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Chapters (20)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION TO THE 2021 EDITION
  5. AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION
  6. STORM
  7. Epigraph
  8. Dedication
  9. FIRST DAY
  10. SECOND DAY
  11. THIRD DAY
  12. FOURTH DAY
  13. FIFTH DAY
  14. SIXTH DAY
  15. SEVENTH DAY
  16. EIGHTH DAY
  17. NINTH DAY
  18. TENTH DAY
  19. ELEVENTH DAY
  20. TWELFTH DAY

This is the roll-call of those chief summits rising against the first in-sweep of the storm from the ocean. Mt. Sanhedrin. Mt. Kinocti that watches above the lake. Sulphur Peak on whose slopes the geysers fume and spout. Then flat-topped St. Helena, named for a Russian princess, transmuted in romance to Spy-Glass Hill. Tamalpais of the long ridge, overlooking the Golden Gate. Grizzly Peak, high above the tall white tower, facing toward the Bay. Twin-peaked Diablo, where the beacon flashes into the night. Black Mountain over against Loma Prieta, the Dark Hill. Mt. Hamilton of the star-watchers. Fremont Peak where the moldering intrenchments sink yearly closer to the ground. Southward, stretching far off, the ridges which bound the long Valley of the Salt Pools. Out of the pounding surf the Santa Lucias, rearing up their cliffs. Blanco Peak, Mt. Mars, Saddle Mountain by the Bishop’s Town. St. Joseph and St. John. Upon them all was rain.

At last came the turn of the coast and the long trend eastward. There the Coast Ranges lost themselves among those higher mountains which bear the name of Gabriel, the Archangel. And on those peaks which shadow the Town of Our Lady Queen of the Angels—there too was rain.

NINTH DAY

1

Four times in the known history of the earth have the mountains risen like a tide. Three times have the forces of air and water made head against those mountains, eating away the towering granite peaks into little rounded hills. Two hundred and fifty million years is the period of that cycle—majestic among earthly rhythms.

When, as now, the mountains have risen and stand high, then the storms rage most often and most fiercely. When the mountains again are low and the ice-caps melted and the seas grown shallow with wastage of granite, the air grows calm, and the languorous mood of the tropics reaches far toward north and south.

In this great struggle the chief allies of the hills are the plants. They bind the soil with their roots as with fine tough threads. With grass and fallen leaves they mat the earth against the rain-drops.

Dubious partners in the struggle are the animals. A few, like the beavers, work to hold back the water. Some, like the flyers and light-footed climbers, scarcely enter the conflict. The burrowers—rodents, insects, and worms—ease the rush of the water and give it entrance to the earth, but their castings of loose dirt wash away quickly. Worst of all, enemies against the hills, are the grazers and browsers. Like the stag in the fable, they eat away the cover of leaves and grass; with their sharp and hard hoofs they wear trails into the raw earth, and along the trails the running water cuts gullies.