We were up early on the morning of August 5th prepared to leave Camp 32. Prof. took a lunar observation, and at eight we entered the boats and turned our backs on "Fort" Robideau, the only house on or near the whole river at that time from the mouth of the Virgin, to our Camp No. 1 where we had the snow-storm, a distance of about one thousand miles. We had vanquished many rapids and now we pushed on ready for our next battle with the river in the Canyon of Desolation, just before us. The order of going was slightly changed in the absence of the Major, for Prof., being now in sole command, went ahead with his boat, the Nellie Powell, while ours, the Emma Dean, for the time being took second place. The river for a brief distance ran smoothly with only enough current, about two miles an hour, to help us along without hard rowing. I missed the Major while we were on the water, probably more than any one else in the party, for as we were facing each other the whole time and were not separated enough to interfere with conversation we had frequent talks. He sometimes described incidents which happened on the first voyage, or told me something about the men of that famous and unrivalled journey. Besides this he was very apt to sing, especially where the river was not turbulent and the outlook was tranquil, some favourite song, and these songs greatly interested me. While he had no fine voice he sang from his heart, and the songs were those he had learned at home singing with his brothers and sisters. One of these was an old-fashioned hymn, The Home of the Soul, or rather the first two verses of it. These verses were among his special favourites.[12]

Another was a pretty four-part song, The Laugh of a Child, of which he sang the air. The words ran:

Still another of which he sang the English words often was the well-known air from Figaro. I give a few bars:

sheet music

NON PIU ANDRAI—PLAY NO MORE.

At times he imitated a certain pathetic yet comical old woman he had heard singing at some camp-meeting, "The dear blessed Bible, the Fam-i-ly Bible," etc. He told me one day that this fondness for singing, especially amid extremely unpromising or gloomy circumstances, had on more than one occasion led the men of the first expedition to suspect his sanity. When he was singing, I could see that frequently he was really not thinking about his song at all, but of something quite foreign to it, and the singing was a mere accompaniment. Our party as a whole commanded an extensive repertory of song for an exploring expedition and while most of the voices were somewhat below concert requirement, there was no one to object, and one of us, Jack, did have an excellent voice. A song often heard was, Shells of Ocean and also that one most appropriate, What Are the Wild Waves Saying? Then there was If I Had but a Thousand a Year, Gaffer Green, and of course, Annie Laurie. Never was there an American or an English expedition to anywhere that did not have that song, as well as Way Down upon the Suwanee River. In addition to all these and the ones previously mentioned of which

was a special favourite, Jack's individual repertory contained an exhaustless number, both sad and gay. There were Carry me Back to Old Tennessee, The Sailor's Grave, Aura Lee, with her golden hair, who brought sunshine and swallows indiscriminately to each locality which she graced with the said golden hair, and Come where my Love Lies Dreaming, Seeing Nellie Home, and scores or at least dozens that I fail to recall.

But while we had a great store of songs we were deficient to the last degree in musical instruments, the one solitary example being an humble mouth-organ which in a moment of weakness I had thrown in with my outfit. We just escaped having a flute. Frank, who left us on the 10th of June, possessed one, and when he was preparing to go Steward negotiated for this instrument. He gave Cap. his revolver to trade for it, considering the flute more desirable property for the expedition. Cap., being an old soldier, concluded to fire at a mark before letting the revolver pass forever from our possession. Presently there was an explosion which demolished the pistol and all our prospects of acquiring the musical treasure at one and the same moment. Possibly Fortune was kinder to us than we dreamed. The mouth-organ then remained the sole music machine in all that immense area. I did not feel equal to the position of organist but Steward boldly took up the study, and practised so faithfully that he became a real virtuoso.

As a boy in New York Jack, though not a Hibernian himself, had associated closely with descendants of the Shamrock Isle, and he could speak with a fine emerald brogue. A refrain of one of his songs in this line was: "And if the rocks, they don't sthop us, We will cross to Killiloo, whacky-whay!" This sounded our situation exactly, and it became a regular accompaniment to the roaring of the rapids. Jack had many times followed in the wake of the Thirteen Eagles fire company, one of the bright jewels with a green setting, of the old volunteer service. The foreman, fitting the rest of the company, was Irish too, and his stentorian shout through the trumpet "Tirtaan Aigles, dis wai!" never failed to rise above the din, and when the joyful cry smote the ears of the gallant "Tirtaan," the rocks nor the ruts nor the crowds nor anything could stop them; through thick and through thin they went to the front, for there was rivalry in those days and when the Aigles time after time got first water on, they won triumphs which we of this mercenary epoch cannot understand. The Aigles were in for glory, nothing else. So when we heard the roar of a rapid and sniffed the mist in the air, "Tirtaan Aigles dis wai," was our slogan.

Where the river now ran smoothly, as it did for a considerable distance below the Robideau crossing we could drift with the slow current and enjoy the study of the surroundings, the boats requiring no attention. Passing the mouths of the Uinta and the White, both rivers entering very quietly through a level valley, we pulled gently along watching the banks for something new. When we had thus gone a couple of miles we discovered our first acquaintance of this valley, Douglas Boy, encamped on the right with his runaway bride. They had a snug and secluded hiding-place protected by the river and some low cliffs. We landed to pay our parting call. Both had their faces completely smeared with the bright vermilion obtained by trade from us, and they presented in our eyes a ludicrous appearance. They had recently killed a fat deer and seemed very happy. Prof. exchanged some sugar for enough venison for our dinner and we said farewell to them, the first as well as the last human beings we had met with in this valley. Clem, as usual, gave them various messages for the "folks at home" and assured them with gracious smiles, that they "would ever be the subject of his most distinguished consideration." They smiled after us and we were soon beyond their vision. Presently low cliffs, 100 to 150 feet began to show themselves, on one side or the other, and the wide valley vanished. The great canyon below was reaching out for us. There were numerous islands covered with immense accumulations of driftwood or with growing cottonwoods where high enough. Hundreds of beaver swam about. Occasionally a shot from the boats would kill or wound one, but it was next to impossible to secure any as they seemed to sink immediately to the bottom and we gave up trying as long as they were in deep water. The stream being so tranquil reading poetry was more to our taste than hunting the beaver, and Prof. read aloud from Emerson as we slowly advanced upon the enemy.

After about nine miles of this sort of thing we stopped for dinner in a pretty cottonwood grove at the foot of a cliff on the right with beaver swimming around as if they did not know what a human being was. When our venison had been disposed of the boats were shoved out into the river again and we continued our approach to the canyon. The surrounding region became a desolate waste; a broken desert plateau elevated above us about two hundred feet. Some deer seen on an island caused us to land and try to get a good shot at one, but we failed to get near enough for success and they quickly disappeared. The ground was too difficult for pursuit. After some seventeen miles, camp for the night was made in another grove of rather small cottonwoods at 5.30. We were on a large island with the surrounding waters thick with beaver busy every moment though their great work is done at night. Many trees felled, some of them of a considerable diameter, attested the skill and energy of these animals as woodchoppers. Cap. tried to get one so that we could eat it, but though he killed several he failed to reach them before they sank, and gave it up.

As we looked around we saw that almost imperceptibly we had entered the new canyon and at this camp (33) we were fairly within the embrace of its rugged cliffs which, devoid of all vegetation, rose up four hundred feet, sombre in colour, but picturesque from a tendency to columnar weathering that imparted to them a Gothic character suggestive of cathedrals, castles, and turrets. The next day was Sunday and as Beaman felt sick and we were not in a hurry, no advance was made but instead Prof. accompanied by Steward, Cap., and Jones climbed out for notes and observations. They easily reached the top by means of a small gulch. They got back early, reporting an increasing desolation in the country on both sides as far as they could see. They also saw two graves of great age, covered by stones. In the afternoon Prof. entertained us by reading aloud from Scott and so the day passed and night fell. Then the beavers became more active and worked and splashed around camp incessantly. They kept it up all through the dark hours as is their habit, but only Steward was disturbed by it. This would have been an excellent opportunity to learn something about their ways, but for my part I did not then even think of it.

By 7.30 in the morning of August 7th we were again on our way towards the depths ahead, between walls of rapidly increasing altitude showing that we were cutting into some great rock structure. Here and there we came to shoals that compelled us to get overboard and wade alongside lifting the boats at times. As these shoals had the peculiarity of beginning gradually and ending very abruptly we got some unexpected plunge baths during this kind of progression. But the air was hot, the thermometer being about 90° F., and being soaked through was not uncomfortable. At one place Prof. succeeded in shooting a beaver which was near the bank and it was secured before it could get to its hole, being badly wounded. Steward caught it around the middle from behind and threw it into the boat—he had jumped into the water—and there it was finished with an oar. It measured three feet from tip to tip. We had heard a good deal about beaver as food and would now have a chance to try it. About eleven o'clock, we stopped for examinations and for dinner on the right but, of course, could not yet cook the beaver. Prof., Steward, and Cap. climbed to the top of a butte 1050 feet above the river upon which they found a small monument left there by the Major on the former trip. Though this butte was so high the average of the walls was only about five hundred feet. We made seventeen miles this day.

That night our camp (No. 35) was again on an island. There Cap. skinned and dressed the beaver and turned over the edible portions to Andy who cooked some steak for breakfast the next morning. It tasted something like beef, but we were not enthusiastic for I fear this beaver belonged to the same geological epoch as the goose we had cooked at the upper end of the valley. Fortified by the beaver steak we pushed off and ran about a mile on a smooth river when a stop was made for pictures and geologising. This consumed the whole morning, a fact Andy took advantage of to make some beaver soup for dinner. This concoction was voted not a success and we turned to bacon and beans as preferable thereafter. Opposite this dinner place was a rough lateral canyon full of turrets and minarets which had the remarkable property of twice distinctly repeating a shout as loud as the original, and multiplying a rifle shot to peals of thunder. There had been people here before any white men, for Steward found an artificial wall across an indentation of the cliff, the first work of the ancient builders we had encountered. It was mysterious at the time, the South-western ruins having then not been discovered with one or two exceptions. We ascribed this wall, however, to the ancestors of the Moki (Hopi).

In the afternoon as we pulled along we came to a small rapid and the walls by this time being closer together and growing constantly higher, we knew that we were now fairly within the Canyon of Desolation and for about one hundred miles would have a rough river. Not more than two miles below our dinner camp we reached a locality where the stream doubled back on itself forming a vast and beautiful amphitheatre. We could not pass this by without taking a picture of it and Beaman was soon at work with his apparatus while I got out my pencils. The photograph did not turn out well, and Prof. determined to remain till the next day. Our camp was on the left in a thick grove of cottonwoods, and box-elders or ash-leaved maples, at the end of the point. As the sun sank away bats flew about and an insect orchestra began a demoniacal concert that shrilled through the night and made us feel like slaughtering the myriads if we could. The noises ceased with the day, or most of them, though some seemed to intensify with the light. We helped Beaman get his dark box and other paraphernalia up to the summit of the ridge back of camp, which was easy so far as climbing was concerned, the rocks rising by a series of shelves or steps. I made several pencil sketches there, which I have never seen since the close of the expedition. The crest of the promontory was about forty yards wide at its maximum and three yards at the minimum, with a length of three-fourths of a mile. From the middle ridge one could look down into the river on both sides, and it seemed as if a stone could almost be thrown into each from one standpoint. The opposite amphitheatre was perhaps one thousand feet high, beautifully carved by the rains and winds. It was named Sumner's Amphitheatre after Jack Sumner of the first expedition. Several of our men climbed in different directions, but all did not succeed in getting out. The day turned out very cloudy with sprinkles of rain and Prof. decided to wait still longer to see if Beaman could get a good photograph, and we had another night of insect opera. The next day by noon the photographer had caught the scene and we continued our descending way. The river was perfectly smooth, except a small rapid late in the day, with walls on both sides steadily increasing their altitude. Desolation in its beginning is exactly the reverse of Lodore and Split Mountain. In the latter the entrance could hardly be more sudden, whereas the Canyon of Desolation pushes its rock walls around one so diplomatically that it is some little time before the traveller realises that he is caught. The walls were ragged, barren, and dreary, yet majestic. We missed the numerous trees which in the upper canyons had been so ornamental wherever they could find a footing on the rocks. Here there were only low shrubs as a rule and these mainly along the immediate edge of the water, though high up on north slopes pines began to appear. Altitude, latitude, and aridity combine to modify vegetation so that in an arid region one notices extraordinary changes often in a single locality. The walls still had the tendency to break into turrets and towers, and opposite our next camp a pinnacle stood detached from the wall on a shelf high above the water suggesting a beacon and it was named Lighthouse Rock. Prof. with Steward and Cap. in the morning, August 11th, climbed out to study the contiguous region which was found to be not a mountain range but a bleak and desolate plateau through which we were cutting along Green River toward a still higher portion. This was afterwards named the Tavaputs Plateau, East and West divisions, the river being the line of separation.

The walls now began to take on a vertical character rising above the water 1200 to 1800 feet, and at that height they were about a quarter of a mile apart. From their edges they broke back irregularly to a separation as nearly as could be determined of from three to five miles, the extreme summit being 2500 feet above the river.

photo, canyon and boats

While waiting for Prof. to come down from the cliffs, Beaman made some photographs and then two boats dropped down a quarter of a mile where he made some more and Andy got dinner. I remained with the Nell and about eleven o'clock the climbers came. We went down on the boat to the noon camp, and as soon as we had refreshed the inner man we proceeded thinking it about time for rapids to appear. We had not gone far before we distinguished a familiar roar just preceding the turn of a bend which disclosed three lying within half a mile. They were not bad but the river was wide and shallow, making the descent more difficult than it would ordinarily have been. The river was now approaching its lowest stage, and we saw an uncomfortable looking lot of rocks. High water makes easy going but increases the risk of disaster; low water makes hard work, batters the boats, and delays progress, but as a rule it is less risky. All the boats cleared the first rapid without any difficulty, but in the second the Nell struck a sunken rock, though lightly, while our boat landed squarely on the top of a large boulder partially submerged, where we hung fast with the water boiling furiously around and almost coming over the sides. I tried to get out over the port bow but the current drew me under the boat and I had to get back. Jack concluded we were only fast by the extreme end of the keel and Jones coming forward Jack slid cautiously out over the stern and felt around with his feet till he touched the rock and put his weight on it. Thus relieved, the boat lifted slightly and shot away like an arrow but not before Jack leaped on again. As soon as we could we made land and watched the CaÑonita which fared still worse. She struck so hard that two of the after ribs and some planks were stove in. They then extricated her and pulling her up on the rocky shore we went to work to repair with cleats made from a broken oar. This delayed us an hour and a half. Then saws and hammers were stowed away and the third rapid was run without a mishap. It was only the low stage of water that caused the trouble. A little farther on a fourth rapid was vanquished and we went into camp on the left bank in a cottonwood grove at the head of another. "If the rocks, they don't sthop us," sang Jack, "We will cross to Killiloo, whacky-whay!" And there were plenty of rocks in the midst of foaming waters, but one great advantage of low water is the decreased velocity, and velocity on a river like this with so heavy and constant a fall is one of the chief factors to reckon with in navigation.

The high cliffs, two thousand feet, red and towering in the bright sun, became sombre and mysterious as the night shadows crept over them, the summits remaining bright from the last western rays when the river level was dim and uncertain. There was plenty of driftwood, and our fires were always cheery and comfortable. The nights were now quite cold, or at least chilly, while the days were hot as soon as the sun came over the edge of the cliffs. Through some of the narrow promontories at this particular camp there were peculiar perforations suggesting immense windows looking into some fairer land. I would have been glad to examine some of these closely, but as it was not necessary they were passed by. It would also have been difficult to reach them as they were very high up.

The rapid at our camp was a starter the next day on a line of them following one after the other till we had run without accident nine before halting for dinner; and nine in 6-3/4 miles was not a bad record. We landed for noon on the same spot where the first party had stopped and our last night's camp was also coincident with theirs, according to their map which we had for consultation. Prof. decided to remain here for the rest of the day and also the next one which was Sunday. Up in a high gulch some pine trees were visible, and Jack and I climbed up to them and collected several pounds of gum for repairing the boats. Sunday morning Prof., Jones, and Steward struck for the summit up the cliffs to get observations. An hour and a half of steady hard work put them 2576 feet above the river, but they were still three hundred feet below the general level of the great plateau which we were bisecting. Prof. thought he would like to make better time down the river, which we could easily have done up to this point, but if we arrived at the end of the canyon too soon we would have to wait there and it was better to distribute the wait as we went along. It was now August 14th and we were not due below till September 3d.

On Monday morning we pushed and pulled and lifted the boats through a shallow rapid half a mile long. It was hard work. Then came one which we ran, but the following drop was deemed too risky to trust our boats in, and they were lowered by lines. Then in a short distance this same process was repeated with hard work in a very bad place, and when we had finished that we were tired, hungry, wet, and cold, so under a cottonwood tree on the right we stopped for needed refreshment, and while it was preparing most of us hung our clothes on the branches of a fallen tree to dry. The rapid foaming and fuming presented so vigorous an appearance and made so much noise we thought it ought to be named, and it was called Fretwater Falls. At three o'clock we took up our oars again and were whirled along at runaway speed through a continuous descent for half a mile. After another half-mile a small rapid appeared, which we dashed through without a second thought, and then came our final effort of the day, a line-portage over a particularly bad spot. It was a difficult job, requiring great exertion in lifting and pushing and fending off, so when Prof. gave the word to camp on the left, we were all glad enough to do so. We had made only 5-1/4 miles and seven rapids. The let-downs had been hard ones, with a couple of men on board to fend off and two or three on the hawser holding back.

The next morning, August 15th, we made another let-down around a bad piece of river, and ran two or three small rapids before dinner. At the let-down the water dropped at least ten feet in two hundred yards, and Prof. estimated thirty in half a mile. The river was also narrow, not more than sixty or seventy feet in one place. Many rocks studded the rapids, and great caution had to be exercised both in let-downs and in runs, lest the boats should be seriously injured. With two or three more feet of water we could have run some that were now impossible. Fortunately there was always plenty of room on both banks, the cliffs being well back from the water. A series of small rapids gave us no special trouble, and having put them behind, we ran in at the head of a rough-looking one, had dinner, and then made a let-down. Starting on, we soon came to a very sharp rapid, which we ran, and found it was only an introduction to one following that demanded careful treatment. Another let-down was the necessary course, and when it was accomplished we stopped for the night where we were on the sand, every man tired, wet, and hungry. We had made only four miles. A significant note of warning was found here in the shape of fragments of the unfortunate No-Name mixed up with the driftwood, fully two hundred miles below the falls where the wreck occurred.

The precipices surrounding us had now reached truly magnificent proportions, one section near our camp springing almost vertically to a height of 2800 or 3000 feet. On the dizzy summit we could discern what had the appearance of an old-fashioned log-cabin, and from this we called it "Log-cabin Cliff." The cabin was in reality a butte of shale, as we could see by means of our glasses, and of course of far greater size than a real cabin, but from below the illusion was complete. At this camp, No. 40, we remained the next day, Prof. wishing to make some investigations. He and Jones crossed to the other side and went down on foot two or three miles; then returning he went up some distance, while the rest of us mended our clothes, worked up notes, and did a score of little duties that had been neglected in the river work. Jack and I climbed up the cliffs and got more pine gum, with which we caulked up the seams in our boat. Cap. kindly turned barber and redeemed me from the danger of being classed as orang-outang. The air was too hazy for photographing or for getting observations from the summit, and Prof. concluded to stay till next day at this place and then go to the top of the world; in other words, to the summit. Very early in the morning, August 17th, Steward and Cap. started with Prof. for the climb. Keeping up the main canyon for a mile they came to a side gorge where Prof. had been the day before, which they followed for half a mile and then boldly mounted the cliffs, reaching an altitude of 3100 feet above the river. While they were gone, Jack and I climbed after more pine gum, and succeeded in getting five or six pounds for future use. As I was descending along a terrace, Jack being some distance behind and above, a fine, large mountain sheep, sleek and clean, with beautiful strong horns, sprang along four or five hundred feet from me, and stopped in full view listening to Jack's footsteps. I had no gun, and could only admire him till he bounded lightly away.

About one o'clock the climbing party came back. Steward had shot a mountain sheep with a revolver, only to find that a deep canyon intervened between him and his prize and there was no way of getting it.

About half past two we shoved out into the river again, running a small rapid immediately. The water was so shallow that our keel struck a number of times but no damage was done. We had hardly cleared this when we arrived at a drop of about six feet in a few yards with the whole river filled with bad rocks. At this place, according to the map made by the first party, their Emma Dean was capsised. We made a let-down and a quarter of a mile farther on repeated the operation should be. Following this were some swift shoals which brought us to another ugly descent where the Nell stove a hole in her side and came near upsetting. Prof. was knocked half out of the boat but got in again. The other boats we lowered by lines and they passed through uninjured. Near this point a fine clear little stream about a rod wide entered from the west. After running two more rapids Prof. decided to camp which we did on the right, Camp 41. Our run footed up 3-3/4 miles. Our camp was in some cottonwoods and we had to cross a wide rocky bar to get to it but it was preferable to camping on the sand. In this canyon there was generally a valley about one-quarter mile wide on one side or the other, and with the abundant supply of driftwood for fires and a whole river for drink we fared well. The great canyon now appeared deeper than at any point above, about three thousand feet we estimated, the walls being extremely precipitous. One cliff not far from camp appeared to be nearly perpendicular.

Steward got up very early the next morning in order to mend his shoes, and he succeeded so well as cobbler, we declared he had missed his calling, but we did not start till ten o'clock, waiting for Beaman to take views. The first thing we then did was to run a very shallow rapid, followed by another, long, difficult, narrow, and rocky. Then there was a short, easy one, with the next below compelling a very hard let-down. There was nothing but rocks, large rocks, so close together that it was all we could do to manoeuvre the boats between them. There was no channel anywhere. For the greater part of the way we had to pull them empty over the rocks on driftwood skids which taxed our muscles considerably and of course saturated our clothing for half the time we were in the water, as was always the case at let-downs. This over we had our noon ration of bread, bacon, and coffee and took a fresh start by running a nice, clear rapid and then another a half-mile below, and we thought we were getting on well when we saw ahead a fall of some ten feet in fourteen rods, turbulent and fierce. The only prudent thing for this rapid was a let-down and we went at it at once. It was the usual pulling, hauling, fending, and pushing, but we got through with it after a while and naming it at the suggestion of some one, Melvin Falls, we went on to the eighth and last rapid for the day. This was half a mile long and very rocky, but it was thought we could run it and all went through safely except the Nell which caught her keel on a rock and hung for a moment, then cleared and finished with no damage. We made Camp 42 on a sand-hill. These hills were a feature of the wide banks, being blown up by the winds, sometimes to a height of fifteen or twenty feet. Our run for the day was less than five miles, yet as we had passed eight rapids one way and another, we were all pretty tired and of course wet and hungry. A good big camp-fire was quickly started, our dry garments from the rubber bags donned in place of the flapping wet ones, and we were entirely comfortable, with the bread baking in the Dutch oven, the coffee or tea steaming away, and the inspiring fragrance of frying bacon wafted on the evening air. When we stopped long enough Andy would give us boiled beans or stewed dried apples as a treat. If we desired to enliven the conversation all that was necessary was to start the subject of the "light" back at the camp where we first met Douglas Boy. Every one would soon be involved except Prof. who only laughed and inserted from time to time a well-chosen remark to keep up the interest. Jack would always give us a half-dozen songs and to this Steward would add a solo on the mouth-organ. The evenings were growing longer, and we sat closer to the fire. Sometimes Cap. and Clem would play a game of euchre, but no one else seemed to care anything about cards. Our beds, when possible, were made by first putting down willows or cedar twigs in regular order, on which the blankets would be spread making a luxurious bed on which sleep instantly overtook us, with the sound of falling water generally the last thing and the first in our ears.

At 7.30 the next morning, August 19th, we were speeding on our way and ran the rapid which had sent its lullaby to our camp. Another came right after it, shallow and bad, and then one more where the channel was beset with innumerable boulders hidden under the surface. Happily the boats were not seriously damaged, they needed no repairs, and we kept on to the next barrier which proved to be not runable with any prospect of getting through whole so we made a portage. Then there was a rapid we ran easily, but as if to revenge itself for making one gentle for us, the river obliged us to work a laborious passage at the next two. We had good hard work, lowering by lines, wading alongside where necessary to ease the boats, or clinging to their sides where the water was deep, while the men on shore at the hawser's end lowered away to a shallow place. We were glad to halt at 11.30 for dinner, and a short rest.

There was a heavy rapid beside us as we ate, and Steward named it Chandler Falls. It had a descent of about twelve feet in twenty rods. On the opposite side of the river a clear little creek came in, and this was named Chandler Creek, Chandler being the maiden name of Steward's wife. Beaman and Clem selected a position with their photographic outfit and made some photographs of us as we were working the boats through. A mile below we halted on the right for Beaman to get more views. None of his photographs of the rapids came out well as the plates were too slow. Up a gulch on the right we could see a remarkable topographic feature, nothing less than a gigantic aperture, or natural arch, in the cliff. It had a span of at least 300 feet with a height of about half as much. It was 1500 or 1800 feet above the river. Hundreds of cedar trees grew around the arch on the ledges of the huge wall through which it was cut by the action of the elements.

The cliffs everywhere were now becoming more broken, and there was an entrance somewhere from the back country, or it may have been up the canyon, for we discovered remains of tipis and camps with metates or grinding stones, the first evidences of human beings we had seen since the "Moki" wall. This and the breaking of the cliffs caused us to believe that we were nearing the end of the canyon. Prof. with Jones and Steward went down-stream on foot for a distance to see what was coming next and found a stretch of very bad water. On the return a rattlesnake struck at Steward but luckily failed to hit him. Steward killed it. We concluded to stop for the night where we were with the day's record—four rapids run, three let-downs, and 4-5/8 miles in distance. This camp was not satisfactory and we got out of it early the next morning. While Beaman was making some views across the river we lowered the other two boats through one rapid and then ran them through a second in three-quarters of a mile to a better camping place, from which we went back and helped the third boat, the CaÑonita, do the same. Prof. wanted to climb out, but the morning being half gone he planned to start after dinner and meanwhile he read Emerson aloud to us till Andy shouted his "Go fur it boys!" Accompanied by Steward and Clem, in the afternoon he climbed up 1200 or 1500 feet to a point where he could see down the river two or three miles. They counted seven rapids, and confirmed the belief that the walls were breaking. The surrounding country was made up of huge ridges that ran in toward the river from five miles back.

Our Camp 44 was in a little valley about a quarter of a mile wide, the bottom covered with cedars and greasewood. The scenery was still on a magnificent scale but barren and desolate. The next morning, August 21st, we were under way at 7.30 and plunged almost immediately into the rapids which had been sighted from the cliffs above. In a little over four miles we let down six times. A seventh rapid we ran and then stopped for noon on the left, every man, as usual, soaking wet. A little rain fell but not enough to consider. After dinner four more rapids were put behind; we ran all but one at which we made a let-down. Our record for this day was eleven rapids in a trifle less than seven miles, and we were camped at the head of another rapid which was to form our eye-opener in the morning. The walls receded from the river three-fourths of a mile and now, though still very high, had more the appearance of isolated cliffs.

We had not a single unpleasant incident till Beaman on this day ran one rapid contrary to Prof.'s orders. He was sharply reprimanded, and for the time being his tendency to insubordination and recklessness was checked. He probably did not mean to be either, but his confidence in his ability to steer through anything led him astray. In the evening by the camp-fire light Prof. read aloud from Miles Standish. Although a heavy wind blew sand all over us, no one seemed to complain.

The next morning, August 22d, the first thing we did was to run the rapid beside our camp, a beautiful chute, swift, long, and free from rocks. Immediately below this was one half a mile long in the form of a crescent, the river making a sharp bend with a bad current, but we ran it. This was, in fact, a part of the other rapid, or it might be so classed, as was frequently the case where the descent was nearly continuous from one rapid to another. The river was very narrow at this place, not more than seventy-five feet wide. We had not gone far before we reached a rapid where it was prudent to lower the boats, and not more than a few hundred yards below this there was another of a similar character but necessitating harder work. Then we were brought face to face with one more that could not be run with safety on the present stage of water, though we ran a part of it and made a let-down past the remainder. When this was finally accomplished with everything in good order, we found ourselves in front of still another that refused to grant us clear passage, and we worked the boats down with lines as in the previous rapids without removing the cargoes. The method was the usual one for the let-downs, three or four men on the line and a couple on board the boat to manoeuvre and protect her. Having by this time advanced three and one-eighth miles from last night's camp we stopped for dinner. On taking up the oars again the first rapid was a fine, clear descent with extremely large waves, through which all three boats dashed with exhilarating speed, leaping part of their length out of the water as their velocity carried them zipping over the crests. Our boat happened to strike near the finish on a submerged rock to the right of the main channel and near shore and there she hung for some moments. The first boat had landed below and some of the men quickly came up to where I could throw them our line, and this pulled us off without any damage worth mentioning. A little below this we ran another successfully and had not gone far before we were astonished at the sight of a horse grazing unconcernedly on some low bluffs on the right. Prof. had discovered this horse with his field glass while we stopped above to examine one of the rapids. He thought it might indicate the presence of the Major, or of Indians, but he did not mention the matter to any of us. When we were at a good point, and just as all hands had discovered the animal, he ordered a sharp landing on the same side. We ran in quickly. Prof. went up the bank and gave several shouts while we held ourselves ready for action. There was no response. He then went to the horse and found it very lame which, coupled with the absence of any indication of visitors within recent months, caused us to conclude that the horse had been abandoned by Indians who had been encamped here a good while before. We left the place and running another rapid, a little one, we came to a fine spot for a camp on the right at the beginning of a heavy rapid, and there we stayed for the night.

There was now a marked change in the geology, and fossiliferous beds, which for a long time had been absent, appeared. The canyon walls also broke away considerably. The next morning it was decided that we should remain at this camp till after dinner for observation work. I went out with Steward to help him gather fossils, and Beaman took some views, while the others occupied themselves with various duties. The afternoon began by letting the boats by line past the rapid at camp which Beaman called Sharp Mountain Falls, from a pointed peak overhead. There was a drop of about fifteen feet in thirty rods. Beaman wanted to photograph us in the midst of our work, and got ready for it, but a rain-storm came on and we had to wait till it cleared for him to get the picture. We then went ahead dashing through a pretty rapid with a swift current, and next had a long stretch of rapid, though not difficult river, making in all 2-3/4 miles, and camping at five o'clock on the left. The only trouble we had was that in choosing one of four channels our boat got where she was inevitably drawn into the top of a sunken dead tree lodged in the rocks and my starboard row lock was broken off. On shore Steward killed another rattlesnake, of which there seemed to be a good many along the river.

We were now actually out of the Canyon of Desolation and in the beginning of what the Major at first called Coal Canyon, then Lignite, and finally Gray, the name it bears to-day, because of the colour of the walls. The division between the two canyons was the break down where we had seen the horse. Casting up we found that the Canyon of Desolation is ninety-seven miles long. Early the next morning, August 24th, we pulled away from Camp 47 soon running two small rapids of no consequence, and in three miles came to a descent of some ten feet in a very short space, where we made a let-down. Three fair rapids were next run easily when we halted to examine a hard-looking place where we let down again. An encounter with three more, two of them each a quarter of a mile long, took us till noon, though we ran them and we came to a stop for dinner. Now the walls had narrowed, the canyon being about half a mile wide at the top—sometimes not more than a quarter. The colour was buff, and there were seams of coal and lignite in places. On one or the other side the cliffs were nearly vertical for about three hundred feet then breaking back to jagged heights reaching about two thousand feet. After dinner having run two more rapids without trouble we arrived at a very difficult locality where the first cliffs, six hundred feet high, came down vertically on both sides quite close to the water. We saw how we could navigate it, but at flood time it would be a most serious proposition, as there would be no footing on either side, unless, perhaps on the huge masses of fallen rock. At the present stage we were able to let the boats down by lines. Then we had two easy rapids, followed by another not more difficult but less safe. A little farther on we ran two more which completed the record for the day, and we were glad to camp with a total run of 12-3/8 miles, and many rapids with three let-downs. A feature of the cliffs this day was numerous alcoves and grottoes worn into the sandstone some of them like great caverns with extremely narrow canyons leading into them.

In the morning Prof. with Jones, Cap., and Steward climbed out. The country was elevated above the river about two thousand feet, a wild labyrinth of ragged gulches, gullies, and sharp peaks devoid of vegetation except a few piÑons on some slopes, the whole presenting a picture of complete desolation. At a quarter past twelve we were again gliding down on a stiff current. We ran seven easy rapids and let-down by lines twice, before arriving about three o'clock at the mouth of a stream-bed sixty feet wide, which Prof. said was Little White, or Price River. The mouth was so devoid of water that we camped on the smooth sand, it being the only ground free from brush. A sudden rise or cloud-burst would have made it an active place for us but we decided to take the risk for one night. Prof. and Jones tried to get out by following up this river bed but they were not successful. Game was abundant and they thought there might be an Indian trail but they saw none. In the evening Steward gave us a mouth-organ recital and Jack sang a lot of his songs in fine style. The air was soft and tranquil, and knowing we had now conquered the Canyon of Desolation without a serious mishap we all felt well satisfied.

In the morning, August 25th, breakfast was disposed of early, the boats were put in trim and away we went again on a good current running many rapids and making one let-down in a distance of eight miles. I counted fourteen rapids, Steward ten or eleven, Prof. only eight, showing that it is not always easy to separate the rapids where they come so close together. In one the river was no more than thirty feet wide with big waves that made the boats jump and ship water. We reached a bend and saw the end of the canyon only a mile or two away, but we had to make the let-down mentioned before we got there. Our camp, Number 50, was made about noon, just inside the mouth of the canyon on the left, opposite a high, beautiful pinnacle we called Cathedral Butte afterwards changing the name to Gunnison. Here we would wait till the time appointed for the Major to join us according to the plan. Gray Canyon was now also behind us with its thirty-six miles and numerous rapids. Adding to it the ninety-seven miles of Desolation made the total canyon from Wonsits Valley 133 miles with a descent of about 550 feet distributed through a hundred rapids, some small, some heavy. The entire fall from our starting point was now some two thousand feet. Prof. and Jones went down the valley two miles with the hope of seeing signs of the Major but not a human being was to be found anywhere.

line drawing, mountain sheep

[12] Many, many years after the canyon voyage as Major Powell with his sister, Mrs. Thompson, and Professor Thompson were approaching Fort Wingate in New Mexico, the sun was setting, and sky and rocks combined to produce a glorious picture. Suddenly he asked his companions to halt and sitting on their horses looking into the wonderful sky he sang with them the above two stanzas.