Morning journal and courier., 1890-08-07
Joaquin miller ON Mount shasta.

From His Book, My Own Story.-l
As lone as God, and white as a winter
moon, Mount Shasta starts up sudden and
solitary from the heart of the great black
forests of northern California
You would hardly call Mount Shasta a
part of the Sierras; You would say rather
that it is the great white tower of some
ancient and eternal wall, with nearly all
of the white walls overihrown.
1t has no rival, There Is not even q
snow-crowned subject in sight of its do
minion-s=.A- shining pyramid in mail of
everlasting frosts and ice. the sailor some
times, in a day of singular clearness,
catches glimpses of il from the sea, hum
dretl miles away 10 the west: and it may
be seen from the dome of the capitol
three hundred and forty miles distant.
The immigrant coming from the east be-
holds the snowy, solitary pillar from afar
ont on the arid sage-brush plains, and lifts
his hands in silence as in answer to a sign.
Column upon column of storm-stained
tamarack, strong, tossing pines and war
hke-looking frs have rallied here. They
stand with their backs against this noun
tain, frowning. down dark-browed and
confronting the face of the Saxon They
defy the advance of civilization into their
ranks. What if these dark and splendid
columns, hundred miles in depth, should
be the last to go down in America. What
| if it should be the old guard gathered
here, marshalled around their emperor in
plumes and armor that may die but not
| surrender
Ascend this mountain, stand against tiiTs
snow above the upper belt of pines and
take a glance below. Toward the sea
hrs. e1,..1
est. Mountains, il is true. dip and divide
and break the monOtony as the waves
break up the sea: vet it is still the sea,
still the unbrokcn forest. black and mag
| nificent. To the south the landscape sinks
and declines gradually, but still maintains
its column of dark-plumed grenadieres
till the Sacramento valley is reached, near
| ly hundred miles away. Silver rivers
run here, the sweetest in the world. They
wind and wind among the rocks and mos
sy 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 basketful On the east
the forest still keeps mp unbrolen rank
| till the Pitt river valley is reached. and
even there it surrounds the valley and
locks it mp tight in its black embrace. To
the north, ii is true, Shasta valley makes
quite a dimple in the sable SEA, and men
plough 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
Look intently down among the black
and rolling hills forty miles away to the
west, and here and there yOu viii see a
haze of cloud or smoke hung up above the
| trees; or, driven by the wind that is com
ing from the sea, il may drag and creep
along as If tangled in the tops
These are mining camps. Men are there,
down in these dreadful canyons, out of
the sight of the sun, swallowed up, bur
led in the impeneirable gloom of the for
est, toiling for gold. Each one of these
camps is a world of 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 mountains.
barely wide enough to admit. of footmen
and little Mexican mules, with their appa-
rajos, to pass in single file.
But now the natives of these forests.
lived with them for years. You do not
see the smoke of their wigwams through
the trees. They do no;~smite the noun
tain 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 it to them,
they say, and they have possessed it ever
since. They preserve the forest, keep out
the fires, for it is the park of their deer.