Page 194.
THE VICTORIA FALLS.
In a large measure this peculiar vegetation owes its existence to the perpetual fall of spray from the cataract; from every separate cascade clouds of vapour incessantly ascend to such a height that they may be seen for fifty miles away; at one moment they are so dense that they completely block out the view of anything beyond; another moment and a gust of wind will waft them all aside, and leave nothing more than a thin transparent veil; as the density of this increases or diminishes, the islands that lie upon the farther side will seem alternately to recede or advance like visions in a fairy scene.
The effects at sunrise and at sunset are incomparably fine. Arched rainbows play over and amidst the vapoury wreaths, and display the brightness of their hues. The movement of the spray is attended by a suppressed hissing, which, however, is only audible when the wind carries off the deafening roar that rises from the bottom of the abyss. I do not know that it would be absolutely impossible to make one’s way through the bushy thickets to the very edge of the precipice and so to look down to the base of the cataract, but certainly it is not visible from any of the best standpoints for viewing the general scene. The incessant roar that rises from the mighty trough below fills the air for miles around with a rolling as of thunder; to hear it and not see from whence it comes never ceases to be bewildering; the seething waters before us crash against the crags; we find the ground beneath our feet tremble as though there were some convulsion in a subterranean cave beneath; we become every moment more conscious of a desire to witness the origin of the strange commotion; it is hard to suppress the sense of nervousness; no infernal crater in which the elements were all at strife could produce a more thrilling throb of nature! Truly it is a scene in which a man may well become aware of his own insignificance!
There is still another direction in which it remains for us to look. We have yet to make our wondering inspection of the great ravine into which the water in its massive volume is precipitated. That huge ravine is a long zigzag. At first it proceeds for 300 yards due south; it then makes an angle and runs for 1000 yards to the west-south-west; again it turns for 1100 yards to the south-east, and thus it continues to vary its direction. Except where deep chines break in, too precipitous to be crossed, it is not difficult to walk along the edge and to see how perpetually the rugged walls of rock present some fresh diversity of form; at one time they are absolutely perpendicular as though they had been hewn by a mason’s hand, at the next turn they slope like the glacis of a gloomy rampart, and then suddenly they assume the aspect of a huge garden-wall dotted over with clusters of green and crimson in striking contrast with the dull brown ground. Every here and there particles of earth containing the seeds of aloes have been carried into the clefts of the rock, and, nourished by the fertilizing matter already there, have germinated and thriven admirably, as their fine trusses of bloom are present to testify; meanwhile their own seeds are ripening, destined to be conveyed on the bosom of the stream to districts far away, where they may flourish on an unaccustomed soil.
There are places in which the cliffs take the formation of horizontal ledges of bare rock alternating with belts of thriving vegetation; in other parts, notably upon the western shore, may be observed a luxuriant growth of foliage that extends half-way down the surface or occasionally right to the edge of the stream, covering also the sides of the numerous chines that pierce the rocky mass, and afford an outlet for the accumulated rain.
But while I thus describe the general character of the scenery along the entire course of the zigzag, I would not have it overlooked that its peculiar attractiveness arises from the great diversity of conformation which it perpetually presents. This I hope may be better appreciated if I depict one or two of the reaches of the ravine more in detail.
The first short reach on the right or western shore, below the falls and close to them, is hemmed in at first by a perpendicular wall of rock, which, after receding so as almost to form a creek, suddenly juts out into a promontory against which the full torrent of the gathered waters breaks with all its vehemence. The opposite shore upon the eastern side is a range of rocky heights connected with the mainland beyond; upward from its base for about a third of its height it is naked and precipitous, but all above are terraces richly clad with tropical vegetation; its ragged peaks are very striking, and as often as I contemplated it I could not help associating it with the idea I had formed of the hanging gardens of Semiramis.
Between the second and third longer reaches is a short arm, midway in which there rises a huge projection, steep as any of the rocks around, but consisting of enormous blocks piled one above another; on the north, on the south, and on the east it is lashed by the torrent of the stream; on the west it stands detached from the mainland by a deep dry gully. Upon this isolated eminence, rearing itself to an altitude of 300 feet, not a leaf is to be seen; Flora and all her progeny have been utterly banished from its inhospitable soil, but it bids defiance to the flood: for thousands of years the elements have wreaked their fury on its mass; lightnings have burst upon its summit; Æolus and all his crew have spent their efforts upon its sides; floods of water, that deadliest foe to all the strongholds of earth, have done their utmost to sap its foundations; but yet it stands immovable; it holds its dry valley inviolate, and imperiously bids the rushing stream to seek another channel.
Nor can the waters of the torrent itself fail to arrest our attention as they tear along, with the speed of an arrow, through the deep ravine. The channel along which they flow gradually narrows to about a third of its original width, and the very compression gives intensity to the current, which strikes against one impediment only to gather fresh impetus for dashing against another. The billows roll over the boulders that project above the surface of the flood, or they part asunder as they come in contact with some jutting promontory that impedes their course; but though centuries elapse, they avail not to displace the rocky walls by which they are confined, nor to wear down the barriers by which they are opposed.