Allen Falls.

 

The cries of the little girl went unnoticed as she was carried downstream. As she splashed and struggled to reach the bank, the noise she was making and the rush of the water drowned out the sound of the falls, but ahead, and getting rapidly closer she could see the rising mist, and even the straight line across the river where the water went over the edge.

      Suddenly, unexpectedly she felt a strong arm around her and in one movement she was pulled bodily out of the water and into the boat.

      Petrified she hardly noticed the sound of the powerful engine that took them both to safety, and into the grateful arms of one of a number of watchers who had heard the motor boat, and then seen the child struggling in the river.

      Everyone was concerned for the little girl, but when they turned to express their thanks to the rescuer there was no sign of him. Both he and his boat had gone.

      That had been more that forty years before and no one ever solved the mystery of the man's identity. It simply became part of the folk-lore of Allen Falls. Folklore which had its roots some sixty years earlier still.

      That folklore was now enshrined for all to see on a commemorative plaque which Harry was now reading. No matter the accompaniment of the pounding sound from the waterfall, for all he could hear was a never-ending roar; constant and deafening. He could hear it more than four miles downstream, but now, only a few hundred yards away from the source he could hear nothing else.

      "Allen Falls' was far from being the highest waterfall in this remote country, and according to some, not the most impressive. But Harry took no notice of what others said.

      "If they can't see the magic as I do, it's their hard luck." he would tell himself. Many a time he had expressed that sentiment as though he had to convince everyone, but when it came down to it, he really didn't care what others thought. To him it was awe inspiring and that was all that mattered.

      Over one hundred and eighty feet it fell, ninety yards wide, and five feet deep where it leapt almost silently over the escarpment. Here it was greeted by a cacophony of sound as the irresistible force and the immovable objects of water and rocks met in interminable conflict. As it fell the water became animated. Twisting and curling it became part of the howling and bellowing cauldron increasing in its intensity until it crashed, foaming and churning into oblivion. Each strand of the moving curtain breaking into a million droplets as it hit the rocks with crashing force, only to be swept away by a million more, and then another million.  All around the deafening roar continued unabated as it had for all time. Incessant, never ending, infinite.

      There were few days when Harry did not visit the falls, and never did he fail to be mesmerised by the spectacle. Raw power combined with a beauty that only nature at its best can conjure.

      Allen falls used to be called by its native name of Torupunda - meaning 'roars like a lion' but about a hundred years before something happened which changed it. There had been unusually heavy rain when a native girl a mile upstream had misjudged the current. Though the six year old was a good swimmer the swollen river and the faster speed got the better of her. The alarm was raised and into his row boat jumped Dr Allen, a missionary medical man, and with three young men helping at the oars went after her. With only a thousand yards from the falls he caught her, and leaning as far as he could grabbed the exhausted girl, and pulled her out of the water. The current was racing at breakneck speed at this point, and the boatmen knew it would take all their strength and effort to fight against it. But inch by inch and yard by yard they increased the distance from the brink of the falls, until, feeling that it was both safe and prudent to get off the water, Allen signalled that they should head for the bank. Here he handed over the frightened girl to one of the many people who had watched the rescue, before getting his crew off the boat, and then himself.

      All attention was on the girl, so no one could actually say just what happened. Perhaps his foot slipped, or a swirl of the current caused an unexpected movement, but the good doctor stumbled, lost his balance and fell into the water, the boat following soon after. No other craft was to hand, and in no time at all he was too far away to be helped, and halfway to the fall. All the people who had been watching the heroism of this man, now stood helpless as he was being swept to a certain death. Nothing could save him, and the people watched horrified as the doomed man in the middle of the river was swept over the edge, followed seconds later by his boat.

      Two years later a ceremony was held renaming the waterfall 'Allen Falls' in honour of the man who had given his life to save another.

      Harry was pleased about that; and about the location of the monument. They had cleared an area a little downstream of the waterfall, where there was a good view of the magnificent spectacle. Here a stone platform had been built with seats all around, and a plinth at its centre. On the plinth was a plaque which described the falls, and the event. It also included a citation to the man's bravery.

      Dr Allen's boat - the citation continued - was smashed beyond recognition, but of the man himself there was nothing. His body had never been found, despite a long and extensive search. Eventually it was concluded that it had been carried far by the river before being devoured by some of its carnivorous residents.

      Harry turned as if to leave when he heard the sound of voices. The monument didn't get all that many visitors these days compared to earlier times, but occasionally a visiting party found its way. He stood quietly to one side as three people arrived.

      He recognised Beneta at once; a local lady from the village and indeed a descendant of the child had had been plucked from certain death nearly a century earlier. By curious coincidence she was also the girl saved by the mysterious stranger some forty years ago. The years had treated her kindly since then, and with her was her daughter and her two year old grandson. Now he watched as she carefully detached a flower from the bunch she was carrying and dropped it in the swiftly flowing current. Then she give her daughter a handful, and one by one they proceeded to throw them into the water.

      "Why are you doing that gram-ma?" asked the boy.

      "Because when your Great Grandmother was little, just a bit older than you, a very brave man saved her from being killed by the waterfall, but he slipped and fell in the river before anyone could save him, or even thank him."

      She made no reference to her own narrow escape, for no connection of the two incidences had ever been made.

Now Benita looked at her grandson, knowing he would not understand, but hoping that one day, like his mother, he would. "So you see, every year on the anniversary of that day she brought some flowers so that she could say thank you."

      She looked at him again, but although he was already engaged in some other activity she carried on with her story. "Now she is gone I carry on the tradition,"

      Benita's daughter finished the story. "And one day I will take over, and we hope that there will always be someone to bring some flowers to thank him for his bravery."

       Benita looked at her daughter and Grandson. "I only wish I knew what happened to him all those years ago. His body was never found."

      All the flowers were gone now, whisked away in the fast flowing water and they turned to leave, but something caused Benita to stop and half turn,      

      "Oh Benita" she heard a whisper. Despite the roar of the waterfall she heard it clearly as Harry Allen breathed into her ear. He was weary of the mystery, and feared the prospect of indefinite suspension between life and death, like a modern flying Dutchman. "Tell them to look for an underwater cave on the East side of the narrow rapids about four miles downstream." he whispered.

      Benita turned around, looking; searching; but there was no-one to be seen but herself, her daughter, and her grandson.

      Then she heard it again, a man’s voice, unfamiliar, soft, but quite clear,  "Tell them they will find my bones there, where they have lain for a century”.

      Again she searched around for someone to appear, to identify himself, but she could see no-one.

      Benita turned to face away from her daughter. "Why now?" she asked, quietly, almost to herself.

      "I think it's time; I think I have paid my debt, and now I need to rest." his whisper told her, before an unexpected breeze whistled around the viewing platform and took the whisper away.

      "What is it ma?" her daughter asked. "You look as if you have seen a ghost."

      Benita smiled, calm now, untroubled she replied.

      "No; I don't think I've seen a ghost," She paused, wondering for just a second if she dare tell her daughter. "But I think I may have heard one, and now I know who saved me."