Summary

John H. Williams The Guardians of the Columbia

Behind us lay Eliot Glacier, sloping to the summit of the kindling peak. Before us rose—an ocean!
Mount St. Helens, seen from the Columbia at Vancouver, with railway bridge in foreground.
Never was a marine picture of greater [16] stress. No watcher from the crags, none who go down to the sea in ships, ever beheld a scene more awful. Ceaselessly the mighty surges piled up against the ridge at our feet, as if to tear away the solid foundations of the mountain. Towers and castles of foam were built up, huge and white, against the sullen sky, only to hurl themselves into the gulf.
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Williams The Guardians of the Columbia

Storm-swept White-bark Pines on Mount Hood.
STAND upon the icy summit of any one of the Columbia's snow-peaks, and look north or west or south across the expanse of blue-green mountains and valleys reaching to the sea; your eyes will rest upon the greatest forest the temperate zone has produced within the knowledge of man. Save where axe and fire have turned woodland into field or ghostly "burn," the mantle is spread. Along the broad crests of the Cascades, down the long spurs that lead to the valleys, and across the Coast Range, lies a wealth of timber equaled in no other region.
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Williams The Guardians of the Columbia

In choosing the illustrations, I have sought to show the individuality of each peak. Mountains, like men, wear their history on their faces,—none more so than Hood's sharp and finely scarred pyramid; or Adams, with its wide, truncated dome and deeply carved slopes; or St. Helens, newest of all our extinct volcanoes—if, indeed, it be extinct,—and least marred by the ice, its cone as perfect as Fujiyama's. Each has its own wonderful story to tell of ancient and often recent vulcanism.
Source: Gutenberg

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