, 1890-08-28
MOUNT SHASTA.

!
MOUNT SHASTA.
A Description of II In Joaquin MIL
| ier's Most Picturesque styio.
AS lone as God, and white as Il
winter moon, Mount Shasta starts
up sudden and solitary from the
heart of the great black forests of
Northern California, writes Joaquin
Miller in "My own Story"
You would hardly call Mount
Shasta part of the Slerras; you
would say rather that IL is the great
tower of some ancient and eternal
wall, with nearly all Of the white
walls overthrown.
1t has no rival! Therei is not even
q snow-cr0wned subject In sight of
its dominion. A shining pyramid
in mail of everlasting frosts and ice,
the sailor sometimes, In II day of
singular clearness, catches glimpses
of 1t from the sea, hundred miles
away to the west; and IL may be
seen from tho dome of the capitol.
$40 miles distant. The immigrant
coming from the east beholds the
snowy solitary pillar from afar out
on the arid sage-brush plains, and
lifts his hands In silence as in answer
to sign.
Column upon column of storm
stained tamarack, strong, tossing
pines and war-like-looking frs have
rallied here. They stand with their
backs against this mountain, frown-
ing down dark-browed and con-
fronting the face of the Saxon.
They defy the advance of civiliza.
ton into their ranks. What if these
dark and splendid columns, 100
miles i'm depth, should be the last to
20 down in America! What If 1t
should be the old guard gathered
here, marshaled around their en-
peror in plumes and armor that may
die, but not surrender
Ascend this mountain, stand
against the snow above the upper
belt of pines and take glance be-
low. Toward the sea nothing but
the black and unbroken forest.
Mountains, 1t is true, dip and divide
and break the monotony as the
waves break up the sea; yet it is
still the sea, still tile unbroken for
est, black and magnificent. To the
south the landscape sinks and de-
cIines gradually, but still maintains
its columns of darb-plumed grenad-
iers, till the Sacramento valley is
reached, nearly a hundred miles
away. Silver rivers run here, the
sweetest in the 80 world. They
wind and wind among the
rocks and messy roots, with
California lilies, and the yew
with scarlet berries dipping IN
the water, and trout idling in the
eddies and cool places by the basket
full. On the east the forest still
keeps up unbrolien rank till the Pitt
river valley Is reached, and even
there 1t surrounds the valley and
locks 1t up tight in its black en-
brace. To the north, it is true,
Shasta valley makes quite dimple
in the sable sea, and men plow there
and MeXicans drive their mules or
herd their mustang ponies on the
open plain. But the valley Is
limited, surrounded by the forest,
confined and imprisoned.
Looking intenuy down among
the black and rolling hills, forty
miles away to the west, and here
and there you see haze of cloud or
smoke hung up above the trees; or,
driven 10y the wind that is coming
from the sea, 1t may drag and creep
along as if tangled in the tops.
These are mining camps. Men
are there, down in those dreadful
canyons, out of the sight of the sun,
swallowed up, buried in the impene-
trable gloom of the forest toiling
for gold. Each one of these camps
Is world by itself. History, ro-
nance, tragedy, poetry, In every
one of them. They are connected
together, and reach the outer world
only by a narrow little pack trail,
stretching through the timber,
stringing round the the mountains,
barely wide enough to admit of foot
men and little Mexican mules with
their apparajos, to pass in single
file.
But now the natives of these for
ests. | lived with them for years.
You do not see the smoke of their
wigwams through the trees. They
do not smite the mountain rocks
for gold, nor fell the pines, nor roll
up the waters and ruin them for the
fishermen. All this magnificent
forest is their estate. The Great
Spirit made this mountain first of
all and gave 1t to them, thcy say,
and they have possessed 1t ever
since. They preserve the forest,
keep out the fires, for 1t Is the park
of their deer.