Canyons of the Colorado Part 12

Between the little river and the foot of the walls is a dense growth of willows, vines, and wild rosebushes, and with great difficulty we make our way through this tangled ma.s.s. It is not a wide stream--only 20 or 30 feet across in most places; shallow, but very swift. After spending some hours in breaking our way through the ma.s.s of vegetation and climbing rocks here and there, it is determined to wade along the stream. In some places this is an easy task, but here and there we come to deep holes where we have to wade to our armpits. Soon we come to places so narrow that the river fills the entire channel and we wade perforce. In many places the bottom is a quicksand, into which we sink, and it is with great difficulty that we make progress. In some places the holes are so deep that we have to swim, and our little bundles of blankets and rations are fixed to a raft made of driftwood and pushed before us. Now and then there is a little flood-plain, on which we can walk, and we cross and recross the stream and wade along the channel where the water is so swift as almost to carry us off our feet and we are in danger every moment of being swept down, until night comes on.

Finding a little patch of flood-plain, on which there is a huge pile of driftwood and a clump of box-elders, and near by a mammoth stream bursting from the rocks, we soon have a huge fire. Our clothes are spread to dry; we make a cup of coffee, take out our bread and cheese and dried beef, and enjoy a hearty supper. We estimate that we have traveled eight miles to-day.

The canyon here is about 1,200 feet deep. It has been very narrow and winding all the way down to this point.

_September 11.--_Wading again this morning; sinking in the quicksand, swimming the deep waters, and making slow and painful progress where the waters are swift and the bed of the stream rocky.

The canyon is steadily becoming deeper and in many places very narrow--only 20 or 30 feet wide below, and in some places no wider, and even narrower, for hundreds of feet overhead. There are places where the river in sweeping by curves has cut far under the rocks, but still preserves its narrow channel, so that there is an overhanging wall on one side and an inclined wall on the other. In places a few hundred feet above, it becomes vertical again, and thus the view to the sky is entirely closed. Everywhere this deep pa.s.sage is dark and gloomy and resounds with the noise of rapid waters. At noon we are in a canyon 2,500 feet deep, and we come to a fall where the walls are broken down and huge rocks beset the channel, on which we obtain a foothold to reach a level 200 feet below. Here the canyon is again wider, and we find a flood-plain along which we can walk, now on this, and now on that side of the stream. Gradually the canyon widens; steep rapids, cascades, and cataracts are found along the river, but we wade only when it is necessary to cross. We make progress with very great labor, having to climb over piles of broken rocks.

Late in the afternoon we come to a little clearing in the valley and see other signs of civilization and by sundown arrive at the Mormon town of Schunesburg; and here we meet the train, and feast on melons and grapes.

_September 12._--Our course for the last two days, through Paru'nuweap Canyon, was directly to the west. Another stream comes down from the north and unites just here at Schunesburg with the main branch of the Rio Virgen. We determine to spend a day in the exploration of this stream. The Indians call the canyon through which it runs, Mukun'tu-weap, or Straight, Canyon. Entering this, we have to wade upstream; often the water fills the entire channel and, although we travel many miles, we find no flood-plain, talus, or broken piles of rock at the foot of the cliff. The walls have smooth, plain faces and are everywhere very regular and vertical for a thousand feet or more, where they seem to break back in shelving slopes to higher alt.i.tudes; and everywhere, as we go along, we find springs bursting out at the foot of the walls, and pa.s.sing these the river above becomes steadily smaller. The great body of water which runs below bursts out from beneath this great bed of red sandstone; as we go up the canyon, it comes to be but a creek, and then a brook. On the western wall of the canyon stand some b.u.t.tes, towers, and high pinnacled rocks. Going up the canyon, we gain glimpses of them, here and there. Last summer, after our trip through the canyons of the Colorado, on our way from the mouth of the Virgen to Salt Lake City, these were seen as conspicuous landmarks from a distance away to the southwest of 60 or 70 miles. These tower rocks are known as the Temples of the Virgen.

Having explored this canyon nearly to its head, we return to Schunesburg, arriving quite late at night.

Sitting in camp this evening, Chuar'ruumpeak, the chief of the Kai'vavits, who is one of our party, tells us there is a tradition among the tribes of this country that many years ago a great light was seen somewhere in this region by the Paru'shapats, who lived to the southwest, and that they supposed it to be a signal kindled to warn them of the approach of the Navajos, who lived beyond the Colorado River to the east. Then other signal fires were kindled on the Pine Valley Mountains, Santa Clara Mountains, and Uinkaret Mountains, so that all the tribes of northern Arizona, southern Utah, southern Nevada, and southern California were warned of the approaching danger; but when the Paru'shapats came nearer, they discovered that it was a fire on one of the great temples; and then they knew that the fire was not kindled by men, for no human being could scale the rocks. The _Tu'muurrugwait'sigaip,_ or Rock Rovers, had kindled a fire to deceive the people. So, in the Indian language this is called _Tu'muurruwait'sigaip Tuweap',_ or Rock Rovers' Land.

_September 13._--We start very early this morning, for we have a long day's travel before us. Our way is across the Rio Virgen to the south.

Coming to the bank of the stream here, we find a strange metamorphosis.

The streams we have seen above, running in narrow channels, leaping and plunging over the rocks, raging and roaring in their course, are here united and spread in a thin sheet several hundred yards wide and only a few inches deep, but running over a bed of quicksand. Crossing the stream, our trail leads up a narrow canyon, not very deep, and then among the hills of golden, red, and purple shales and marls. Climbing out of the valley of the Rio Virgen, we pa.s.s through a forest of dwarf cedars and come out at the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs. All day we follow this Indian trail toward the east, and at night camp at a great spring, known to the Indians as Yellow Rock Spring, but to the Mormons as Pipe Spring; and near by there is a cabin in which some Mormon herders find shelter. Pipe Spring is a point just across the Utah line in Arizona, and we suppose it to be about 60 miles from the river. Here the Mormons design to build a fort another year, as an outpost for protection against the Indians. We now discharge a number of the Indians, but take two with us for the purpose of showing us the springs, for they are very scarce, very small, and not easily found. Half a dozen are not known in a district of country large enough to make as many good-sized counties in Illinois. There are no running streams, and these springs and water pockets are our sole dependence.

Starting, we leave behind a long line of cliffs, many hundred feet high, composed of orange and vermilion sandstones. I have named them "Vermilion Cliffs." When we are out a few miles, I look back and see the morning sun shining in splendor on their painted faces; the salient angles are on fire, and the retreating angles are buried in shade, and I gaze on them until my vision dreams and the cliffs appear a long bank of purple clouds piled from the horizon high into the heavens. At noon we pa.s.s along a ledge of chocolate cliffs, and, taking out our sandwiches, we make a dinner as we ride along.

Yesterday our Indians discussed for hours the route which we should take. There is one way, farther by 10 or 12 miles, with sure water; another, shorter, where water is found sometimes; their conclusion was that water would be found now; and this is the way we go, yet all day long we are anxious about it. To be out two days with only the water that can be carried in two small kegs is to have our animals suffer greatly. At five o'clock we come to the spot, and there is a huge water pocket containing several barrels. What a relief! Here we camp for the night.

_September 15.--_Up at daybreak, for it is a long day's march to the next water. They say we must "run very hard" to reach it by dark.

Our course is to the south. From Pipe Spring we can see a mountain, and I recognize it as the one seen last summer from a cliff overlooking the Grand Canyon; and I wish to reach the river just behind the mountain.

There are Indians living in the group, of which it is the highest, whom I wish to visit on the way. These mountains are of volcanic origin, and we soon come to ground that is covered with fragments of lava. The way becomes very difficult. We have to cross deep ravines, the heads of canyons that run into the Grand Canyon. It is curious now to observe the knowledge of our Indians. There is not a trail but what they know; every gulch and every rock seems familiar. I have prided myself on being able to grasp and retain in my mind the topography of a country; but these Indians put me to shame. My knowledge is only general, embracing the more important features of a region that remains as a map engraved on my mind; but theirs is particular. They know every rock and every ledge, every gulch and canyon, and just where to wind among these to find a pa.s.s; and their knowledge is unerring. They cannot describe a country to you, but they can tell you all the particulars of a route.

I have but one pony for the two, and they were to ride "turn about"; but Chuar'ruumpeak, the chief, rides, and Shuts, the one-eyed, barelegged, merry-faced pigmy, walks, and points the way with a slender cane; then leaps and bounds by the shortest way, and sits down on a rock and waits demurely until we come, always meeting us with a jest, his face a rich mine of sunny smiles.

At dusk we reach the water pocket. It is in a deep gorge on the flank of this great mountain. During the rainy season the water rolls down the mountain side, plunging over precipices, and excavates a deep basin in the solid rock below. This basin, hidden from the sun, holds water the year round.

_September 16._--This morning, while the men are packing the animals, I climb a little mountain near camp, to obtain a view of the country. It is a huge pile of volcanic scoria, loose and light as cinders from a forge, which give way under my feet, and I climb with great labor; but, reaching the summit and looking to the southeast, I see once more the labyrinth of deep gorges that flank the Grand Canyon; in the mult.i.tude, I cannot determine whether it is itself in view or not. The memories of grand and awful months spent in their deep, gloomy solitudes come up, and I live that life over again for a time.

I supposed, before starting, that I could get a good view of the great mountain from this point; but it is like climbing a chair to look at a castle. I wish to discover some way by which it can be ascended, as it is my intention to go to the summit before I return to the settlements.

There is a cliff near the summit and I do not see any way yet. Now down I go, sliding on the cinders, making them rattle and clang.

The Indians say we are to have a short ride to-day and that we shall reach an Indian village, situated by a good spring. Our way is across the spurs that put out from the great mountain as we pa.s.s it to the left.

Up and down we go across deep ravines, and the fragments of lava clank under our horses' feet; now among cedars, now among pines, and now across mountain-side glades. At one o'clock we descend into a lovely valley, with a carpet of waving gra.s.s; sometimes there is a little water in the upper end of it, and during some seasons the Indians we wish to find are encamped here. Chuar'ruumpeak rides on to find them, and to say we are friends, otherwise they would run away or propose to fight us, should we come without notice. Soon we see Chuar'ruumpeak riding at full speed and hear him shouting at the top of his voice, and away in the distance are two Indians scampering up the mountain side. One stops; the other still goes on and is soon lost to view. We ride up and find Chuar'ruumpeak talking with the one who had stopped. It is one of the ladies resident in these mountain glades; she is evidently paying taxes, G.o.diva-like. She tells us that her people are at the spring; that it is only two hours' ride; that her good master has gone on to tell them we are coming; and that she is harvesting seeds.

We sit down and eat our luncheon and share our biscuits with the woman of the mountains; then on we go over a divide between two rounded peaks.

I send the party on to the village and climb the peak on the left, riding my horse to the upper limit of trees and then tugging up afoot.

From this point I can see the Grand Canyon, and I know where I am. I can see the Indian village, too, in a gra.s.sy valley, embosomed in the mountains, the smoke curling up from their fires; my men are turning out their horses and a group of natives stand around. Down the mountain I go and reach camp at sunset. After supper we put some cedar boughs on the fire; the dusky villagers sit around, and we have a smoke and a talk. I explain the object of my visit, and a.s.sure them of my friendly intentions. Then I ask them about a way down into the canyon. They tell me that years ago a way was discovered by which parties could go down, but that no one has attempted it for a long time; that it is a very difficult and very dangerous undertaking to reach the "Big Water." Then I inquire about the Shi'vwits, a tribe that lives about the springs on the mountain sides and canyon cliffs to the southwest. They say that their village is now about 30 miles away, and promise to send a messenger for them to-morrow morning.

Having finished our business for the evening, I ask if there is a _tugwi'nagunt_ in camp; that is, if there is any one present who is skilled in relating their mythology. Chuar'ruumpeak says Tomor'rountikai, the chief of these Indians, is a very noted man for his skill in this matter; but they both object, by saying that the season for _tugwi'nai_ has not yet arrived. But I had antic.i.p.ated this, and soon some members of the party come with pipes and tobacco, a large kettle of coffee, and a tray of biscuits, and, after sundry ceremonies of pipe lighting and smoking, we all feast, and, warmed up by this, to them, unusually good living, it is decided that the night shall be spent in relating mythology. I ask Tomor'rountikai to tell us about the So'kus Wai'unats, or One-Two Boys, and to this he agrees.

The long winter evenings of an Indian camp are usually devoted to the relation of mythologic stories, which purport to give a history of an ancient race of animal G.o.ds. The stories are usually told by some old man, a.s.sisted by others of the party, who take secondary parts, while the members of the tribe gather about and make comments or receive impressions from the morals which are enforced by the story-teller, or, more properly, story-tellers; for the exercise partakes somewhat of the nature of a theatrical performance.

THE SO'KUS WAI'UNATS.

Tumpwinai'rogwinump, He Who Had A Stone Shirt, killed Sikor', the Crane, and stole his wife, and seeing that she had a child and thinking it would be an inc.u.mbrance to them on their travels, he ordered her to kill it. But the mother, loving the babe, hid it under her dress and carried it away to its grandmother. And Stone Shirt carried his captured bride to his own land.

In a few years the child grew to be a fine lad, under the care of his grandmother, and was her companion wherever she went.

One day they were digging flag roots on the margin of the river and putting them in a heap on the bank. When they had been at work a little while, the boy perceived that the roots came up with greater ease than was customary and he asked the old woman the cause of this, but she did not know; and, as they continued their work, still the reeds came up with less effort, at which their wonder increased, until the grandmother said,

"Surely, some strange thing is about to transpire."

Then the boy went to the heap where they had been placing the roots, and found that some one had taken them away, and he ran back, exclaiming,

"Grandmother, did you take the roots away?"

And she answered,

"No, my child; perhaps some ghost has taken them off; let us dig no more; come away."

But the boy was not satisfied, as he greatly desired to know what all this meant; so he searched about for a time, and at length found a man sitting under a tree, and taunted him with being a thief, and threw mud and stones at him until he broke the stranger's leg. The man answered not the boy nor resented the injuries he received, but remained silent and sorrowful; and when his leg was broken he tied it up in sticks and bathed it in the river and sat down again under the tree and beckoned the boy to approach. When the lad came near, the stranger told him he had something of great importance to reveal.

"My son," said he, "did that old woman ever tell you about your father and mother?"

"No," answered the boy; "I have never heard of them."

"My son, do you see these bones scattered on the ground? Whose bones are these?"

"How should I know?" answered the boy. "It may be that some elk or deer has been killed here."

"No," said the old man.

"Perhaps they are the bones of a bear"; but the old man shook his head.

So the boy mentioned many other animals, but the stranger still shook his head, and finally said,

"These are the bones of your father; Stone Shirt killed him and left him to rot here on the ground like a wolf."

And the boy was filled with indignation against the slayer of his father.

Then the stranger asked,

"Is your mother in yonder lodge?"

"No," the boy replied.

"Does your mother live on the banks of this river?"

"I don't know my mother; I have never seen her; she is dead," answered the boy.

"My son," replied the stranger, "Stone Shirt, who killed your father, stole your mother and took her away to the sh.o.r.e of a distant lake, and there she is his wife to-day."