turned out to be about to our waists; but for a little time the boat sped on as before. Planting our shoes firmly against the boulders of the bottom as we slid along, we finally gained the upper hand, and then it was an easy matter to reach the shore. Hardly had we done this when the Nell came tearing down in the same fashion. We rushed into the water as far as we dared, and they pulled with a will till they came to us, when they all jumped into the water and we tugged the boat ashore, just in time to plunge in again and help the Canonita in the same way. Dinner over, the rapid was examined and it was discovered that by pulling straight out into it clear of the rocks, we could easily get through. This was accordingly done and one after the other the boats sped down as if towed by an express train. Then we ran a number of smaller ones with no trouble, and toward evening arrived at a place where the entire river dropped into a sag, before falling over some very bad rapids. We avoided the sag by keeping close to the left bank, and rounded a little point into a broad eddy, across which we could sail with impunity. Then we landed on a rocky point at the head of the first bad plunge, the beginning of Disaster Falls, where the No-Name was wrecked two years before. At this place we camped for the night. The descent altogether here is about fifty feet. In the morning all the cargoes were taken over the rocks to the foot of the first fall, and the boats were cautiously worked down along the edge to where the cargoes were, where they were reloaded and lowered to the head of the next descent, several hundred yards. Here the cargoes were again taken out and carried over the rocks down to a quiet bay. This took till very late and everyone was tired out, but the boats were carried and pushed on skids up over the rocks for twenty or thirty yards, past the worst of the fall, and then lowered into the water to be let down the rest of the way by lines. Two had to be left there till the following day. We had found a one hundred pound sack of flour lying on a high rock, where it had been placed at the time of the wreck of the No-Name, and Andy that day made our dinner biscuits out of it. Though it was two years old the bread tasted perfectly good; and this is a tribute to the climate, as well as to the preservative qualities of a coating of wet flour. This coating was about half an inch thick, and outside were a cotton flour-sack and a gunny bag. The flour was left on the rock, and may be there yet. Not far below this we came to Lower Disaster Falls, which a short portage enabled us to circumnavigate and go on our way. The current was so swift all the time that objects on shore flitted past as they do when one looks from a window of a railway train. Just opposite our camp on this night the cliff was almost perpendicular from the water's edge to the height of about twenty-five hundred feet. The walls seemed very close together, only a narrow strip of sky being visible. As we sat after supper peering aloft at this ribbon of the heavens, the stars in the clear sky came slowly out like some wonderful transformation scene, and just on the edge of the opposite wall, resembling an exquisite and brilliant jewel, appeared the constellation of the Harp. Immediately the name "Cliff of the Harp" suggested itself and from that moment it was so called. Here and there we discovered evidences of the former journey, but nothing to indicate that human beings had ever before, that been below Disaster Falls. There we saw the same indications of an early disaster which Powell had noticed on the first trip, a rusty bake-oven, some knives and forks and tin plates, in the sand at the foot of the second fall. The day after the Cliff of the Harp camp we began by making a line-portage around a very ugly place, which took the whole morning. In the afternoon there was another similar task, so that by night we had made only three or four miles, and camped at the beginning of a decidedly forbidding stretch. Just below us were three sharp rapids which received the name of Triplet Tails. A great deal of work was required to pass these, and then we ran three or four in good style, which brought us, in the late afternoon, to where the whole river spread out amongst innumerable rocks and for more than half a mile the water was a solid sheet of milky foam, sending up the usual wild roar, which echoed and echoed again and again amongst the cliffs around and above us. Some one proposed the name of "Hell's Half-Mile" for this terrible place and the idea was at once adopted, so appropriate did it seem. The turmoil of the dashing waters was almost deafening, and, even when separated by only a few feet, we could only communicate with each other by shouting at the top of our lungs. It was a difficult task to get our little ships safely below this half-mile, but it was finally accomplished, and on we went in search of the next dragon's claw. At our camp the fire in some way got into a pine grove and soon was crackling enough to rival the noise of the rapid. The lower region seemed now to be sending its flames up through the bottom of the gorge and the black smoke rolled into the sky far above the top of the walls. Many and varied were our experiences in this magnificent canyon, which for picturesqueness and beauty rivals even the Grand Canyon, though not on such a giant scale. Its passage would probably be far easier at low water. At last, one evening, as the soft twilight was settling into the chasm, a strange, though agreeable silence, that seemed almost oppressive, fell around us. The angry waters ceased their roaring. We slid along on a smooth, even river, and suddenly emerged into a pretty little park, a mile long, bounded by cliffs only some six hundred feet high. Running our boats up into the mouth of a quiet river entering from the left we tied them up and were quickly established in the most comfortable camp since Brown's Park. We were at the mouth of Yampa River. From a wonderful echo which repeated a sentence of ten words, we called the place Echo Park. Such an echo in Europe would be worth a fortune. The Echo Rock is shown on page 203.

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



CHAPTER XI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Actually a pinnacle and a butte—not a single mass.{See page 275}.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* Should be twenty-four seconds.

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

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



CHAPTER XII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XIII

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

By referring to the relief map opposite page 41, the mouth of the Paria is seen a trifle more than half-way up the right-hand side. The walls of Glen Canyon here recede from the river and become on the south the Echo Cliffs, taking the name from the Echo Peaks which form their beginning, and on the north the Vermilion Cliffs, so called by Powell because of their bright red colour. The latter, and the canyon of the Paria, make the edges of the great mesa called the Paria Plateau, and, running on north to the very head of the Kaibab uplift, strike off south-westerly to near Pipe Spring, where they turn and run in a north-west direction to the Virgen River. Between the receding lines of these cliffs, at the Paria, is practically the head of the Grand Canyon. The river at once begins an attack on the underlying strata, and the resulting canyon, while at first not more than two hundred feet deep, rapidly increases this depth, as the strata run up and the river runs down. The canyon is narrow, and seen from a height resembles, as previously mentioned, a dark serpent lying across a plain. As the formation down to the Little Colorado is mainly a fine-grained grey marble, Powell concluded to call this division by a separate name, and gave it the title it now bears, Marble Canyon. There is no separation between Marble Canyon and the following one, the Grand Canyon, except the narrow gorge of the Little Colorado, so that topographically the chasm which begins at the Paria, ends at the Grand Wash, a distance of 283 miles, as the river runs, the longest, deepest, and altogether most magnificent example of the canyon formation to be found on the globe. With an average depth of about four thousand feet, it reaches for long stretches between five thousand and six thousand. At the Paria (Lee's Ferry) the altitude above the sea is 3170 feet, while at the end of the canyon, the Grand Wash, the elevation is only 840 feet. The declivity is thus very great (see the diagram on page 57, which gives from the Little Colorado down), the total fall being 2330 feet. Further comment on the character of the river within this wonderful gorge is unnecessary. Powell had been through it on his first expedition, and was now to make the passage again, to examine its geological and geographical features more in detail. Meanwhile, as recorded in the last chapter, Lieutenant Wheeler had made an effort, apparently to forestall this examination, and had precariously succeeded in reaching Diamond Creek, which is just at the south end of the Shewits Plateau, lower left-hand corner of the map facing page 41. Powell and Thompson arrived at our camp at the mouth of the Paria on the 13th of August (1872) accompanied by Mrs. Thompson, who had been at Kanab all the previous winter, and had pluckily made several trips with Thompson into the mountains, and Professor De Motte. They had come in by way of the south end of the Kaibab, and it was on this occasion that the valley on the southern part of the summit was named De Motte Park. Preparations for our descent through the great chasm were immediately begun. The boats had been previously overhauled, and as the Nellie Powell was found unseaworthy from last season's knocks, or at least not in condition to be relied on in the Grand Canyon, she was abandoned, and Lee kept her for a ferry-boat. Perhaps she might have been repaired, but anyhow we had only men enough to handle two boats. Steward's trouble had not sufficiently improved to warrant his risking further exposure, so he had returned to his home in Illinois. Bishop was in a similar plight, and went to Salt Lake to regain his health, and Beaman had started off to carry on some photographic operations of his own. He came to the river and crossed on his way to the Moki country, while we were preparing to depart from the Paria. Johnson and Fennemore, who had been with us part of the winter, were too ill to think of entering the great canyon, with all the uncertainties of such a venture, and as before noted they, too, had left. Our party, then, consisted of seven: Powell, Thompson, Hillers, Jones, W. C. Powell, Hattan, and Dellenbaugh, all from the first season's crew. No one else was available, as the trip was regarded in that region as extremely desperate. On the 14th, the boats, Emma Dean and Canonita, were in readiness, and we loaded and took them down a mile and a half to the point near where the road came in from Kanab, whence our final departure would be made as soon as Powell, who needed a little extra time for arranging his papers and general affairs, should say the word. Everything was carefully attended to, as if we were preparing our last will and testament, and were never to be seen alive again, and I believe this was the firm conviction of most of those not going with the boats. Those who were going had abundant respect for the dragon, and well knew that no holiday excursion was before them. Their spirit was humble, and no precaution was to be neglected; no spirit of bravado permitted to endanger the success of the undertaking. Mrs. Thompson and De Motte ran down with us through two small rapids that exist at the mouth of the Paria, and which we had to pass to reach the camp mentioned. Mrs. Thompson would willingly have gone all the way through if her husband had consented to it.

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