Chapter 27

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 _Cañonita_ 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 _Cañonita_ 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.

The Town of Bluff. The Town of Bluff. Upper Valley of the San Juan River. Photograph by CHARLES GOODMAN.

Glen Canyon Wall. Glen Canyon Wall. About 1200 feet high. Homogeneous sandstone on top of thin bedded sandstone. Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Glen Canyon. Glen Canyon. Sandstone wall about 1200 feet high. Photograph by J. FENNEMORE, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

Glen Canyon, Sentinel Rock. Glen Canyon, Sentinel Rock. Between the Crossing of the Fathers and Lee’s Ferry—about 300 feet high. Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.

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.[2] The result was always the same, and from this unusual echo we named the place Echo Peaks.

[2] 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.