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.

The river in the meantime had swollen into a torrent, by the drenching
rain, which had converted every creek into a river, and every feeder of
the Colorado into a magnificent, if raging, river itself. The noise
caused by the excited river, as it leaped over the massive rocks along
its bed, vied with the thunder, and the echoes seemed to extend hundreds
of miles in every direction. What affected the stranded traveler the
most was the noise overhead, the reverberation inducing a feeling of
alarm that huge masses of rock were being displaced from their lofty
eminence thousands of feet above his head, and were rushing down upon
him.

The night was passed, finally, and when the storm had spent itself, the
survivors of the party succeeded in getting out of the canon and
reaching a plateau, 2,500 feet above. They then took a brief rest, but
with that disregard for danger which is characteristic of the true
American, they at once organized another expedition, and a few months
later resumed the task so tragically interrupted and marred with such a
sad fatality.

The trip through Glen Canon was like a pleasure trip on a smooth river
in autumn, with beautiful wild flowers and ferns at every camp. At Lee's
Ferry they ate their Christmas dinner, with the table decorated with
wild flowers, picked that day.

On December 28th they started to traverse, once more, that portion of
Marble Canon made tragic by the fatality of the summer before. "On the
next Tuesday," writes Mr. Stanton, "we reached the spot where President
Brown lost his life. What a change in the waters! What was then a
roaring torrent, now, with the water some nine feet lower, seemed from
the shore like the gentle ripple upon the quiet lake. We found, however,
in going through it with our boats, there was the same swift current,
the same huge eddy, and between them the same whirlpool, with its
ever-changing circles. Marble Canon seemed destined to give us trouble.
On January 1st, our photographer, Mr. Nims, fell from a bench of the
cliff, some twenty-two feet, on to the sand beach below, receiving a
severe jar, and breaking one of his legs just above the ankle. Having
plenty of bandages and medicine, we ma