He was a good swimmer, and a brave man, but his efforts were futile, and
finally he sank. The party waited and watched for hours, but were
finally compelled to recognize the fact that their friend and leader was
gone forever.

It was determined almost immediately to beat a retreat. While the party
was hunting for a side cañon leading northward through which they could
make their exit, it became evident that a storm was brewing. Rain
commenced to fall in a steady shower, and to increase in quantity. The
surveyors had no dry clothing beyond what they stood up in, and there
was no shelter of any kind at hand. They were near Vassey's Paradise, in
the deepest part of the cañon they had yet reached. A storm in such a
location had its awfulness intensified beyond measure, and the
frightened men looked in every direction for shelter. Finally, about
forty feet up the side of the marble cliff, the opening to a small
cavern was seen. Into this Mr. R. B. Stanton, one of the party, climbed.
There was not room enough for his body at full length, but he crawled in
as best he could, curled himself up, and tried to sleep.

A terrible night followed. At about midnight he was awakened by a
terrific peal of thunder, which re-echoed and reverberated through the
cañon in a most magnificently awful manner. He had been caught in storms
in mountain regions and deep valleys before, but he had never felt so
terribly alone or so superstitiously alarmed as on this occasion. Every
now and then a vivid flash of lightning would light up the dark recesses
of the gorge, casting ghastly shadows upon the cliffs, hill sides,
ravines and river. Then again there would be the darkness which, as
Milton puts it, could be felt, and the feeling of solitude was almost
intolerable.