The Quadroon

CHAPTER ONE.

THE FATHER OF WATERS.

Father of Waters! I worship thy mighty stream! As the Hindoo by the
shores of his sacred river, I kneel upon thy banks, and pour forth my
soul in wild adoration!

Far different are the springs of our devotion. To him, the waters of
his yellow Ganges are the symbols of a superstitious awe, commingled
with dark fears for the mystic future; to me, thy golden wares are the
souvenirs of joy, binding the present to the known and happy past. Yes,
mighty river! I worship thee in the past. My heart fills with joy at
the very mention of thy name!

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Father of Waters! I know thee well. In the land of a thousand lakes,
on the summit of the "_Hauteur de terre_," I have leaped thy tiny
stream. Upon the bosom of the blue lakelet, the fountain of thy life, I
have launched my birchen boat; and yielding to thy current, have floated
softly southward. I have passed the meadows where the wild rice ripens
on thy banks, where the white birch mirrors its silvery stem, and tall
_coniferae_ fling their pyramid shapes, on thy surface. I have seen the
red Chippewa cleave thy crystal waters in his bark canoe--the giant
moose lave his flanks in thy cooling flood--and the stately wapiti bound
gracefully along thy banks. I have listened to the music of thy
shores--the call of the cacawee, the laugh of the wa-wa goose, and the
trumpet-note of the great northern swan. Yes, mighty river! Even in
that far northern land, thy wilderness home, have I worshipped thee!

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Onward through many parallels of latitude--through many degrees of the
thermal line!

I stand upon thy banks where thou leapest the rocks of Saint Antoine,
and with bold frothing current cleavest thy way to the south. Already I
note a change in the aspect of thy shores. The _coniferae_ have
disappeared, and thou art draped with a deciduous foliage of livelier
hue. Oaks, elms, and maples, mingle their frondage, and stretch their
broad arms over thee. Though I still look upon woods that seem
illimitable, I feel that the wilderness is past. My eyes are greeted by
the signs of civilisation--its sounds fall upon my ear. The hewn
cabin--picturesque in its rudeness--stands among prostrate trunks; and
the ring of the lumberer's axe is heard in the far depths of the forest.
The silken blades of the maize wave in triumph over fallen trees, its
golden tassels giving promise of a rich return. The spire of the church
peers above the green spray of the woods, and the prayer of the
Christian ascends to heaven sublimely mingling with the roar of thy
waters!

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I launch my boat once more on thy buoyant wave; and, with heart as
buoyant, glide onward and southward. I pass between bold bluffs that
hem thy surging waves, and trace with pleasant wonder their singular and
varied outlines--now soaring abruptly upward, now carried in gentle
undulations along the blue horizon. I behold the towering form of that
noted landmark "_La montaigne qui trempe a l'eau_," and the swelling
cone on whose summit the soldier-traveller pitched his tent. I glide
over the mirrored bosom of Pepin's lake, regarding with admiration its
turreted shores. I gaze with deeper interest upon that precipitous
escarpment, the "Lover's Leap," whose rocky wall has oft echoed back the
joyous chaunt of the light-hearted voyageur, and once a sadder strain--
the death-song of Wanona--beautiful Wanona, who sacrificed life to love!

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Onward I glide, where the boundless prairies of the West impinge upon
thy stream; and my eye wanders with delight over their fadeless green.

I linger a moment to gaze upon the painted warrior spurring his wild
steed along thy banks--to gaze upon the Dacotah girls bathing their
lithe limbs in thy crystal wave--then on again past the "Cornice
Rocks"--the metalliferous shores of Galena and Dubuque--the aerial tomb
of the adventurous miner.

I reach the point where the turbid Missouri rushes rudely upon thee, as
though he would force thee from thy onward course. Poised in my light
canoe, I watch the struggle. Fierce but short it is, for thou
triumphest, and thy conquered rival is compelled to pay his golden
tribute to thy flood that rolls majestically onward!