But the pomp and circumstance of the old castle—still the most striking artificial feature now in all Alaska—will never wake to the echoes of that proud and lavish hospitality which once reigned within its walls, and when the flashing light in its lofty cupola carried joy out over the dark waters of the sound to the hearts of inbound mariners, who came safely into anchor by its gleaming—the elegant breakfasts and farewell dinners given to favored guests, where the glass, the plate, viands, wines and appointments were fit for regal entertainment itself—all these have vanished, and naught but the uneven, slowly settling floors, warped doors, and general mouldiness of the present hour greets the inquiring eye. So heavy are its timbers, and so faithfully were they keyed together, that in spite of neglect, the ravages of decay and frequent vandalism, yet, in all likelihood, an age will elapse ere the structure is removed by these destroying agencies now so actively at work upon it. Moved by the desire to preserve the salient features of this historical structure, the author made, during one clear June day, a pre-Raphaelitic drawing of it,[15] as his vessel swung at anchor under its shadows; in it the reader will observe that the rocky eminence which it crowns is covered to the very foundations and to the promenade cribbing that surrounds them, with a thick growth of alders, stunted spruces, and other indigenous vegetation. That walk around the castle, which was artificially reared thereon, gives a most commanding view of everything, over all objects in the town and Indian village, and sweeps the landscape and the sound. Another picture from the promenade walk under the flagstaff is also given, in order that a faint effect may be conveyed to the reader of the exceeding beauty of the island-studded Bay of Sitka. Descending and standing immediately under the castle on the beach, to the right you have a perfect Alpine scene as you look east along the pebbly shore to the living green flanks of Mount Verstova, which carry your gaze up quickly over rolling purplish curtains of fog to the snowy crest of it, and other lofty crests _ad infinitum_, over far beyond. The little trading stores on the left in this view hide the track so well known in Sitka as the “Governor’s Walk,” for this is the only direction out to the saw-mill in the middle distance, in which the earth lies smooth and dry enough in all this archipelago for a clean mile-jaunt. These still blue and green waters are alive with food-fishes, while the dense coverts on the mountains harbor grouse and venison in lavish supply; the oyster and the lobster you have not, but the clam and the crab are here in overwhelming abundance and excellence. “Ah!” you exclaim, “if it were not for this eternal rain, this everlasting damp precipitation, how delightful this place would be to live in!” FOOTNOTES: