Page:Columbia - America's Great Highway.djvu/17



HERE was a time when the waves of a nameless ocean kissed the Westetern slopes of the Rocky Mountains—when unborn continents lay still in the dark, cold womb of fathomless seas. Even then, far—far off shore, the voice of God was heard, and out of the boundless deep He lifted up a mighty mountain range. From North to South it rose like some leviathan stretched at full length, with head and tail touching the mainland, and the Cascade and Sierra Nevada Ranges were created, thus forming an inland sea, a thousand miles or more in length.

How fearful were the sounds! How dark the skies! The earth groaned and trembled as if in travail when this new land was born; the very foundations were broken up, and flames burst forth. The rocks were melted with fervent heat, and white hot magma streams ran down the mountain side into the sea. Steam rose in clouds—lightnings flashed—rain poured in torrents—thunders roared. The whole mass heaved, and rose, and fell, as a bosom moved with passion, until that day's work was done.

When the sun broke through the veil, it shone on a naked land, its only clothing ashes—hot ashes—blowing, drifting everywhere.

For centuries the most active volcanoes were at work. They built up mighty domes reaching into the skies, one mile, two miles, almost three miles high, until the icy-cold of the atmosphere, where they now reared their heads, exceeded the cold of ocean depths whence the uplift came.

Time first closed the smaller vents and fissures, then hushed the greater ones. When the fires from within were extinguished, perpetual snow crowned the loftier peaks.

These great snow fields moved slowly, sliding, pushing downward, producing many an avalanche, and glaciers which extended far into the lower valleys.