On the 16th of February, which was Sunday, I put the last touches on the map, drawn from the original on a large sheet of tracing cloth, rolled it carefully up, and placed it in a long tin tube we had ordered from the local tinsmith. This I carried on my back, as I did not mean to be separated from it a minute till I gave it into the hands of Wells, Fargo & Co.'s express in Salt Lake. Jack was to go with me. Saying a last good-bye to Prof. and Mrs. Thompson, to John, and to some of my Kanab friends who came to see the start, we left a little after noon, with one pack on a broncho mule, Jack riding a mule and I a favourite horse of mine called by the unusual name of Billy. The pack-mule always had to be blindfolded before we could handle him, and if the blind should accidentally slip off there was an instantaneous convulsion which had a most disrupting effect. Going straight up the canyon, we crossed over finally into Long Valley, and were on the headwaters of the Virgin. At sunset we came to a little settlement called Mt. Carmel, but continued to Glendale, where we arrived about half-past seven, having come in all thirty miles. At the bishop's house we were welcomed and there got some supper, putting our three animals in his corral. We did not care to sleep in the house, choosing for our resting-place the last remains of a haystack, where we spread our blankets, covering the whole with a paulin, as the sky looked threatening. I never slept more comfortably in my life, except that I was half-aroused in the stillness by water trickling down my neck. Half-asleep we pulled the canvas clear up over our heads and were troubled no more. When we awoke in the morning a heaviness on top of us we knew meant snow. We were covered by a full foot of it, soft and dry. Valley, mountain, everything was a solid expanse of white, the only dark spot being our red blankets as we threw back the paulin. The sky was grey and sullen. More snow was in the air. As soon as breakfast was eaten we slung our pack, saddled, and rode up the valley, following as well as we could the directions given by the bishop. Neither Jack nor I had been this way before. We could see the slight depression in the surface of the snow which indicated a waggon-rut beneath, and by that token continued up the ever-narrowing valley; the slopes sprinkled by large pine trees. Snow fell thickly. It was not always easy to see our way, but we went on. At a certain point we were to turn to the left up a side gulch, following it till we came to the divide, some eight thousand or nine thousand feet above sea-level, where we expected to go down to the head of the Sevier Valley, where Jack had before been by another route. At the gulch we deemed the correct one, no road or trail being visible, we turned late in the afternoon to the left and rapidly mounted higher, with the fresh snow growing correspondingly deeper till it was about two feet on the level. The going was slow and hard, the sky still dropping heavy flakes upon us. About five o'clock we found ourselves on the summit of a high bald knob topping the world. In every direction through the snow-mist similar bald knobs could be seen looming against the darkening sky. The old drifts were so deep that where a horse broke through the crust he went down to the end of his leg. This excited them, and they plunged wildly. I finally got them all three still and quiet, while Jack scanned the outlook intently. "See any landmark, Jack?" said I. "Not a damned thing I ever saw before!" answered Jack. At brief intervals the falling snow would cease, and we could see more clearly, except that the impending night began to cast over all a general obscurity.
There was a deep valley beyond to the right. While it was not possible to tell directions we felt that our course must lie there, and I led the way down a long treeless slope, breaking a path as well as I could, my horse following behind; the others urged on by Jack from the rear. The snow became shallower near the bottom. We mounted and I rode in the direction that Jack thought we ought to take to come to the road down the Sevier where he had before travelled. We crossed the valley in doing this, but at one point in the very bottom my horse wanted to turn to the left, which would have taken us down the deepening valley. I prevented his turning and we continued up a gulch a mile or two, where it narrowed till we could barely proceed. Jack then climbed up on a cliff and disappeared, endeavouring to see some familiar object, the falling snow having at last stopped. I stood in my tracks with the three animals and waited so long I began to be afraid that Jack had met with an accident. Just then I heard him descending. It was nearly dark. He could not see any sign of the region he had been in before. Snow and darkness puzzle one even in a familiar country. We then went back to the valley where the horse had wished to turn and followed it down, now believing that it might be the right way after all, for Billy had been over the road several times. Another example of horse sense, which seems to prove that horses know more than we think they do. We had expected to reach Asa's ranch before night and had not brought an axe, in consequence. Keeping down the valley till we came to a group of cedars, some of which were dead, and a tall pine tree, we camped, pulling branches from the cedars and bark from the pine for a fire, which quickly melted its way down to the ground, leaving a convenient seat all round about twenty inches high, upon which we laid blankets to sit on. Our pack contained enough food for supper; breakfast would have to take care of itself. We also had some grain, which we fed to the hungry animals and tied them under the cedars, where they were protected in a measure from the sharp wind though they were standing in deep snow. For ourselves we cut twigs from the green cedars and made a thick mattress on the snow with them. Our blankets on top of these made a bed fit for a king. The storm cleared entirely; a brilliant moon shone over all, causing the falling frost in the air to scintillate like diamonds.
In the morning, Tuesday, February 18th, we packed up at once, having nothing left to eat, and proceeded down the valley wondering if we were on the right road or not. The sky arched over with that deep tone that is almost black in winter in high altitudes, and the sun fell in a dazzling sheet upon the wide range of unbroken white. The surface was like a mirror; the eyes closed against the intense light instinctively. As we went on northwards and downwards a faint, double, continuous hollow began to appear on the snow—a waggon-track at the bottom. It became more and more distinct and we then felt sure that we were on the right road, though we were not positive till near noon when, approaching a rocky point, we suddenly heard the clear ring of an axe on the metallic air. A few moments later turning this we saw a large, swift stream flowing clear between snowy banks, and beyond a log cabin with blue smoke rising from the immense stone chimney. In front was a man chopping wood. His dog was barking. It was a welcome, a beautiful picture of frontier comfort. It was Asa's ranch. Asa was one of the men who helped the Major on his arrival at the mouth of the Virgin in 1869, now having changed his residence to this place. We were soon made welcome in the single large room of the cabin where all the family were, and while the horses were having a good feed an equally good one for us was prepared by Mrs. Asa on the fire burning snugly in the great chimney. Never did fried ham, boiled eggs, and hot coffee do better service. We could not have been more cordially received if these Mormons had been our own relatives.
We rested there till about three o'clock, when we bade them all good-bye and rode on down the valley, the snow continually lessening in depth, till, when we reached the much lower altitude of Panguitch at sunset, twenty-six miles from our night's camp, there were only three or four inches and the temperature was not nearly so low, though still very cold. According to custom we applied to the bishop for accomodation for ourselves and our stock and were again cordially received. We were quickly made comfortable before a bright fire on the hearth which illumed the whole room. While the good wife got supper, the bishop, an exceedingly pleasant man, brought out some Dixie wine he had recently received. He poured us out each a large goblet and took one himself. After a hearty supper Jack and I put down our blankets on the bishop's haystack and knew nothing more till sunrise. Leaving Panguitch we rode on down the Sevier, crossing it frequently, and made about forty miles, passing through Sevier Canyon and Circle Valley, where there were a number of deserted houses, and arrived for night at the ranch of a Gentile named Van Buren. By this time my eyes, which had been inflamed by the strong glare of the sun, began to feel as if they were full of sand, and presently I became aware that I was afflicted with that painful malady snowblindness. I could barely see, the pain in both eyes was extreme, and a river of tears poured forth continually. Other men whom we heard of as we went on were blinded worse than I. All I could do, having no goggles, was to keep my hat pulled down and cut off the glare as much as possible.[39] At Marysvale the stage had been abandoned. We kept on, finding as we advanced that all the stages were put out of business by the epizoötic. There was nothing for Jack to do but to go on with me to Nephi.
In riding through one village I saw a sign on the closed door of a store just off the road and my curiosity led me to ride up close enough to read it. I did not linger. The words I saw were "SMALL POX." That night we reached Nephi under the shadow of the superb Mount Nebo, where I tried again for a stage so that Jack could return. No stage arrived and the following morning we rode on northward over very muddy roads, finally reaching Spanish Fork, where a fresh snow-storm covered the country about a foot, making travelling still more difficult. Another day's journey put us as far as American Fork, only three miles from the end of the railway, a place called Lehi, for which we made a very early start the next day, Wednesday, February 25th, but when we arrived there through the mud and slush the train had taken its departure. Our pack mule was now very lame and travelled with difficulty, but we continued on toward Salt Lake. The train had become stalled in the immense snowdrifts at the Point-of-the-Mountain and there we overtook it. I was soon on board with my tin case and other baggage, but it was a considerable time before the gang of men and a snow plough extricated the train. About five o'clock we ran into the town. I went to the Walker House, then the best hotel, and that night slept in a real room and a real bed for the first time in nearly two years, but I opened the windows as wide as they would go. In the morning I sent off the map and then turned my attention to seeing the Mormon capital. Cap. was now living there and it was Fennemore's home. I also found Bonnemort and MacEntee in town, and Jack came on up the remaining short distance in order to take a fresh start for Kanab.
Nearly forty years have slipped away since the events chronicled in this volume. Never was there a more faithful, resolute band of explorers than ours. Many years afterward Prof. said in a letter to me speaking of the men of the Second Powell Expedition, "I have never seen since such zeal and courage displayed." From out the dark chasm of eternity comes the hail, "Tirtaan Aigles dis wai!" and already many of that little company have crossed to Killiloo. The Major and Prof. repose in the sacred limits of Arlington. Strew their graves with roses and forget them not. They did a great work in solving the last geographical problem of the United States.
FOOTNOTES:
[35] Professor Thompson declared to me not long before his death that the river was accurate as far as Catastrophe Rapid, (about where longitude 113.39 intersects the river) but from there to the Virgin it might need some corrections.
[36] Some men from Kanab afterwards came in, sawed one in two and made it shorter, and then tried to go up the canyon by towing. They did not get far, and the boat was abandoned. The floods then carried both down to destruction.