I sought safety and a place of lookout on a crag, and picked bits of granite gravel from my anatomy. Presently I heard a m.u.f.fled creaking, and looked up to see a gigantic landslide starting. At first it moved slowly, seemed to hesitate, then slid faster, with its stone-filled front edge here and there doubling and rolling under; finally the entire ma.s.s broke into yawning, ragged fissures as it shot forward and plunged over a cliff. Waiting until most of the straggling, detached riffraff had followed, I hastened to examine the place just evacuated.

In getting down I disturbed a ground-hog from his rock point, and found that he was in the same att.i.tude and position I had seen him holding just before the slide started, so that the exhibition had merely caused him to move his eyes a little.

In the cracks and crevices of the glaciated rock-slope from which this ma.s.s had slid, there were broken, half-decayed roots and numerous marks which showed where other roots had held. It seems probable that if the grove which sustained them had not been destroyed by fire, they in turn would have anch.o.r.ed and held securely the portion of land which had just slipped away.

I went over the lower slopes of the burned area and had a look at numerous new-made gullies, and near the forks I measured a large one.

It was more than a hundred feet long, two to four feet wide, and, over the greater part of its length, more than four feet deep. It was eroded by the late downpour, and its misplaced material, after being deposited by the waters, would of itself almost call for an increase of the river and harbor appropriations.

Late in the afternoon, with the storm breaking, I stopped and watched the largest torrent from the devastated region pour over a cliff. This waterfall more nearly represented a liquefied landslide, for it was burdened with sediment and spoils. As it rushed wildly over, it carried enormous quant.i.ties of dirt, gravel, and other earthy wreckage, and some of the stones were as large as a man's hat. Now and then there was a slackening, but these momentary subsidences were followed by explosive outpourings with which mingled large pieces of charred or half-decayed wood, sometimes closely pursued by a small boulder or some rock-fragments. Surely, these deforested slopes were heavy contributors to the millions of tons of undesirable matter that annually went in to fill the channel and vex the current of the Mississippi!

These demonstrations brought to mind a remark of an army engineer to the effect that the "Western forest fires had resulted in filling the Missouri River channel full of dissolved Rocky Mountains." The action of the water on this single burned area suggested that ten thousand other fireswept heights must be rapidly diminishing. At all events, it is evident that, unless this erosion is stopped, boats before long will hardly find room to enter the Mississippi. It now became easier to account for the mud-filled channel of the great river, and also for the innumerable bars that display their broad backs above its shallow, sluggish water. Every smooth or fluted fill in this great stream tells of a ragged gulch or a roughened, soilless place somewhere on a slope at one of its sources.

What a mingling of matter makes up the mud of the Mississippi,--a soil mixture from twenty States, the blended richness of ten thousand slopes! Coming up the "Father of Waters," and noting its obstructions of sediment and sand, its embarra.s.sment of misplaced material, its dumps and deposits of soil,--monumental ruins of wasted resources,--one may say, "Here lies the lineal descendant of Pike's Peak; here the greater part of an Ohio hill"; or, "A flood took this from a terraced cotton-field, and this from a farm in sunny Tennessee." A mud flat itself might remark, "The thoughtless lumberman who caused my downfall is now in Congress urging river improvement"; and the shallow waters at the big bend could add, "Our once deep channel was filled with soil from a fire-scourged mountain. The minister whose vacation fire caused this ruin is now a militant missionary among the heathen of Cherry Blossom land."

Wondering if the ouzel's boulder had been rolled away, or if the deep hole above it, where the mill men caught trout, had been filled with wash, I decided to go at once and see, and then return for a final look about the forks. Yes, the boulder was missing, apparently buried, for the hole was earth-filled and the trout gone. So it was evident that forests were helpful even to the fish in the streams. I took off my hat to the trees and started back to the junction. On the way I resolved to tell the men in the mill that a tree is the most useful thing that grows, and that floods may be checked by forests.

The storm was over and the clouds were retreating. On a fallen log that lay across the main stream I lingered and watched the dark and white waters mingle. The white stream was slowly rising, while the dark one was rapidly falling. In a few days the one from the barren slopes would be hardly alive, while the other from among the trees would be singing a song full of strength as it swept on toward the sea.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FULL STREAMS]

The forest-born stream is the useful and beautiful one. It has a steady flow of clear water, and fishermen cheerfully come to its green, mossy banks. The buildings along its course are safe from floods, and are steadily served with the power of its reliable flow; its channel is free from mud and full of water; it allows the busy boats of commerce freely to come and go; in countless ways it serves the activities of man. It never causes damage, and always enriches and gladdens the valley through which it flows on to the sea.

A song roused me from my revery. The sky was almost clear, and the long, ragged shadows of the nearest peaks streamed far toward the east. Not a breath of air stirred. Far away a hermit thrush was singing, while a thousand spruces stood and listened. In the midst of this a solitaire on the top of a pine tree burst out in marvelous melody.

The Fate of a Tree Seed

The Fate of a Tree Seed

The ripened seeds of trees are sent forth with many strange devices and at random for the unoccupied and fertile places of the earth.

There are six hundred kinds of trees in North America, and each of these equips its seeds in a peculiar way, that they may take advantage of wind, gravity, water, birds, or beasts to transport them on their home-seeking journey.

The whole seed-sowing story is a fascinating one. Blindly, often thick as snow, the seeds go forth to seek their fortune,--to find a rooting-place. All are in danger, many are limited as to time, and the majority are restricted to a single effort. A few, however, have a complex and novel equipment and with this make a long, romantic, and sometimes an adventurous journey, colonizing at last some strange land far from the place of their birth. Commonly, however, this journey is brief, and usually after one short fall or flight the seed comes to rest where it will sprout or perish. Generally it dies.

One autumn afternoon in southeastern Missouri, seated upon some driftwood on the shallow margin of the Mississippi, I discovered a primitive craft that was carrying a colony of adventurous tree seeds down the mighty river. As I watched and listened, the nuts pattered upon the fallen leaves and the Father of Waters purled and whispered as he slipped his broad yellow-gray current almost silently to the sea. Here and there a few broad-backed sandbars showed themselves above the surface, as though preparing to rise up and inquire what had become of the water.

This primitive craft was a log that drifted low and heavy, end on with the current. It was going somewhere with a small cargo of tree seeds.

Upon a broken upraised limb of the log sat a kingfisher. As it drifted with the current, breezes upon the wooded hill-tops decorated the autumn air with deliberately falling leaves and floating winged seeds.

The floating log pointed straight for a sand-bar upon which other logs and snags were stranded. I determined, when it should come aground, to see the character of the cargo that it carried.

Now and then, as I sat there, the heavy round nuts like merry boys came bounding and rattling down the hillside, which rose from the water's edge. Occasionally as a nut dropped from the tree-top he struck a limb spring board and from this made a long leap outward for a roll down the hillside. These nuts were walnut and hickory; and like most heavy nuts they traveled by rolling, floating, and squirrel carriage.

One nut dropped upon a low limb, glanced far outward, and landed upon a log, from which it bounced outward and went bouncing down the hillside _aplunk_ into the river. Slowly it rolled this way and that in the almost currentless water. At last it made up its mind, and, with the almost invisible swells, commenced to float slowly toward the floating log out in the river. By and by the current caught it, carried it toward and round the sand-bar, to float away with the onsweep toward the sea. This nut may have been carried a few miles or a few hundred before it went ash.o.r.e on the bank of the river or landed upon some romantic island to sprout and grow. Seeds often are carried by rivers and then successfully planted, after many stops and advances, far from the parent tree.

The log hesitated as it approached the sand-bar, as if cautiously smelling with its big, rooty nose; but at last it swung round broadside, and sleepily allowed the current to put it to bed upon the sand. As a tree, this log had lived on the banks of the Mississippi or one of its tributaries, in Minnesota. While standing it had for a time served as a woodp.e.c.k.e.r home. In one of the larger excavations made by these birds, I found some white pine cones and other seeds from the north that had been stored by bird or squirrel. A long voyage these seeds had taken; they may have continued the journey, landing at last to grow in sunny Tennessee; or they may have sunk to the bottom of the river or even have perished in the salt waters of the Gulf.

In climbing up the steep hillside above the river, I found many nests of hickory and walnuts against the upper side of fallen logs. Upon the level hill-top the ground beneath the tree was thickly covered with fallen nuts; only a few of these had got a tree's length away from the parent. Occasionally, however, a wind-gust used a long, slender limb as a sling, and flung the attached nuts afar.

The squirrels were active, laying up a h.o.a.rd of nuts for winter. Many a walnut, hickory, or b.u.t.ternut tree at some distant place may have grown from an uneaten or forgotten nut which the squirrels carried away.

The winged seeds are the ones that are most widely scattered. These are grown by many kinds of trees. From May until midwinter trees of this kind are giving their little atoms of life to the great seed-sower, the wind. Most winged seeds have one wing for each seed and commonly each makes but one flight. Generally the lighter the seed and the higher the wind, the farther the seed will fly or be blown.

In May the silver maple starts the flight of winged seeds. This tree has a seed about the size of a peanut, provided with a one-sided wing as large as one's thumb. It sails away from the tree, settling rapidly toward the earth with heavy end downward, whirling round and round as it falls. Red maple seeds ripen in June, but not until autumn does the hard maple send its winged ones forth from amid the painted leaves.

The seed of an ash tree is like a dart. In the different ashes these are of different lengths, but all have two-edged wings which in calm weather dart the seed to the snowy earth; but in a lively wind they are tumbled and whirled about while being unceremoniously carried afar; this they do not mind, for at the first lull they right themselves and drop in good form to the earth.

Cottonwoods and willows send forth their seeds inclosed in a dainty puff or ball of silky cotton that is so light that the wind often carries it long distances. With the willow this device is so airy and dainty that it is easily entangled on twigs or gra.s.s and may never reach the earth. The willow seed, too, is so feeble that it will often perish inside twenty-four hours if it does not find a most favorable germinating-place. This makes but little difference to the willows, for they do not depend upon seeds for extension but upon the breaking off of roots or twigs by various agencies; these pieces of roots or twigs often are carried miles by streams, and take root perhaps at the first place where they go around.

The seeds of the sycamore are in b.a.l.l.s attached to the limbs by a slender twiglet. The winter winds beat and thump these b.a.l.l.s against the limbs, thus causing the seeds to loosen and to drop a few at a time to the earth. Each seed is a light little pencil which at one end is equipped with a whorl of hairs,--a parachute which delays its fall and thus enables the wind to carry it away from the parent tree.

The conifers--the pines, firs, and spruces--have ingeniously devised and developed their winged seeds for wind distribution. Most of these seeds are light, and each is attached to a dainty feather or wing which is used on its commencement day. These wings are as handsome as insects' wings, dainty enough for fairies; they are purple, plain brown, and spotted, and so balanced that they revolve or whirl, glinting in the autumn sun as they go on their adventurous wind-blown flight to the earth. A high wind may carry them miles.

With the pines and spruces the cones open one or a few scales at a time, so that the seeds from each cone are distributed through many days. The firs, however, carry cones that when ripe often collapse in the wind. The entire filling of seeds are thus dropped at once and fill the air with flocks of merry, diving, glinting wings. A heavy seed-crop in a coniferous forest gives a touch of poetry to the viewless air.

The lodge-pole pine is one of the most patient and philosophical seed-sowers in the forest. It is a prolific seed-producer and has a remarkable h.o.a.rding characteristic,--that of keeping its cones closed and holding on to them for years. Commonly a forest fire kills trees without consuming them. With the lodge-pole the fire frequently burns off the needles, leaving the tree standing, but it melts the sealing-wax on the cones. Thus the fire releases these seeds and they fall upon a freshly fire-cleaned soil,--a condition for them most favorable.

Although the cherry is without wings or a flying-machine of its own, it is rich enough to employ the rarest transportation in the world.

With attractively colored and luscious pulp it hires many beautiful birds to carry it to new scenes. On the wings of the mockingbird and the hermit thrush,--what a happy and romantic way in which to seek the promised land!

Many kinds of pulp-covered seeds that are attractive and delicious when ripe are unpleasant to the taste while green; this protective measure guards them against being sown before they are ready or ripe.

The instant persimmons are ripe, the trees are full of opossums which disseminate the ready-to-grow seeds; but Mr. 'Possum avoids the green and puckery persimmons!

The big tree is one of the most fruitful of seed-bearers. In a single year one of these may produce some millions of fertile seeds. These mature in comparatively small cones and, each seed being light as air, they are sometimes carried by high winds across ridges and ravines before being dropped to the earth.

The honey locust uses a peculiar device to secure wind a.s.sistance in pushing afar its long, purplish pods with their heavy beanlike seeds.

This pod is not only flattened but crooked and slightly twisted.

Dropping from the tree in midwinter, it often lands upon crusted snow.

Here on windy days it becomes a kind of crude ice-boat and goes skimming along before the wind; with its flattened, twisted surface it ever presents a boosting-surface to the breeze.

The ironwood tree launches its seeds each seated in the prow of a tiny boat, which floats or careers away upon the invisible ocean of air, sinking, after a rudderless voyage, to the earth. The attachment to some seeds is bladder- or balloon-like; tied helplessly to this, the seed is cast forth briefly to wander with the wandering winds.

The linden, or ba.s.swood, tree uses a monoplane for buoyancy. The ba.s.swood attaches or suspends a number of seeds by slender threads to the centre of a leaf; in autumn when this falls it resists gravity for a time and ofttimes with its clinging cargo alights far from the tree which sent it forth.

Burr- or hook-covered seeds may become attached to the backs of animals and thus be transported afar. One day in Colorado I disturbed a black bear in some willows more than a mile from the woods; as he ran over a gra.s.sy ridge three or four pine cones that had been hooked and entangled in his hair went spinning off. Seeds sometimes are internationally distributed by becoming attached by some sticky substance--pitch or dried mud--to the legs or feathers of birds.

Cottonwood seed often has a long ride, though generally a fruitless one, by alighting in the hair of some animal. Sometimes a cone or nut becomes wedged between the hoofs of an animal and is carried about for days; taken miles before it is dropped, it grows a lone tree far from the nearest grove.

Though the witch-hazel is no longer invested with eerie charms, it still has its own peculiar way of doing things. It chooses to bloom alone in the autumn, just at the time its seeds are ripe and scattering. a.s.sisted by the frost and the sun, it scatters its shotlike seeds with a series of snappy little explosions which fling them twelve to twenty feet from the capsule in which they ripen.

The mangrove trees of Florida germinate their seeds upon the tree and then drop little plants off into the water; here winds and currents may move them hither and yon as they blindly explore for a rooting-place.

The cocoanut tree covers its nuts with a kind of "excelsior" which prevents their breaking upon the rocks. This also facilitates the floating and transportation of the nut in the sea. When the breakers have flung it upon rocks or broken reefs, here its fibrous covering helps it cling until the young roots grow and anchor it securely.

Thus endlessly during all the seasons of the year the trees are sowing their ripened seed and sending them forth, variously equipped, blindly to seek a place in which they may live, perpetuate the species, and extend the forest.