The Romance of Plant Life
Kerner has described how the little flowers of Soldanella penetrate the snow by actually melting a passage for themselves through it (see p. 103).
This high temperature and vigorous life, shown also by the rapid transpiration of flowers,27 seems to hint that colours and perfumes appear in consequence of rapid chemical transformations.28
It was, of course, by degrees that the extraordinary variation in colour, which exists in nature, came about. No doubt bees, bumble-bees, wasps, and the more intelligent flies were improved and developed æsthetically. We can almost tell by looking at a flower what sort of insect probably visits it.
Not only so, but there are the neatest imaginable contrasts and blends of colour. The common Bluebeard Salvia, e.g., has the uppermost leaves (three-quarters to an inch long) of a deep, rich, blue-purple, which the roving Bumble-bee will see from a long way off. The Bumble-bee flies to this great splash of her favourite hue and for a second buzzes angrily, then she notes the small bright-blue patches on the upper lips of the small flowers below the leaves which are set off by white hairs of the upper and yellow hairs of the lower lip.
That bees really do understand and are guided by colour may be gathered from the following unfortunate accident. A certain hive of bees which had been brought up in a blue-striped skep became accidentally scattered. They tried to find their way back to their old home, but many strayed, and it was noticed that they had tried to enter the doors of every blue hive, which were strewn with the bodies of the unfortunate intruders.29
The rich blue-purple of Aconite, the dark strong red of the Woundwort (Stachys silvatica) are specially beloved by bumble-bees and hive-bees. Butterflies like any bright colour. Those flies which have a long, sucking proboscis, resemble the bees in their tastes, but all these insects are quite capable of finding out where they can get honey most easily, and visit flowers whatever the colour may be.
A very strange and wonderful fact is that quite a number of plants prefer the dark, or rather the dim, mysterious light of the gloaming. Then the Honeysuckle, the Evening Campion, the Night-scented Stock, Tobacco, and Schizopetalon give out their strongest scent and open out their white flowers as widely as possible. That is because they wish to attract the owlet moth and others which come out at this time, when there are fewer enemies and more security. If you look at any of these moth-flowers at mid-day, they are for the most part closed up, they are not particularly attractive, and they are giving out very little scent. The contrast to their condition in the evening is most striking.
Not only insects but birds are used to carry pollen. The gorgeous little humming birds, with their brilliant metallic crimson, bronze-green, and purple, are of the greatest importance in the New World. In the Old World they are replaced by the tiny Nectarinidæ or Sunbirds, with breastplates almost as exquisitely jewelled. They prefer the most gorgeous reds and scarlets, such as that of Salvia horminum, Lobelia cardinalis, and the like. Fuchsias are regularly visited by them in Tierra del Fuego, where sometimes they may be seen busily at work during a shower of snow. In South Africa they seize the stem of a Redhot Poker (Tritoma) (Kniphofia macowanii), and twisting their little heads round, they suck the honey from every blossom in succession. Still more interesting it is to see them perched on the edge of one of those great tumbler-like heads of Protea (e.g. P. incompta) and dipping their slender curved beaks repeatedly into the flowers. Then the little male bird will alight on a branch and make the most elaborate preparation for a song of triumph. Although helped out by fluttering of wings and much display of feathers and tail, the song is a very faint cheep of the feeblest description, and very difficult to hear.
Not only birds but even animals are sometimes called into the service. There is a group of small mammals which live on the honey of flowers. Even the Kangaroo is said to occasionally take a draught of nectar from some of the cup-like flowers of the Australian Dryandra (Proteaceae).
But one of the most interesting and extraordinary facts is the manner in which flowers fit in. They begin early in the morning: one blossom opens out and then another; all endeavouring to catch the attention of some passing insect. Allionia violacea opens at three or four a.m., and closes about eleven or twelve. Some wild Roses open about four or five in the morning, as well as the Chicory, Roemeria, etc. Virginian Spiderwort, Dandelion, and Nightshade are ready at six in the morning. A great many (Buttercups, White Water Lily, etc.) are open by seven a.m. Most of these early flowers are shut at noon. Others begin to close about three or four in the afternoon. The regular evening moth-flowers open about six p.m., though Cactus grandiflorus does not open till nine or ten p.m., and closes at midnight.30 Extraordinary as these variations seem, they are easily explained. Some open early because there are then few competitors. By far the greater number are open from nine a.m. till one or two p.m., because those hours are the favourite working time of most insects.
Flowers live for very different periods. That of the Wheat only lasts for fifteen or twenty minutes (its pollen is carried by wind), and is then over. There are others, Hibiscus and Calandrinia, which only remain open for three or four hours, but a Foxglove will last six days, a Cyclamen ten days, whilst Orchids may last for from thirty to eighty days (Cypripedium villosum, seventy days, Odontoglossum Rossii, eighty days).
Thus the sun every day through the summer, as he calls into life new swarms of insects, sees at every hour of the day new flowers opening their petals to his genial warmth and ready for the new bees and flies. The development of the flower and that of its insect are probably simultaneous, and equally regulated by the sun's warmth. Moreover the opening periods do not merely fit in during the day, but each flower has its own special month, and even in Scotland there is no month in which some flower may not be found in bloom. Any stray wandering insect can get its draught of honey at any season of the year.
This is a matter of some importance for those who keep bees, and the following list may be of some use. February: Crocus vernus, Snowdrop, Black Hellebore, and Hazel. March: The preceding, Arabis alpina, Bulbocodium, Cornus mascula, Helleborus fœtidus, Giant Coltsfoot, Gooseberry, various species of Prunus and Pyrus, Willow. April: The preceding as well as Adonis vernalis, Barbarea vulgaris, Brassica napus.
It is not worth while noting those that bloom from May to September, for there are hundreds of good bee-flowers in these months. In October: Borage, Echium, Sunflowers, Lycium europæum, Malope grandiflora, Catmint, Tobacco, Ocimum, Origanum, Phacelia tanacetifolia, and others. Most of these last into November.31 In December and January very few plants are in bloom. The following have been noted at Edinburgh Botanical Gardens: Dondia epipactis, Tussilago fragrans, Snowdrop, Geum aureum, Hepatica, Primula acaulis, P. veris, Aubrietia deltoidea, Crocus imperati, C. suaveolens, Erica herbacea alba, Helleborus (3 species), Polygala chamaebuxus, Andromeda floribunda; also Sir H. Maxwell32 mentions Azara integrifolia, Hamamelis arborea, and Chimonanthus fragrans. Of wild plants, Chickweed, Whin or Furze, Lamium purpureum, and Dandelion can generally be found in the depth of winter.
The contrivances which can be found in flowers, and by which the insect is forced to enter exactly along the proper path, are endless. Each flower has some little peculiarity of its own which can only be understood by thoroughly examining the plant itself. It is not therefore possible to do justice to the ingenuity of flowers in a work of this sort. There are orchids which throw their insect visitors into a bath of water, so that they have to crawl with wet wings up a certain path where they touch the pollen masses and stigma; others which hurl their pollen masses at the visitor. In the Asclepiads a groove is provided into which the leg of the insect slips, so that it has to struggle to get its foot out, and must carry off the pollen masses, though it often fails and leaves its leg behind. Some Arums and Aristolochias have large traps in which they imprison the insects, and only let them go when they are sure to be pollen-dusted. In one of these flowers there are transparent spots on the large petal-prison, which so attract the insects that they remain opposite them instead of flying out (just as flies do on a window-pane). Salvia has a stamen which is like a see-saw on a support; the bee has to lift up one end, which brings the other with its pollen flat down on to its back. The Barberry has a sensitive spot on its stamen; when the insect touches the spot, the stamen springs up suddenly and showers pollen upon it. In Mimulus the two flaps of the stigma close up as soon as they are touched, which will be when they have scraped off any pollen; then when the creature withdraws, covered with the flower's own pollen, none of this can be left on its own stigma, as this is shut up.
But instead of reading, one should watch a bumble-bee visiting the Foxglove flowers. The sight of her busily thrusting her great hairy body into the bell, which almost exactly fits her shape, while she gurgles with satisfaction, will teach the reader far more about the romance of flowers than many pages of description. If he then carefully examines the flower, he will see how the honey, the arched converging stamens, and the style, are placed exactly in the right place and where they will have the most effect.33
One orchid, Angraecum sesquipedale, has a spur eighteen inches long, and the great Darwin suggested that there must be an insect somewhere with a tube long enough to reach the honey. Such an insect, a large moth, was actually brought home from Madagascar, the place where this orchid occurs, after a lapse of many years!
Perhaps more remarkable than anything else are such cases as the Yucca and the Yucca-moth or the Fig-wasp and the Fig.
The Yucca is a fine lily-like plant resembling the Aloes in general appearance. A particular sort of moth lives entirely upon the Yucca. When the flowers open, the mother-moth kneads up a ball of pollen and places an egg inside. This ball she thrusts down the style into the ovary of the flower. There a grub develops from the egg and eats the pollen, yet some of this pollen fertilizes the young seeds. If Yuccas died out the moth would be exterminated. If the moths were destroyed, no Yuccas would ever set their seed!
The Fig has two sorts of flower. The one (caprifig) produces only male or pollen-yielding flowers. The other is the true edible fig. Inside the caprifig are the grubs of the fig-wasp, which rejoice in the name of Blastophaga grossorum. When grown up these force their way out of the caprifig and, flying to the true fig, the mother-wasp lays her eggs in certain flowers which have been apparently specially modified for the purpose. At the same time she covers the ordinary flowers with pollen from the caprifig. Her progeny return to the caprifig. Here again the future of a valuable fruit-tree is absolutely bound up with the fortunes of a tiny and in no way attractive wasp!
Another very remarkable case is that of those flowers (Stapelia, etc.), which in colour and general marking closely resemble decaying meat or other objectionable substances. Very often the smell of such flowers is exceedingly strong, and resembles the ordinary smell of putrid matter. In one case an artist employed to paint the flower had to use a glass bell, which was put over it. He could only lift it for a second or two at intervals in order to see the exact colour, before the horrible odour obliged him to cover it over again. Blowflies and others, which are in the habit of resorting to such substances, seek out these flowers in great numbers and lay their eggs upon them. In so doing they carry the pollen.
There are certain fungi which have quite as horrible a smell, and some of them also resemble decaying animal matter. These are most eagerly sought out by the same blow-and other flies (bright green lucilias, yellow-brown scatophagas, bluebottles, etc.). But in the case of these fungi it is the spores, not pollen, which is carried by the insect.
The effect of this flowery sort of life is abundantly evident in the structure of the insects themselves. Their mouth has been most wonderfully modified into a complex sucking apparatus; their legs have been transformed to act as pollen-carrying baskets, and the habits and tastes of the insects have been modified in the most extraordinary way.
Perhaps also the association of bright colours with a very pleasant sensation – that of a full, satisfying meal – has raised the artistic sensibilities of butterflies, sunbirds, humming birds, etc. For certainly these flower-haunting birds and butterflies are remarkable for their brilliant colouring. This has probably been brought about by the preference of the females for the most brilliantly coloured male butterflies and humming birds.
At any rate bright reds and blues are common to both bird or insect and to the flowers that they frequent. But the most curious point of this whole question lies in the fact that human beings of all grades, South Sea Islanders, the Ancient Greeks, Peruvians, Japanese, Romans, as well as the Parisians and Londoners of to-day, appreciate the beauty of colouring and grace of form which are so obvious in the world of flowers.
Yet man has had nothing whatever to do with the selection of either these colours or shapes. Many of those which he considers most precious (such as the weird, spotted, and outlandish Orchids of Madagascar and South America) have very likely scarcely ever been seen by man at all. It is to the artistic eye of the honey-bee, bumble-bee, butterfly, and of the humming bird and sunbird, that we owe these exquisite colours. The grace and beauty of outline probably depend upon their perfect symmetry and on the perfect suitability of every curve to its purpose.
Therefore it seems that the eyes of man, whether savage or civilized, are pleased and comforted by these same colours that delight the little brains of insects and birds.
This is indeed a mysterious fact.
CHAPTER VI
ON UNDERGROUND LIFE
Mother-earth – Quarries and Chalk-pits – Wandering atoms – The soil or dirt – Populations of Worms, Birds, Germs – Fairy Rings – Roots miles long – How roots find their way – How they do the right thing and seek only what is good for them – Root versus stones – Roots which haul bulbs about – Bishopsweed – Wild Garlic – Dandelion, Plantain – Solomon's Seal – Roots throwing down walls – Strength of a seedling root.
THE word "Adam" means red earth. Poets and essayists still regularly write about Mother-Earth and, in so doing, admit one of the most interesting and wonderful facts in Nature.
If you go to some quarry or cliff where a section has been cut, laying bare the original rock below; then (with Hugh Miller) you may reflect on the extraordinary value of those few inches of soil which support the growth of all our trees and of all our cultivated plants.
It is probable that plant-roots never go deeper than about thirty feet. All our food, our energy, and activity depend therefore on this thinnest surface-layer of an earth which is 8000 miles in diameter. But in most places the depth of true soil is far less than thirty feet, generally it is not more than thirty inches, and by far the most valuable part of it is a very thin layer five or six inches thick.
It is in this true soil that the roots gain their nourishment, and not only roots, for whole populations of worms, of germs, of insects, even of birds and the higher animals, live upon it. To it return the dead leaves, the bodies of dead insects, and waste products of all kinds. Within it, they are broken to pieces and worked up again by the roots of other plants in order to form new leaves, new insects, and food for bird and beast. Just as in engine-works, you may see old engines, wheels, and scrap-iron being smashed into pieces; they are melted down and again worked up into engines of some improved design.
On a chalk-cliff, which dates from the long-distant Cretaceous period, the entire thickness formed by the yearly work of plants for millions and millions of years is often less than a foot in depth, and probably only four to five inches are true soil.
But this is an exceptionally thin stratum, although it is capable of producing rich turf, fat snails, and excellent mutton. In peat-mosses and in those buried forests which form the coalfields, vegetable matter may accumulate in deposits of thirty feet of coal. Yet these stores of carbonaceous matter seem to be at first sight miserly and selfish, at least from a vegetable point of view.
They resemble the gold and silver withdrawn from circulation in the world by some Hindoo miser and buried deep within the earth. Yet somebody is pretty certain to find out and make use of such stores eventually.
In the case of the peat and coalfields, an animal of sufficient intelligence to utilize them has already been produced, and now they are used by man as fuel.
It is very important to remember that the soil is a sort of last home to which the particles of carbon, of nitrate, and minerals always return after their wanderings in the bodies of plants, of insects, or of other animals. They probably rest but a short time before they again set off on new adventures.
One might say the same of the water, and of the carbonic acid gas and oxygen of the atmosphere, for the water, falling as rain upon the earth, trickles down to the underground water-level. Then it immediately begins to rise up between the particles of earth and is promptly caught and sucked in by the roots, only to be again given out by their leaves. The carbonic acid gas and oxygen also are always entering and leaving the foliage. Even the nitrogen of the air is not left alone in the atmosphere. There are small germs in the soil which are able to get hold of it and make it into valuable nitrates.
More curious still is the fact that electric charges can be used to change the comparatively useless air-nitrogen into useful manures. Probably the farmer will some day make his own nitrates by electricity.
The structure of the soil or earth is a most interesting and romantic part of botany. It is true that a "radical" disposition is necessary if one is to go to the root of the matter, but, unless we do this, it is impossible to realize the romance of roots.
Down below is the unaltered rock, sand, or clay. Next above it comes the subsoil, which consists of fragments of the rock below, or of sand, clay, etc., more or less altered by deep-going roots. Even in this subsoil, bacteria or germs may be at work, and the burrows of worms and insects often extend to it. Next above the subsoil comes the true soil; there is plenty of the stones, soil, sand, or whatever it may be that constitutes the subsoil, but its richness consists in its contents of valuable minerals, and especially of broken-up leaves, corpses of insects, and manure. Above this true soil are first the leaf-mould of two years ago, then that of the year before last, and on the top is the leaf-mould and other decayed products of last winter.
All these upper layers are full of life and activity, which probably goes on vigorously all the year round.
The population of worms is especially important. The worm is a voracious and gluttonous creature: it is for ever swallowing bits of leaves and rich soil. Inside its body there are lime-glands which act upon the vegetable food and improve its quality as manure. The worm comes up to the surface at night or early morning and leaves the worm-casts upon it. The rain then washes the rich, finely-divided matter of the casts down into the soil again. It is said that there are about 160,000 worms at work in an acre of good soil. Yet their life is full of danger. A keen-eyed population of blackbirds, thrushes, starlings, peewits (plover), and partridges are always watching for and preying upon the poor worm. Even in his burrows, which may be six feet deep, he is not safe, for the mole (moudiewarp) is also both very hungry and very active, and delights in eating him.
In the soil also and even deeper in the subsoil are many insects; some hibernate in the winter, and at other times actively gnaw the roots of plants or devour dead leaves and twigs (see Chapter xxiii.). Thus there are many burrows and holes, so that there is no want of air in the soil, which is indeed necessary both for these creatures and also for the roots of the plants.
Rain comes down through the soil, carrying with it carbonic acid, mineral salts, and also germs or bacteria, which form perhaps the most important population of all.
No work could be carried on without their help; it is bacteria which, at every stage of decay, assist in breaking up leaves, twigs, insects' bodies, worm-casts, and other manures. The way in which they work is too difficult to explain here, but to get an idea of the romance of the underground world one must try to picture to oneself these swarms and myriads of germs and bacteria all incessantly and busily engaged at their several duties. In the uppermost layers there are probably in a single cubic inch of good soil from 54,000,000 to 400,000,000 of these microbes. Many are absolutely necessary to the harvest; a few may be of little importance, but there are sure to be some of those dangerous sorts which might devastate a continent with disease in a single summer.
There are also quantities of other fungi. The fairy rings which one sees year after year in widening circles of bright, fresh green are the work, not of fairy footsteps, but of an underground fungus (Marasmius oreades and others). Its threads are thin, white, and delicate; they attack the roots of grasses, etc., on the outer side of the ring. It is therefore on this outer side yellow, dry, and more or less withered. On the inner side, however, the grass is luxuriant and of a rich bright green. Here the fungus has died off, and its remains, as well as those of the plants which it destroyed, form a rich manure for the new grass following on its track. Every year the ring widens; at a certain time in summer one sees the irregular line of mushroom-like fungi which are formed by the destructive underground absorbing threads. This, however, is but one of the underground fungi. There are many kinds; some are useful, others are very destructive.
Upon the upper surface of the soil there falls not only rain, but another sort of rain consisting of seeds, dead leaves, insects' bodies, fungus spores, bacteria, and dust.
Every year when the ploughman turns the sod there is a revolution in the whole of these populations.
So far nothing has been said about the roots themselves, which penetrate, explore, and exploit all these layers of dead leaves, soil, and subsoil.
The length of roots produced is very much greater than any one would suppose. A one-year-old Scotch fir seedling when grown in sand produced in a season a total length (branches, etc.) of no less than thirty-six feet of root. The total surface of this root system was estimated to be about twenty-three square inches. This little Scotch fir after six months' growth was laying under contribution a cone of earth twenty to thirty inches deep and with a surface of 222 square inches. In certain kinds of corn the same author estimated the total length of the roots as from 1500 to 1800 feet. S. Clark estimated the length of the roots of a large cucumber plant as amounting to 25,000 yards (fifteen miles), and made out that it was occupying a whole cubic yard of ground.
Clover roots are said to go down to depths of six or nine feet, but many weeds go deeper still. Coltsfoot, for instance, may be found, according to a friend of mine, living at a depth of twenty spades. In Egypt and other places the roots of acacias go down to twenty feet or even further, so that they can tap the water supplies, which are at a great depth.