Drenkova and Fetislav, the steamer must be changed for a small
sailing vessel. The voyage down the stream could indeed be
accomplished without danger, but the return would be attended with
many difficulties. The steamers, therefore, remain behind at
Drenkova, and passengers are conveyed down the river in barks, and
_upwards_ (since the accident of 1839) in good commodious carriages.

To-day the cold was quite as severe as it had been yesterday so that
but for the politeness of a fellow-passenger, who lent me his bunda
(great Hungarian fur), I should have been compelled to remain in the
little cabin, and should thus have missed the most interesting
points of the Danube. As it was, however, I wrapped myself from
head to foot in the fur cloak, took my seat on a bench outside the
cabin, and had full leisure to store my memory with a succession of
lovely scenery, presenting almost the appearance of a series of lake
views, which continued equally picturesque until we had almost
reached Alt-Orsova.

A couple of miles below Drenkova, near Islas, the sailors suddenly
cried, "The first fall!" I looked up in a fever of expectation.
The water was rising in small waves, the stream ran somewhat faster,
and a slight rushing sound was to be heard. If I had not been told
that the Danube forms a waterfall here, I should certainly never
have suspected it to be the case. Between Lenz and Krems I did not
find either the rocks or the power of the stream much more
formidable. We had, however, a high tide, a circumstance which
diminishes both the danger of the journey and the sublimity of the
view. The numerous rocky points, peering threateningly forth at low
tide, among which the steersman must pick his way with great care,
were all hidden from our sight. We glided safely over them, and in