Greatest wonders of the world, as seen and described by famous writers

by Unknown

“There, in foaming whirls Charybdis curls,

Loud Scylla roars to larboard;

In that howling gulf, with the dog and wolf,

Deep moored to-night, with her living freight,

That goodly ship is harboured!”

The cause of the whirlpool is evident at first sight. In the centre of the stream is an island called the Hansstein, about a hundred and fifty yards long, by fifty in breadth, consisting of primitive rock, and dividing the river—which at this point descends with tremendous force—into the two separate channels of the Hössgang and the Strudel already mentioned. In its progress to this point, it meets with that portion of the river which runs smoothly along the northern shore, and breaking it into a thousand eddies, forms the Wirbel. This has the appearance of a series of foaming circles, each deepening as it approaches the centre, and caused by the two opposite streams rushing violently against each other. That such is the real cause of the Wirbel is sufficiently proved by the fact, that, in the great autumnal inundation of 1787, when the flood ran so high as to cover the Hansstein, the Wirbel, to the astonishment of the oldest boatmen and natives of the country, had entirely disappeared. For the obstacle being thus counteracted by the depth of the flood, and the stream being now unbroken by the rock, rushed down in one continuous volume, without exhibiting any of those gyratory motions which characterize the Wirbel.

The sombre and mysterious aspects of the place, its wild scenery, and the frequent accidents which occurred in the passage, invested it with awe and terror; but above all, the superstitions of the time, a belief in the marvellous, and the credulity of the boatmen, made the navigation of the Strudel and the Wirbel a theme of the wildest romance. At night, sounds that were heard far above the roar of the Danube, issued from every ruin. Magical lights flashed through their loop-holes and casements—festivals were held in the long-deserted halls—maskers glided from room to room—the waltzers maddened to the strains of an infernal orchestra—armed sentinels paraded the battlements, while at intervals the clash of arms, the neighing of steeds, and the shrieks of unearthly combatants smote fitfully on the boatman’s ear. But the tower in which these scenes were most fearfully enacted was that on the Longstone, commonly called the “Devil’s Tower,” as it well deserved to be—for here, in close communion with his master, resided the “Black Monk,” whose office it was to exhibit false lights and landmarks along the gulf, so as to decoy the vessels into the whirlpool, or dash them against the rocks.

Returning to Orsova, we re-embarked in boats provided by the Navigation Company, and proceeded to encounter the perils of the Eisen Thor—the Iron Gate of the Danube—which is so apt to be associated in the stranger’s imagination with something of real personal risk and adventure. The “Iron Gate” we conjecture, is some narrow, dark and gloomy defile, through which the water, hemmed in by stupendous cliffs, and “iron-bound,” as we say, foams and bellows, and dashes over a channel of rocks, every one of which, when it cannot drag you into its own whirlpool, is sure to drive you upon some of its neighbours, which, with another rude shove, that makes your bark stagger and reel, sends you smack upon a third! “But the ‘gate’?” “Why the gate is nothing more or less than other gates, the ‘outlet’; and I dare say we shall be very glad when we are ‘let out quietly.’” “Very narrow at that point, s’pose?” “Very. You have seen an iron gate?” “To be sure I have.” “Well, I’m glad of that, because you can more readily imagine what the Iron Gate of the Danube is.” “Yes, and I am all impatience to see it; but what if it should be locked when we arrive?” “Why, in that case, we should feel a little awkward.” “Should we have to wait long?” “Only till we got the key, although we might have to send to Constantinople for it.” “Constantinople! well, here’s a pretty situation! I wish I had gone by the ‘cart.’” “You certainly had your choice, and might have done so—the Company provide both waggon and water conveyance to Gladova; but I dare say we shall find the gate open.” “I hope we shall; and as for the rocks and all that, why we got over the Wirbel and Strudel and Izlay and twenty others, and s’pose we get over this too. It’s only the gate that puzzles me—the Handbook says not a word about that—quite unpardonable such an omission! Write to the publisher.”

THE IRON GATES OF THE DANUBE.