ONE of the most remarkable features of the western country consists
in its extensive prairies or savannahs, which prevail in all the vast
region between the Alleghany and the Rocky Mountains, and also to the
west of the Rocky Mountains. When seen from the summits of the Mexican
and the Rocky Mountains, they seem absolutely boundless to the view.
They are not to be considered merely as dead flat, but undulating into
gentle swelling lawns, and expanding into spacious valleys, in the
centre of which is always found a little timber, growing on the banks
of the brooks and rivulets of the finest water. Pike, who viewed them
from the summit of the Blue Mountain, under the source of the Arkansaw,
says, ‘the unbounded prairie was overhung with clouds, which seemed
like the ocean in a storm, wave piled on wave, and foaming; while the
sky over our heads was perfectly clear, and the prospect was truly
sublime.’ In these vast prairies the soil is dry, sandy, with gravel;
but the moment we approach a stream, the land becomes more humid,
with small timber. It is probable that these steppes or prairies were
never well wooded, as, from the earliest ages, the aridity of the
soil, having so few water-courses running through it, and these being
principally dry in summer, no sufficient nourishment has been afforded
to the growth of timber. In all timbered land, the annual discharge of
the leaves, with the continual decay of old trees and branches, creates
a manure and moisture, which are preserved from the heat――the sun not
being permitted to direct his rays perpendicularly, but to shed them
only obliquely through the foliage. But in Upper Louisiana, a barren
soil, dried up for eight months in the year, presents neither moisture
nor nutriment for the growth of wood.
These vast plains of Louisiana, near the upper courses of the
Arkansaw, with its tributary streams, and the head-waters of the
Kanzas, White and Grand Osage rivers, may become in time like the sandy
deserts of Africa; ‘for,’ says Pike, ‘I saw in my route, in various
places, tracts of many leagues, where the wind had thrown up the sand
in all the fancied forms of the ocean’s rolling waves, and on which
not a single speck of vegetation appeared.’ From this circumstance Pike
deduces the following remark: ‘From these immense prairies may arise
a great advantage to the United States, namely, the restriction of
our population to some certain limits, and thereby a continuation
of the Union. Our citizens being so prone to rambling, and extending
themselves on the frontiers, will, through necessity, be compelled
to limit their extent on the west to the borders of the Missouri and
Mississippi; while they leave the prairies, incapable of cultivation,
to the wandering and uncivilized aborigines of the country.’ These
prairies, from the borders of the Mississippi, on the east, to the base
of the Mexican Alps on the west, rise with a continually increasing
acclivity for many hundred miles, till, at the base of the mountains,
they attain an elevation of eight thousand feet, as we are informed
by Pike, which is greater than the elevated level of the great desert
of Gobi, on the north-west of China, estimated by Du Halde to be five
thousand five hundred and eleven feet above the level of the sea, or
the great arid desert, to the north of the cape of Good Hope, traversed
by the Orange river, and lately visited by the Rev. Mr. Campbell, the
elevation of which is estimated by Colonel Gordon at six thousand five
hundred and sixty-one feet above the level of the sea. In addition to
the aridity of the Louisiana prairies, they are so impregnated with
nitre, and other salts, as to taint the waters that flow in various
directions. Pike says, that for leagues together, they are covered
with saline incrustations; and a number of tributary streams descending
into the Arkansaw and Kanzas rivers are perfect salines; and beyond the
river Platte, as we are informed by Colonel Lewis, the lands are not
only destitute of timber, but even of good water, of which there is
but a small quantity in the creeks, and even that is brackish. The
same saline incrustations pervade the prairies on the Upper Missouri;
and the same want of timber, little or no dew, with very little rain,
continues till the neighborhood of the mountains.
The calcareous districts, which form the great portion of the region
west of the Alleghanies, present certain tracts entirely divested of
trees, which are called _barrens_, though capable of being rendered
productive. The cause of this peculiarity has not been accurately
examined. Those parts of this region which are elevated three or
four hundred feet, and lie along deeply depressed beds of rivers, are
clothed with the richest forests in the world. The Ohio flows under the
shade of the plane and the tulip tree, like a canal dug in a nobleman’s
park; while the _lianas_, extending from tree to tree, form graceful
arches of flowers and foliage over branches of the river. Passing to
the south, the wild orange tree mixes with the odoriferous and the
common laurel. The straight silvery column of the papaw fig, which
rises to the height of twenty feet, and is crowned with a canopy of
large indented leaves, forms one of the most striking ornaments of
this enchanting scene. Above all these, towers the majestic magnolia,
which shoots up from that calcareous soil to the height of more than
one hundred feet. Its trunk, perfectly straight, is surmounted with
a thick and expanded head, the pale green foliage of which affects a
conical figure. From the centre of the flowery crown which terminates
its branches, a flower of the purest white rises, having the form of a
rose, and to which succeeds a crimson cone. This, in opening, exhibits
rounded seed of the finest coral red, suspended by delicate threads six
inches long. Thus, by its flowers, its fruit, and its gigantic size,
the magnolia surpasses all its rivals of the forest.
The following excellent description of the prairie country is from
the pen of Mr. James Hall. ‘That these vast plains should be totally
destitute of trees, seems to be an anomaly in the economy of nature.
Upon the mind of an American, especially, accustomed to see new lands
clothed with timber, and to associate the idea of damp and silent
forests with that of a new country, the appearance of sunny plains,
and a diversified landscape, untenanted by man, and unimproved by art,
is singular and striking. Perhaps if our imaginations were divested
of those associations, the subject would present less difficulty; and
if we could reason abstractly, it might be as easy to account for the
existence of a prairie as of a forest.
‘It is natural to suppose that the first covering of the earth would
be composed of such plants as arrived at maturity in the shortest
time. Annual plants would ripen, and scatter their seeds many times
before trees and shrubs would acquire the power of reproducing their
own species. In the mean time, the propagation of the latter would be
likely to be retarded by a variety of accidents――the frosts would nip
their tender stems in the winter――fire would consume, or the blasts
would shatter them――and the wild grazing animals would bite them off,
or tread them under foot; while many of their seeds, particularly such
as assume the form of nuts or fruits, would be devoured by animals.
The grasses, which are propagated both by the root and by seed, are
exempt from the operation of almost all these casualties. Providence
has, with unerring wisdom, fitted every production of nature to sustain
itself against the accidents to which it is most exposed, and has given
to those plants which constitute the food of animals, a remarkable
tenacity of life; so that although bitten off, and trodden, and even
burned, they still retain the vital principle. That trees have a
similar power of self protection, if we may so express it, is evident
from their present existence in a state of nature. We only assume that
in the earliest state of being, the grasses would have the advantage
over plants less hardy, and of slower growth; and that when both are
struggling together for the possession of the soil, the former would at
first gain the ascendancy; although the latter, in consequence of their
superior size and strength, would finally, if they should ever get
possession of any portion of the soil, entirely overshadow and destroy
their humble rivals.
‘We have no means of determining at what period the fires began to
sweep over these plains, because we know not when they began to be
inhabited. It is quite possible they might have been occasionally fired
by lightning, previous to the introduction of that element by human
agency. At all events, it is very evident that as soon as fire began to
be used in this country by its inhabitants, the annual burning of the
prairies must have commenced. One of the peculiarities of this climate
is the dryness of its summers and autumns. A drought often commences
in August, which, with the exception of a few showers towards the
close of that month, continues throughout the season. The autumnal
months are almost invariably clear, warm, and dry. The immense mass
of vegetation with which this fertile soil loads itself during summer,
is suddenly withered, and the whole surface of the earth is covered
with combustible materials. This is especially true of the prairies
where the grass grows to the height of from six to ten feet, and being
entirely exposed to the sun and wind, dries with great rapidity. A
single spark of fire, falling any where upon these plains at such a
time, would instantly kindle a blaze, which would spread on every side,
and continue its destructive course as long as it should find fuel.
Travellers have described these fires as sweeping with a rapidity which
renders it hazardous to fly before them. Such is not the case; or it
is true only of a few rare instances. The flames often extend across a
wide prairie, and advance in a long line. No sight can be more sublime
than to behold in the night a stream of fire of several miles in
breadth, advancing across these wide plains, leaving behind it a black
cloud of smoke, and throwing before it a vivid glare which lights
up the whole landscape with the brilliancy of noonday. A roaring and
cracking sound is heard like the rushing of a hurricane. The flame,
which in general rises to the height of about twenty feet, is seen
sinking and darting upwards in spires, precisely as the waves dash
against each other, and as the spray flies up into the air; and the
whole appearance is often that of a boiling and flaming sea, violently
agitated. The progress of the fire is so slow, and the heat so great,
that every combustible object in its course is consumed. Wo to the
farmer whose ripe cornfields extend into the prairie, and who suffers
the tall grass to grow in contact with his fences! The whole labor
of the year is swept away in a few hours. But such accidents are
comparatively unfrequent, as the preventive is simple, and easily
applied.
‘It will be readily seen, that as soon as these fires commenced, all
the young timber within their range must have been destroyed. The whole
state of Illinois, being one vast plain, the fires kindled in different
places, would sweep over the whole surface, with a few exceptions, of
which we are now to speak. In the bottom-lands, and along the margins
of streams, the grass and herbage remain green until late in the autumn,
owing to the moisture of the soil. Here the fire would stop for want of
fuel, and the shrubs would thus escape from year to year, and the outer
bark acquire sufficient hardness to protect the inner and more vital
parts of the tree. The margins of the streams would thus become fringed
with thickets, which, by shading the ground, would destroy the grass,
while it would prevent the moisture of the soil from being rapidly
evaporated, so that even the fallen leaves would never become so
thoroughly dry as the grass of the prairies, and the fire here would
find comparatively little fuel. These thickets grow up into strips of
forests, which continue to extend until they reach the high table-land
of the prairie; and so true is this, in fact, that we see the timber
now, not only covering all the bottom-lands and hill sides, skirting
the streams, but wherever a ravine or hollow extends from the low
grounds up into the plain, these are filled with young timber of more
recent growth. But the moment we leave the level plane of the country,
we see the evidences of a continual struggle between the forest and the
prairie. At one place, where the fire has on some occasion burned with
greater fierceness than usual, it has successfully assailed the edges
of the forest, and made deep inroads; at another, the forest has pushed
out long points or capes into the prairie.
‘It has been suggested that the prairies were caused by hurricanes,
which had blown down the timber and left it in a condition to be
consumed by fire, after it was dried by laying on the ground. A single
glance at the immense region in which the prairie surface predominates,
must refute this idea. Hurricanes are quite limited in their sphere of
action. Although they sometimes extend for miles in length, their track
is always narrow, and often but a few hundred yards in breadth. It is
a well known fact, that wherever the timber has been thus prostrated,
a dense and tangled thicket shoots up immediately, and, protected by
the fallen trees, grows with uncommon vigor.
‘Some have imagined that our prairies have been lakes; but this
hypothesis is not tenable. If the whole state of Illinois is imagined
to have been one lake, it ought to be shown that it has a general
concavity of surface. But so far from this being true, the contrary
is the fact; the highest parts of the state are in its centre. If we
suppose, as some assert, that each prairie was once a lake, we are met
by the same objection; as a general rule, the prairies are highest in
the middle, and have a gradual declivity towards the sides; and when
we reach the timber, instead of finding banks corresponding with the
shores of a lake, we almost invariably find valleys, ravines, and
water-courses depressed considerably below the general level of the
plain.
‘Wherever hills are found rising above the common plane of the country,
they are clothed with timber; and the same fact is true of all broken
lands. This fact affords additional evidence in support of our theory.
Most of the land in such situations is poor; the grass would be short,
and if burned at all, would occasion but little heat. In other spots,
the progress of the fire would be checked by rocks and ravines; and
in no case would there be that accumulation of dry material which is
found on the fertile plain, nor that broad, unbroken surface, and free
exposure, which are necessary to afford full scope to the devouring
element.
‘By those who have never seen this region, a very tolerable idea may
be formed of the manner in which the prairie and forest alternate, by
drawing a colored line of irregular thickness, along the edges of all
the water-courses laid down on the map. This border would generally
vary from one to five or six miles, and often extend to twelve. As
the streams approach each other, these borders would approach or come
in contact; and all the intermediate spaces not thus colored would be
prairie. It would be seen that in the point formed by the junction of
the Ohio and Mississippi, the forest would cover all the ground; and
that, as these rivers diverge, and their tributaries spread out, the
prairies would predominate.’
Between the Platte river, and the head-waters of the Colorado and
Sabine rivers, there is an extensive desert tract, which has been
called the _Great American Desert_, stretching from the Ozark Mountains
to the Chippewan. Over this desert the members of Long’s expedition
travelled nearly a thousand miles. The intense reflection of light and
heat, from this tract, added much to the fatigue and suffering of their
journey. ‘We often met with extensive districts covered entirely with
loose and fine sand, blown from the adjacent hills. In the low plains
along the river where the soil is permanent, it is highly impregnated
with saline substances, and too sterile to produce any thing except
a few stinted carices and rushes. As we approached the mountains, we
felt or fancied a very manifest change in the character of the weather,
and the temperature of the air. Mornings and evenings were usually calm,
and the heat more oppressive than in the middle of the day. Early in
the forenoon, a light and refreshing breeze often sprung up, blowing
from the west or south-west, which again subsided on the approach of
night. This phenomenon was so often observed, that we were induced
to attribute it to the operation of the same local cause, which in
the neighborhood of the sea produces a diurnal change in the winds,
which blow alternately to and from the shore. The Rocky Mountains
may be considered as forming the shore of that sea of sand, which is
traversed by the Platte, and extends northward to the Missouri above
the great bend. The rarefaction of the air over this great plain, by
the reverberation of the sun’s rays during the day, causes an ascending
current, which is supplied by the rushing down of the condensed air
from the mountains. * * * * For several days the sky had been clear,
and in the morning we had observed an unusual degree of transparency in
every part of the atmosphere. As the day advanced, and the heat of the
sun began to be felt, such quantities of vapor were seen to ascend from
every part of the plain, that all objects at a little distance appeared
magnified, and variously distorted. An undulating and tremulous
motion in ascending lines was manifest over every part of the surface.
Commencing soon after sunrise it continued to increase in quantity
until the afternoon, when it diminished gradually, keeping an even
pace with the intensity of the sun’s heat. The density of the vapor
was often such as to produce the perfect image of a pool of water in
every valley upon which we could look down at an angle of about ten
degrees. This aspect was several times seen so perfect and beautiful
as to deceive almost every one of our party. A herd of bisons, at the
distance of a mile, seemed to be standing in a pool of water, and what
appeared to us the reflected image was as distinctly seen as the animal
itself.[4] Illusions of this kind are common in the African and Asiatic
deserts, as we learn from travellers and from the language of poets.’
The _Pine Plains_ are a district of sandy alluvion, bounded by the
gravelly soil of Guilderland and Duanesburgh on the south-west, and by
the river alluvions of Niskayuna and Watervliet, on the north-east, and
covering an area of about seventy square miles. This tract is included
in a triangle formed by the junction of the Mohawk with the Hudson,
and of which the Helleberg, a lofty chain of highlands, visible from
the plains at the distance of twenty miles, forms the south-western
boundary. Situated near the centre of a state, computed at forty
thousand square miles, and containing a population of nearly two
million souls, this tract presents the topographical novelty of an
unreclaimed desert, in the heart of one of the oldest counties in the
state, and in the midst of a people characterized for enterprise and
public spirit. Several attempts have lately been made to bring this
tract into cultivation, and from the success which has attended the
introduction of gypsum, and other improved modes of agriculture,
it is probable the whole will, at some future period, be devoted to
the cultivation of the various species of grasses, fruit trees, and
esculent roots; three branches of agriculture to which its sandy soil
seems admirably adapted.
GENERAL REMARKS ON PLAINS AND PRAIRIES.
Plains like valleys are of two classes; the high plains, which are
found between two chains of mountains, are frequently of great extent,
and are placed as it were upon the shoulders of secondary mountains;
such are the elevated plains of Tartary, of Persia, and probably of the
interior of Africa. The plains of Quito are twelve thousand feet above
the level of the sea; those of Karakorum, in Chinese Mongolia, are
probably as elevated. The low plains, whose soil is composed of sand,
gravel and shells, seem formerly to have been the basins of interior
seas. Such are the plains on the north side of the Caspian, the large
plain to the south of the Baltic, and that through which the river of
the Amazon flows; the Tehama of Arabia, the Delta of Egypt, and others
of a similar nature, which seem to have been once covered by the waters
of the ocean and its gulfs. The immense plains covered with grass,
called _prairies_ in the United States, are the _steppes_ of Asia, and
the _pampas_ of South America.