Now a furious wind began
to rush out from behind the waterfall, which seemed determined to sweep
us from the bridge, and scatter us on the rocks and among the torrents
below. I remarked that I wanted to go home; but it was too late. We were
almost under the monstrous wall of water thundering down from above, and
speech was in vain in the midst of such a pitiless crash of sound.
In another moment the guide disappeared behind the grand deluge, and,
bewildered by the thunder, driven helplessly by the wind, and smitten by
the arrowy tempest of rain, I followed. All was darkness. Such a mad,
storming, roaring, and bellowing of warring wind and water never crazed
my ears before. I bent my head, and seemed to receive the Atlantic on my
back. The world seemed going to destruction. I could not see anything,
the flood poured down so savagely. I raised my head, with open mouth,
and the most of the American cataract went down my throat. If I had
sprung a leak now, I had been lost. And at this moment I discovered that
the bridge had ceased, and we must trust for a foothold to the slippery
and precipitous rocks. I never was so scared before and survived it. But
we got through at last, and emerged into the open day, where we could
stand in front of the laced and frothy and seething world of descending
water, and look at it.
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