What The Waterfalls Said To Me

( Originally Published 1885 )

" Where the Falls of Minnehaha
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees,
Laugh and leap into the valley.

Wayward as the Minnehaha,
With her moods of shade and sunshine."

SO sang the poet, and the words rang in my ears day after day, when I had once seen that most exquisite picture

" Flash and gleam among the oak-trees;
Gleaming, glancing through the branches,
With her moods of shade and sunshine,
Minnehaha, laughing water."

I had but lately gazed upon the boiling torrents of the Spokane, enjoyed the turbulence of the Dalles and the cascades of the Columbia, and marveled at the bold dash of the falls of the Multnomah.

A few days later I had crossed the plain, pushed through the forests, rounded the south end of Lake Michigan, skirted the shores of Erie, stopped to drink in the grandeur and majesty of the king of water falls, Niagara, plunged down the rapids of the St. Lawrence, and still later, driving through the Hoosac Tunnel, I was whirled along the banks of the Deerfield, rushing and roaring over its rocky bed, across the Connecticut ; and the iron horse, blowing, wheezing, puffing, lifted me up, up, the valley of the Millers River, an elevation of seven hundred feet between Greenfield and Gardner. This up-grade ride, bumping, turning, twisting, now on the right bank, now on the left of this turbulent stream, was in the night. The moon shone brightly, serenely, weirdly, now lighting up the rapid torrent, and anon, throwing its black, dense shadows like a pall over the seething mass.

YON SILENT MOON.

That silver moon, with mellow light serene,
Shines through the clouds with tender, modes
As if 't would hardly venture to appear
E'en in the absence of the orb of day.
And yet it shines; and peering through the clouds
It sendeth down a chastened, loving look,
As if, indeed, it were the mourners' friend,
And kindly wished to bind the broken heart.

When, dense and thick, the clouds have gathered o'er,
And all is dark to mourning souls below,
The moon with solemn silence peereth through,
And seems to say, " There 's light for you above.
The earth is dark and full of troublous sin,
And sin's attendant, sorrow, walketh here;
But courage take, and look away from earth,
For, far above terrestrial clouds, appears
The light of heaven, which shines in cloudless sky,
These earthly clouds that dim the light of day,
And oft obscure the moon's more modest look,
Do but bespeak the heavenly light above,
And point to those bright realms of lasting bliss."

The silver moon that shines with borrowed ray,
Directs the soul to one great source of light;
And thus from earth would draw the mind away,
To God, the only source of light and love.

Weary, yet restless, I could not sleep ; neither could I keep awake. I was in that half-way condition in which visions come flitting through the mind, and, the reason asleep, the wide-awake imagination has full play. The spirit of the water stood up before me, now shrinking and bashful, now boldly riding forth upon the wings of the moonbeams, and began to talk to me. At first its tones were quiet and gentle as the mild zephyrs of the summer day, but gradually increasing the power and decision of its utterances, its rapid cadences became as fierce and tempestuous as the hurricane or the tornado. And this is what it said to me:

" Have you no pity for me, O man ; for me, confined, imprisoned within these walls, and made to drudge and drive by day and by night without cessation? Who ever heard of Millers River? I have no name, no fame, no reward. I slave and drive, and hurry and scurry, and get no thanks, no compliments. If I could gather up my waters and make a bold dash like the Connecticut at Holyoke, pouring over the great dam, or rushing through the giant wheel which drives so many thousand spindles and throws so many hundred shuttles, it would be of some account ; I should be of some service. Or, if I were like the grand old falls of Niagara, captivating visitors from all parts of the world ; or even like the dashing rapids of the Lachine, over which the steamboats ride, guided by the old Indian pilot, amid the wonder of the many passengers ! But no ; I must remain here forever, like a horse in the tread-mill ; worse than that even, for the poor horse is allowed to stop to eat and sleep, but I must go on morning, noon, and night, --

Never stop to think,
Never stop to drink,
Never stop to weep,
Never stop to sleep,'

but always working, pushing, crowding, surging, ever onward, never lagging, and so go down to oblivion, unappreciated, uncared for, unknown."

Thus the waters of Millers River which tumble down seven hundred feet from Gardner — the highest point between Boston and Chicago — to Greenfield, entered its complaint and exhibited its envy of the Holyoke mill-dam, the rapids of the St. Lawrence, and the falls of Niagara.

Now, while I thought upon this complaint my eyes grew dim, my head drooped, and I was rapidly jostled from side to side, till gradually the scene changed, and I was no longer on Millers River, but was quietly seated upon the starboard bow of the steamboat, just floating into the very jaws of the La-chine Rapids upon the St. Lawrence.

Suddenly the water-sprite stood up and shook its whitened locks, and beckoned me to listen : —

"Pity me, traveler; condole with me in my misery ! I am the swelling mass of waters from the great lakes. I have poured over Niagara, and floated down through the Thousand Islands ; and now I must plunge and roar and foam and dash against these sunken rocks just to make sport for strangers who chance to come down the river upon these steamboats. Chained to this spot, shut up in this channel, confined between these grassy banks, I must work on like a pack horse, day in and day out, doomed to perpetual slavery. If I could only exchange places with that quiet, unobtrusive Millers River, or if I could be like my predecessor, Niagara, and have the honor of being the greatest waterfall in the world, I should be happy. But, dear me, there is no place for me ; no success, no opportunity for even a modest, laudable ambition."

So complained the Lachine Rapids, and vanished in thin air, or sunk beneath the boiling flood. While I mused upon its plaintive wail, dream-like, the scene changed, and I was standing on the bank of the Niagara River, just below the American Falls. A low wail caught my ear, and on turning around I saw, just rising from the water, a weird and haggard form, which sent forth a dirge-like moan in the following words : —

"Woe is me ! Faint and weary, torn and bleeding, behold me, a prey to this surging flood. Very fine it may be to you, good sir, to look on and see this mighty down-pouring ; but not so interesting is it to poor me. Pouring, roaring, seething, tossing, plunging, lunging, here I am shut in from the rest of the world. My sisters, there, above me, bask in the sunshine, and leisurely float along day after day, and sleep in their quiet eddies at night. If I had the variety of the beautiful and picturesque landscape of the quiet Millers River, or if I could rush along the bed of the Spokane, or if I could leap down an immense precipice like the falls of Multnomah, I should be satisfied ; but here I am compelled to heave and toss, and plunge and roar, from January to July, and from July to December, only to repeat again and again the same round ; round and round, over and over, whirling, swirling, fuming, foaming, rushing, gushing, onward, over and over, till I vanish in the mist, mocked at by the rainbow, and gone, because I am not ! "

So complained the spirit of King Kataract, and wished his fate were anything but his own. Suddenly I was on the new bridge that spans the Spokane River, in Washington Territory, just over the boiling torrent, looking down into the water below. The mist was rising and wrapping itself around me. It soon shut out the landscape, and a voice sounded in my ears ; it was hoarse and grim, and I was startled, till I looked, and the spirit of the waters was beckoning me, and this was its plaint : —

" Would that I were elsewhere ! Would that I were otherwise ! Would that I were any else ! My task is hard, my life monotonous, my reward but small. Could I but exchange places with the Dalles, or the Cascades, or the Multnomah ; but this monotonous life will be the death of me yet ! "

Just then a loaded team, drawn by two braying mules, came thundering across the bridge, and the frightened spirit of the water was no more seen. Again, I was at the Dalles of the Columbia, that wondrous piece of nature's handiwork, and again the water spirit complained. While I looked and listened, another voice was heard, this time the voice of the Cascades, when in the midst of its complaint, behold the falls of the Multnomah ! It was a little river, but fifty feet wide, and after chasing its banks along a ravine well up upon the mountains, it madly plunges down a perpendicular rock eight hundred feet, only to gather up its courage and glide down another cliff several hundred feet more, before mingling itself with the waters of the Columbia. It is indeed a charming waterfall, unique, beautiful, pleasing in every particular, both in itself and its surroundings. Yet here I found the same spirit of discontent. The mist rose from the foot of the falls, and wrapping its mantle about itself, it assumed the form which had already so often appeared to me, and thus it spoke : --

"Frightened, benumbed, exhausted with incessant labor, I have no peace in my life. Could I exchange places with my sisters or my brothers ; could I once visit the Spokane, or Niagara, or the St. Lawrence ; could I be the quiet little Minnehaha, " Laughing Water," there would be a beam of joy in my soul ! But no such good fortune awaits me. I am doomed to drag out a miserable existence in this damp and secluded spot. I am half tempted to commit suicide."

" What ! " said I to myself, " is there no contentment? Does every one wish to ex-change places with some one else? Have not these people ever read ' The Vision of Mirza' ? "

Lo, while I was speaking, another water-fall appeared. It was no other than that which had started my fancy at first. I was sitting upon the little platform, looking upon the "Laughing Water." Wisely named; beautiful in its form, harmonious in its proportions, elegant in its surroundings, it was, indeed, a model. Cheerful and contented, it displayed a true happiness, devoid of envy, and, innocent of impossible ambitions, it flowed onward in its quiet and beautiful harmony, scarcely inquiring whence it came, or whither it was going.

Only after I had twice summoned its spirit into my presence, did it quietly and modestly present itself. It was wrapped in a white veil of spray, and girded with a rain-bow about its waist. Its face was the face of beauty, and its features were those of quiet contentment and happiness.

" Callest thou me ? "

" Yes, I called thee. Now tell me, I pray thee, how it is thou utterest no complaint ? "

" Why should I complain ? The Father brought me here, and shall he not do right?

In beauty he made me, and I am content to be just what he desires me to be. Whence I came I know not, but that I shall go on-ward to the great and boundless ocean, I well know. I go, contented and happy. The duty of the day I will do. Its reward is in His hands ; he will not disappoint me."

"Happy, happy spirit ! " exclaimed I, "not to envy its fellows ; not to wish for impossible things ! "

Here I heard a great noise and a confused hum of voices, and awaking, I found that the iron horse had stopped in the Fitchburg station, in Boston, at one o'clock at night, and the passengers were leaving the train.

So I knew that I had but dreamed ; and that the lesson of the sleeping hour might not be lost, I have here written it out.

" He, the master of life, descending,
On the red crags of the quarry
Stood erect, and called the nations,
Called the tribes of men together.
From his footprints flowed a river,
Leaped into the light of morning,
O'er the precipice plunging downward,
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet;
And the spirit, stooping earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, ' Run in this way! '

And in accents like the sighing
Of the southwind in the tree-tops,
Said he, ' 0 my Hiawatha!
All your prayers are heard in heaven;
For you prayed not like the others,
Not for greater skill in hunting,
Not for greater craft in fishing,
Not for triumph in the battle,
Nor renown among the warriors."