He didn’t want me “lost.”
“No danger,” I shrieked.
“I can’t give my consent,” he yelled, decidedly.
“If you don’t,” I screamed, “I’ll jump down without it. I’ve traveled eighteen hundred miles for the sole purpose of going down in the Cave of the Winds, and I’ll not return to my free home in the Rocky Mountains without it! Give me a water-proof suit!”
That began to tell on him. A man who lived in a free home among the Rocky Mountains might be dangerous. So he yelled, in a softer tone:
“Well, if you will only go to the foot of the stairs, and will not try to follow the walk to that heap of stones out there, I’ll give you the water-proof clothes, and you may go down.”
“John Smith never rejected any thing like a reasonable compromise,” I replied; “so I will promise to go no further than the foot of the steps. Get me the water-proofs.”
He gave me the oil-cloths, and I donned them and carefully descended into the famous Cave of the Winds, and stood on the frail plank walk, between the thundering torrent and the black, rocky wall over which it tumbled. As I began to descend, I felt as though I was leaving the face of the earth for ever; but who can describe my emotions as I stood at the very heels of the raving and raging cataract? Who shall describe that awful place? It exceeded all the wild storms I had ever dreamed of. The spray dashed into my face, and fairly blinded me; while the fierce, unceasing wind rushed violently upon me from all sides, took the very breath from me, and seemed about to snatch me up from the frail plank on which I stood, and hurl me under the mighty torrent! It was wildly, fearfully bewildering. The wind and spray and the roar of the cataract fairly took away from me the senses of sight and hearing; I was conscious that the water had thrust its way beneath my water-proof clothes, and that I was wet all over, but could not feel the dampness; I could scarcely command my mind so as to think or reason. I scarcely knew whether I felt, thought, or was conscious at all, so absorbed were all my faculties in that eternal storm. I fancy that, if one were to remain there long, he would lose all consciousness, sink prostrate, tumble from the walk, plunge under the wild torrent, and be no more.
On returning to the face of the earth again, and removing my water-proof clothes, I realized how wet I was. I fancied it would not help my cough very much, but although I got wringing wet four different times during the few days of my sojourn at Niagara, it never injured me: which is a strong point in favor of the water-cure system; i. e., if it don’t cure, it, at least, is not quite certain to kill.
“What is your charge?” I asked of the proprietor.