Chapter IV: Part 4

Helen asked if they grow as walnuts and hickory nuts do.

"No," answered her uncle, "they grow inside of a great case or shell. There are from eighteen to twenty-five in one shell, which is nearly as large as a man's head."

"How are the nuts got out of the shells?" asked Mary.

"When they fall, men break them open and take out the nuts," replied Uncle John. "Most of them are sent down the Amazon to the city of Para and from there shipped to the United States and other countries."

None of the children knew where Para is situated, so they all went to the library to look at the atlas. After they had located it, Uncle John told them of his visit to the city and of the wonderful things which he saw on a steamboat trip up the Amazon River.

A STRANGE CONVERSATION

One evening after I had been reading for some time, I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. That part of the house was dark and quiet, and as I stepped through the doorway, I heard low, musical voices, apparently in the pantry. I was very much surprised, you may be sure, and I kept perfectly still, and listened.

"Yes," said a voice, which I could barely hear, "I am a long way from home indeed, and sometimes it makes me quite lonely when I think of it."

"Tell us about your home, and how you lived," said another low voice.

"Well," began the first speaker, "my name is _Pepper_. With twenty-five or thirty brothers and sisters I grew in a cluster on a vine. We were but a small part of the family, for there were similar clusters all over our vine. We were about as large as peas, and grew somewhat after the fashion of currants.

"All about were other vines to which friends and relatives were attached. Pepper vines are always anxious to get to the top, and so some of these vines climbed trees and some twined themselves about poles, which men had set in the ground for this purpose. Our vine was three or four years old when we appeared on it."

"How long did you live on the vine?" asked a voice that I had not heard before.

"Only a few months," replied Pepper. "You see, we had to make room for another set of berries. Two sets appear each year for twenty years or more.

"Under the influence of the tropical sunshine and the warm rains we grew day by day, and we were as happy as the butterflies and birds about us. By and by we began to turn red. All of this time a _hull_ or coat was forming on the outside of our bodies.

"Before we became entirely red, workmen came to the field, and, by rubbing us between their hands, separated us from the stems to which we lovingly clung.

"After having been picked, I was, with many others, placed upon a mat to dry. These mats were all about us, each covered with berries. After being thoroughly dried we were put into a mill and ground, and I became what I am now, _Black Pepper_."

"Are there other kinds of pepper?" asked some one.

"Oh, yes," said Pepper, "there is _White Pepper_, and _Red_, or _Cayenne Pepper_. Some of my friends were made into White Pepper. They were soaked in limewater for about two weeks, and this, of course, softened and wrinkled their hulls which had always fitted so nicely. This was bad enough, but it was not the worst."

"What happened next?" said several voices.

"They were then," continued Pepper, "trodden under the bare feet of dark-skinned men, and this rubbed off their hulls completely. After this they were ground as we had been.

"Cayenne Pepper is not a member of our family at all, although it has the same name. I have looked up its genealogy, and I find that it received its name from the city of Cayenne, in French Guiana, near which it grows. It is in the form of bell-shaped pods, and grows on low, bushy plants instead of vines.

"The pods are green at first, but red when ripe. No doubt you have seen strings of them hanging in the grocery store when you were on the shelves. People sometimes use the pods as they are, but usually they are dried, ground, mixed with yeast, and baked into flat cakes like crackers. When these cakes are ground, Red, or Cayenne Pepper, is produced. It is put up in little boxes just as we are.

"Pepper used to be regarded as a great luxury," the speaker went on. "Until the eighteenth century the Portuguese handled almost all of it. It was not uncommon for rents to be paid with pepper. If any of you have read ancient history, you know that when Alaric took Rome he demanded, among other things, one thousand pounds of pepper as a ransom.

"My home was in the East Indies," said Pepper, "but there are members of our family living in the Philippines, India, Mexico, the West Indies, and other tropical countries."

"Your story is a very interesting one," said a voice, "and now, if you care to hear it, I will tell something of my life."

"Yes, do tell us," said several at once.

"Very well, I will follow the example of our friend Pepper and introduce myself at once. I am known as Ginger. I have relatives living in China, in India, and in the western part of Africa, but I came from the West Indies. The Ginger family is not like that of Pepper; it has no lofty notions."

Pepper seemed a little inclined to get angry, so Ginger hastened to say: "I mean that our vines do not climb trees or poles, but run along the ground. I was a _root_ and not a _fruit_."

"When I was about a year old I, with countless friends, was dug from the ground. We were cut from the vines and put into vats of scalding water."

"That was _dreadful_," said Pepper.

"We were treated in that way to prevent us from _sprouting_," continued Ginger. "After being taken out of the water, we were thoroughly dried and then ground. We were then put up in cans and boxes and sold as _Black Ginger_. Others were scraped before being ground, and they were then called _White Ginger_.

"We were placed on board a great ship and finally landed at New York. After remaining in a large store there for some time, I was brought to the corner grocery, and so I found my way to this shelf.

"I am gradually wasting away, and I shall not last a great while longer. In my tropical home I seemed to be of no use to anybody, while now I am called for frequently by the cook, and my services seem to be appreciated, so I am happy."

"To be of some real use in this world is the greatest joy of life," remarked a strange voice.

There was silence for a moment, and then Ginger said "May we not hear from you, friend?"

"Your stories almost make me believe that I am still in the land of my birth," was the reply.

There was a peculiar little rattle about the voice, which I recognized at once as belonging to Cinnamon.

"For several years I was rocked to and fro by gentle tropic breezes or lashed about by storms. From my perch I could see beautiful flowers, bright insects, and even serpents in the thicket at my feet. Birds of brilliant plumage often perched upon me. My home was on the island of Ceylon.

"It is often said that where there is much bark there is no bite. In my own case that is not so."

"I do not understand," said Ginger.

"Why," said Cinnamon, laughing, "I am _all_ bark, and I have considerable bite, as those who have tasted me know.

"I was taken from one of the smaller limbs of a cinnamon tree. I was slipped within a larger piece of bark, for we each rolled up when stripped from the limbs. A still larger piece was slipped over us and so on until quite a bundle had been formed. Some were quite short, and some were three feet in length."

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End of Project Gutenberg's How We are Fed, by James Franklin Chamberlain