As we gradually approach the upper end of this wild gorge, and leave these weird chambers behind, we come to a point where clouds of steam are issuing from a cavern—a cave within a cavern—apparently the very pit of Acheron itself. Into this steaming grotto we penetrate. It is a vaulted cave, ninety feet in length; a great natural steam-bath. Our visages were damp with perspiration, which started from every pore, as we stood at the brink of the hot spring, which was clear as crystal, scentless, and at a temperature of one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. One does not wish to remain in this cavern any length of time, unless fully prepared for a vapor bath; consequently, we were soon outside, in the outer cavern or gorge again. The pipes conveying the waters from the springs to the bath-house and hotel run along the side of the rocky wall, next the plank pathway. We retrace our steps back through this wondrous gorge, with its tall, rocky walls hundreds of feet above our heads, and its foaming torrent leaping beneath us; pass again beneath the granite dome, pass little weird grottos, and, through the narrow cleft; look away up to the strip of sky, shining like a band of blue satin ribbon over the gap, and finally emerge once more upon the open road, where our carriage is waiting. We returned over the romantic road that brought us to this great wonder of the Alpine region.
From Ragatz we took train en route for Schaffhausen, via Sargans and Wallenstadt, passing the beautiful Serenbach Waterfall, and along the shore of the Lake of Wallenstadt, or Wallenstadt See,—as they call it here,—and which we had flitting and momentary glances of, through the openings at the sides of the nine tunnels which the railroad train thundered through. But the landscape views all along this portion of the route of lake, mountains, waterfalls, valleys, and villages, formed one continuous charming picture.
Our hotel,—the Schweizerhof,—at the Falls of Schaffhausen, is admirably situated for a view of these falls, which, however, will disappoint the American who has seen Niagara, and hears it stated (which I think is incorrect) that these are the finest falls in Europe. The actual fall of water is not above sixty feet, and appears at first to be even less than this, and it looks more like a series of huge rapids than a waterfall; indeed, reminding one of the rapids above Niagara, though the descent is, of course, more abrupt. Right in the centre of the falls, dividing them into three parts, are two small but high islands of crag, accessible only by boats, and said to be very safely and easily reached by the boatmen in attendance at the shore, who were ready to take us to the middle island and to the old chateau on the opposite side, which is the best point of view, for the usual fee.
We entered the boat, which was soon in the midst of the stream, and began a series of regular approaches to the rock, propelled by the muscular arms of the boatmen; but in the midst of these boiling surges, lashing about us in every direction, and spattering us with their angry spray, as the rowers took advantage of certain eddies and currents, the appearance of the surroundings was decidedly dangerous, and it was with a long-drawn breath of relief that we heard the keel of the boat grate on the pebbles at the little landing at the foot of the central island. This was a tall mass of rock, and we climbed from point to point, by a not very difficult ascent, till we reached the summit, some fifty feet above the boiling flood—a very favorable point of view, from whence the clouds of silvery spray and the war of waters could be seen, and also a very fine view of the rapids and river above, which is about three hundred and fifty feet wide at this point. One of these rocks has a complete natural arch, ten or fifteen feet high, worn through it by the furious waters which leap, lash, and tumble about at the base of our rocky citadel.
Descending, we took to the boat again, and started for the opposite landing. Taking advantage of the current, the boatmen pushed out into the swiftest part of it, and were swept with frightful velocity, in half a dozen seconds of time, over a space which, to accomplish on our approach, required nearly fifteen minutes. A few dexterous whirls, some steady pulling, and we were landed at the foot of the ascent to the Castle of Laufen, picturesquely situated on a wooded height above us, and a fine point of view. We ascended the path, and enjoyed the prospect from the balcony of the castle, and then looked at it through the stained glass windows of a summer-house on the grounds, and finally descended to a wooden gallery which is built out directly over the foaming abyss, and so near the rushing water that you may plunge your hand into the seething mass of waves. India-rubber overcoats are a necessity for this excursion, which are provided by the owners of the place, and included in the fee of admission.
The sensation of being in the midst of a great waterfall, and yet safe, is about as correct a one, I should judge, as can be had, when you stand at the end of this protecting gallery in the shower of spray, the great body of water rushing towards the point as if to overwhelm you, while you now and then receive a liberal dash of a huge wave, and the thunder of the waters and rush of the torrent drown all other sounds, and render conversation impracticable. We enjoyed this defying of the torrent, the foam, rush and war of the waters, and the brilliant little rainbows which the sunlight formed in the clouds of spray, and then descended to the landing, to be rowed back to the opposite shore.
This boat-passage to the central rock is said to be perfectly safe, but it certainly has not that appearance, and it is one that a person at all inclined to be timid would not care to repeat. It has just that hint of the dangerous which gives the excursion a zest which a little peril seldom fails to produce. Timid though you may be, you cannot help feeling exhilarated by the roaring of the waters and the quick dash of the spray all around you; and the exultant emotion which you experience when you jump on shore, and witness, from a safe stand-point, the "perils you have passed," fully compensates for the moment of suspense, when it seemed as though one misstroke of the boatmen would have dashed you into eternity.
We left Schaffhausen at nine A. M. for Munich, had two hours and a half on Lake Constance, passed Augsburg, and at half past nine reached Munich.
"Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry"—