The boat rolled over and over, constantly righting itself, and its occupants got more baths in a few minutes than they cared for.
They found the water quite warm, which was some consolation, for had it been icy cold they would have been unable to retain their hold upon the boat.
How the water came tumbling down! All sorts of strange noises were made in its descent.
To Max and Ibrahim it seemed that ten thousand peals of thunder had impressed themselves on the tympanum of their ears. The Arab might have been a statue of marble.
He clutched the boat with both hands, but his features were as rigid as death. He had his eyes and mouth closed tightly, and had it not been for the swelling of his bosom he might have been thought dead.
Every time the boat was submerged it was carried further away from the cataract, and in a very few minutes—but the few minutes seemed an eternity—the water grew calmer and the boat more steady.
Then it was that they opened their eyes.
“Am I blind?” asked Ibrahim.
“Am I?” echoed Max.
The Arab was asked if he could see anything, and he answered in the negative.