“His heart is strong, but he is having trouble getting a good breath,” Peale reported to the others. “We need to apply something to keep these wounds moist.”
Peale pulled a small tin can of white lead paint from his kit and removed the lid. He dipped a cotton cloth into the paint and applied it directly to the blistering wounds. Each time a wound was touched, Foley cried out and reflexively drew his knees toward his chest.
“Hold him down,” Peale ordered the observers. “This paint will soothe his wounds and stop any fluid loss.”
Each of the four men held down a limb as the physician liberally painted over the bright red burns until Foley’s legs were white. Graham slowly shook his head as he watched this crude first aid treatment. Lead paint? In 1971, Congress passed initial legislation aimed at eliminating all lead-based paints because of the high incidence of lead poisoning in children. One hundred years earlier, the time traveler was witnessing a physician applying a lead-based paint directly to open wounds.
What could he say? Didn’t he realize he was poisoning this young man and exposing him to potential nerve and brain damage? Peale was not a quack. He had graduated from a prestigious medical school. Evidently, lead-based paint was standard protocol for severe burns in the 1870s. For Foley’s sake, Graham hoped Dr. Hayden would suggest a different treatment when he had a chance to examine the patient.
After Foley had been painted white from his knees to his toes, Peale covered the largest blisters with dressings. He finished by wrapping the soldier’s legs and feet with bandages.
“We need to get this man back to camp right away,” the physician commanded. “I think we can move him now. He’s much calmer.”
The laudanum had taken effect. Foley’s constant moans were barely audible as the opium and alcohol potion deadened the pain and dulled his senses.
“Can one of you put him on your horse and ride double?” Peale asked.
Aurelio offered to provide the ambulance services since he was an experienced horseman. The hostler mounted his horse, and the others lifted the drugged soldier onto the front of the saddle, his painted and bandaged legs dangling loosely on either side. Aurelio reached around the soldier to simultaneously support Foley with his arms and gather the reins. The small group mounted and headed back to camp.
“We’ll come back later and retrieve the saddle and other supplies from the dead horse,” Grugan said. “Graham, you will need to return with me and explain what happened. Captain Tyler will want a full report.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man on the mule replied. Graham also wanted to know why Foley had fallen through the surface at the edge of the hot spring. At the same time, he hoped the lieutenant did not think he was somehow culpable for this horrible incident.
Chapter 15
August 4, 1871
Waning gibbous moon: 26 nights until the next full moon
Fog enveloped the geyser basin as the sun peeked over the Absaroka Range on the eastern horizon. The temperature hovered at twenty-eight degrees when Graham woke from a fitful night of sleep in the fly he shared with Aurelio. He had awakened multiple times during the night when disturbing scenes of Foley’s red, blistered legs and the screaming horse invaded his dreams.
The words of the park ranger about the dangers of thermal areas echoed in his head:
“More than twenty people have died from burns suffered after they entered or fell into Yellowstone’s hot springs.”
Graham hoped Foley would not be counted among those fatalities.
As he listened to the rhythmic snoring of his tent partner, the time traveler pulled the wool blanket up to his chin. He stared at the frosty blank canvas overhead, recalling the immediate aftermath of yesterday’s calamitous event.
* * *
After the small group that rendered first aid to Foley arrived in camp, the wounded soldier was carried into a tent. The burn victim had passed out from pain and the heavy dose of laudanum. An hour later, Dr. Hayden came into camp. The experienced physician unwrapped the bandages on Foley’s legs and examined the extensive blistered areas covered with white lead paint. He conferred with Peale about the best course of treatment.
The survey director, who had served as a surgeon during the Civil War, recommended a recently developed treatment of carron oil, a linseed-oil-and-lime-water combination that had proven successful in healing severe burns. This liniment was available at Bottler’s Ranch base camp and could be administered by Charles Turnbull, the survey’s official physician stationed there. After he was stabilized, the wounded soldier could be transported to Fort Ellis using an ambulance wagon.
Foley was not strong enough to ride on horseback; he would have to be transported lying down. Capt. Tyler assigned a sergeant and two soldiers the task of assembling a travois, a wooden load-bearing frame made from two long poles with a platform attached between them. The captain asked Makawee to oversee its construction, since Crows and other nomadic Plains Indian tribes had built and used travois to transport tepees and other goods for centuries. The soldiers cut and trimmed two small-diameter lodgepole pine trees of equal length and attached one on either side of a horse’s saddle. The ends that dragged on the ground were slightly splayed into the shape of the letter A, and multiple pine-limb crossbars were lashed to the poles to create a platform.
Tyler ordered the three men to follow a route east along the Nez Perce Creek to the Yellowstone River, then turn north to Bottler’s Ranch. This path was mostly free of fallen trees and allowed the horse to drag the travois. Slowed by pulling a loaded travois, the trip would take about three days. Peale provided a small bottle of laudanum and told the sergeant to give the wounded soldier two tablespoons every night to relieve the pain and help him sleep. He advised the group to stop every two hours and wet the bandages on Foley’s legs to keep them cool and moist.
Hayden wrote a brief letter to Dr. Turnbull detailing the incident. His note explained their initial treatment and included a recommendation to apply carron oil when the bandages were changed. He directed the sergeant to give the letter to Turnbull when they arrived. The soldiers left camp in the early afternoon with Foley on the travois. A few minutes later, Lt. Grugan approached Graham on horseback leading an unsaddled horse.
“Let’s go to the hot spring where the private was burned. I need to retrieve the saddle and Foley’s personal effects. I also want to examine the scene.”
Graham mounted his mule, and the two men rode in silence. Arriving at Firehole Spring, they dismounted and picketed their equines in a cluster of pines. They walked over to the edge of the hot spring, proceeding cautiously as they drew closer.
The carcass was already attracting blowflies, which were feeding on the blood oozing from the skinless front legs of the horse. The acidic hot water had eaten away the flesh above the hooves and exposed sections of the pastern bones. Blood had pooled under the horse’s head from the gunshot wound and trickled down the sinter-covered slope, seeping into the clear blue hot spring.
“I see you remembered how to load and fire the Spencer,” Grugan commented as he surveyed the macabre scene.
“Yes, sir, I did,” Graham nodded grimly.
“Describe what happened,” the cavalry officer requested as he turned to Graham.
The time traveler started his explanation from the time he and Foley arrived at the spring. As he spoke, Graham indicated the path they had taken, walking single file along the edge of the spring while leading the mule and horse. He also pointed out the cairn he built as a sampling marker. A dual set of boot prints was visible in the semi-soft earth. The pattern of footsteps confirmed Foley had indeed followed Graham. It was clear the curious soldier had not wandered or taken a path closer to the edge of the spring as Graham had initially suspected.
Steam billowed from the clusters of newly created vents where Foley and his horse had fallen through the surface. Graham described how he had grabbed Foley under his arms and dragged him away from the spring. The heels of the soldier’s boots h
ad created parallel tracks in the gray-white sinter for thirty feet.
Lt. Grugan stroked his side whiskers as he recreated the scene in his mind from Graham’s narrative. None of the evidence at the spring contradicted the civilian’s story.
“There is one thing I don’t understand,” Grugan said thoughtfully. “How could you and Foley have walked the same ground, but he fell through and you didn’t?”
“I agree. It doesn’t make sense. I’m at least forty pounds heavier than Private Foley. When his horse became startled from the yelling and commotion, it reared and landed hard on its front legs, punching a hole in the thin crust.”
“I have all the information I need,” Grugan sighed. “Let’s gather the saddle, tack, and supplies and put them on the extra horse.”
As the lieutenant retrieved the horse from the picket, Graham walked to the carcass. He almost stepped on something and looked down to see a dark-blue kepi. It had fallen off Foley’s head during the frantic activity around the spring. Graham picked up the hat and dusted it off with the back of his hand, admiring the gold crossed-swords cavalry insignia adorning the front of the kepi. The abandoned hat was a stark reminder its owner had suffered severe burns and was currently being hauled on a travois toward an uncertain recovery. He respectfully handed the kepi to Grugan, who folded and placed it in his coat pocket.
“Should we take these along?” Graham asked, nodding toward the soldier’s waterlogged socks and boots scattered on the sinter.
“He won’t be wearing any shoes for a while. Leave ’em,” Grugan replied, shaking his head.
Because Foley’s horse had fallen on its side, they had to work together to remove the saddle. Graham knelt and pushed up on the horse’s shoulder so the lieutenant could access and loosen the cinch. After freeing the saddle and transferring everything, they headed back to camp with the riderless horse.
* * *
The entire camp was somber as word about the terrible accident spread to the rest of the Hayden and Barlow parties, as well as the military escort. Capt. Tyler was drinking coffee outside his tent when his lieutenant approached and saluted.
“Sir, I just returned from the spring where Private Foley was injured. I wanted to inform you of what I saw before I issue my formal written report,” Grugan said.
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Davidson explained the events leading up to Foley’s accident. Everything he described fits with the evidence at the scene. It appears it was simply bad luck. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time and fell through a thin section of the earth surrounding the hot spring.”
“Why didn’t Davidson fall through? They both walked along the same spring.”
“Yes, sir. It doesn’t make much sense. But their boot prints support Davidson’s story both men walked the same ground. The heavier man traversed the path safely while the lighter man did not,” Grugan acknowledged as he shrugged.
“I trust your assessment. But I don’t like it. Our primary responsibility is to provide security against hostile Indians. Yet our first casualty is from boiling water!” Tyler exclaimed. “I need to make something clear to the entire Second Cavalry. Effective today, no officer or soldier will approach within fifty feet of any thermal feature that boils, steams, or erupts. If someone from the Hayden or Barlow groups wants to take a risk and get closer, he is on his own. I will not put any of our men in harm’s way for the sake of gathering a sample or satisfying curiosity. That’s an order.”
The lieutenant knew his captain would be questioned on this incident. Politically, the Hayden Survey had a high profile. Tyler did not want to be associated with any failures that might be attributed to a lack of military leadership.
“Yes, sir,” Grugan replied. “I will communicate this immediately.” He saluted and left Tyler with his brooding thoughts.
* * *
Slapjacks cooked in bacon grease were served for breakfast. Although no one in camp openly complained, some men privately resolved to find and kill small game to provide meat for Gibson to fix for dinner, since the hunters had been unsuccessful in killing elk or bison. James Stevenson and a small group had departed Yellowstone Lake four days ago for Bottler’s Ranch to obtain fresh supplies, but their return date was uncertain.
Graham packed his mule after breakfast and assisted Aurelio in loading supplies on the other mules. The group was moving south to explore the midway and upper geyser basins. As he was brushing his teeth with the chewing stick, Graham saw Albert Peale approach.
“Mornin’, Graham,” the mineralogist said. “We have a different assignment for you today. Let’s go talk to Doctor Hayden.”
The time traveler followed Peale to the opposite side of camp, where a group of survey members and soldiers was congregated around a fire. Graham recognized William Henry Jackson, the expedition photographer he first met along the lakeshore who had taken the photo of Stevenson and Chester Dawes sitting in the Annie. Jackson was conversing with his assistant, George Dixon. Dr. Hayden and Henry Elliott were speaking with a thin man in his mid-thirties wearing a black felt hat and a frock coat holding a large sketchbook. The slightly built man had gray-blue eyes and short, light-brown hair. The lower half of his narrow face was covered with a bushy beard and a long handlebar mustache.
“Davidson, I believe you know Henry Elliott, Mr. Jackson, and Mr. Dixon,” Hayden said as Peale and Graham approached the group. “Let me introduce you to Thomas Moran, who just arrived in camp last evening. He is a talented painter who is a guest member of our survey team.”
Thomas Moran was born in England in 1837. His family immigrated to Philadelphia when he was seven. Moran studied painting in Europe in his twenties. In 1870, Scribner’s Magazine employed him to rework pencil sketches of Yellowstone National Park made by members of the Washburn expedition. In 1871, Moran accompanied Hayden’s geological survey of Yellowstone as a guest artist with funding from Scribner’s and Northern Pacific Railway financier Jay Cooke. (The official artist for the expedition was Henry Wood Elliott.) Moran’s watercolor sketches of the Yellowstone landscape were the first color images of this region. The paintings by Thomas Moran perfectly complemented the photos by William Henry Jackson. Both sets of images were key factors in gaining political support for preserving the area as a national park in 1872.
“Mr. Moran, this is Graham Davidson,” Hayden said, continuing with his introductions. “He is a recent addition to our group. Young Mr. Davidson is studying botany at a small school in Pennsylvania. We’re still figuring out what his talents are, but we already know he has good instincts as a guide.”
The two men exchanged handshakes and greetings. Graham was pleased with Hayden’s comments on his guiding capabilities. He did not make a correction on the expedition leader’s description of forestry as his field of study. Botany was close enough. More importantly, he had just been introduced to another man who would significantly influence the founding of Yellowstone as a national park through his artwork. He remembered the park ranger’s presentation that included a transparency of Moran’s inspirational oil painting The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, currentlydisplayed in the Smithsonian American Art Museum. Reproductions of the famous painting were ubiquitous in the Yellowstone gift shops, where the scene was replicated on calendars, postcards, coffee mugs, and other park souvenirs.
“Here’s the plan for the next few days. Henry Elliott, Mr. Peale and I are going to explore one of the tributaries of the Firehole River to the southwest. You will assist Mr. Jackson and Mr. Moran as they photograph and sketch some of the prominent springs and geysers in the area. Mr. Dixon has been helping with Jackson’s photography equipment, but we thought another hand could be helpful in setting up and transporting the gear. We plan to be in the geyser basins for only another two days and need to make the most of our time here. Any questions?” Hayden asked.
“No, sir.” Graham was inwardly celebrating his good fortune in drawing this assignment.
“Good. See everyone at c
amp tonight.”
Hayden, Peale, Elliott, and two escort soldiers mounted their horses, crossed the Firehole River, and headed southwest toward Fairy Creek.
“Let’s get the gear packed,” Jackson said as he walked over to his tent.
Dixon tilted his head and nodded toward the tent. “Graham, help me carry these supplies outside.”
A few minutes later, a collection of trunks, bags, blankets, and ropes lay on the ground outside the tent. Jackson and Moran retrieved two mules and led them to the pile of supplies.
“This is Hypo,” Jackson said, regarding the crop-eared mule he was holding by the reins. “I trust him with my most precious cargo. He carries my working photography kit.”
“Why did you pick a mule with a name like Hypo to haul your fragile gear?” Graham blurted out. The mule’s name seemed incongruous with the pack animal’s duties.
The photographer chuckled. “Oh, his name is a shortened form of a chemical I use: hyponitrous acid. He’s actually quite gentle and has a good temperament.”
“And this is Silver,” Moran chimed in as he scratched the ears of the mule he was leading. “Short for silver nitrate—another photography chemical. And a color I use on occasion in my painting. Quite appropriate, don’t you think?”
Graham grinned. It was wonderful to see these skilled artisans had a sense of humor. They obviously enjoyed each other’s company.
Jackson’s assistant affixed a saddle blanket and crossbuck pack saddle to Hypo and adjusted the breeching. Dixon and Graham held two large, hinged trunks on either side of the animal while Jackson skillfully used sling ropes to secure the bulky loads to the pack saddle. One trunk held a dark box with a bath holder. The second trunk contained his camera, chemicals, and glass plates. Two tripods and a keg of water for washing the plates were placed on top between the boxes. The second mule, Silver, was loaded with burlap bags and envelope-shaped rawhide parfleches filled with additional photographic supplies.
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