The International Monthly, Volume 2, No. 4, March, 1851

Days passed by; and the sun came out all brightly. And the moon and stars were seen again; and larger and sweeter birds than she had heard before, now perched upon the trees about, warbling and chirruping from day-break to twilight. So the time passed on. The wanderer began to feel unsettled in her solitude. But there was no return by the path she came; still were the sharp rocks seen above; and still she felt a twinge of pain when thinking of her weary journey on that rainy day. Often too she thought of her ambitious sister, wondering where she was now and what she was about; and sometimes she almost fancied she would have been happier had she gone along. It was quite evident to herself that she was getting discontented.

There was one pleasure she prized much. Following in the train of the ambitious Brooklet had been a score of fishes, which, frightened by the leap upon the jagged rocks, had staid behind with the timid wanderer, until they became part of her family in the new retreat. Overlooking, and enjoying the gambols of these fish, the discontented Brooklet often amused herself. Observing how when the sun came slanting through the sides of the foliage about, they would dart out from their hiding-places in the old dead leaves at the feet of the Brooklet, and so jump up to greet the warming rays: or how, when a fly fell down from the overhanging boughs, and tried to swim away, they would jump to nab a bit of lunch, scrabbling and tugging as they went; or how, when the largest fish of all threw off his dignity, and played with them at hide and seek under the foot-deep bottom of mud, they would all shoot about her life-blood drops without regard to the angles of pain their fins would leave behind!

Thus the summer-time came on, and was passing by, when one day the Brooklet felt a shadow upon her, and looked up to see the cause—when high upon the rocks above, there stood a bright-eyed boy, with curling locks that blew about in golden beauty with the breeze. In his hand he held a little stick, which he turned over from time to time, and would take up and then lay it down, as if preparing for something wonderful. The curiosity of the Brooklet was aroused to know what he could mean, when presently she saw him sit upon the rock, and from the stick drop down upon her face a worm, which when the fishes saw they darted out to eat.

"It is a beautiful boy; and a kind boy," said the artless Brook unto herself; "and he has come to feed the little fishes with a worm. I have not seen one since I left my little meadow on that rainy day. How like the lovely face I used to see, is his which now looks down."

While thus the Brook was soliloquizing, a fish more cunning than the rest, had seized the worm within his mouth, and was swimming away to his favorite hole by an old willow stump to there complete a meal. He was just entering it, when the Brook saw him suddenly flash from her embrace, floundering and pulling as he went up, up through the air, unto the mossy bank above the rock from which fell the shadow of the boy. And now the Brook, more curious than ever, saw the face so like the laborer's daughter overspread with smiles as the tiny hands grasped the fish, and with a wrench tore out the worm from his gills, a piece of which fell on the Brook athwart the shadow of the laugher.

"What a fine one!" said the boy, and started up;—started up to slip against a smooth worn stone, and fall over the rock into the Brook, close by the willow stump; the captive fish held tightly as he went, but slipping from the falling grasp into its welcome element once more.

The Brook had never felt so hard a blow before. The rain and hail were nothing to this. It made her splash and leap and swell against the rocky bank, until she could have called with pain.

How still the boy laid on her breast! his head against the willow stump, over which there trickled a tiny purple stream smaller than the spring-drops from the rock! How richly his golden locks floated upon the Brook! but how widely strained his bright blue eyes glaring at the sky and tree-tops above, and how he gasped from his mouth; a mouth so like the one the laborer had often prest in harvest-time to the Brook, when it was yet circling in the meadow! The Brook said to herself, "I will put some of my ripples into this mouth, as I have seen the laborer do; perhaps, like him, it will make his eye sparkle, and send him away again; for he lies heavy on my breast." And so the ripples went into the opened mouth by dozens; but the blue sky and tree-tops faded from his eyes, and the lips lost their bright color, and the purple trickling on the willow stump grew thick and settled into a dark pool.

All night the dead boy lay upon the breast of the Brook; and the fishes played around him, wondering what it was; and the little insects hopped over him at early sunlight; until the purple pool dried up, and only left a stain behind.

And soon the Brook heard the hum of voices sounding over the rocks, as she listened from her solitude; and soon more shadows fell upon her face. Then looking up she saw the laborer once again; and the Brook rejoiced to think perhaps she was going back again into her pleasant meadow. He had taken up the stick the boy had used; and was looking down below upon the Brook, as the face—the lovely face, with more of the old sorrow in it—of the laborer's daughter, raised itself above his shoulder.

"My brother!—drowned and dead!—and no more to come home alive to share his sister's home."

This the Brook heard, and the fishes swam away into their holes, as piercing, sorrowful human tones mingled with the passing breeze; and they struck deeper into the willow roots as a pair of brawny arms readied out and caught the dead boy, and carried him away.

The boy was gone, but the stain was there; and still a weight remained upon the Brook. For still day after day a shadow fell upon her, and the Brook looking up beheld the lovely but mournful face of the sorrowing sister, who would sit upon the mossy bank and sigh a sob; kissing a lock of golden hair the while. And heavier grew the weight on the breast of the Brook, as scalding tears fell from the rock above upon her face.

And now the Brook again became discontented: and thought of her ambitious sister; and what might have happened had she followed after on a weary round of travels. The old meadow and the alders were out of the question now: for the winter was coming on, and the laborer and the lovely face would no more come to her side; and if they did they would sing no more, but sigh and sob, and look so sad, as now, upon the mossy rock above.

The summer weather was long over; and the leaves were showering down, and had quite hidden the clouds and blue sky, and moon and stars from the sight of the Brook. The birds had ceased to sit and warble on the trees above. The breezes ceased their music, and instead were heard the hoarse notes of the Autumn wind.

CHAPTER III

How the Brooklet and the Mountain-Torrent met.

One day the leaves thickened more than ever over the Brook, and, as she peeped between, she saw the clouds were heavier and darker than usual. The wind roared louder, and the trees which grew so high above her bent down their branches until they brushed her face with their trailing. And soon the rain began to fall in torrents; and it fell and fell all day; all night too. Then the Brook rejoiced to think the leaves which she had been angry with before for choking her, protected from the pattering strokes. And soon the Brook heard a sound, like that made by her ambitious sister in the spring-time;—nearer and nearer it came; through the trees; over the rocks; tearing, splashing, dashing, and foaming at a direful rate.

"It is my ambitious sister come for me. I'm glad," said the discontented Brook.

"Glad of what?" exclaimed a roaring voice, coming over the rock, and sweeping away the leaves as if they had been a mere handful; and covering up the ugly purple stain upon the willow stump. "Ain't I a famous fellow, though? When once my blood is up, can't I go on and frighten people? Can't I mine out the earth, and sweep along big trees like boats? Can't I tumble down the rocks that dare to stop my path? Can't I drown men and boys, and all the cattle in the land? I've swallowed a dozen haystacks for my breakfast, and killed the finest mill-dam over the world this morning. I said I would as soon as winter came, when they dammed me up last spring, so many miles away! Oh, such a mass of stone and timber which they put up to fret me in my path; and what a joke to think this solid mass is scattered through the land since yesternight, and I am free once more."

"This is not my ambitious sister! no indeed," murmured the Brook.

"Why here is a little Brook," continued the voice, "a dainty, prudish, modest Brook, collected in a hole to die! Come out, my fair one! I will wed thee, as I have wedded fifty thousand of your sex in my short day! Come out; no fear; if I am the Mountain-Torrent, I'm not so great a monster as they say, especially to hurt a modest Brook."

So saying the Mountain-Torrent caught up the shrinking Brook in his powerful embrace, and away they hurried through the very heart of the forest, miles and miles below.

"This, this is life indeed," said the wedded Brook, once more a wanderer over the land, as with a thousand other Brooks they travelled on for many hours with impetuous speed, making dreadful havoc everywhere they touched. Havoc among the farmers and the villagers, who fought them inch by inch, with sticks and trees, and mounds of stone and clay, all which they licked up and swallowed, as if they had been pebbles and clumps of leaves. Havoc with the Creeks upon the route, who dared to scorn their overtures, and wed the Torrent, willingly; for spurning the placid, humble Creeks one side, they tore along their paths, and vented their fury on the bridges overhead, bringing down in general destruction, turnpikes and railroads with their pressing weight of travel.

Havoc to themselves!

For, tearing on so madly, the Mountain-Torrent, after a while, perceived his strength to fail, and his endurance to give out. But still he hurried on, though feebly, in hopes to meet more Brooks, perhaps a Lake, and so recruit himself the while. The wedded Brook was wearied too—a little; not much; at first the Mountain-Torrent had held her tightly in embrace, and carried her along with scarcely an effort; but as he wearied himself, much of the toil was thrown upon the Brook, and she was compelled to help herself. On went the Torrent, weaker every step, until at last he stopped and said:

"Oh wedded Brook! my strength is gone; here must I pause; but you go on. Perhaps before long I shall meet you again. Go slowly; over the meadows and through the villages make me a path; I'll know which way you went."

And so they parted; and so the lonely Brook meandered on, and finding out a bubbling spring, was well recruited for the journey. As she went she heard, across a little knoll, a remembered voice, and stopped. "I know you, sister Brook," cried out the voice, "go on a bit and turn towards your left, and there I'll meet you."

And towards the left the lonely Brook met her ambitious sister. She was violent no more; but sober and sedate; calm as the evening sky reflected from her face.

"I'm the 'ambitious one,'" said she, "ambitious yet, though all my strength has departed. Here on this spot was I caught and fastened up. They darkened my daylight with that smoking monster yonder, and killed my peace of mind with such a horrid din and clang, I've not a morsel of energy left. I'm a factory slave; and so are you, too, for that matter, now! Don't start; it's not my fault—the way that you were going on, you would have brought up in the Pond below, where there is yet another smoking monster; only worse than this of mine. The Pond there is a horrid fellow; poisoning with some horrid purple dye: I've seen him often when I venture near the dam and look below."

"Sister, take courage," cried the other Brook. "I'm glad I met you. I'm ambitious too, for I was lately wedded to a glorious fellow, and have been on such a glorious tour: scampering over all the land. He calls himself the 'Mountain-Torrent.' He is now behind a mile or so, and may be down upon us before long, to free us from this distressing imprisonment you speak of."

The monster smoked on; and the clanging din about maddened all the air. Huge wheels went racking and rumbling under huge brick walls. And day by day, a minute at a time, some youthful faces, pale and shadowy, looked wistfully upon the landscape below. But little knew the monster, and the clanging din, and racking wheels; and little hoped the shadowy faces of what the Brooklets plotted at the very factory door.

CHAPTER IV

How the Mountain-Torrent freed the Brooks; and their fate.

The frost dropped on the Brooks, and once more blurred the moon and stars, and shut the sunlight out; and starred a thousand jewels on the mill-dam's brow; and sparkled a myriad icicles from the rumbling wheels. Far away into the country it spread a white mantle, and froze into the very heart of all the Ponds and Creeks above. And then the sun came out and shone so brightly; and then the clouds over-covered it, and the rain came pattering down as of the olden time, when first its peltings stung the meadow Brook and tempted her to roam. And higher swelled the Brooks behind their mill-dam prison, and sent more of their life-blood to refresh the poisoned Pond below.

"I am getting stronger; I am very strong to-day, sister Brook," said the ambitious one. "I think that with our efforts now united, we can push this mill-dam over and escape."

"Wait for my darling Mountain-Torrent. I hear him on his way; he follows after us. And see down yonder hill-side how he tears along; and hark! how gladly, as he sees us from his rocky bed, he roars a song of courage."

And the sister Brooks triumphed together as they saw the keepers of the smoking monster cease their clanging din, and rush for timbers to uphold the dam; and fly about with tools that were but baby toys for what was coming now.

"Bring trees; bring stones; bring every thing," cried out the Brooks, as they saw the Mountain-Torrent come rushing nearer on, sweeping away the fences, and ploughing out a path more fitting for his travels than the brookside one he kept in view.

"Welcome, my fair ones," roared he, as with heavy timbers in his maw he caught the Brooks again in strong embrace, and dashing at the smoking monster, knocked him down at once. Down came the mill-dam with an earthquake noise; the din upon the air was not of clanging tools and hammer stroke; the wheels were racking and rumbling, not beneath brick walls, but over the rocks and ruined factories below; while the pale and shadowy faces looked no longer wistfully on the landscape, but madly rushed about to spread the tale of ruin through the land.

The same old thing! The same old journey over the country. The same old havoc as they went. But the strength of a thousand Brooks seemed given to the Mountain-Torrent as, looking miles away, he saw a wide expanse of water fringed with brown and bluish lines. "It is the Ocean, fair ones," cried he; "when your feeble sights shall see it, bless my power, for at length we reach a home no art of man can invade to fetter us or bind us down. Ten millions of our species mingle there; in small harmony it is true, but better fight among ourselves than ever thus to wage a war with man. Now too approaches the time of our revenge: we'll take his life; we'll sink his ships; we'll break his boasted wealth into uncounted atoms, and scatter it."

The Brooks trembled in the strong grasp of the Mountain-Torrent to hear the vehemence with which he spoke these threatening words; but lost their fears in greater astonishment, as now they neared the ocean waste, fringed with the lines of brown and blue of which he spoke.

"Why, sister, what a noise!" cried one of the Brooks, "our own is not to be heard."

"See what a dreadful wall appears to rise and fall as we approach," answered the other. And they both clung closer to the embrace of the Torrent as he crossed the beach they reached at last, and plunged, with sticks and stones and all, upon the wall of foam and sand, which parted as the Mountain-Torrent and the Brooks joined forces with old Ocean's solemn waste.

In an instant the meadow-born Brook writhed in pain, pressed on by thousands of Mountain-Torrents every way at once. She foamed and fought, and fought and foamed; under and over, up and below she plunged, but no escape; one weary work for ages yet to come!

"Revenge once more! Gather and rage! Dash to ruin ships and sailors!" growled a tone which made the writhing Brook tremble into a million foam-beads, as simultaneously a roaring Tempest clattered by with thunder and lightning in its train, while a clashing hiss, as of something rushing madly through the water, bade the Brook—the sea-slave Brook—look up.

No time for thought; for still the tone was heard, "Revenge once more! gather and rage! dash to ruin ship and sailors!" And still the tempest clattered, and still the hissing of the gallant ship's prow was heard cleaving the maddened waves. On, on! a dash; a crash; a march of maddening waves; a stunning tempest howl, and then the hiss was heard no more. But far and wide were hurried and mashed in one chaotic mass the fragments of the gallant ship.

"How wise he is; how true my Mountain-Torrent spoke," thought the frightened sea-slave Brook, as the clattering tempest, with thunder and lightning in its train, passed out of sight and hearing leagues beyond. "And now I'll rest me on this sandy beach, for this ambitious life is wearisome indeed."

And she nestled closely to a rock, and so crept into grateful rest. But as she lay, she looked beyond her sandy bed to see the lovely face of her early meadow life, when she was but a humble Brook. Pale and ghastly it lay upon a rounded stone; the hair floating out like fairy circles from the marked brow, and on the temple such a purple thickened stain as once had been upon the willow stump.

The Brook came by her side and watched her gently as she lay. Then going farther out, the Brook brought strings of sea-weed, and strung them gayly and softly round her form, and watched her thus again. "Here will I stay," thought the Brook, "and fancy I am still in the sunlight meadow before I wandered forth into ambitious company. There's nought but trouble and pain crossed my path since the rainy days of the latest spring-time. Here will I stay, and ever mourn that I listened to ambitious counselling."