Advancing to the verge of the precipice overlooking
the Danube, a sheer wall of rock 2000 feet in depth, we signalled our
arrival by discharging our rifles simultaneously. This "set the wild
echoes flying." Each cliff and scaur of the narrow gorge flung back the
ringing sound till the sharp reverberations stirred the whole defile.
Before the fusillade had ceased we beheld a sight I shall never forget.
The sound had disturbed a colony of eagles, who make their nests in
these rocky fissures. They flew out in every direction from the face of
the cliff, and went soaring round and round, evidently in much alarm at
the unwonted noise. We counted fourteen of these magnificent birds. I
wanted to get a shot at one, but they never came near enough. After
circling round for several minutes they flew with one accord to the
opposite woods, and were no more seen.
The view from the Stierberg is splendid. On every side were stretches of
primeval forest. Bounding the horizon on the north-east we made out the
Transylvanian Alps; to the south lay Servia, and more distant still the
Balkan Mountains. As the sun rose higher, lighting up in a marvellous
way all the details of this fair landscape, we could see far eastward a
strip of the Danube flashing in the sunbeams.
We turned reluctantly from the grand panorama, but we began to feel the
distressing effects of thirst. We had failed to procure any sheep's
milk, but the postmaster declared that when we got back to our
camping-place we should be able to find some fresh water.
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