The old town of Beverly, which was a part of Salem during the era of
witchcraft, abounds, like other townships on the northern coast of
Massachusetts Bay, in rugged and romantic scenery. On one of the bald
hills of this town, a pond fed by a spring near the top of the hill
served as a watering-place for the flocks that were pastured there. The
only tree on this elevation of bare granite, interspersed with little
meadows of thin soil, covered with sweet-fern and whortleberry-bushes,
stood on the brink of this pond. It was an ancient Tupelo, and attracted
the attention of every visitor by the singular manner in which it spread
its long branches in a crooked and horizontal direction over this
emerald pool. It became the wonder of all that the tree should adopt
such an eccentricity of habit, hardly showing a single branch on the
land side, and bending over the water like an angler sitting at his
task. It was evident that it had never been trimmed into this shape by
artificial means. Many people, therefore, believed that its grotesque
appearance had some connection with witchcraft, and that the witches who
were hanged upon it had caused all the branches to wither and fall on
the side that held the victims.
This tree has, I believe, no representative on the old continent; and
though there are several species in the United States, only one is found
in New England. Here it is one of the most remarkable trees as a
picturesque object in landscape. Indeed, there is no other tree, not
excepting the oak, that will compare with it in certain eccentricities
of habit. It has received a variety of names in different parts of the
country, being called “Swamp Hornbeam,” from the toughness of its wood;
“Umbrella Tree,” from a peculiar habit of some individuals to become
flattened and slightly convex at the top. Among our country people it is
known as the “Wild Pear,” from a fancied resemblance between its foliage
and that of the common pear-tree. The resemblance seems to consist only
in the size and gloss of its leaves. In the Middle and Southern States
it is called the “Sour Gum,” to distinguish it from the “Sweet Gum,” or
_Liquidambar_. The name of Tupelo was given it by the aboriginal
inhabitants.
The shapes assumed by the Tupelo are exceedingly grotesque, though it is
frequently as regular in its growth as our most symmetrical trees. It is
sometimes quite erect, extending its branches horizontally and pretty
equally on all sides, but generally forming a more or less flattened
top. More frequently the Tupelo displays no symmetry of any kind,
extending its branches mostly on one side, and often putting forth two
or three branches greatly beyond all the others. Many of these are
considerably twisted, inclining downward from a horizontal position, not
with a curve like those of the elm, but straight, like those of the
spruce, though without any of its formality. The spray is very different
from that of other trees. Every important branch is covered all round,
at top, bottom, and sides, with short twigs, at right angles with the
branch. Some of the swamp oaks resemble the Tupelo in fantastic shape,
but they never have a flattened top.
The Tupelo is the very opposite of the ash in its general characters;
the one is precisely regular in its habits, the other eccentric and
grotesque. The leaves and small branches of the ash are opposite, those
of the Tupelo alternate; the one has a coarse, the other a finely
divided spray: so that there are no two trees of the forest so entirely
unlike. It is remarkable that an isolated situation, which is favorable
to symmetry and good proportions in other trees, increases the specific
peculiarities of the Tupelo. If it has stood alone and sent forth its
branches without restraint, it then displays the most grotesque
irregularity, showing that its normal habit of growth is eccentric.
The foliage of the Tupelo is remarkable for its fine glossy verdure. The
leaves are oval, narrowing toward the stem and rounded at the extremity.
The flowers are greenish and inconspicuous, borne in minute umbels on
the end of a long peduncle. They produce small berries of a deep blue
color, containing a hard stone. This tree is one of the brightest
ornaments of our forest in autumn; the fine green color of its foliage
attracts our attention in summer, and in winter its grotesque forms,
rising out of the shallow meres, yield a romantic interest to these
solitary places. It is not well adapted to dressed grounds, but
harmonizes only with rude, desolate, and wild scenery.