The Desert Home Part 16

"'It is a long time till spring,' said Harry, with rather a discontented air; 'and then we must wait much longer while the corn is growing. It is a very long time to wait.'

"'Come, Master Hal,' rejoined his mother, 'I fear you are one of those who cannot be satisfied, no matter how many blessings are heaped upon them. Remember how many are worse off than yourself--how many are without bread, even where it is plentiest. No doubt, at this moment many a hungry boy in the streets of wealthy London is standing by the baker's window, and gazing at the crisp loaves, with no more chance to eat one of them than you have. He is worse off than you. You have other food--plenty of it--he has none; and, moreover, his hunger is rendered more acute and painful by the sight of the tempting food-- separated from his hand only by a pane of gla.s.s. Poor boy! that pane of gla.s.s is to him a wall of adamant. Think upon this, my son, and learn to be contented.'

"'Indeed, I am so, mamma,' replied Harry, with a look of contrition. 'I did not mean to complain. I was only thinking how nice it would be to have bread, now that we have got both sugar and coffee.'

"'Ah! now, my good Harry,' said his mother, 'since I find you in the proper spirit, I think I must tell you about another curious and useful tree, of which, perhaps, you have not heard.'

"'A bread-fruit now, I'm sure? No, it cannot be that; for I _have_ heard of the bread-fruit.'

"'Still, it might very appropriately be called a bread-fruit, since, during the long winter months, it furnishes bread to many tribes of Indians; indeed, not bread alone, but subsistence--as it is the only food these improvident people have.'

"'I am sure I have never heard of that tree.'

"'Well, I imagine not, as it is not long since it was discovered and described by botanists; and even now it is but imperfectly known to them. It is a pine.'

"'What! a pine with fruit?'

"'Did you ever see a pine without it--that is, in the proper season?'

"'Then you call those cone-shaped things fruit?'

"'Certainly; what else should they be?'

"'Oh! I thought those were the seed.'

"'So are they, and the fruit as well. In botany we have no such word as fruit. What you call fruit is in some trees the seed. In all species of nuts, for instance, the fruit and the seed are one and the same thing--that is to say, the kernel of the nut is both fruit and seed. So it is with leguminous plants, as beans and peas. In other trees, however, the fruit is a substance covering and enclosing the seed, as the pulp of the apple, the pear, and the orange. Now, with regard to the pines, they are nut-bearing trees, and their seed is at the same time their fruit.'

"'But, mamma, you do not mean that any one could eat those rough things that grow upon pine-trees?'

"'Those rough things you speak of are the cones. They are only the sheaths that protect the seeds during a certain period of the year.

They open as nuts do, and then you will find a kernel inside which is the true fruit.'

"'But I have tasted that, too--it is quite bitter.'

"'You have tasted that of the common pine, and you say true of it; but there are many species of pine-trees, whose seeds are not only edible, but pleasant to the taste, and wholesome as an article of food.'

"'What pines, mamma?'

"'Several species are known. Several new ones have been discovered of late years, and in this very Desert. Perhaps in no part of the world is found a greater variety of these valuable trees, than in the mountainous countries which border upon and lie within the Great American Desert.

There is one species in California called "Colorado" by the Spaniards-- which means _red_, because their wood, when sawn up, is of a reddish colour. Trees of this kind are the largest in the world; they are often over 300 feet in height! Only think of a tree 300 feet high, when the tallest we saw in the Mississippi Valley was not much over half that.

Yet there are whole forests of these upon the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. There is another species almost as large on these same mountains. It has been called by botanists _pinus Lambertiana_. It is more remarkable, however, for the size of its cones, which are of the enormous length of eighteen inches--a foot and a half! Fancy how singular a sight it must be--one of these gigantic trees with cones hanging from its branches larger than sugar-loaves!'

"'Oh, beautiful indeed!' exclaimed Frank and Harry at the same time.

"'But, mamma,' added Frank, 'are these the sort that are eaten by the Indians?'

"'Their seeds are also fit to eat, and in times of great distress the Indians and others resort to them for food; but it is not of them I intended to speak. It is of another kind very distinct from either, and yet growing in the same region. It is a small tree, rarely seen of more than thirty or forty feet in height, and with leaves or needles of a much lighter green than the generality of pines. Its cones are not larger than those of the common sort; but the seed or kernel is oily like the American walnut, and quite as agreeable in flavour. They cannot be otherwise than nutritious, since, as I have said, they form the whole subsistence of many people for months in the year. They can be eaten raw; but the Indians usually roast them. When roasted or parched, and then ground in a mill, or broken in a mortar, they make a species of meal, which, though coa.r.s.e in appearance, can be baked into sweet and wholesome bread. This tree is called by the Mexicans "pinon,"

and also by travellers the "nut-pine." The only botanist who has fairly described it has given it the name of _pinus monophyllus_. Perhaps as good a name as any, and certainly the most appropriate--I mean for its popular one--would be the "bread-pine."'

"'But, mamma, does this tree grow in our valley? We have not seen it.'

"'Not in the valley, I think; but I have hopes that we may find it on the mountain. The day we came around from Camp Antelope, I thought I saw a strange species of pine growing up in the ravines. It might be this very one; and I am the more inclined to think so, as I have heard that it grows on the Rocky Mountains--within the lat.i.tudes of New Mexico--and also on all the sierras that lie between them and the Pacific. I see no reason why we should not find it upon our mountain, which is, no doubt, a sort of outlying peak of the Rocky Mountains themselves.'

"'Oh! then,' said Harry, 'shall we not go up to the mountain, and see about it? An excursion to the mountain would be so very pleasant.

Don't you think so, papa?'

"'I do, indeed,' I replied; 'and as soon as we can make a cart for Pompo, so as to be able to take mamma and the children along with us, we shall go there.'

"This proposal was hailed with delight, as all wished very much to visit the beautiful mountain that rose so majestically above us. It was settled, then, that on the first fine day, as soon as our cart should be constructed, we would set forth, and make a grand pic-nic to the Snow-mountain."

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE SNOW-LINE.

"In three days the cart was finished. We had no difficulty in constructing one, as the princ.i.p.al part--that is, the wheels--was already made. We had two pair of them, of course, in our old wagon; and the larger ones, which happened to be in very good order, served our purpose exactly. Cudjo soon attached a body and shafts to them, and Pompo's harness was put into thorough repair.

"We had not long to wait for a fine day. Every day was fine in the clear, pure climate of our valley; so that, as soon as the cart was ready, we had a day to our liking.

"We set out shortly after sunrise, with our hearts full of antic.i.p.ated pleasure. Of course we all went--Mary, the children, Cudjo, Pompo, dogs, and all. The house was again left to take care of itself. Mary and the two little ones rode in the cart, upon a soft seat made of palmetto leaves and Spanish moss. Pompo, who appeared to partake of the general happiness, whisked the vehicle along as if there had been n.o.body in it, and he was only drawing it for his own amus.e.m.e.nt. Cudjo cracked his great wagon-whip, and every now and then uttered a loud 'wo-ha;'

while Castor and Pollux galloped gaily from side to side, running their noses into every bush that grew near the path.

"We soon made our way through the valley, and climbed up to the plain.

We looked once more upon the Desert that stretched away on all sides; but its dreary aspect no longer filled us with fear. We did not regard it now, and the sight inspired us with feelings of curiosity and novelty rather than of terror. Away to the southward the sun was glancing upon the broad expanse of white sand; and several tall objects, like vast dun-coloured towers, were moving over the plain. They were whirlwinds carrying the dust upward to the blue sky, and spinning it from point to point. Sometimes one glided away alone, until it was lost on the distant horizon. Here two of them were moving in the same direction, keeping a regular distance from each other, and seemingly running a race. There several came together; and, after a short gusty contest, the whole set would break up into shapeless ma.s.ses of yellowish clouds, and then float onward with the wind, and downward to the earth again.

It was an interesting sight to view those huge pillars towering up to the heavens, and whirling like unearthly objects over the wide plain.

It was indeed an interesting sight, and we remained for many minutes observing their motions.

"At length we turned our faces toward the mountain, and continued our journey along the edge of the cliffs. The high peak glistened before us, and the sun's rays falling upon it caused it to appear of a beautiful colour--a mixture of gold and red, as though a shower of roses had fallen upon the snow! We noticed that there was now more snow upon the mountain than when we had first seen it, and that it came farther down its sides. This attracted the attention of all of us; and Frank at once called for an explanation, which his mother volunteered to give, for she very well understood the phenomenon.

"'In the first place,' said she, 'as you ascend upwards in the atmosphere, it becomes thinner and colder. Beyond a certain point it is so cold, that neither men nor any other animals can exist. This can be proved in several ways; and the experience of those who have climbed mountains, only three miles high, confirms it. Some of these adventurous men have been nearly frozen to death. This is a fact, then, in regard to the atmosphere over all parts of the earth; but we may also observe, that under the Equator you may go higher without reaching this extreme cold, than in the countries which lie nearer to the Poles.

Another fact, which you will easily believe, is, that in summer you can climb higher before you reach the cold region than in winter. Bear these facts in mind. Now, then, if it be so cold at a certain height that men would be frozen to death, of course at that height snow will not melt. What is the natural inference? Why--that mountains whose tops pierce up into this cold region will most certainly be covered with perpetual snow. It is not likely that anything but snow ever falls upon their summits,--for when it rains upon the plains around them, it is snowing upon the high peaks above. Indeed, it is probable that most of the rain which descends upon the earth has been crystals of snow when it commenced its descent; and, afterwards melting in the lower and warmer regions of the atmosphere, takes the shape of water globules, and thus falls to the ground. These globules, no doubt, are very small when they first emerge from the snow region; but, as they pa.s.s slowly downward through clouds of vapour, they gather together and attract others (by a law which I have not time to explain); and, descending faster and faster, at length plash down to the earth in large drops. Whenever it rains, then, at any particular place, you may be almost certain that it is snowing at the same time over that place--only at a point in the atmosphere far above it. I have been convinced of this fact, by observing that immediately after every occasion when it has rained in the valley, there appeared a greater quant.i.ty of snow upon the mountain.

Had the mountain not been there, this snow would have continued on, and become rain, like that which fell upon the plains, and into the valley.'

"'Then, mamma,' interrupted Frank, 'this mountain must be of great height, since the snow lies upon it all the year.'

"'Does that follow?'

"'I think so. You said the snow did not melt because it was cold high up.'

"'But suppose you were in a country near the North Pole, where snow lies all the year at the very sea-side, and consequently at the sea-level, would it then prove a mountain to be very high?'

"'Oh! I see--I see now. The perpetual snow upon a mountain only shows it to be of great height when the mountain happens to be in warm lat.i.tudes.'

"'Precisely so. In very warm countries, such as those within the tropics, when you see the snow-cap upon a mountain, you may infer that it is a very high one--at least over two miles in height; and when there is much snow upon it--that is, when the snow reaches far down its sides--it proves the mountain to be still higher,--three miles or more above the level of the ocean.'

"'Our mountain, then, must be a high one, since it is in a warm lat.i.tude, and snow lies all the year upon it.'

"'It is a high one, comparatively speaking; but you will remember, when we first saw it, there was only a small patch of snow upon its top, and probably in very hot summers that disappears altogether; so that it is not so high as many others upon this continent. Taking our lat.i.tude into calculation, and the quant.i.ty of snow which lies upon this mountain, I should say it was about 14,000 feet.'