The Boats of Powells Second Expedition on the Beach at Green River, Wyoming.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
When I went the first, time to look at the boats lying on Bagley’s wharf, their ominous porpoise-like appearance gave me a peculiar sensation. I had expected rough-water, but this was the first understanding I had that the journey was to be more or less amphibian. On a day when the waves on Lake Michigan were running high we took them out for trial. The crews were filled out by Bagley’s men, our party not all being present, and with some reporters and a cargo of champagne and cigars our course was laid for the open sea. The action of the boats was all that could be desired, and, in the great billows it was so constant that our reportorial friends found some difficulty in obtaining their share of the refreshments. We were satisfied that the boats could ride any sea, and they were accordingly placed on a car and sent by way of the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy and the Union Pacific railways to Green River Station. These companies charged nothing for this service and also transported all the men and baggage on the same terms. On the 29th of April we alighted at Green River and found the boats already there. This place, when the railway was building, had been for a considerable time the terminus, and a town of respectable proportions had grown up, but with the completion of the road through this region, the terminus had moved on, and now all that was to be seen of those golden days was a group of adobe walls, roofless and forlorn. The present “city” consisted of about thirteen houses, and some of these were of such complex construction that one hesitates whether to describe them as houses with canvas roofs, or tents with board sides. The population consisted of a few whites, a number of Chinese railway labourers, an occasional straggling miner, native, or cattleman, and last but not least, at the small railway-station eating-house, honoured by the patronage of emigrant-trains, his highness Ah Chug, the cook, whose dried-apple pies, at twenty-five cents apiece, I have never ceased to enjoy, for they were the ladder by which I was able to descend from a home table to the camp fare of bacon and beans. I then despised these ruder viands, but now I desire to pay my tribute to them by saying that as a basis for campaigning they are the very best. In hot weather you eat more beans and less bacon, and when the weather is cold your diet is easily arranged in the reverse order.
Ruins of Green River Terminus.
Photograph by E.O. BEAMAN, U.S. Colo. Riv. Exp.
The boats were speedily launched upon the swift current at the bridge and steered down to a little cove on the left, a few hundred yards below, where they were hauled out on a beach to give them the finishing touches of preparation, like attaching canvas covers to the cabins, and so forth. Nearby, amongst the willows, we established our first camp—a place of real luxury, for Mr. Field, who had an outfitting house here, lent us a table and two benches. Andy set up some crotches and a cross-bar, to hang his kettles on, and with a cast-iron bake oven—one of the kind like a flat, iron pot, in which, after it is stood upon a bed of hot coals, the bread is placed, and then the cast-iron cover is put on, and laden with hot coals—began his experiments in cookery, for it was a new art to him. In the beginning he was rather too liberal with his salaratus, but the product gave us the pleasant delusion of having reached a land of gold nuggets. Andy soon improved, and we learned to appreciate his rare skill to such an extent that the moment he took his old hat and with it lifted the coffee-pot off the fire, and then placed beside it the bread and bacon with the pleasing remark: “Well, now, go fur it, boys!” we lost not a moment in accepting the invitation. As bread must be made for every meal, Andy’s was no easy berth, for his work on the river was the same as that of the rest of us. It was only when we were engaged in a portage near dinner or supper time that he was permitted to devote his entire attention to the preparation of our elaborate meals. Bean soup, such as Andy made, is one of the most delicious things in the world; and Delmonico could not hold a candle to his coffee. Our three boats bore the names Emma Dean, after Mrs. Powell, Nellie Powell, after Major Powell’s sister, Mrs. Thompson, and Cañonita. The men and their assignment to the boats were these: J. W. Powell, S. V. Jones, J. K. Hillers; F. S. Dellenbaugh—the Emma Dean; A. H. Thompson, J. F. Steward, F. M. Bishop, F. C. A. Richardson—the Nellie Powell; E. O. Beaman, W. C. Powell, A. J. Hattan—the Cañonita.
Jones had been a teacher in Illinois. He went as a topographer. Hillers was a soldier in the Civil War, and was at first not specially assigned, but later, when the photographer gave out, he was directed to assist in that branch, and eventually became head photographer, a position he afterwards held with the Geological Survey for many years. A large number of the photographs from which this volume is illustrated were taken by him and they speak for themselves. Thompson was from Illinois. He also had been a soldier in the war, and on this expedition was Powell’s colleague, as well as the geographer. To his foresight, rare good judgment, ability to think out a plan to the last minute detail, fine nerve and absolute lack, of any kind of foolishness, together with a wide knowledge and intelligence, this expedition, and indeed the scientific work so admirably carried on by the United States Survey of the Rocky Mountain region and the Geological Survey for three decades in the Far West, largely owe success. Steward was an old soldier, was from Illinois, and went with us as geologist, assisting Powell himself in this line. Bishop had been a captain in the war, had been shot through and through the left lung, and was an enthusiast in Western exploration. He was one of the topographers. Richardson was from Chicago and was general assistant to the geologists and topographers. Beaman was from New York. He was photographer; and W. C. Powell, from Illinois, and a nephew of Major Powell, was his assistant. Hattan was a Virginian, but had lived long in Illinois. He had been a soldier in the war, and went with us as cook, because he wanted the trip, and there was no other post open to him. I hailed from Buffalo, was the youngest of the party, and served as artist to the geologists, and later was placed on the topographical work. Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Thompson spent several days at Green River and rendered much assistance, the latter presenting each boat with a handsome flag made by her own hands.
Almon Harris Thompson.
Powell’s colleague in the second descent of the Colorado and subsequent work. For over thirty years prominently connected with United States survey work in the basin of the Colorado and adjacent country, and in the Eastern States.
Recent photograph by CLINEDINST.