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.