Chapter 25 - The Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness by Mayne Reid
The Sugar-Tree
“In the evening, we returned to our house, carrying with us, on the back of Pompo, a good-sized bag of salt. We had evaporated enough to cure our venison, and to last us for several weeks to come. When it should be used up, we knew where to go for more. There was no danger of the spring going dry. We had noticed, previous to the discovery of the salt creek, that the water of the lake was perceptibly brackish; but we had never reflected on the cause. Doubtless, this fact had prevented us from yearning—as we might otherwise have done—for the valuable substance we had now obtained in such plenty.
“That night, after we had finished eating our supper, Harry, who had been all the day burning with curiosity to know what was the important discovery hinted at by his mother, now reminded her of her promise.
“‘Come, now, mamma!’ said he, in a challenging tone, ‘what is it?—What have you found equal to that fine bag of salt, which you will all please to remember is the fruit of my discovery?’
“‘But did I promise to tell you to-night? I said when we should be in low spirits, did I not? We are all happy now!’
“‘Oh! you said to-night,’ replied Harry. ‘Besides,’ added he, trying to look grave, ‘I am in low spirits. I have been so all day—ever since—ever since—’
“‘Ever since you let the kettle against my shins, and went skunk-hunting,’ interrupted Frank, with a laugh, in which Cudjo joined heartily.
“This allusion to Harry’s morning adventure, which had formed the standing joke of the day, was not at all relished by him; and the look of mock gravity which he had assumed now became real. His mother—with whom Harry was a favourite—noticed that he was vexed, and that now was the very time to apply the remedy. She soon, therefore, changed the current of his thoughts, by proposing to disclose the secret she had promised.
“‘Well, then,’ said she, ‘my discovery is this. While we were going up the valley this morning. I saw at some distance over the woods the top leaves of a very beautiful and very valuable tree.’
“‘A tree!’ cried Harry; ‘what! a cocoa-nut?’
“‘No.’
“‘A bread-fruit, maybe?’
“‘No.’
“‘Orange, then?’
“‘No, Harry,’ replied his mother. ‘You must know we are not in that latitude. We are too far north for either bread-fruits, orange-trees, or cocoa-nut palms.’
“‘Ah!’ exclaimed Harry, with a sigh, ‘those three are the only trees I care a fig for.’
“‘How, now, if it were a fig-tree, since you speak of figs?’
“‘Oh! very well,’ replied Harry, ‘figs will do; but I would rather it had been one of the others.’
“‘But it is not even a fig-tree.’
“‘Oh! it is not. What then, mamma?’
“‘That of which I speak is a tree of the temperate zone; and, in fact, grows to greatest perfection in the coldest parts of it. Have you noticed some tall straight trees, with thick foliage of a bright red colour?’
“‘Yes, mamma,’ answered Frank; ‘I have. I know a part of the valley where there are many of them—some of them nearly crimson, while others are orange-coloured.’
“‘Those are the trees of which I speak. The leaves are now of those colours because it is autumn. Earlier in the season they were of a bright green above, and whitish—or, as it is termed, glaucous—on the under surface.’
“‘Oh!’ said Harry, seemingly disappointed with this information. ‘I have noticed them, too. They are very beautiful trees, it is true; but then—’
“‘Then, what?’
“‘They are of no use to us—such big trees as they are. There is no fruit upon them, for I looked carefully; and what then? We do not need their timber, I’m sure. We have as good timber as we want in these tulip-trees.’
“‘Come, Master Hal—not so fast, if you please. There are many parts of a tree which may serve for valuable uses besides its fruit, or its timber either.’
“‘What! the leaves?’ inquired the impatient Harry. ‘What use can we make of leaves?’
“‘Come, brother,’ said Frank, in an improving tone; ‘the leaves of some trees are very valuable. What think you of the tea-plant, for instance?’
“Harry felt rebuked, and remained silent.
“‘We can make no use of the leaves of this tree,’ continued his mother; ‘at least none that I am aware of.’
“‘The bark, then?’ interrogated Harry.
“‘No—not the bark either.’
“‘The roots?’
“‘I know of no peculiar virtue in its roots more than those of the oak, ash, or any other large timber trees.’
“‘What then, mamma? It has no flowers, I am sure; nor fruit neither, except little seeds with wings upon them like a spider-fly.’
“‘Those are its fruit.’
“‘Oh! what use could we make of them? I have seen just the same, or very like them, growing on the common sycamore.’
“‘You are right there, for the common sycamore, as you call it, is a tree of the same family. But I did not say we could make any use of these winged seeds. Can you think of nothing else that belongs to every tree?’
“‘Nothing! Let me see—yes—yes—the sap?’
“‘Ha! the sap!’ repeated his mother, with a peculiar emphasis.
“‘What, mother!’ cried Frank, ‘a maple?’
“‘Yes! a sugar-maple! Now, Master Hal!’
“These words produced a startling effect upon the whole company. Frank and his brother had both heard of the famous sugar-maple, though neither of them had ever seen it. The younger members, Mary and Luisa, knew nothing about maples, but the word ‘sugar’ was more familiar to them; and that, in connexion with the joyous looks of the others, at once produced visions of sweetmeats and candy. Cudjo, too, who had never met with the sugar-maple—as it did not grow in the neighbourhood where Cudjo was himself indigenous—nevertheless liked sugar as well as any of them, and greeted the announcement with delight. Nothing was heard for some moments but cries of joy, mingled with the words ‘sugar’ and ‘sugar-maple.’ Greater is the longing which children, or even men, experience for that which is difficult to obtain; and greater is the delight that is felt upon the prospect of obtaining it.
“After the transport of our little circle had in some degree subsided, Mary proceeded to explain to them the nature of this remarkable tree.
“‘The sugar-maple,’ said she, ‘you may easily distinguish from other trees by its light-coloured bark, and palmate five-lobed leaves, which in summer are of a bright green colour, but in autumn change, as you see, to crimson or orange. It somewhat resembles the English oak in its trunk, branches, and the great mass of foliage which it carries. Its wood is very heavy, and is often used in the manufacture of beautiful articles of furniture, as well as for ships, mills, and other mechanical purposes. But the principal value of this tree is found in its sap; and by the mysterious, but always wise distribution of Nature, it seems to have been given to the people of the temperate and colder latitudes, in place of the sugar-cane—which, as you know, flourishes only in hot and tropical countries.
“‘Each maple,’ continued my wife, ‘will yield annually from three to four pounds of excellent sugar; but to do this, it should be tapped early in the spring—for the sap does not run in the summer or winter. It runs, however, in the autumn—though not so freely as in spring—but we must hope that we shall be able to draw as much from ours as will supply us until spring comes round again.’
“‘But, mamma,’ broke in the inquisitive Harry, ‘when and how shall we get the sap?’
“‘I suppose, Harry, you wish for separate answers to these two questions which you have put so closely together. Well, then—our best time to draw it will be after the very first frost which makes its appearance. It has been found that the sap yields best when the nights are clear and cold, and the days dry and warm.
“‘The manner of extracting the sap, and the process of making the sugar, are both very simple. In the first place, we must make a great many little troughs—one for every tree we intend to tap. These are used to supply the place of vessels, which of course we have not got. The farmers of the United States, who make maple-sugar, also use these troughs—as they will often have several hundred trees running at the same time, and it would be rather expensive for a backwoodsman to supply himself with so many vessels from either the potter, the tinman, or the cooper. But the troughs, which are easily made, answer the purpose just as well; and Cudjo here is able to make them for us.
“‘After the troughs nothing more is needed, except a few joints of the cane which grows here all around us. An auger-hole must be bored in each of the trees, about three feet from the ground. Into each of these holes a single tube of cane must be inserted, so as to form a spout to conduct the running sap into the troughs below. We shall then have nothing farther to do, but wait while the sap gathers in the troughs, collect it into our kettle, and boil it over the fire in the same manner as we have done the salt water.
“‘Now, Master Harry,’ concluded my wife, ‘be patient. Hope for an early frost, and you shall have a practical illustration of all these things.’
“Harry had not long to wait. Upon the third night after, a slight hoar-frost covered the ground, and the day following was bright and warm. This was the very time to tap the maples, and so we set about it.
“Cudjo had already prepared the troughs—more than twenty of them in all. These he made in the usual manner. He cut the trunks of several tulip-trees—those that were about twelve inches in diameter—into logs of three feet each. These logs he split into two equal parts, and hollowed out the split sides with his chisel and mallet—thus forming rude vessels, but quite good enough for the purpose of holding the sap. The cane tubes were also got ready; and proceeding to the trees—all of us together—we bored a hole in each with our auger, fitted in the cane joints, and propped the troughs underneath. In a short time the crystal liquid began to drip from the ends of the spouts, and then it ran faster and faster, until a small clear stream fell into the troughs. The first that issued forth we caught in our cups, as the sugar-water is most delicious to drink; and it seemed as if our little people, particularly Mary and Luisa, would never say ‘enough.’ Harry, too, was as fond of it as they; and was heard to declare that the sugar-maple was the finest tree of the forest, and quite a match for either bread-fruits, oranges, or cocoa-palms. We had brought the large kettle, and a fire was soon kindled, and a crane erected—just as we had done when making our salt. In a few hours the kettle was filled with sap, and boiling over the fire.
“Each of us had our separate duty to perform Cudjo, with his bucket, went from tree to tree, collecting the sap as it gathered in the troughs, while Mary and I kept up the fire, and looked to the ladling. When a kettle of the water was sufficiently boiled down, it was necessary to pour it out into small vessels, that the sugar might crystallise by cooling. For this purpose we used all our plates, dishes, and cups. As soon as it cooled it became hard as a brick, and of a very dark colour. It was then removed from the small vessels, and a fresh quantity poured into them. That part of the sap which would not crystallise was carefully strained from the vessels, and became molasses; and these, let me tell you, are much finer than the molasses that are made from the sugar-cane—much richer in colour, and pleasanter to the palate.
“Frank and Harry had their part to perform—which was to walk about, rifles in hand, and guard the troughs. This was an important matter, for it is a singular fact that wolves, raccoons, badgers, opossums, and, in short, every animal wild or tame, will drink the sap of the sugar-maple, and are so fond of it that they will risk their lives to get at it. As the trees we had opened stood at a considerable distance from each other, our two little sentries were kept constantly relieving one another upon their rounds.
“The sap continued to run for several days; and, of course, we were kept busy during all that time. Had it been in the spring-time, we should have been employed for weeks at it, as it then runs longer and more freely. We were favoured with a smart frost every night, which was a fortunate circumstance, as the water did not gather during the cold hours of the night—otherwise we should have found it impossible to guard the wild animals from our troughs.
“All these nights we slept by the fire, where we had made a regular camp, as is usual in the backwoods of America. We only went to the house when it was necessary to get some article that was needed. We had put up a little tent, made out of our old wagon-tilt, to cover us; and the place we called by the name which is in use among the backwoods farmers—that is to say, a ‘sugar camp.’ We found this out-of-door life very exciting and agreeable, camping thus in the thick shady woods with the great majestic trees towering over and around us—listening at times to the light breeze, as it rustled their golden leaves—or lulled into a pleasing tranquillity by the songs of a thousand birds. At night, however, the music was not so sweet to our ears. Then we heard the barking of wolves, the mournful ‘coo-whoo-a’ of the great horned owl, and the still more terrifying scream of the cougar. But we kept up a crackling, blazing fire all the night, and we knew that this would keep these fierce creatures at bay.
“At length our work was done. The sugar-water flowed each hour more slowly, and then ceased altogether; and we broke up our camp. When we had returned to our house, and collected our many-shaped loaves—for they were of various forms, according to the vessels in which they had been moulded—we found that all together weighed nearly an hundred pounds! This would be enough for all our wants—at least, until the spring, when we purposed returning again to our grand store-house among the sugar-maples.”