Near Mouth of San Rafael.
Photograph by E. O. Beaman, 1871.
As we went on the next morning the desolation of the surroundings increased, if that were possible, and it was easy to read in this one cause of the tardiness of its exploration. The acreage of bare rock grew wider and broader. The buttes now often turned to walls about 150 feet high, all much broken, but indicating the approach to another closing in of the rocks upon us. Many of these buttes were beautiful in their castellated form as well as because of a picturesque banded character, and opposite our dinner-camp, which was on a ledge of rock, was one surprisingly symmetrical, resembling an artificial structure. I thought it looked like an art gallery, and the Major said it ought to be named after the artist, so he called it "Dellenbaugh's Butte" then and there. Another singular feature of this day was a number of alkaline springs discovered bubbling up from the bottom of a sort of bayou or branch of the river. There were at least seventy-five of them, one throwing a column six or eight inches above the surface of the water here about two feet deep. We thought the place worth a name, and called it Undine Springs. Three or four miles below the butte named after me we arrived at the mouth of a river, twenty-five feet wide and eight or ten inches deep, coming in from the right. This was the San Rafael. Our camp was made near some cottonwoods between its left bank and the Green. As soon as we landed we perceived that the ground was strewn with flaked chips of chalcedony, jasper, and similar stones. It was plain that here was a favourite workshop of the native arrowhead maker, an artisan now vanished forever. Numerous well-finished beautiful arrow-heads of stone were found, all being placed in the general collection for the Smithsonian Institution. Our Camp 54 was elevated considerably above the river, and the surroundings being open, we had views in all directions. Towards the east we could see the Sierra La Sal, two clusters of rounded peaks, forty or fifty miles away, forming a majestic picture. The place was easy of access, and had been a favourite resort for natives, several acres of camp remains being found. In the morning Prof. began a series of observations to fix the position of the mouth of the San Rafael, while the Major and Jones, with rations, blankets, etc., on their backs for a two days' trip, started early up the tributary stream to see what kind of a country it flowed through. Steward feeling somewhat under the weather did not attempt to do anything, while the photographer and the others busied themselves in their respective lines. The following day the Major and Jones returned as planned, having traced the San Rafael for twenty-five miles. Before they arrived Cap. and Clem went across the Green to travel eastward to some high red buttes, one of which they intended to climb for topographical purposes. These buttes loomed up in a striking way, and appeared to be no more than six miles off even to Cap.'s experienced eye. The Major described the drainage basin of the San Rafael as wofully barren and desolate, like the rest of our surroundings. They had seen mountains lying beyond the Dirty Devil River, which were the range we then called the Unknown Mountains, there being no record of any one ever having seen them before the Major on his first trip.
Steward, recovering his poise, walked back alone on the east bank of the Green four miles to Dellenbaugh's Butte to examine it and the intervening geology. He found the butte to be about four hundred feet high and composed of stratified gypsum, thinly bedded and of fine quality.
As evening approached we looked for the return of Cap. and Clem, especially when the supper hour arrived, but twilight came, then darkness, and still their footfall was not heard. The Major was greatly disturbed over their failure to come, fearing they had gotten out of water, missed their way, and might now be suffering or demoralised in the arid wastes to eastward. He ordered a large fire to be built on a high spot near camp, where it would be visible for miles in the direction the missing men had gone. We divided into watches of two hours each to keep the fire going, in order that the men should have a guide if they were trying to reach the river in the night. I was called for my turn at two in the morning, and read Whittier while feeding the flames. The sky was mottled with clouds driving impetuously across the zenith, the bright moon gleaming through the interstices as they rapidly passed along. My attention was divided between the Quaker poet, the blazing fire, the mysterious environment into which I peered from time to time, and the flying scud playing hide-and-seek with the moon. At three I called Andy, who had breakfast ready before five, and all hands were up prepared to start on a search. By the time we had eaten there was light enough for operations to begin, and the Major, accompanied by Jack, carrying between them two days' rations and as much water as possible, were put across the Green to strike out directly eastward. A couple of hours later Prof. took a boat, with Steward and me to man it and another supply of food and water, and ran down the river a mile, where we headed back into the dry region to intersect at a distance the route the Major was following. We had not gone far before signal shots came to our ears, and through a glass turned in that direction we rejoiced to see that the Major and Jack had met the lost ones and all was well.
Prof. directed me to go back on foot to our camp with instructions for the other boats to come down, while he, in response to further signals, dropped his boat to a point nearer to the position of the rescue party and easier for them to reach. Cap. had underestimated the distance to the butte, which was twice as far as he thought. They walked eight hours to get there only to discover that scaling it was out of the question. A mile and a half beyond they found one they could climb, but by the time they had completed their observations on top of this evening overtook them and they were at least fifteen miles from camp. Having consumed their lunch at noon and drank all their water they were in something of a predicament, but luckily found some water-pockets in the barren rock, recently filled by the rains, so they did not suffer for thirst, and going hungry is not dangerous. Over the wide surfaces of bare rock they travelled toward camp till night forced them to wait for daylight, when they kept on till they met the Major and Jack with water and food.
No sooner had I arrived at the camp than the sky which was leaden and low began to drop its burden upon us. Packing up could not be done till the rain slackened, and we sheltered ourselves as well as we could. As we waited a deep roaring sound from not far off presently fell on our ears and we were puzzled to explain it till an examination showed a recently dry gulch filled with a muddy torrent which leaped the low cliff into the river, a sullen cascade. The San Rafael, too, was a booming flood. We packed the boats as soon as we could and ran down about two miles and a half to where the first boat was. Cliffs bordered the river again, 50 to 100 feet high, then 200 or 300, and we saw we were in the beginning of the next canyon called from its winding course, Labyrinth. Over these straight walls hundreds of beautiful cascades born of the rain were plunging into the river. They were of all sizes, all heights, and almost all colours, chocolate, amber, and red predominating. The rocky walls, mainly of a low purplish-red tint, were cut into by the river till the outside curves of the bends were perpendicular and sometimes slightly more than perpendicular, so that some of the cascades fell clear without a break. The acres of bare rock composing the surface of the land on both sides collected the rain as does the roof of a house, and the rills and rivulets rapidly uniting soon formed veritable floods of considerable proportions seeking the bosom of the river. This seemed the most fantastic region we had yet encountered. Buttes, pinnacles, turrets, spires, castles, gulches, alcoves, canyons and canyons, all hewn, "as the years of eternity roll" out of the verdureless labyrinth of solid rock, made us feel more than ever a sense of intruding into a forbidden realm, and having permanently parted from the world we formerly knew.
About noon we caught up to the other boat and all had dinner together, happy that nothing serious had befallen Cap. and Clem. During the whole afternoon rain steadily fell upon the top of this rock-roofed world till the river rose several inches while its colour turned to a dull yellow, then to a red, showing how heavy the rainfall had been in the back country. We had our rubber ponchos on but we were more or less damp and we began to notice that summer had passed for the air was chilly. The river was perfectly smooth making navigation easy and we were able to pull steadily along with no interruption from rapids. The walls ever increased their height while over the edges the numberless astonishing rain cascades continued to play, varying their volume according to the downpour from the sky. Before long the cliffs were from 800 to 1000 feet high, often perpendicular, giving the waterfalls grand plunges. These graceful tributaries were now occasionally perfectly clear and they sometimes fell so far without a break that they vanished in feathery white spray. A projecting ledge at times might gather this spray again to form a second cascade before the river level was reached. The scene was quite magical and considering the general aridity for a large part of the year, it appeared almost like a phantasm.
"A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go."
The river twisted this way and that with the tongues of the bends filled with alluvial deposit bearing dense clumps of scrub-oak, and grass. Each new bend presented a fresh picture with the changing waterfalls leaping over by the dozen till we might have thought ourselves in some Norwegian fiord, and we gave far more attention to admiring the scenery than to navigating the boats. Late in the day we landed at the left on the point of a bend and chopped a path through the thick oak brush to a grassy glade, where we soon had the paulins stretched across oars supported by other oars forming comfortable shelters in front of which huge fires of dead oak and driftwood were kept going to dry things out. Andy set his pots to boiling and supper was soon prepared.
All night the rain fell but our shelters kept us dry and every one had a good rest. When the morning of September 8th dawned clear and bracing we met it with good spirits, though the spirits of our party seldom varied no matter what the circumstances, and every man took as much personal interest in the success of the expedition as if he were entirely responsible for it.