do
this now, for the purpose of finding where we are by dead reckoning. It
is a clear night, and I take out the sextant to make observations for
latitude, and find that the astronomic determination agrees very nearly
with that of the plot--quite as closely as might be expected, from a
meridian observation on a planet. In a direct line, we must be about
forty-five miles from the mouth of the Rio Virgen. If we can reach that
point, we know that there are settlements up that river about twenty
miles. This forty-five miles, in a direct line, will probably be eighty
or ninety in the meandering line of the river. But then we know that
there is comparatively open country for many miles about the mouth of
the Virgen, which is our point of destination.

As soon as I determine all this, I spread my plot on the sand, and wake
Howland, who is sleeping down by the river, and show him where I suppose
we are, and where several Mormon settlements are situated.

We have another short talk about the morrow, and he lies down again; but
for me there is no sleep. All night long I pace up and down a little
path, on a few yards of sand beach, along by the river. Is it wise to go
on? I go to the boats again, to look at our rations. I feel satisfied
that we can get over the danger immediately before us; what there may be
below I know not. From our outlook yesterday, on the cliffs, the canon
seemed to make another great bend to the south, and this, from our
experience heretofore, means more and higher granite walls. I am not
sure that we can climb out of the canon here, and, when at the top of
the wall, I know enough of the country to be certain that it is a desert
of rock and sand, between this and the nearest Mormon town, which, on
the most direct line, must be seventy-five miles away. True, the late
rains have been favourable to us, should we go out, for the
probabilities are that we shall find water still standing in holes, and,
at one time, I almost conclude to leave the river. But for years I have
been contemplating this trip. To leave the exploration unfinished, to
say that there is a part of the canon which I cannot explore, having
already almost accomplished it, is more than I am willing to
acknowledge, and I determine to go on.

I wake my brother and tell him of Howland's determination, and he
promises to stay with me; then I call up Hawkins, the cook, and he makes
a like promise; then Sumner, and Bradley, and Hall, and they all agr