Collett sat down again, not waiting to be invited to do so. Elder Snow smiled out at the audience. “Brother Collett will not appreciate me doing this, but I think it will help you to better understand why we have such confidence in him. As you have seen, Brother Collett is missing one arm. He lost it in a threshing accident while still a young man. In spite of that, while living in Cache Valley, he was made the constable there. Brother Collett’s reputation as a lawman was established when he pursued a dangerous criminal and, by himself, subdued the man, then relieved him of both of his guns and brought him back to the county jail for trial.”3
David glanced at Patrick, who was nodding thoughtfully. If Elder Snow’s purpose had been to give these two men some credibility, he had just done that very effectively.
“So,” the Apostle concluded, “these two men were asked by President Smith—acting in his capacity as president of the mission—to scout out a possible route from Escalante eastward to the San Juan River Valley. I have tremendous respect for them both, and for their experience. I have listened to their reports very carefully. Like Silas Smith, both of these men are seasoned scouts. Therefore, I commend them both to you.”
He stepped back from the pulpit, “President Smith. Take what time you need and share your feelings, and then let’s hear from these two brethren.”
Silas Smith rose and came to the pulpit as Elder Snow sat down. David watched him closely. When he had come to Cedar City about ten days before, he had looked tired, almost haggard. Now he looked rested. His beard and hair had been carefully trimmed. His eyes had that brightness and clarity of purpose that David had come to know so well.
“Brethren,” he began, his voice ringing out with confidence and exuberance, “it is good to be back among you once again. It is also good to look into the faces of those with whom I traveled for the last six months. And it is good to look into the faces of those with whom I shall be traveling again soon. I look forward to that a great deal.”
He paused, his eyes moving from face to face. “I should like to give you a brief report of our experience on the exploring expedition, even though I know by now that most of you have heard many of the details. Then I should like to make one or two summary statements before turning the time to these two brethren.” He stopped and looked back at Schow and Collett. “Will you both speak, or just one?”
Bishop Schow spoke up first, loud enough for the entire congregation to hear. “Yah, Brodder Smith. I vas yoost saying to Brodder Collett dat my English not so gut, so he shood all the talking do. No?”
Reuben smiled at him. “Your English is just fine, Bishop, but I’ll do whatever you say.”
Silas turned back. “So after I speak, Brother Collett will address you, and then we will turn the time back to Elder Snow.”
Silas took a deep breath and began. In short, concise sentences he quickly summarized the experience of the exploring expedition. It was masterful, and David wondered if he had made notes and memorized them, or if it was all just that clear in his thinking.
When he finished, he let it sink in for a moment, then continued, speaking more slowly now. “Brethren and sisters, it is my studied opinion—which I think I can say is shared by the brethren who accompanied me—that the road we took will not work for us. We absolutely must find another way to the San Juan.”
That didn’t get much of a reaction. It was common knowledge now that the southern route was being rejected. But what he said next did get their attention. “Please remember, when I say ‘the road we took,’ I am talking about both the southern and the proposed northern route. Let me say that again. We traveled every mile of both routes. That’s over a thousand miles. We know that of which we speak, and it is only after much careful thought and deliberation that I say to you again, neither the southern nor the northern route is practical. We must find another way.”
Now he had their full attention.
“The southern route is simply not feasible. First, it is a long route, about four hundred wagon miles. Much of it lies through difficult country. Far more serious is the fact that water is very scarce. We lost over twenty head of cattle, or about ten percent of the herd, and that was in springtime when water was the most plentiful. We are now estimating that the main company will have somewhere between two hundred fifty and three hundred people in about eighty wagons, and will be bringing along well over a thousand head of stock. Maybe even fifteen hundred.”
There were several low whistles.
“And it will be late in the fall by the time we reach the desert. Hopefully, some winter rains will replenish some of the water supply, but we cannot rely on that.
“A third serious problem is the Indians. Much of the southern route lies across Navajo tribal lands. They were much concerned when they heard of our coming. Fortunately, we had only one near-violent confrontation, but again, that was with twelve wagons, about three dozen people, and a small herd of livestock. It doesn’t take much to imagine how the Navajos will react to a company nearly ten times that size. We and any who may follow will likely face vigorous and hostile resistance.”
Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Molly’s head drop as she clasped her hands tightly together. That was one of her greatest fears, and she had interrogated him more than once about their clash with Po-ee-kon.
Silas reached down to where a pitcher of water and two glasses sat on a small table beside the pulpit. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it as he let the people digest that. He set the glass down with a loud thunk, and everyone instantly quieted.
“So why not take the northern route, Brother Silas? you may ask. And that is a valid question. There is much to commend it, most important of which is that it follows established wagon routes for all but the last hundred miles. South of the new settlement of Moab there were no roads, but we took the time to build the beginnings of one as we returned home. So why not go that way? First, because it is about four hundred and fifty miles from here to Montezuma Creek via the northern route. But from here to there as the crow flies is just over two hundred miles.” He flashed a quick grin. “Now, we know that wagons aren’t crows, so it will be somewhat longer than that, but think about that difference. With the stops we make for the Sabbath or to rest the cattle or to repair wagons and build roads—all the normal things required on a wagon trek—we average around five to eight miles a day. Four hundred fifty miles will take us three full months, twice as long as it will take to cover two hundred miles. That difference cannot be ignored.”
Several men were stirring, and David saw one hand tentatively raise, but Silas went on. “More to the point, it is now the last of September. If we push hard, as the First Presidency has asked us to do, we will be lucky to have the first wagons rolling by mid-October. Should we decide to take the northern route, we will be traveling through the dead of winter. And may I remind you quickly what the northern route includes? The Upper Sevier River Valley, which is seven thousand feet in elevation. Grass Valley and Castle Valley, both right around six thousand feet in elevation. That’s to say nothing of several mountain passes of eight to nine thousand feet. In addition, we will be going northward two hundred miles before we turn east again. The climate there is much colder and those areas are prone to deep and prolonged snow.
“Is it a better route? An easier route? Absolutely. If it were spring or summer. But it is not. If we decide that is what we need to do, then put your wagons in the barns, brethren, turn your horses out to pasture, go back to work in your stores and businesses, because we won’t be leaving until spring.”
He paused, looking very grave. “Not unless we want another Willie and Martin handcart experience on our hands.”
There was total silence now as the grim reality of that settled in upon them.
“This is why,” Silas continued, sounding weary now, “this is why I contacted these two brethren last spring. I had high hopes for the southern route, but I wasn’t completely confident that it would be viable. So I asked these two tru
sted friends to find another way, a better way, a shorter way, a warmer, safer way.”4 His shoulders lifted and fell. “I would now ask that Brother Collett share what they found. Listen well, and then we must decide.”
As the lean constable got to his feet and moved to the pulpit, every eye was on the empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder. Like David, the people were trying to picture him bringing in an outlaw singlehandedly—literally singlehandedly.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, “as I give the report President Smith has asked us to make, may I remind you that this is not a decision for Bishop Schow and me. We stand ready to help in any way we can, but we are not going with you. We do not have to live with the consequences of whatever decision you make. I am here only to give you information. The decision is yours.”
Again heads were moving up and down all around the chapel. That was an important point.
“I shall summarize what we have learned into several key points for you to consider. First, I would remind you that if you choose to come to Escalante, that gives you about eighty-five miles of established wagon roads. That’s almost half the total distance you have to cover. Second, Escalante is the farthest settlement east of where we are now. Although we are a small settlement, we are thriving. That means before you have to jump off into the unknown, you will pass through our town. There you can replenish your supplies, shoe your horses and mules, repair your wagons, and find other important support you may need.”
“That is no small factor,” Silas Smith called out from behind him.
Collett nodded. “No small factor at all. Third, it is about sixty miles from Escalante to the Colorado River gorge. It is desert country, and while we run cattle all through that area, there is no established wagon road. But it is, for the most part, level country—rough, but passable. The route we would take roughly parallels what we call Fifty Mile Mountain, or the Straight Cliffs, which is the eastern edge of the vast Kaiparowits Plateau. The desert along those cliffs is therefore lower in elevation and the weather more temperate. Also, our route would follow along the base of the plateau where there are water sources at reasonable intervals.”
That brought several heads up, especially those of the brethren. This was a telling point.
“We actually call them Ten Mile Spring, Twenty Mile Spring, and so on to Fifty Mile Spring, which makes for an easy run between springs. I should also mention that the road runs roughly parallel to the Escalante River on the east, which ranges from between five to ten miles away. It’s deep and not always easy to get to, but it is a year-round source of water in an emergency.”
David found himself nodding. The exploring party’s thirty-five-mile run across the desert between Bitter Spring and Willow Spring would live long in his memory. Anything they could do to avoid stretches like that was highly significant.
“However—” He stopped and let that word hang for a moment. “However, the Colorado River gorge lies squarely across the route we have explored. Glen Canyon, as it is now called, is surely one of the great wonders of the world. Bishop Schow and I have ridden up and down the western side of that gorge for probably a hundred miles. It is spectacular and awe-inspiring. There are places where the deep red-rock cliffs plunge straight down for two thousand feet. Yes, two thousand! Nearly half a mile deep and straight down. It is truly unbelievable.”
There was a fleeting, somewhat sad smile. “It is also impossible to cross.” He let that sink in before going on. “Bishop Schow and I had a small, flat-bottomed boat made for us by Brother Charles Hall. This we carried on a two-wheeled cart made from the running gear of a wagon. For a time we despaired of finding anyplace where we could get down to the river. Then we found a great cleft in the cliff face.” He paused, letting his eyes sweep across his audience. “We call it the Hole in the Rock.”
He glanced back at his partner. “There is some debate about whether we first gave it that name or Brother Hall, who has also explored the area, but that matters not. It is a chasm or very narrow, near vertical cleft that descends from the top all the way down to the river in a series of giant steps.”5
“An’ how do we tek wagons doon that?” someone asked.
David turned. It was Ben Perkins, the Welsh coal miner from Cedar City, who had spoken. His question wasn’t meant as a challenge. It had come as a reaction to what he had heard. Collett nodded, having heard the comment. “It is steep, perhaps as much as forty-five degrees. But with some blasting powder and a lot of work, we think it would be possible to make a wagon trail through it.”
“Tell dem about da other side,” Bishop Schow called out.
He waved in acknowledgment and went on. “Bishop Schow and I found a place a couple of miles upstream from the Hole where we were able to lower the boat over the cliffs down to the river. We paddled across to the eastern bank. There we explored for some time as well. Directly across the river from the Hole is a canyon that we called Cottonwood Canyon. It is a lovely place with plenty of water and grass and provides a natural access to the bluffs beyond. We followed that canyon for some distance to see if it would be possible to take wagons up that way. We found one place where it will take some pretty serious road building, but we believe it’s doable. No worse than going down the Hole.
“Once we were up and out of Cottonwood Canyon, we found more smooth going. There were a couple of other challenging spots. I remember one especially. It’s like this huge chute, or log flume, carved out of the rock between two sandstone hills. It’s pretty steep, but the rock is smooth and we think we can double- and triple-team the wagons up it without a lot of challenge. Beyond that there is a long, gently inclining mesa that is quite flat and stretches eastward as far as we could see. It would be easily passable by wagons. We followed that for a short distance to where we could see down to the San Juan River.”
He stopped, letting his eyes search those of the congregation. When he continued, he spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasizing each word. “At that point, we determined that it is possible to build a wagon road through, to create a shortcut to the San Juan, to go in through the back door, as it were. We returned home just in time to receive Elder Snow’s letter asking us to come here and share what we found with you.”6
He turned. “That is our report, Elder Snow. I turn the time back to you.”
As he returned to his seat, Elder Snow and Silas Smith put their heads together for a moment. Silas nodded, then nodded again at something the Apostle said. Finally, Elder Snow got to his feet. “Brethren and sisters, we do not wish to curtail your questions, but the afternoon is wearing on and we have other meetings to attend to. I would recommend that we now take about a five-minute stand-up break. Use that time to discuss what you have heard, and consolidate your questions if you can. After the break, we shall take about fifteen minutes for discussion, then call for a recommendation and a vote.”
As the family huddled together, Patrick, Carl, and David in the center, the women and Billy Joe around them, Patrick was the first to speak. He looked at David. “What do you think?”
“I’d rather the others speak first, if that’s all right.”
He nodded and turned to his wife and daughters. “Sarah? Abby and Molly?”
They were hesitant, but finally Sister McKenna spoke. “I think Brother Smith makes a pretty strong case for not going south or north. That seems to leave only one choice.”
Abby was thoughtful. “It’s hard to say, because we know so little. But it’s no wonder Elder Snow has such confidence in those two. And Silas Smith as well. I was very impressed.”
“I wanna go,” Billy Joe exclaimed. “I think that a hole in a rock sounds neat. And can I paddle when we cross the river?”
They all smiled at his enthusiasm. Then Carl spoke. “There’s still a lot of that eastern side that didn’t get explored. Sounds like they went only a few miles before they turned around.”
“I had the same thought,” Patrick said. “But they could hardly go the whole way. They had to get back and re
port.”
As they fell quiet, David was watching Molly. She was listening intently, her face expressionless. But in her eyes, he saw worry. “What do you think, Molly?” he asked.
She turned in surprise. “I . . . I don’t know. I guess we have to trust those who do. Maybe we are better off to wait until spring and then take the northern way.”
“There’s only one real problem with that,” David said. “We left two families with nine children over there who are anxiously awaiting our arrival.”
“Oh,” she said meekly. “I forgot about them.”
“So,” Patrick said again, “what do you think, David?”
He sighed, not completely comfortable himself. “I wish we knew a lot more than we do about this route, but, like Sarah said, our options are pretty limited. I see no other choice.”
“Me too,” Molly inserted quickly.
“It’s not just the Harrimans and the Davises,” Abby said. “I am so ready to leave. We’ve already waited six months now. To wait another six will be pure torture.”
“If that’s the case,” David said, “and I totally agree with Abby, then it seems pretty straightforward. We take this route and trust that it will work out. After our experience in Arizona, I really like the idea of a shortcut.”
“Especially where there are no Indians,” Molly murmured.
“Then we’re agreed?” Patrick asked, looking to each of them in turn.
One by one they nodded. After a moment, one by one they sat down again, each wondering just what that simple decision would mean for them.
“Brethren and sisters.” Elder Snow’s face was solemn and concerned. “You have heard the report. You have heard the options. You have had a chance to ask questions. Now it is time to make a decision.” After a long, thoughtful pause, he went on. “I was given the assignment by the First Presidency to organize a mission and send them to the San Juan. Brother Silas Smith here was called and appointed to lead that mission. We have conferred together, and it is our recommendation that we here and now choose to go forward, not delaying further. All things considered, we feel that a more central route is our best option. I propose that option to you formally now. All in favor, please manifest it by raising your right hand.”
The Undaunted : The Miracle of the Hole-In-The-Rock Pioneers Page 51