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PART I
Down the Colorado: Letters from the Wilderness Post
EARLY IN THE afternoon of May 24, 1869, a crowd assembled on the banks of the Green River, in Wyoming Territory, just downstream of the bridge where the Union Pacific Railroad crossed the Green. Virtually the entire population of the tiny village of Green River Station had turned out to witness the launch of Major John Wesley Powellâs Colorado River Exploring Expedition. There was not a lot to see, but they eyed the stacks of supplies on shore and sometimes chatted with the small group of men stowing the gear into the four boats tied at the riverâs edge. These boats were to carry the expedition down the Green 350 miles to the little-known Colorado River and thence into either history or oblivion. Opinion was divided as to which, so the atmosphere was more serious than celebratory.
Exactly 2 weeks earlier and many miles to the west, a much larger crowd had gathered beside this same rail line in Promontory, Utah, to see railroaders drive a golden spike joining the tracks of the Central Pacific with those of the Union Pacific. Now that the nation was bound together by the steel ribbons of its first transcontinental railroad, it would not long tolerate blank spots on its map. John Wesley Powell knew this as acutely as anyone, and he aimed to fill the biggest blank still remaining between Atlantic and Pacific shores. Powell was headed into a vast terra incognita that included much of western Colorado, huge portions of southern and eastern Utah, most of northern Arizona, and the northwest corner of New Mexico. Today we call the region the Colorado Plateau. The term arose from the work Powell eventually directs. Over the next two decades he and a succession of capable assistants mapped it, described its properties and native people, photographed and sketched it, and explained it to the American people. Along the way, they recorded some of the greatest adventures in the history of American exploration, especially on this first expedition.
In May 1869, as Powell readied his boats, almost nothing was known of the vast region for which he was bound, save for fragmentary reports from a few mountain men, Indians, and traders. It was known that the Green River, flowing south from Wyoming, joined with the Grand River, which rose in the Colorado Rockies, and that the two rivers, once merged, became a mighty stream called the Colorado that ultimately made its way far to the west and reentered the known world near Mormon settlements at the southern tip of Nevada. But what path the river took to get there, whether it was passable by boat or any other means, the character of the country it passed along the way, the prospects for survivalânone of these questions had answers, and that is what attracted John Wesley Powell. The bearded, one-armed major intended to answer them all, and more to boot. In particular, he wanted to divine the geologic history of the land through which the river passed: Of what was it made, how did it form, and what might it offer to the people of the United States?
Powell was likely the smallest of his group. He stood a hair above 5 feet 6 inches and at 35 years of age had scarcely begun to lose the thinness of youth. Exempted by his empty right sleeve from the heavy work of loading provisions, he directed the other men in their tasks. There were 10 in all, including Powell. All but 2 were veterans of the Civil War, and most of them had years of frontier experience, hunting, trapping, or trading on the plains and in the mountains of the West.
Certainly the moodiest of this seasoned and self-reliant group was Walter Henry Powell, the Majorâs younger brother.13 Captain Walter Powell had fought beside his brother at Shiloh, where John Wesley lost his arm. He also served in Shermanâs Atlanta campaign until Confederates captured him along with the battery he commanded. As a prisoner, he suffered starvation and fever, then briefly escaped, and when recaptured was found to be quite mad. After confinement in a Confederate hospital, he was returned to the North in a prisoner exchange in 1865 but never entirely regained his mental balance. He remained a brooding presence, quick to anger and undependable except in his loyalty to his brother. Physically powerful, he became a menacing presence as strains within the expedition developed.
John Colton Sumner, 29, had become a mountain man after his service in the war, trapping and outfitting from a base in the Colorado Rockies. He knew the Major well, having helped guide his summer expeditions of 1867 and 1868. Complaining that Powell never paid him properly for his labors (his case for compensation was questionable) and writing long after the expedition had ended, he became one of Powellâs severest critics. With some justification, he groused that the Major âgave very scant credit to any of his men. It was all âCaptain Powell and I,â when as a matter of fact Captain Walter Powell was about as worthless a piece of furniture as could be found in a dayâs journey.â14
Oramel G. Howland, called O. G., was half a year older than the Major and had come to Colorado from his native Vermont in 1860. Since then he had made his way mainly as a printer and journalist. He was to captain the unhappy No-Name in its unsuccessful attempt to pass Disaster Falls, a misfortune that undermined the unity of the expedition. His feeling that the Major wrongly blamed him for the loss of the boat and its precious supplies nourished a sense of injury that later stresses deepened. Without it, Howland and the two who followed him might never have separated from the rest of the group, an act that cost them their lives.
Seneca Howland, 26, was O. G.âs younger brother. Wounded at Gettysburg in 1863 and soon thereafter mustered from the Union Army, he had accepted his brotherâs invitation to join him in the West. He also followed his brother when O. G. pulled out from the expedition at the lower end of the Grand Canyon and attempted an ill-fated trek across the Shivwits Plateau to Mormon settlements on the Virgin River.
William H. Dunn joined the Howlands in their overland trek, and his subsequent death on the plateau left his 30-year life shrouded in mystery. Preferring buckskins to cloth, and long, raven hair to any contact with scissors or razor, Dunn self-consciously looked the part of a mountain man. Like Sumner and the Howlands, he had served the Major on his earlier Rocky Mountain expeditions.
Young Billy Hawkins, another former trapper, at times called himself Billy Rhodes or dispensed with surnames altogether and went by âMissouri.â He had reason to be flexible with surnames: He was a fugitive from the law. Nevertheless, he proved to be one of the most dependable and relentlessly cheerful members of the expedition.
Like Hawkins, Andy Hall, still a teenager, showed the buoyancy and stamina of youth. Husky and tough, irrepressibly energetic, he had already logged several years as a bullwhacker driving freight wagons on western trails. The Major spotted him on the Green River at the oars of a homemade boat, drew him into a brief conversation, and recruited him on the spot.
George Young Bradley also joined at the last moment. The Major had met him some months earlier at nearby Fort Bridger, where Bradley served as a sergeant major of infantry. Bradleyâs incipient interest in geology immediately recommended him to Powell, and he desperately wanted to leave the monotony of garrison life. He told Powell he would âgladly explore the river Styxâ to do so.15 Powell sent word to his old friend General U. S. Grant, requesting Bradleyâs services, and the necessary release arrived just in time to allow the sergeant to join the expedition.
Frank Goodman, an Englishman who claimed to be mad for adventure, had hung around camp a few days, so the men knew him casually. He seemed a likable sort and willing to work, and he begged the Major to take him, even offering to pay to be included. The Major relented, and Goodman became the last of the 10 who shoved their fragile boats into the swift current of the Green.
Four boats made up Powellâs little navy. All possessed closed compartments, fore, aft, and at the waist, that were intended to be watertight and to provide buoyancy and safe stowage for provisions and gear. The Maid of the Canyon, Kitty Clydeâs Sister, and No-Name were built of heavy oak and measured 21 feet in length. Carrying them around falls or lining them down rapids, the men would soon curse their bulk and weight. The fourth boat, only 16 feet long and made of pine, was light and maneuverable. This was Powellâs pilot boat, which he named the Emma Dean in honor of his wife. He himself would ride in it, always going first to scout the way.
The expedition fared well at first, alternately skimming through riffles and rowing stretches of flat water. The men swiftly accustomed themselves to maneuvering the boats and adapted their long-established camp habits to the routines of river travel. And downstream they went. They were out of touch with the rest of the world for 5 full weeks. At the end of June, they arrived at the mouth of the Uinta River, a modest tributary that joins the Colorado from the west. Not far up the creek lay the Uinta Indian Agency, where Powell and others carried letters to be sent back to friends, family, and, not least, to newspapers. They were still hundreds of miles away from encountering the marvels and trials of the Grand Canyon, but they had real news to report: On June 8 one of their boats, the No-Name, wrecked spectacularly in crashing whitewater at Disaster Falls, nearly drowning three men and costing the expedition irreplaceable supplies. But no one was lost, and the worst injuries were bruises.
These truths were not half as dramatic as the wholly invented and morbid fiction about the expedition that played in the national press in the early days of July. Thanks to the lurid talk of an opportunistic rogue, the partyâs correspondence via the âWilderness Postâ found a far more interested audience than Powell might ever have hoped for.
As Powellâs letters made slow progress toward their destinations, a character named John A. Risdon materialized from the canyon country and presented himself as the sole survivor of a disaster in which Powell and every other member of the expedition had drowned. Risdon claimed that he had stood on shore and watched as 25 men in a single boat were sucked into a prodigious whirlpool. Through the early days of July, Risdon traded frequent repetition of his tale for meals and passage east to Illinois. But by July 10, Risdonâs brief celebrity ran out, and he was jailed for stealing a horse in Springfield. Powellâs fame was on the rise, however, as newspapers throughout the country first devoured Risdonâs tale of disaster and then joyously rebutted him, printing every word Powell dispatched from the Uinta.
In July 1869 the New York Times mentioned Powell in at least 11 separate editions. He was mourned on the 5th, when Risdonâs story broke, and again on the 6th when the prevarication was expounded in full detail. On the 7th, Emma Dean Powell brought contradictions to light. On the 9th, a rival and equally untrue account of disaster cropped up. On the 13th the paper ran a story telling âHow the Hoax Grew in the Hands of Sensation Mongers.â On the 18th the paper reported that letters had been received from the expedition and that all hands were safe. On the 20th it reported that a second expedition under a Captain Samuel Adams was said to be launching from Breckenridge, Colorado, on the Grand River. On the 21st it printed Powellâs letter of July 4, written from Flaming Gorge, and on the 23rd it ran his letter to President Edwards of Illinois Normal University, which is reproduced here. On the 25th the Times presented O. G. Howlandâs account of the wreck of the No-Name. And on the 26th, an insightful editor of the Times observed,
It has been fortunate for the fame of Major Powell, of the Colorado Expedition, that the rascal Risdon propagated the falsehood of the tragical loss of the whole expedition. Up to the circulation of Risdonâs hoax, the country had taken hardly any interest in the exploring party, which had started out on its daring and dangerous adventures. But since then, the entire country has taken the deepest interest in the Powell expedition. The newspapers have eagerly printed every item they could get hold of about the party, and every letter or note from any of the members has been universally read. The interest thus aroused will be very encouraging to the explorers, and will be of great help in attracting attention to the region of the Colorado, and securing its thorough exploration. But we donât thank the rascal Risdon for the good that has grown out of his fictions.
The writerâs prediction of a âthorough explorationâ for the Colorado country would have come true in any event, for the expansion of the nation would demand it. But the fame Powell acquired as a result of the extraordinary perils and achievements of his journey not only ensured the speedy accomplishment of the exploration but also guaranteed that Powell might have the job of carrying it out, if he wanted it. And he would want it badly.
The letters Powell dispatched from the Uinta agency gave the nation its first sense of the drama and daring of his adventure. Two are reproduced here. The first is Powellâs brief note to President Edwards of Illinois Normal University confirming the safety of the expedition. Powell was still a member of the faculty at Normal, and the university was helping to sponsor the expedition. The second is a much longer account that he provided to the Chicago Tribune of the fateful wreck of the No-Name.
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SELECTION 1
The Party Has Reached This Point in Safety
Camp at the Mouth of Niutah, 16
June 29, 1869.
Dr. Edwards:
My Dear Sir: The party has reached this point in safety, having run four canyons, of about twenty-five miles in length each, the walls of which were from 2,000 to 2,800 feet hight [sic]. We found falls and dangerous rapids, when we were compelled to make portages of rations, etc., and let the boats down with lines. We wrecked one of our boats and lost about one-third of our supplies and part of the instruments.
The instruments were duplicated, but the loss of rations will compel us to shorten the time for the work. You will perceive an account of our trip more in detail in the Chicago Tribune, as I shall send some letters to it for publication. In the wreck I lost my papers, and have to use plant dryers for my letter paper. I have not made a large general collection, but have some fine fossils, a grand geological section, and a good map.
Shall walk to the Niutah Indian Agency, about twenty-five or thirty miles from camp, where I shall mail this letter, and hope to get letters and some news.
Powell dispatched this letter from the Uinta Indian Agency to Dr. Richard Edwards, president of the Normal University at Bloomington, Illinois. The New York Times reprinted it on July 23, 1869.
The boats seem to be a success; although filled with water by the waves many times, they never sink. The light cabins attached to the end act well as buoys. The wreck was due to misunderstanding the signal, the Captain of the boat17 keeping it too far out in the river, and so was not able to land above the falls, but was drifted over.
We shall rest here for eight or ten days, make repairs and dry our rations, which have been wet so many times that they are almost in a spoiling condition, in fact, we have lost nearly half by now by one mishap and another. I have personally enjoyed myself much, the scenery being wild and grand beyond description. All in good health, all in good spirits, and all in high hopes of success. I shall hasten to the Grand and Green,18 as I am very anxious to make observations on the 7th of August of the eclipse. With earnest wishes for your continued success and prosperity at Normal, I am with great respect yours, cordially,
[Signed] J. W. Powell
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SELECTION 2
The Wreck of the No-Name
Colorado River Exploring Expedition,
Echo Park, Mouth of Bear River,19
June 18, 1869.
On the 8th our boats entered the Canon of Lodoreâa name suggested by one of the men, and it has been adopted.20 ...
