My Friends Were Evidently Ashamed Of My Appearance, But They
Met Me Here To Wish Me A Safe Return, And, Following The Guide, I Dived
Down A Spiral Staircase, Very Dark And Very Much Out Of Repair.
Leaving this staircase, I followed the guide along a narrow path covered
with fragments of shale, with Table Rock above and the deep abyss below.
A
cold, damp wind blew against me, succeeded by a sharp pelting rain, and
the path became more slippery and difficult. Still I was not near the
sheet of water, and felt not the slightest dizziness. I speedily arrived
at the difficult point of my progress: heavy gusts almost blew me away;
showers of spray nearly blinded me; I was quite deafened and half-drowned;
I wished to retreat, and essayed to use my voice to stop the progress of
my guide. I raised it to a scream, but it was lost in the thunder of the
cataract. The negro saw my incertitude and extended his hand. I shuddered
even there as I took hold of it, not quite free from the juvenile idea
that "the black comes off." He seemed at that moment to wear the aspect of
a black imp leading me to destruction.
The path is a narrow, slippery ledge of rock. I am blinded with spray, the
darkening sheet of water is before me. Shall I go on? The spray beats
against my face, driven by the contending gusts of wind which rush into
the eyes, nostrils, and mouth, and almost prevent my progress; the
narrowing ledge is not more than a foot wide, and the boiling gulf is
seventy feet below. Yet thousands have pursued this way before, so why
should not I? I grasp tighter hold of the guide's hand, and proceed step
by step holding down my head. The water beats against me, the path
narrows, and will only hold my two feet abreast. I ask the guide to stop,
but my voice is drowned by the "Thunder of Waters." He guesses what I
would say, and shrieks in my ear, "It's worse going back." I make a
desperate attempt: four steps more and I am at the end of the ledge; my
breath is taken away, and I can only just stand against the gusts of wind
which are driving the water against me. The gulf is but a few inches from
me, and, gasping for breath, and drenched to the skin, I become conscious
that I have reached Termination Rock.
Once arrived at this place, the clouds of driving spray are a little
thinner, and, though it is still very difficult either to see or breathe,
the magnificence of the temple, which is here formed by the natural bend
of the cataract and the backward shelve of the precipice, makes a lasting
impression on the mind. The temple seems a fit and awful shrine for Him
who "rides on the wings of mighty winds," and, completely shut out from
man's puny works, the mind rises naturally in adoring contemplation to Him
whose voice is heard in the "thunder of waters." The path was so very
narrow that I had to shuffle backwards for a few feet, and then, drenched,
shivering, and breathless, my goloshes full of water and slipping off at
every step, I fought my way through the blinding clouds of spray, and,
climbing up the darkened staircase, again stood on Table Rock, with water
dripping from my hair and garments. It is usual for those persons who
survive the expedition to take hot brandy and water after changing their
dresses; and it was probably from neglecting this precaution that I took
such a severe chill as afterwards produced the ague. On the whole, this
achievement is pleasanter in the remembrance than in the act. There is
nothing whatever to boast of in having accomplished it, and nothing to
regret in leaving it undone. I knew the danger and disagreeableness of the
exploit before I went, and, had I known that "going behind the sheet" was
synonymous with "going to Termination Rock," I should never have gone. No
person who has not a very strong head ought to go at all, and it is by
every one far better omitted, as the remaining portion of Table Rock may
fall at any moment, for which reason some of the most respectable guides
decline to take visitors underneath it. I believe that no amateur ever
thinks of going a second time. After all, the front view is the only one
for Niagara - going behind the sheet is like going behind a picture-frame.
After this we went to the top of a tower, where I had a very good bird's-
eye view of the Falls, the Rapids, and the general aspect of the country,
and then, refusing to be victimised by burning springs, museums, prisoned
eagles, and mangy buffaloes, I left the Walrences, who were tired, to go
to the hotel, and walked down to the ferry, and, scrambling out to the
rock farthest in the water and nearest to the cataract, I sat down
completely undisturbed in view of the mighty fall. I was not distracted by
parasitic guides or sandwich-eating visitors; the vile museums, pagodas,
and tea-gardens were out of sight: the sublimity of the Falls far exceeded
my expectations, and I appreciated them the more perhaps from having been
disappointed with the first view. As I sat watching them, a complete
oblivion of everything but the falls themselves stole over me. A person
may be very learned in statistics - he may tell you that the falls are 160
feet high - that their whole width is nearly four-fifths of a mile - that,
according to estimate, ninety million tons of water pass over them every
hour - that they are the outlet of several bodies of water covering one
hundred and fifty thousand square miles; but unless he has seen Niagara,
he cannot form the faintest conception of it.
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