit of anything but the rudest and simplest of structures, and Palma and his friends soon became disgusted with the whole affair. On July 17 the Indians, many of whom had been hostile from the first, arose and massacred both colonies of white men, as well as a small force of soldiers under former Governor Rivera, of California, who was encamped temporarily on the western side of the river. At first, Garces' life was spared, but before the day was over he and his co-laborer were beaten to death, and his unselfish mission on earth ended. In my book "In and Out of the Old Missions of California", I give this interesting and tragic history in fuller detail. This, then, is the man whose name is given to the railway building at Needles, in order that his heroic labors for the Indians of the Colorado River region may not be forgotten.



CHAPTER XXVI. Powell's And Other Explorations Of The Grand Canyon

In the chapters on Tovar and Cardenas, Fray Marcos and Garces, I have given some idea of the history of the Spanish explorations of the Grand Canyon region. In this chapter is presented an account of the brave work done by later explorers, until now the Grand Canyon and the whole canyon system of the Colorado River is as well known as the course of many a less dangerous stream.

Early American Trappers. Who can know whether any of those daring souls, the trappers of the earliest days of American history, ever penetrated to the depths of these canyons in their expeditions after the pelts of fur-bearing animals? These men were the true pioneers. They ever kept thrusting the frontier line further forward. As civilization, with people, villages, towns, cultivated lands, advanced westward, still further west pushed the trapper. Civilization was a hindrance to his business. The wild animals he sought fled from the presence of many men. Though the Indian had penetrated more or less to all these secluded regions, the Indian has enough of the reserve of outdoor life not to disturb any of the animals. It is the imperious, self-willed, noisy white man who drives away the shy creatures of the wild.

United States Purchases New Territory. In 1815, the small nation known as the United States had become eager to grow, and Jefferson had made his memorable purchase of all the territory north of the Red River, the Arkansas and the forty-second parallel, as far as the British boundary or Canadian line, then still unsettled, and the disputed region of Oregon. Lewis and Clark had made their wonderful expedition, and the world, through the publication of their report, knew a little of the immense territory now acquired. In the previous century, the Spaniards had discovered the value of the pelts of the fur-bearing animals of California, and a few venturesome spirits were soon to learn that the western mountains, forests and rivers abounded in the same profitable game. In his interesting and illuminative American Fur Trade of the Far West, Chittenden has shed a flood of light on these early-day operations.

Trappers Seek Riches. Padilla, Kino, Garces, Escalante, and others of the brave Spanish padres, had penetrated into some portion of these unknown territories, but they had gone with the vow of poverty upon them. No greed for gold blinded their eyes to the rights of others. A hunger for the salvation of souls was their only hunger; the glitter of the golden harps and crowns in heaven the only glitter that attracted them. But the trappers had a different purpose. They were a different kind of men. Rough and ready, venturesome to the last degree, turbulent as the raging Colorado, imperious in their high-handed dealing with all who stood in their way, they were about to enter the conflict for the sake of gold, and gold is the most remorseless driver, the most soul-destroying master man ever has had.

Trappers the Primary Cause of Indian Wars. It has been the trappers who largely have given to us our notions of the American Indians of the West. For they were the first men to come into conflict with them. They were the first to dispute with them about water-holes and springs, about "rights," about "property." Is it necessary to ask what kind of a report such men would bring of any who stood in their way? Is it necessary to know much of human nature to know how these men treated the Indians? The trappers not only began the lucrative fur trade of the West, that laid the foundation for several vast American fortunes, but they also laid the foundation for a series of Indian wars that have cost the United States more lives and treasure than all the furs ever gathered on earth were worth. And not only did they take the furs from the animals they trapped. The agents of the Fur Companies (whether British or American) took them from the Indians. Read Jim Beckwourth's accounts of how he traded with the Indians, and listen to his own comments upon his actions. As Dellenbaugh vividly says: "Roughshod the trapper broke the wilderness, fathomed its secret places, traversed its trails and passes, marking them with his own blood and more vividly with that of the natives."

The Ashley Fur Camp Is Established. Early in the last century, the trappers were operating on the head waters of the Colorado River. Green River Valley was discovered, and in 1822 one of the most brilliant men of the West of that period, General William Henry Ashley (born in Virginia in 1778, went to Missouri in 1802, and in 1820 was its first governor), went into the fur trade with Andrew Henry, an expert trapper. Two years later, with a band of such men as Henry, Ashley established a camp in Green River Valley, and, with his men, set out on expeditions for furs and pelts.

Inscription at Red Canyon. When in June, 1869, Powell and his party were passing through the fourth canyon after leaving Green River, now known as Red Canyon, they saw an inscription on one of the huge rocks above the river, done in black letters, sheltered by a slight projection of the rock which acted as a cornice, reading:

"Ashley 18...5"

The third figure was obscure and some of the party read in 1835, some 1855.

Ashley Expedition Unsuccessful. It should have been read 1825. Powell was not familiar with the history of the fur traders. Ashley was an unknown name to him, but as Chittenden has so vividly pointed out, he, in his way, left his impress upon our Western civilization as strongly as did Powell. Would that it had been as nobly, as grandly beneficent. Ashley fitted up a trapping expedition to go down Green River, in spite of its known dangers, and, expecting to find beaver in plenty, took but little provisions along with them. At first they did fairly well. Then, as the canyons narrowed, to their horror and distress, as well as surprise,—for they had kept none of the meat of the beavers they had killed,—the animals ceased to appear, and starvation stared them in the face. For six days they were without food. The precipitous walls of the Canyon forbade escape, and at length they became so demoralized that Beckwourth declares they actually proposed to cast lots as to which should be killed to make food for the others. This fearful proposition so horrified Ashley that he begged them to hold out a while longer, and to their joy they soon emerged from the Canyon, possibly at a place known as Brown's Hole; where Provo, an experienced trapper, had his camp. From here they abandoned the Canyon expedition, and doubtless returned with Provo to Salt Lake. Powell named the falls near where Ashley left his name Ashley Falls.

There is every reason to assume that other trappers attempted the passage of the Canyon, for Powell found a bake oven, several tin plates, and part of a boot in Lodore Canyon, which he imagined were Ashley's; but, as we have seen, Ashley never went down so far.

Other Unsuccessful Trappers. In his excellent Romance of the Colorado River, Dellenbaugh recites at length, from their own narratives largely, the adventures of several trappers and others, whose experiences are connected with the Colorado River,—the Patties, Jedediah Smith,

Kit Carson, William Wolfskill, Farnham, Fremont, Lieutenant Derby, Captain Johnson, and others, who, however, never came actually into the Grand Canyon region. Hence I shall make no further reference to them here. My reason for giving so much space to Ashley has been merely to offer a sample of the kind of experiences the trappers of the early days met with, in trying to solve the problem of the canyons of the Colorado River.

Lieutenant Ives' Expedition. Lieutenant Ives' expedition, however, reached into the very heart of this country. He visited the Havasupais in their canyon, also the Wallapais, and traversed the weary miles across the desert to the villages of the Hopi. Steamboats had plied up and down the Colorado River from the Gulf of California as far as Fort Yuma—near where the present railroad bridge crosses the stream—but Ives was instructed by the War Department to explore the river further up, in order to determine whether the military posts of New Mexico and Utah could be reached, and their supplies transported by the Colorado. Instead of calling upon Captain Johnson and chartering his steamboat, the Colorado, Ives ordered his steamer constructed in Philadelphia, and shipped in sections via the Isthmus of Panama to San Francisco, and thence around Cape Lucas into the Gulf of California, to the mouth of the Colorado River. Yet he was able to report, doubtless with a clear conscience, that Johnson's company "was unable to spare a boat, except for a compensation beyond the limits of the appropriation."

Ives' Report and Accompanying Pictures. Ives' report is a most interesting document, and the pictures that accompany it, made by Mollhausen and Eggloffstein, especially those of the latter artist, are wonderful in their imaginative qualities. They are no more like the Grand Canyon than are the visions of Dore, yet they afford a good idea of the impression its vastness and sublimity made upon an artistic mind.

Starts up the River. Ives ascended the river, passing Johnson on the way in the Mohave Valley, a few miles above the Needles. The latter had gone to ferry Lieutenant Beale and his outfit across the river. So in reality he was ahead of Ives, for he entered the Black Canyon to the highest point attainable by steamers before Ives did, and thus got the better of the man who had refused to hire him and his steamer.

Journey Is Abandoned. But Ives went on as if Johnson had never existed, "discovered" what was already known, viz.: that the river "was flanked by walls many hundreds of feet in height, rising perpendicularly out of the water, the Colorado emerging from the bowels of the range," and then struck a sunken rock, and had to give up in disgust.

Returns East across Country. Sending his vessel, the Explorer, back to Fort Yuma under the command of Robinson, its efficient captain, the gallant lieutenant now struck out across country, having received new supplies and his pack-train. Under the guidance of an intelligent Mohave Indian, Ireteba, they reached Diamond Creek, and there not only came in contact with the Wallapais, but for the first time saw the Big Canyon, as they called the Grand Canyon. He then pushed on east, entered Havasupai (Cataract) Canyon, visited the Indians there, then made a wide detour to examine the San Francisco peaks, struck east again, crossed the Little Colorado, and reached the province of Tusayan, where dwell the Hopis. After a short visit there, he crossed south and east to Fort Defiance, and finally returned east with his report. When the Civil War broke out, Ives joined the Confederate forces and was killed in one of the battles.

Ives's Prediction. As an evidence of the folly of making predictions in regard to what the future has in store for any region, let me quote one paragraph from Ives which always has amused me:

"This region can be approached only from the south, and after entering it there is nothing to do but to leave. Ours has been the first, and will doubtless be the last party of whites, to visit this profitless locality." Yet Ives enjoyed the Canyon, and wrote some truly eloquent descriptions of it. How surprised he would be could he come back now, approach it from the north, cross the river in a steel cage, and find at El Tovar such an hotel as even the city of Washington never surpassed in Ives's day. Then, taking the Grand Canyon Railway, he could speed to Williams, and in twenty-four hours reach the Pacific, or in four days the Atlantic. We march forward with great strides in these days.

Powell's Preparations for His Life-Work. Even at the time of his writing (1858), John Wesley Powell was being prepared to bring Ives's words to naught. Born March 24, 1834, at Mount Morris, Livingston County, New York, he found himself in 1858 at Wheaton, Illinois, engaged in making a conchological collection for the Illinois State Natural History Society. While engaged in this work, he also secured collections in botany, zoology, and mineralogy. His mind now opened to perceive that all these sciences were related to the greater science of geology, and thenceforward he declared that this should become his lifework.

Experiences in Civil War. During the Civil War, he fought with bravery and honor, losing an arm at the battle of Shiloh, April 6, 1862. When Sherman began his march to the sea, Powell was given command of twenty batteries of artillery. He served on the staff of General Thomas at the battle of Nashville, and was mustered out in the early summer of 1865. Even during these exciting years, his beloved science not only never lost its attraction for him, but he utilized every possible opportunity to add to his knowledge. He made a collection of fossils unearthed in the digging of the Vicksburg trenches, and from the Mississippi swamps gathered land and river shells. In Illinois, while on detached service, mosses engaged his attention, and he was indefatigable in studying the geology of the region through which his section of the army passed.

Begins Geological Explorations in Colorado. After the war he declined a lucrative political office to take the chair of geology in the struggling Wesleyan University, of Bloomington, Illinois. He had married his cousin, Emma Dean, in 1862, and, after a glimpse of the country in 1867, he took her and a party that he had organized, to make geological explorations in Colorado. This was the beginning of his work that ultimately wrested the secrets from the mysterious canyons of the Colorado River. This preliminary work led him on, as it were, to the greater work, and in 1869, on May 24, with four boats, the Emma Dean, Kitty Clyde's Sister, Maid of the Canyon, and No-Name, and nine companions, John C. Sumner, William H. Dunn, Walter H. Powell, G. Y. Bradley, O. G. Howland, Seneca Howland, Frank Goodman, William R. Hawkins, and Andres Hall, he set forth from Green River City. The simple records of that trip, and a later one made in 1871-1873 (in which Frederick S. Dellenbaugh, the author of "The Romance of the Colorado River", was engaged, read like a romance. A condensation of them is but an aggravation. No one interested in the Canyon should neglect to read them, and I am now arranging to republish Powell's original monograph, together with his monumental work on "The Canyons of the Colorado", the plates of which I purchased at his death for this purpose.

Powell's First Expedition. In the first expedition, the party was from May 24 to August 30 passing through the Canyon system, from Green River City to the mouth of the Rio Virgen. On the first of September, four of the men, with a small supply of provisions, resumed their journey on the river to Fort Mohave, while Powell and his brother returned to civilization by way of Salt Lake City.

Second Expedition. Though chapter nine of Powell's report as published by the Government, speaks of the "continuation of the explorations" of the Canyon, and gives an account of the studies made in and around the region of the Virgen River, and chapter ten contains Professor A. H. Thompson's "Report on a Trip to the Mouth of the Dirty Devil River," there is nothing in the volume that suggests the magnitude of the second trip through the Canyon. This great omission Mr. Dellenbaugh supplies in his complete narrative before referred to.

Powell's Work on the Canyon Completed. This time three boats started, the Emma Dean, Nellie Powell, and Canyoncita, manned by S. V. Jones, J. K. Hilliers, F. S. Dellenbaugh, A. H. Thompson, J. F. Steward, F. M. Bishop, F. C. A. Richardson, E. O. Beaman, W. C. Powell, and A. J. Hattan, with Major J. W. Powell, of course, as leader and director. The start was made from Green River City, Wyoming, as before, and the date was May 22, 1871. On the third of September, the mouth of Kanab Canyon was reached, where, on account of high water, the trip for the time being was abandoned. The topographical work of the survey of the surrounding country was continued through to the winter of 1873, when the maps were completed, and Powell's great work on the canyons and tributary country practically brought to a close.

Wheeler's Expedition in 1871. Another interesting Colorado River expedition was that of Captain G. M. Wheeler, made in the fall of 1871. It was doubtless an offset to that of Major Powell, as in those early days there were three separate geographical surveys in the field, working independently and without common guidance. Hence it was natural that there should have been some degree of rivalry. Captain Wheeler started up the Colorado River from Camp Mohave, in three boats that had been specially made in San Francisco, and with a barge loaned by the commanding officer at the fort. Dr. G. K. Gilbert was the geologist of the party. From September 16 to October 20, they had a difficult, arduous and occasionally thrilling journey, reaching the mouth of Diamond Creek at the latter date. Diamond Creek is a point on the Canyon which used to be largely visited. It is reached from Peach Springs, but the scenery is far less impressive than at any of the more accessible points described in this book.

Brown's Unsuccessful Expedition. Seventeen years after Powell, Frank M. Brown, a Denver capitalist, determined to survey the canyons with the purpose of building a railway through them to the Gulf of California. The main start was made May 25, 1889, from the Rio Grande Western's tracks across the Green River, with six boats and sixteen men. It was a disastrous expedition. Brown himself lost his life at Soap Creek Rapids, some fifteen miles below Lee's Ferry, and four days later two others were drowned in Marble Canyon. The expedition was then abandoned, the remnant of the party climbing the Canyon walls, and finding their way back to civilization assisted by the kindly owner of a cattle ranch.

Stanton's Boats Travel Through the Whole Canyon System. In November of the same year, however, Robert Brewster Stanton, Brown's engineer, observing precautions that Brown had so unfortunately neglected, prepared to continue the exploration. He had his boats hauled on wagons to the mouth of Crescent Creek near Fremont River, to avoid a repetition of the experiences in Cataract Canyon; and a good start was made. The party ate Christmas dinner at Lee's Ferry, and a few days later, slightly below where Brown lost his life, the photographer of the expedition fell from a ledge and broke his leg. With incredible labor, the unfortunate man was got out of the Canyon, four miles in distance and seventeen hundred feet in altitude, on an improvised stretcher, and then taken in a wagon which Stanton had fetched from Lee's Ferry. The party then went on, entered the Grand Canyon, and reached Diamond Creek March 1, where they remained ten days recuperating. The last dash was then made in safety. The boats left the Canyon March 17, 1890, and proceeded easily and gently, until on the twenty-sixth of April tide-water was reached at the mouth of the river on the Gulf of California.

Galloway Repeats Stanton's Exploit. On January 12, 1897, N. Galloway, a Mormon trapper, who for years had operated on the Canyons of the Green River, determined to emulate Powell and Stanton. He made two light boats of rude lumber, covered them fore and aft with canvas, got a companion, William Richmond, and on the day named left a point near the state line of Wyoming and Utah. On the third of February they emerged from the Canyon. As they reached the open country below the Grand Wash, they came upon the officers who had found the bodies of two men, killed by Mouse, a Paiuti Indian. The officers requested the use of Galloway's boats to convey the bodies to the Needles. This was acceded to, and on the seventeenth of February Needles was reached, the boats sold, and the Mormons returned to their homes.

Making Photographs of Soap Creek Rapids. Later in the same year, I made the trip by wagon from Winslow, Arizona, over the Painted Desert to Lee's Ferry, and there, to my great delight, met Galloway. He built a boat, and took me up Glen Canyon for a long distance, and down Marble Canyon to Soap Creek Rapids, where poor Brown was lost. As I photographed the rapid, he offered to "run it" in his boat if I desired, saying that, with his light boat, there was no danger whatever. I declined, however, on the ground that no photograph ever made could justify the risking of a man's life. As recently as August, 1908, in coming to the Canyon by rail, I met at Kingman, Arizona, a deputy sheriff by name of Ayres, who was one of my party taken by Galloway up the Glen Canyon.

In the Fall of 1909, Mr. Galloway accompanied an Eastern capitalist, Mr. Julius Stone, of Columbus, Ohio, in boats of their own manufacture, through the Canyons, from Green River to Needles, California. They had a delightful, though an arduous nine weeks trip. Mr. Stone secured the finest set of photographs of the Canyons as a whole that ever have been made.

In another chapter, entitled "The Story of a Boat," the interesting account of the successful trip of Russell, Monett and Loper is given.



CHAPTER XXVII. Indian Legends About The Grand Canyon

Legendary lore is generally interesting. It reveals the mental qualities of the people who make and believe it, and also shows how the child mind of the race acts. For the aboriginal makers of legends are the child minds of the race in active operation. There are many legends attaching to this great Canyon. One is told by Major Powell in his "Explorations" as follows:

Legend of the River's Birth. "Long ago, there was a great and wise chief, who mourned the death of his wife and would not be comforted until Ta-vwoats, one of the Indian gods, came to him and told him she was in a happier land, and offered to take him there, that he might see for himself, if, upon his return, he would cease to mourn. The great chief promised. Then Ta-vwoats made a trail through the mountains that intervene between that beautiful land, the balmy region in the great west, and this, the desert home of the poor Numa.

"This trail was the canyon gorge of the Colorado. Through it he led him; and, when they had returned, the deity exacted from the chief a promise that he would tell no one of the joys of that land, lest, through discontent with the circumstances of this world, they should desire to go to heaven. Then he rolled a river into the gorge, a broad, raging stream, that should engulf any that might attempt to enter thereby.

"More than once I have been warned by the Indians not to enter this canyon. They considered it disobedience to the gods, and contempt for their authority, and believed it would surely bring upon one their wrath."

Hopi Legend of Tiyo, their Cultus-Hero, and the Canyon. One of the most interesting legends of the Hopi cultus-hero, Tiyo, relates to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River, and is told by Dr. J. Walter Fewkes, the eminent authority on the ethnology of the Hopis. It is a long story, but the chief portions of the narrative are as follows:

Origin of Antelope and Snake Clans. "Far down in the lowest depths of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado River (Pi-sis-bai-ya), at the place where we used to gather salt, is the Shipapu, or orifice where we emerged from the underworld. The Zunis, Kohoninos, Paiutes, white men, and all people came up from 'the below' at that place. Some of our people traveled to the North, but the cold drove them back, and after many days they returned. The mothers, carrying their children on their backs, went out to gather seeds for food, and they plucked the prickly pears and gave it to their children to still their cries, and these have ever since been called the Prickly Pear People.

"'Morning Dove' flew overhead, spying out the springs and calling us to come, and those who followed him, and built their houses at the waters he found, are still called after him the Hu-wi-nya-muh, or Morning Dove People. All that region belonged to the Puma, Antelope, Deer and other Horn people, and To-hi-a (puma) led my people, the Tohi-nyn-muh, to To-ko-na-bi (Navaho Mountain), and the Sand people and the Horn people also dwelt in the same region.

"We built many houses at To-ko-na-bi, and lived there many days, but the springs were small, the clouds were thin, rain came seldom, and our corn was weak. The Ki-mon-wi (village chief) of the To-hi-nyn-muh had two sons and two daughters, and his eldest son was known by the name of Tiyo (the youth). He seemed to be always melancholy and thoughtful, and was wont to haunt the edge of the cliffs. All day he would sit there, gazing down into the deep gorge (of the Grand Canyon), and wondering where the ever-flowing water went, and where it finally found rest. He often discussed this question with his father, saying, 'It must flow down some great pit, into the underworld, for after all these years the gorge below never fills up, and none of the water ever flows back again.' His father would say, 'Maybe it flows so far away that many old men's lives would be too short to mark its return.' Tiyo said, 'I am constrained to go and solve this mystery, and I can rest no more till I make the venture.' His family besought him with tears to forego his project, but nothing could shake his determination, and he won them to give their sorrowful consent.

"The father said, 'It is impossible for you to follow the river on foot, hence you must look for a hollow cottonwood-tree, and I will help you make a wi-na-ci-buh (timber box) in which you may float upon the water.' Tiyo found a dry cottonwood-tree, which they felled, and cut off as long as his body, and it was as large around as they both could encompass with their outstretched arms. They gouged and burned out all of the inside, leaving only a thin shell of dry wood like a large drum; small branches and twigs were fitted in the ends to close them, and the interstices were pitched with pinion gum. All this work was done with the stone axe and the live ember.

"The father then announced that in four days Tiyo should set forth, and during that time the mother and her two daughters prepared kwip-do-si (a kind of corn meal made from corn which has been dried and then ground. A thin gruel is made of it) for food, and the father made prayer emblems and pahos. On the morning of the fifth day the father brought the emblems to Tiyo and laid them on a white cotton mantle, but before he wrapped them up, he explained their significance. He also gave him a wand to be used in guiding his box-boat, after which Tiyo crept into the box, received from his mother and sisters the food, and then his father closed the end of the box, gave it a push with his foot, and it floated away, bobbing up and down.

"In one of its ends there was a small circular aperture, through which he thrust his wand, and pushed away from the rocks which were encountered. The spray splashed through the opening, and this he caught in his basin when he wished to drink or to mix his kwip-do-si, and he was also provided with a plug to close the hole when he neared the roaring waters. He floated over smooth waters and swift-rushing torrents, plunged down cataracts, and for many days spun through wild whirlpools, where black rocks protruded their heads like angry bears.

"When the box finally stopped Tiyo drew the plug, and looking out saw on one side a muddy bank, and on the other nothing but water; so he pushed out the end, and taking his paho mantle in his hand passed to the dry land. He had gone but a little way when he heard the sound of 'hist! hist!' coming from the ground, and when this had been repeated four times, he descried a small round hole near his feet, and this was the house of Spider-Woman.* 'Um-pi-tuh,' said the voice ('you have arrived,'—the ordinary Hopi greeting). 'My heart is glad; I have long been expecting you; come down into my house.' 'How can I,' said Tiyo, 'when it will scarce admit the point of my toe?' She said, 'Try,' and when he laid his foot upon the hole, it widened out larger than his body, and he passed down into a roomy kiva."

* Spider-Woman is an important figure in Hopi mythology. She it is who weaves the clouds so that rain may come. Hence in many Hopi ceremonies, where rain is prayed for, she is especially propitiated.

The legend then goes on to describe how Tiyo is taken and guided by the Spider-Woman to various places, where he learned all about the ceremonies that the Hopis now perform at their Snake Dance to produce rain. He met the Sun and the Great Snake (Go-to-ya), and Mu-i-yin-wuh (a divinity of the underworld who makes all the germs of life), and each taught him something he needed to learn. Finally, after many wonderful adventures, he was lifted out of the underworld as he sat in a ho-a-pah, a kind of wicker pannier, with two beautiful maidens of the snake kiva, by Spider-Woman, who carried him over the country and deposited him at his home. He married one of the maidens and thus founded the Snake Clan, and his brother married the other and founded the Snake-Antelope Clan. These two clans each year perform the ceremonies that produce rain in the desert land, where still live the descendants of Tiyo and his brother.

Wallapai Legend of the Canyon. The Wallapais say that it was one of their cultus-heroes, Pack-i-tha-a-wi, who made the Grand Canyon. There had been a big flood, and the earth was covered with water. No one could stir but Pack-i-tha-a-wi, and he went forth carrying a big knife he had prepared of flint, and a large, heavy, wooden club. He struck the knife deep into the water-covered ground and then smote it deeper and deeper with his club. He moved it back and forth as he struck it further into the earth, until the canyon was formed through which all the water rushed out into the Sea of the Sunset. Then, as the sun shone, the ground became hard and solid, as we find it to-day.

The Havasupai Legend of the Canyon. The Havasupais also have a legend connected with the making of the Grand Canyon, and the reader will observe with interest the points of the story that are similar to points in the Hopi story just given. This story was told to me by O-dig-i-ni-ni-na, one of the old men story-tellers of the Havasupais.

"The two gods of the universe are Tochopa and Hokomata. Tochopa he heap good. Hokomata he heap bad—hanatopogi—all same white man's devil. Him Hokomata make big row with Tochopa, and he say he drown the world.

"Tochopa was full of sadness at the news. He had one daughter whom he devotedly loved, and from her he had hoped would descend the whole human race for whom the world had been made. If Hokomata persisted in his wicked determination, she must be saved at all hazard. So, working day and night, he speedily prepared the trunk of a pinion tree by hollowing it out from one end. In this hollow tree he placed food and other necessaries, and also made a lookout window. Then he brought his daughter, and telling her she must go into this tree and there be sealed up, he took a sad farewell of her, closed up the end of the tree, and then sat down to await the destruction of the world. It was not long before the floods began to descend. Not rain, but cataracts, rivers, deluges came, making more noise than a thousand Hackataias (Colorado Rivers) and covering all the earth with water. The pinion log floated, and in safety lay Pu-keh-eh, while the waters surged higher and higher, and covered the tops of Hue-han-a-patch-a (the San Francisco range), Hue-ga-woo-la (Williams Mountain), and all the other mountains of the world.

"But the waters of heaven could not always be pouring down, and soon after they had ceased, the flood upon the earth found a way to rush to the sea. And as it dashed down, it cut through the rocks of the plateaus, and made the deep Chic-a-mi-mi (canyon) of the Colorado River Hackataia. Soon all the water was gone.

"Then Pukeheh found the log no longer floating, and she peeped out of the window Tochopa had placed in her boat, and, though it was misty and almost dark she could see in the dim distance the great mountains of the San Francisco range. And near by was the Canyon of the Little Colorado, and to the west and north was Hackataia, and to the west was the Canyon of the Havasu.

"The flood had lasted so long that she was grown to be a woman, and, seeing the water gone, she came out and began to make pottery and baskets, as her father had long ago taught her. But she was a woman. And what is a woman without a child in her arms or nursing at her breasts? How she longed to be a mother! But where was a father for her child? Alas! there was not a man in the whole universe?

"Day after day, longing for maternity filled her heart, until one morning— glorious morning for Pukeheh and the Havasu race—the darkness began to disappear, and in the far-away east soft and new brightness appeared. It was the triumphant Sun, coming to conquer the long night and bring light into the world. Nearer and nearer he came, and, at last, as he peeped over the far-away mesa summits, Pukeheh arose and thanked Tochopa, for here, at last, was a father for her child. She conceived, and in the fullness of time bore a son, whom she delighted in and called In-ya-a, the son of the Sun.

"But as the days rolled on, she again felt the longings for maternity. By this time she had wandered far to the west and had entered the beautiful Canyon of the Havasu, where deep down between the rocks were several grand and glorious waterfalls, and one of these, Wa-ha-hath-peek-ha-ha, she determined should be the father of her second child.

"When it was born it was a girl, and to this day all the girls of the Havasu are proud to be called 'Daughters of the water.'

"When these two children grew up they married, and thus became the progenitors of the human race. First the Havasupais were born, then the Apaches, then the Wallapais, then the Hopis, then the Paiutes, then the Navahos.

"And Tochopa told them all where they should live, and you find them there to this day."



CHAPTER XXVIII. The Colorado River From The Mountains To The Sea

Perhaps no river in the world has so remarkable a life-history as has the Colorado. It is formed of two great streams, the Green and the Grand. Both have their rise in the far-away mountains, in banks of virgin and purest snow. Hence the waters of the Colorado at their source are pure and sweet. Yet such is the vehement force of this river, such its haste to reach the ocean, that it cuts down and carries with it millions of tons annually of sand and silt, rock debris and dirt until, when it reaches the desert, through which it flows as a lazy dragon, reddish-yellow, tawny, it is the dirtiest stream in the world. For not only does it carry the sand of its own grinding, as it passes through the hundred miles of canyon of its waterway, but it accepts the sweepings of vast areas made by its tributaries. Some of these extend through barren and desolate areas,—great stretches of the most forsaken desert lands, where the rains occasionally pour down with deluge-like force. Cloudbursts and floods are common; for the whole country is high in altitude, with rising peaks, where electric storms play and rage, and the clouds drop, with a sudden sweep, their whole burden of water to the earth beneath. At other times, the waters are allowed to pour down in torrential rains which quickly deluge the land, and as there are no barriers to hinder or detain, they sweep down the inhospitable slopes to the stream beds, carrying with them all the sand, silt, rock debris, vegetable mould and animal matter that have accumulated since the last storm. So that while at its source it is the purest river in the world, at its mouth it is the dirtiest and most repulsive. The Mississippi, with many more miles of length, the Nile, the Amazon, the Yangste-Kiang, the Hoang-Ho, are all far cleaner at their mouths than is this insatiable dragon of the Canyon.

Carrying Power of the River. This suggests another singularity in which it doubtless reigns supreme. Probably no river in the world, of its length, has anything like the carrying power of the Colorado within its waters. Notice that I say "within its waters." It is useless for carrying anything on its bosom. No ships use its waters for beneficent commerce. Its only carrying power is in the amount of sand and other material it holds in solution, and carries within itself.

Its Incredible Descent. For it is doubtful whether any river in the world has so rapid a descent from towering mountain heights to its receiving ocean, as has the Colorado. It falls over four thousand two hundred feet from its source to its mouth, and in less than five hundred miles of its distance it contains five hundred and twenty rapids, falls and cataracts. A fall or a rapid or a cataract for every mile, and a few over for good measure. Who can conceive the peril of journeying through such a river? And until the facts were known, how hopeless to attempt to ascend such a river, as did Alarcon, Ives and Wheeler!

Useless for Commerce. As already stated, it is the most useless of the large rivers of the world as a carrier of ships of commerce. No boat, carrying produce of field, mill or mart, has ever passed up or down its course. No whitewinged schooner or other merchantman has enlivened its course by proudly gliding on its bosom to waiting port, where cargoes are discharged and received. No thrilling fleet of battleships ever has seen its banks, or ever will, for it is useless, absolutely, irretrievably, God-ordainedly useless for all purposes of commerce, traffic, or communication.

Dangerous and Destructive. Read the accounts of Powell's trips down its dangerous course; of Alarcon's struggles to ascend its headlong tides; of Ives's and Wheeler's attempts to explore a portion of it; of Cardenas's efforts even to reach its waters from one of its banks, and of the ruthless manner in which it has destroyed the lives of those unfortunate enough to come within its reach. Then you will see how absolutely useless a river it is. In this regard the Colorado River is unique. Most rivers carry beneficent life all along their journey. They distribute fructifying waters, from their rise to their end in the sea. Thriving towns and villages line their banks, all surrounded by a fertile farming country. But not so the Colorado! It has cut its way through the rocks so fiercely that it is buried a thousand, two thousand, three thousand and even five thousand and more feet below the surrounding country. It and its tributaries drain away even the water that falls in gentle showers, before it has time to benefit the thirsty land. Only by the expensive construction of cemented cisterns and occasional dams can the rancher, stockman and miner of the region hoard for his scantest needs enough of this precious fluid. Even the hotels that are placed upon its brink to afford stopping-places for the curious travelers who wish to see this river and its unique waterway are compelled to haul their trains of water-cars nearly a hundred miles to supply themselves with the water which the Colorado River drains from their very dooryards and empties in reckless neglect into the Gulf of California.

Yields No Electrical Power. Other rivers throughout California and the West are yielding millions of volts annually of electrical energy, for the lighting and heating of cities, the turning of mill-wheels, and the running of electric cars; but the Colorado, though possessed of a potential energy greater than any ten or twenty of these rivers combined, so far has refused to yield up a single volt. Again and again engineers have estimated and suggested, but the great facts remain that it is so uncertain, so wild, so impetuous, so sure to rise when unexpected, so sure to fall when relied upon, that, as yet, no one has been found venturesome enough to try to tame and harness its fierce energy.

Waters to be Diverted by a Dam. Yet in spite of these serious charges I make against the Colorado, it is peculiar in that it is the most useful of the large rivers of the world in another domain. The United States Reclamation Service has spent millions of the people's money in making it of use. At Laguna, a few miles above Yuma, it has built a huge dam larger than any similar dam in the world—that diverts these once turbulent waters into irrigating ditches to convey their life-giving power to thousands upon thousands of acres of desert land. The Blythe Estate is doing the same thing a hundred or more miles higher up, near Parker, on the Santa Fe, and already towns and settlements are springing up on those desert wastes. The California Development Company began this work, four miles below Yuma, in 1900, and in four years had converted that great sink of the Colorado Desert into the richly fertile domain now known as the Imperial Valley, where today are many growing towns.

Opportunities for Swimming. Though the current of the Colorado is so strong, there are times and places where it affords one who is not over-fastidious as to the color of the water, an opportunity for an excellent swim. But care must be exercised. At the foot of Bass Trail, there are two or three rocky recesses where one may go in and swim, within the arms of the protecting rocks, without danger. It is not well to swim in the earlier months of the year, when the water is excessively cold. Several times in January and February I have been overcome with temptation, and have jumped in "merely for the plunge." The sensation is one of being skinned alive, and one plunge is all that one cares for. Yet on emerging and dressing, how fine one feels after it. The great melting time of the snows on the mountains is the end of May, June and early July. It grows warmer in July, and from then on to December one may enjoy it. In September and October it is generally deliciously warm, and I have gone in half a dozen times a day. A good swimmer can cross the stream, if he does not lose his head, for the current is powerful, and one is borne down far faster than he imagines, and it is much further across than it seems to be. Several times, when I have wanted to cross, and there was no boat, I have swam across to the other side, wearing my shirt and trousers and carrying my boots slung around my neck. But it is, hard work and scarcely worth the risk.

An Exciting Swim. Last year at the foot of the Red Canyon Trail, I had two most delightful swims—one on the night of the arrival of our party, the other by starlight next morning. Though there is an ugly rapid at this place, one may go up stream far enough to get away from danger, for a half-moon-shaped mass of rock affords safe shelter, and deep enough water for swimming. The night swim was so refreshing that I could not resist the allurement to take another in the morning, before we left camp. The order had been given for an early start, which meant breakfast at earliest dawn, so that I had to go down to the river while the stars were yet shining. The water was quite warm, and as soon as I felt myself in its soothing embrace a half-dreamy mood came over me, and, throwing myself upon my back, I yielded to it, quietly pushing myself, as I thought, against the stream, but heading for the other side. Though conscious of the enjoyment of the exercise, and the delicious sensation of the water around my body, my thoughts ran away with me, and I suddenly awoke to myself and the full significance of my surroundings by finding myself more than half-way across the river, in the swiftest part of the current, which was rapidly carrying me down to the rapids. For a few moments I was dreadfully alarmed. My heart stood still, and the surprise of it almost paralysed me. I remember distinctly my thoughts and reasoning. They were somewhat as follows: "The current on the south side is far less strong than on this side. Therefore it will be much easier to go back than to try to reach the north shore, which seems to be and is so much the nearer. If, however, you can't make it, what then? You'll go into the rapids. If you are dashed headlong or sideways against any of the five hundred and one waiting rocks, that will doubtless be the end of you; but there is a good chance that you may get through without hitting anything. A minute, or two minutes at the most, will see you through the rapids to calm current beyond. You can hold your breath that length of time, so that the spray and wildly tossing waves of the rapids, the froth and spume, will not get up your nose and choke you."

In the meantime, I had fixed my eye on an immense square block of rock, that rested just above the dangerous rapids, and close to the southern shore. I knew if I could reach the shore inside that rock I was safe, so striking out vigorously, and aiming for a point far above it, I swam as strongly as I knew how, making every stroke tell, refusing to be alarmed or confused by the terrifying roar of the rapids, which now seemed but a step away. I did not have to test my method of going through the rapids. I reached the shore in safety, walked back to camp, had a good breakfast, made all the more appetizing by my swim and the consequent danger, and in half an hour the ride up the trail and my companions were absorbing all my attention. To all of them, save one, this recital of my morning's adventure will be new.

Dangerous Unless Known Well. That the river is more dangerous than most people imagine, the bleaching bones of many a poor wretch who has been drowned in its treacherous waters fully attest. More than one prospector, cattleman, or even cattle and horse "rustler" (as in Arizona parlance a cattle and horse-thief is known), with too great self-confidence, has attempted to cross on a log, in a leaky skiff, or in a canvas boat, and ere he was aware of his danger, the current had swept him out of reach of all help. It is a river to know ere you risk yourself upon or in it.

Getting Animals across the River. Who could begin to recount the fun and frolic, and at the same time the worry and vexation we have experienced in taking horses, mules and burros across this surly river. We have crossed at all times of the year, at high water and low, when the water was cold enough to give one cramps merely to look at it, and when it was comfortably warm. Sometimes we had no trouble; then we felt how smart we were, and it made us happy; at other times the animals seemed to be "possessed." Sometimes it is the horses that are afraid; at others it is the mules; and sometimes the burros; generally all three together. The modus is to put your strongest rower in the boat, and then a man with plenty of nerve in the stern to handle the rope and the animal to which it is attached,—when you get the latter into the water. As many persons as then can be assembled get behind the animal to persuade it to enter the water. The boat is ready to go as soon as the animal is "in," but yet it prefers to be "out." Yellings, shoutings, pushings are of little or no avail, and the gentle pleadings of the man with the rope are as effective as Mrs. Partington's sweeping back of the Atlantic with a broom. Vigorous measures must be used, so a concerted movement is projected. At a given signal the boat is to be pushed off, the oarsman ply his oars with power, the man in the stern is to pull with energy, and a man at each flank of the animal is to push, while every other being is to do his or her part by a shout or a boost. One man swings a riata to help scare the animal in, and the boat pulls out into the current. We all stand and watch. What is the fool horse doing? Scared at first of going into the water, he now is making desperate efforts to climb into the boat. His rope is held as tightly as possible, but the beast swims frantically from one side to the other, endeavoring to climb aboard. His knees thump the boat, and his chin occasionally rests on the gunwale, but active interference thrusts him back. In the meantime, the current is taking the boat well down the river, but we are not alarmed, for we have a good half-mile stretch, with convenient sandy places on the north side, on which to land. Now the horse settles down to steady hard work, and at last, catching sight of the tiny beach, he breaks away from the boat and strikes out for himself, reaching shore before the rower.

Back they come for another. Now we try two burros. Firmly they brace themselves, and refuse to be pushed into the tawny flood. Then they dodge and run and tangle each other up with their neck ropes, patiently strangling each other with desperate insistence. At length they are pushed in, and off they go. After a good ducking, they come up with a snort and a bounce, a look of martyr-like meekness in their eyes, as they settle down to the inevitable. No animal on earth can teach man more than a burro in this regard. He accepts what can't be helped, makes the best of it, and gains happiness out of every patch of thistles and grass he can push his nose into. So, as we look into the eyes of these burros, as they rapidly "paw" the current, we can see a look of expectation and content which plainly says "Cheer up, brother, this will soon be over, and on the north side we'll get better feed than we've been having lately."

A mule's desperate plunges to escape generally aid us to get him into the water, for he loses his balance and is easily pushed in. But his look of dazed surprise is comical when, after such a plunge, in which he sinks below his head, he arises, snorts, blows the water out of his nostrils, and begins to look about him. The burro part of his nature, however, soon settles him down, and he pulls out for the shore, glad to rejoin his companions.

Once in a while an animal breaks loose, gets halfway across, becomes confused, and not knowing which way to go, is carried down to the rapids and dashed to death.



CHAPTER XXIX. Climate And Weather At The Grand Canyon

Difference between Rim and Canyon. The climate at the Grand Canyon refuses to be defined in a paragraph. What is true of the country along the rim is not true of the banks of the river itself. The midway region, half-way down the trail, likewise has a climate all its own. For as you go down in summer, the thermometer goes up; and as you come up, in winter, the thermometer goes down. The difference of nearly a mile in altitude between the surface of the Colorado River and the rim of the Canyon is equivalent to going hundreds of miles north and south on the level. Hence it is that when it is winter on the rim, it is like spring down in the depths; when it is spring on the top of the world, the heat below is tropical.

Weather not Extreme. Bear in mind, though, that neither the cold of winter nor the heat of summer, in northern Arizona, are as frigid or as torrid as the readings of the thermometer may seem to indicate. The cold or heat is not felt to such an extreme as in the East. A minimum of humidity is the basic reason for this wide difference between, for example, the July or January climate of New York, and the July or January climate of the Grand Canyon. Extremes that in New York drive people to the cool seashore or To California's winter warmth, here bring no discomfort. You don't feel the weather changes so much, just because the air is so much dryer.

Mild in Summer and in Winter. Again, the altitude of the Grand Canyon rim—in places nearly a mile and a half above sea-level—makes the summers cooler than the latitude would indicate. It is ten degrees cooler, in July, at Flagstaff, Arizona, than at Salt Lake City, three hundred miles north in Utah. In turn, the southerly location of this titanic wonderland causes the winters to be milder than in Colorado, Utah and Montana.

Average Condition. Visitors should bear in mind that the Grand Canyon is an all-the-year-round resort. Unlike the Yellowstone and many other far west scenic playgrounds, one may visit there with comfort any time of the year. While certain periods are more favorable than others for outdoor life, each season has its distinctive joys.

As a rule, this part of Arizona is a true land of sunshine. Sunny days are largely in evidence.

As a rule, the air is dry. Even the rains don't soak it through.

As a rule, except on the edge of the rim, the wind velocity is under the average.

As a rule, one may ride, walk or loaf outdoors, without fear of overexertion. The air is like wine, it builds one anew.

Yet the weather is not perfect. You may strike a small sandstorm in midsummer. You may hit a blizzard in midwinter. A torrential shower may drench you. A fervent sun may unduly tan you. But these deviations from Paradise come only occasionally; they are the bitter that makes the sweet more sweet.

I can safely promise you, nine times out of ten, pleasanter weather than you would find if at home. And that is the best test.

Rest-cure. Those who visit the Canyon oftenest and stay longest find the least fault with its weather. For myself, I never complain; rather I always look forward with great joy to an outing here. For besides being an unparalleled scenic spectacle, the Grand Canyon is the greatest of rest-cures. I know of nothing better for tired nerves and worn-out bodies than to summer or winter along its rim, and down below where the river runs.

Because the weather one year never is like the year before or after, I cannot accurately forecast what you will find of heat or cold, wet or dry, when you visit the Canyon. Even the "weather man" is not infallible in his predictions. I only can outline a reasonable average, resting upon observations made during a score of years.

Winter Months. From late in November to the end of April, snow may be expected at any time on the rim, though many of the most delightful days of the year occur in these months. Snow usually does not fall until after Christmas. Some years the winter is almost snowless; other years there is enough snow to make fine sleighing. June and July are the warm summer months, with August hot; but the heat is likely to be tempered by the rain. From the middle of July to about the end of October, rains may be looked for at any time, and the days after the rains are generally cool, delicious and altogether desirable. Now and again, both before and after a rain, the air will be moist and sultry, somewhat as it is in the East, but this condition is so rare as to cause surprise. Generally the air is dry, and the sun shines warmly, so that "catching cold" is infrequent.

Late Fall Most Pleasant. In my varied experience at the Canyon, I have found the months of September, October, and November most agreeable in spite of an occasional hot day in September. January and March are often perfect months, and while there may be a little (or much) snow on the rim, I regard the winter as the most delightful time for trips into the Canyon. The snow may make the trail slippery and disagreeable for the first mile or so, then one reaches the dry and snowless region where, practically, snow never falls, yet where the heat from radiating rock walls is tempered and subdued by the coolness from the snow above.

May Good for Visitors. May also is a good month for visitors, with more possibilities of agreeable days than February or April, though the warm days begin to come on apace soon after the middle of the month.

Fog in the Canyon. Upon rare occasions, fog banks sink into the Canyon deeps, and even now and again completely hide it from view. Do not let such a sight disappoint you. The fact is, you are being highly favored. If you will but exercise patience, you will see many marvels when the sun begins to work upon the fog. Slowly the great mass begins to show signs of uneasiness; large and small masses become broken off, and struggle as if to ascend; then, stretching apart as one stretches a mass of white cotton-batting, they are speedily dissipated into mist, and disappear. Below, in the deeper reaches, the fog rolls and tosses as if sleeping uneasily in its rocky bed. Great detached masses of rock that the eye had not been able to discern before are now made clear, the white fog behind them revealing their outlines in startling clearness. Indeed a fog may be called "the great revealer of the inner mysteries of the Canyon." It certainly shows forth more of the separating walls and canyons, and the detached buttes, than the most observant can discover in a month, without its presence.

Clouds and Rain. There are times, in August and September, when rain is to be expected, that the whole heavens are patched over with clouds. The sun shines on and through them, and the atmosphere becomes murky and sultry to unpleasantness. Then, suddenly, there is a change in the temperature of the upper air, the moisture is condensed, and refreshing rain falls to cool and cheer the earth that before was parched and thirsty.

A Battle Royal. One morning I watched a battle of the clouds over the Canyon. The wind had been blowing hard all night. About five o'clock I arose, attracted to the rim of the Canyon by a great black cloud that seemed banked up and resting on the north rim, covering, as with a blanket of blackest smoke, the long, visible stretch of the Kaibab Plateau. By and by the sun shot piercing beams of golden glory underneath the cloud, yet, strong and powerful though they were, they could not penetrate the cloud itself. There was the great wall of the Canyon; fierce, fiery, crimson-golden rays shooting in thin streaks above, banked over and pressed down upon by a towering mass of angry clouds. The wind blew strongly and fiercely from the east, bringing fleecy-edged clouds with it. Down in the Canyon the effects were wonderful. The walls reflected the anger of the clouds, and the fire of the sun. Here and there a wall, a tower, or a pinnacle would be lit up with a golden glory, but all around was smoky and forbidding. It even seemed as if a grayish black smoke was ascending from the depths beneath, through which the sun—invisible behind the cloud above—shot lancelike beams, which silvered the smoke and made it a little more gray. On the far western walls, rich purples and reds appeared. Then, suddenly, a soft and fleecy cloud appeared in the clear blue of the morning sky, floating towards me. It was awe-inspiring and yet startling, for it came like a giant battleship, resistlessly and silently shouldering its way along. Entranced I watched it, almost inclined to run, so as to give it free course, for it was low down and apparently very near, and moving with more than ordinary speed. Suddenly another cloud appeared, travelling after the first. As it came, the earlier one veered to the north, and began to cross the Canyon, losing some of its serenity and calmness of manner as it did so; for now, either as the result of conflict from within, or silent influence from without, it began to writhe and change its shape. Ugly angles were thrust out from its hitherto smooth sides, and sent waving and tossing aloft. While this was occurring, the second cloud veered, and when I gazed again, after withdrawing my attention for a few moments, the two were one, the subtle yet powerful forces in the air having wedded them. Together they slowly floated north and east. In the meantime, other clouds had been coming from the east. They sailed along serenely until they came within what appeared to be a few hundred yards of me, and then suddenly they veered to the north, crossed the Canyon, and joined the vast army of clouds that lay in solemn quietude, waiting for the decisive battle of the day. I went away from the rim for an hour or so, and when I returned not a trace of a cloud was to be seen.

A Beautiful Fog Effect. Another morning I saw the Grand Canyon as one hears an exquisite poem, a soft strain of music on violin, 'cello or oboe, or sung by the human voice. It was no longer terrifying and awe-inspiring; it affected one as beautiful flowers do, as the blessing of an old man or woman, as the half unconscious caress of a sleepy child whom you love. It was poetry personified; the spirit of beauty revealed; the inner glory of an artistic mystery unveiled.

There had been rain nearly all night, preceded by considerable wind. The clouds had massed together across the Canyon on the Kaibab. Winds had seemed to blow from every direction, but mainly from the southeast, and there were a few "sunshiny showers" in the late afternoon. The rain began after the sun had gone down, and it descended easily but steadily nearly all night. At six o'clock in the morning, not a glimpse of the Canyon could be had. It was completely buried, wrapped, enveloped in clouds. About nine o'clock these began to move. The rain ceased, tiny patches of blue shone through the clouds overhead, though east, west, north, south they were still black and lowering. It was cold almost to chilliness after the warmth of the preceding days, so there was no haste, no hurry, in the dispersion of the cloud blankets that covered the rocky walls and plateaus below. Slowly they began to rise, then to stretch out and become attenuated. Tiny gusts of wind played with them, and tossed them hither and thither. Banks of smoky gray lay over certain portions, but there was no regularity, no evenness, either in the clouds themselves, or in their disposition. East and west thick masses hid all vision; immediately at our feet the clouds filled the lower canyons below the plateaus, with a glorious, fleecy, silvery white, that tempted one to walk upon it into the realms of fairyland and wonder. Fleeces of irregular shape, but a mile long and two miles wide, slowly lifted themselves from a horizontal position to a vertical one, thus converting themselves from blankets into curtains. Yet behind and through them,—as a coy beauty half reveals, half conceals, her charms,—so the walls and buttes, the pinnacles and buttresses, took on a new and delicate beauty, a subtleness of charm and refinement that only such a veiling could produce. Every moment the panorama changed. This was veiled completely, that entirely uncovered, while other features were dimly discernible, or so softened by the fleecy, attenuated clouds that they seemed the airy fabrics of a child's dream of oriental splendor. Now as filmy steam, then as densest vapor boiling up from a world-deep cauldron of unearthly beauty, the moisture moved, here catching rapidly ascending currents of air, there lazily floating with serenest ease. It was hard to tear oneself away, and the mind still lingers and will often again recur to it, as one of the many never to be forgotten experiences of this most wonderful place.