But nature herself, in that
upper district, seemed to have had an eye to nothing besides
mining; and even the natural hill-side was all sliding gravel and
precarious boulder. Close at the margin of the well leaves would
decay to skeletons and mummies, which at length some stronger gust
would carry clear of the canyon and scatter in the subjacent woods.
Even moisture and decaying vegetable matter could not, with all
nature's alchemy, concoct enough soil to nourish a few poor
grasses. It is the same, they say, in the neighbourhood of all
silver mines; the nature of that precious rock being stubborn with
quartz and poisonous with cinnabar. Both were plenty in our
Silverado. The stones sparkled white in the sunshine with quartz;
they were all stained red with cinnabar. Here, doubtless, came the
Indians of yore to paint their faces for the war-path; and
cinnabar, if I remember rightly, was one of the few articles of
Indian commerce. Now, Sam had it in his undisturbed possession, to
pound down and slake, and paint his rude designs with. But to me
it had always a fine flavour of poetry, compounded out of Indian
story and Hawthornden's allusion:
"Desire, alas! I desire a Zeuxis new,
From Indies borrowing gold, from Eastern skies
Most bright cinoper . . ."
Yet this is but half the picture; our Silverado platform has
another side to it.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123