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Updated: May 22, 2025
But enough of these examples of the mighty stream's eccentricities for the present I will give a few more of them further along in the book. Let us drop the Mississippi's physical history, and say a word about its historical history so to speak.
Billy had sat down beneath the shade of the most hospitable of the bushes a hundred feet or so away, and was taking off her veil and gloves. I was carrying to her the lunch box. When I was about halfway from where the boys were drinking at the stream's edge to where she sat, a buffalo bull thrust his head from the bushes just the other side of her.
So we turned back, picked up the men with the waterbuck, and plodded on down the little stream, or, rather, on the red-hot dry valley bottom outside the stream's course, to where the syces were waiting with our horses. We mounted with great thankfulness. It was now eleven o'clock, and we considered our day as finished.
And as though we were sinking in that sky stream's depths its light kept lessening, darkening imperceptibly with luminous shadows of ghostly beryl, drifting veils of pellucid aquamarine, limpid mists of glaucous chrysolite. Fainter, more crepuscular became the light, yet never losing its crystalline quality. Now the high overhead river was but a brook; became a thread. Abruptly it vanished.
"On the stream's bank, and everywhere, appeared Fair dwellings, single or in social knots; Some scattered o'er the level, others perch'd On the hill-sides a cheerful, quiet scene." There is a Gothic quaintness about all the buildings in the Cotswolds, great and small alike, which is very charming. Bibury is indeed a pretty village.
My heart was too full for words it was all too wonderful to understand; enough that I knew Zarlah to be wholly mine, and in those few silent moments of absolute happiness and contentment, the little stream's merry laughter seemed to swell into the great joyous chorus of all creation, behind which is the great love principle.
The first verse of this poem runs: Reticulations creep upon the slack stream's face When the wind skims irritably past. The current clucks smartly into each hollow place That years of flood have scrabbled in the pier's sodden base; The floating-lily leaves rot fast. One could make as good music as that out of a milk-cart. One would accept such musicless verse only from a man of genius.
I was afraid he might have been injured on a rock, but my anxiety was soon relieved when I saw him running along the shore to overtake the komatik where it had been stopped to wait for him below. This gulch was exceedingly narrow, with mountains, lofty, rugged and grand rising directly from the stream's bank, some of them attaining an altitude of five thousand feet or more.
It came from the earth, of this he was sure, and thus he was reminded anew of the caves which Hide-and-Seek Creek threaded in its long course. There was some opening near by, doubtless, that led to subterranean passages, dry enough here, since it was the stream's whim to flow in the open sunshine instead of underground. He would have given much to search for it had he dared.
He wore long water-boots reaching above his knees, and, instead of making a circuit to find a bridge by which he might cross the Froom the river aforesaid he made straight for the point whence proceeded the low roar that was at this hour the only evidence of the stream's existence.
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