Santa Cruz County History
HISTORY OF SANTA CRUZ COUNTY, CALIFORNIA.- E. S. Harrison, Pacific Press Publ. Co., San Francisco, 1891
CHAPTER VII.
THE GARDENS OF THE SEASHORE.
BY C. L. ANDERSON.
IF we would get at the secrets of Nature, and be enabled to read her works with understanding minds, we must learn her language, and get the meaning, in the first place, of her simplest and commonest words. We must understand the first principles of her language, as revealed in the beginnings of things. Without this the study of the earth and the planets, the stars and space, motion and force, would be comparatively fruitless.
I propose, therefore, to consider some of the first of organic forms—the letters that make up the words, and the words that make up the sentences, that may be read in the rocks, in the waters, and in the air.
In the study of marine botany we have to deal with the beginnings of life. Here we find protoplasm and the cell in their primitive, simplest form, easiest to recognize and understand. Without seeing the machinery of life thus simplified, we can hardly form a distinct idea of the intricacies as seen in the progressive forms of plants and animals.
What that force is that is planted in a bit of plastic matter—or, more properly speaking, what that principle is that exists as a center, and draws about it material from all directions, yet has no limit of wall or membrane reaching out and commanding the atoms to fall into line and march to some definite design—science does not tell us. It is beyond the sense of vision, aided by the best of microscopes. Chemistry or natural philosophy cannot unfold it. It is, possibly, an infinitesimal brain with sympathies wide as the universe, yet home so narrow that it cannot be measured by any of the means at our command; a principle of illimitable possibilities, and yet it has been impossible for the human mind, so far, to comprehend it. We have called it vitality, or the life principle. It is that force which takes hold of matter and rearranges its elements, forming them into definitely-shaped bodies, that move and grow, and then die and fall to pieces. It differs from chemical affinity, and yet, as an eminent microscopist has said, "There is on the one hand the drop of resin gum or mucus, held together by the natural chemical affinity, and on the other hand there are certain living beings so exceedingly simple in structure that they may be compared to a drop of gum or mucus, but from which they are distinguished by being held together and animated by the affinity which is called the principle of life."
It has been held by some that life is but a mechanism, that runs for a time and then stops—a living machine, in which matter is decomposed and its elements rearranged. " Molecular machinery" is the term, existing in matter, conditioned so that it may run for a season and then cease. But there is something that conditions this machinery, that supplies the animation, that generates the vitality, that designs the shape of the body, and that superintends all the processes of growth, maturity, death, and disintegration; something that makes the tall forest tree, the monster whale, and the humble seaweed, into such different patterns from simple cells not distinguishable by our senses from each other.
But our purpose is not to speculate about the unknowable, but rather to consider a few things, plain and simple, coming so near the hand of the Maker that some of us think we almost know how the work is done, and that we are nearly wise enough to do it ourselves. The probability, however, is that we are as distant from a solution of the mystery of life, and know as little of it, as we know of some almost invisible star that went down last evening behind the western sea.
Impressions of seaweeds are found in the oldest sedimentary rocks, and are doubtless the earliest of organized things. The plant preceded the animal. Its duty was and is to prepare the mineral kingdom for ready appropriation by the animal. The sea brought forth plants and animals in abundance before there was any dry land. At certain times and places the plant growths in the sea must have been very abundant. They were of such a tender and evanescent growth that, with few exceptions, all signs of their existence have disappeared. I may mention here that one large and interesting family of the Algae, the Diatoms, made up of silicious framework, admired and studied by all microscopists, has been left in large deposits, adding much to the bulk of sedimentary rocks. Some portions of the mountains on the northern shore of Monterey Bay are largely made up of minerals that are the result of marine plants—silex, lime, and alumina. How important and extensive, then, must have been these plants when the sea covered the earth's surface, if not quite, universally. By them the water was kept in purity, so that animals might live therein. And all the way down through the epochs of the earth's progress they have continued, and still continue, to exert a salutary influence.
There are but few, if any, deserts in the sea. Almost every drop teems with spores of plants, and in many places the waters are so filled with dense tangles of vegetation that ships cannot pass through. So that it has become proverbial that the sea is our mother. Even the same word in many languages is used for sea and for mother. In a poetical sense the poet Wordsworth says:—
"Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither."
The currents which exist in all oceans carry the spores of seaweed to all the coasts, and there, if the surroundings are favorable, they grow. In all the explored latitudes seaweeds abound. The number of species decreases as we approach the poles, but the quantity is not lessened. I have said there are few deserts in the sea. The water is full of microscopic life in all latitudes. But seaweeds rarely grow on sand, unless it is of a very compact form. When the sea bottom is of loose sand, as it is in many places, Algae will not grow there; hence, there are many submerged deserts as plantless as the African wastes.
With but one or two exceptions, all the marine plants belong to the class known as Algae. They are cellular plants, with no system of canals or tubes running through them to carry fluids, as in ferns and flowering plants. The circulation is carried from cell to cell through the cell wall by the process known in physics as osmosis. They derive their nourishment almost entirely from the water. Their roots serve more for holdfasts than to derive nourishment from the material on which they grow: Although some forms of Algae have root, stem, and leaf, there are many kinds that consist of a simple cell. Generally these cells are in masses, and imbedded in a jelly-like material, but each cell is independent of its neighbor, and there is no union of mind to form a body. Then, again, these cells have a common purpose to spread into a leaf, or membrane, or to form in lines, and present a cylindrical body, with perhaps a membraneous expansion at the summit. Some continue in straight lines, with joints at regular distances. Others tend to branch at these joints, just as a bud starts out from the axis of a leaf. Some cling to the rocks and stems of other seaweeds so closely that they seem a part of the rock or plant on which they grow. Some are hard and brittle, like coral, some leathery and tough, while others are thin and fine as silk, and as fragile as the web of a spider. Some float in the water, growing on each other in immense fields, at the centers of ocean currents, like the Sargassum. Indeed, there seems to be as great a diversity of form in plants of the sea as in plants of the land, but less intricacy. In fact, there is, to my mind, no good reason why marine botany should not precede the study of the terrestrial. While it makes but little difference where we begin, we find that all roads lead to it as the beginning of the science. It seems "as if nature had first formed the types (in the waters) of the compound vegetable organs, so named, and exhibited them as separate vegetables, and then, by combining them in a single framework, had built up her perfect idea of a fully-organized plant."
Suppose, for a few moments, we glance at a few types of plants as we see them in the line of progress from the simplest form to the most complex. We will not attempt to follow the links of the chain—that would be too difficult, and require too much time —but merely take up a plant, here and there, familiar to all.
Growing on the smooth surface of perpendicular cliffs, in this neighborhood, may be seen, during the rainy season, one of the water plants, appearing on the rocks like a coating of red or dark brown paint. It looks, in some places, as though blood had been brushed on the banks. Under the microscope, we may see that it is a one-celled plant surrounded with a kind of gelatine; in fact, it grows in patches, or communities. Each cell is of globular shape, and independent of its neighbors, so far as its life history is concerned, although the gelatine belongs to the community. Its growth is similar to the "red snow," of which nearly everybody has some information. By some naturalists it is called Palmella; by others, Porphyridium. It is classed among the fresh-water Algae.
Let us take one cell, or plant, as we find it in the mass of gelatine—round, full, blood red. Watching it for a little while, we begin to see a tendency towards division. A thin wall is thrown across the middle, and soon we have a separation; each half becomes an independent cell. These again divide; and so the process of binary division goes on for a good many generations. We see no reason why it should stop until the whole world, and the universe, is full of the little microscopic Palmellas. But they have a different mind, and in one of these numerous generations a change takes place. Instead of the little round cell dividing, as heretofore, we see it filled with a different kind of endochrome, chlorophyl, or cell matter, as we are pleased to call it, from the cells we have been noticing. They burst, and from each hole in the cell issue swarms of spores. These are exceedingly small, and armed with cilia—fine, thread-like projections so that the spores move, by means of these cilia, through the water, or air, as the case may be. Now, here is a new form of life development, the product of a cell, and yet very different from the parent. They move with great rapidity, in every direction, when set free in water. They seem to be animals; and were they to remain, and continue to exhibit the same activity, for any considerable time, we could not distinguish them from many forms of life which are known to be animals. But in a little while—say an hour or two—they seek lodgment, and come to rest. The cilia fall off, they increase in size, and soon we find a well-developed cell, just like the one we commenced with, ready to go through the process of "binary division" through certain generations, until it reaches the reproductive cell again. Now, this is the life of a plant consisting of a single cell, one of the smallest forms of Algae, that can be seen only with the microscope, unless in large masses. It is also, perhaps, one of the simplest forms. Yet it exhibits a mind of a similar character to that of some forms of animal life; especially in the little round of development it makes, reminding us of the Aphides, or "plant lice," and other animals of a still more complex organization, or, rather, differentiation, but far removed from the simple plant of a single cell.
Let us look for a moment at another little plant found in streams and pools of fresh water; for it seems these little, almost insignificant, things are too fragile for rough handling in the sea, or to endure the salt water, so we find them about springs and shallow waters. It belongs to a small tribe of plants called Nostocs. It consists, instead of separate and almost independent cells, as in the Palmella, of a filament distinctly beaded, and lying in a firm, gelatinous mass of somewhat regular shape. These filaments are usually simple or but seldom branched. They are curved and twisted in various directions, but having a tendency mainly toward a spiral direction. The masses of jelly that contain these filaments are sometimes of considerable size, and suddenly appear after a rain in places that were apparently dry before. It is only with a microscope that the filaments can be seen in the jelly. Now, one of the peculiar features of this plant is that at regular distances on the beaded filaments can be seen one or more beads larger and more distinct, as if the mind of the plant, after making ordinary cells for a long time, suddenly changed, and made and intervened a peculiar kind of cell, differing in many respects from the common kind. As well as we can understand, these cysts, which are called heterocysts, are in some way so changed for purposes of reproduction. This Nostoc, then, is increased in several ways: 1. By one cell growing (" budding") on the side or end of another, extending in a continuous line to form a filament of definite size and in a definite direction. 2. Division of the filament by breaking up of the jelly when wet or dry, as the case may be, each fragment serving as a nucleus for a fresh colony of threads. 3. By the escape of a subdivision of filament, around which, in the course of time, a gelatine is formed, and a continuation of growth. These two methods correspond to "cuttings." 4. By spores, which are formed in the heterocysts, or enlarged cells, that I have mentioned. These spores are of two kinds contained in these vesicles or cysts contiguous to each other. They are different from the endochrome that is found in the common cells. They are more like zoöspores, or animal spores, and some of them have cilia moving freely through the water, similar to many other water plants and fungi containing "swarm spores." This method corresponds to the seeds or fruiting of flowering plants.
We will glance now at another plant found growing on the rocks in all our seas—a beautiful, feathery, deep green little plant, looking like a small fern, or branches from a fir tree. It is called Bryopsis plumosa. Each frond and frondlet consist of a single tube, straight and round. The walls of the tube are made up, as usual, of little cells, closely fitted to each other, a thin, transparent structure. These tubes taper to each end, where they are closed nearly, if not quite. The plant grows from. a base having a number of branches, tree-like. The plume is generally confined to the upper half of the frond, and the deep green color is given to it by the chlorophyl filling these tubes. This, when mature, escapes from the plant by the bursting of the tube, and is the means of its propagation, in the form of zoöspores. Thus we have in this plant several things. We have a root, which, although of little use to convey nutriment to the fronds, serves as a hold-fast. It is a single elongated cell or tube, containing starchy matter and a slightly fibrous structure. From this arises a single tube, branching by buds from the side. These branches come off pinnately, and instead of a single cell filled with cell matter (endochrome), we have little cases, slightly connected, surrounded by a cellular membrane, in which the processes of its simple life are carried on. The mind of this plant is toward a symmetrical structure, sufficiently differentiated to look toward a higher type and greater complexity—a root, a stem, a frond, all constructed out of single, but much enlarged, cells, each one being an elongated tube, built into a beautiful little tree of the most exquisitely green shade.
Common on the rocks of our seacoast grows a species of Halidrys, commonly called the "sea oak." It is a stout plant, with leaves cut and lobed, somewhat resembling certain species of oak. I mention it rather for contrast than comparison with the several plants we have been looking at. It belongs to the order of Fucaceae, and is closely related to the Sargassum of nearly all the temperate and tropical seas. It has a root which seems to adhere by means of a sort of cartilaginous disk spreading over the surface of rocks. It often grows to be seven or eight feet long. In this case the tips of the branches are composed of long strings of air vessels, growing from the tips of the broad, leaf-like frond, and branching numerously, so that when these become tangled, it is very difficult to unfasten them. The first growth from the root is a flat leaf, mid-veined, and from this the frond proceeds. This leaf is six or eight inches in length. As the plant grows older, the midrib of this first leaf is bordered with lobes, and these gradually develop into cysts, or air vessels, and surmounting all these we find the fruit, situated in spore cavities, or cells, especially arranged for perfecting the seed for new plants. In this plant we notice what we have noticed before. The whole structure contributes toward a fruiting process, located, not in all the cells, but in a special part of the plant, and by a special kind of cells. We also see the whole plant contributing to another special function—the air vessels, which are for the purpose of suspending the plant in the water. We likewise see what might be called leaves, with midribs attached to the frond. We find a thick and dense cellular structure, having, in the old plant, but little appearance of the delicate cells we noticed in the plants we have been looking at.
The features of this coarse seaweed have been added step by step from the little moving spore that found a crevice in the side of a rock in which to plant itself, throwing off cell after cell to make the root and the leaf; an expanding of the lobes; a change to air vessels; a throwing in here and there, as needed, of connective tissue; and, finally, the construction of a little chamber, at the tips of the plant, lined with silky threads, in which the spores for the new plant may grow and mature.
Now, after considering this matter, may we not repeat what is true and has been taught in phenogamic botany for many years—that all the organs of a plant are transformed leaves. But we may take a step still nearer the beginning of organic things, and say, with equal truth, that all plants and all animals are but transformed cells. At least, we may say they are formed of cells, each one of which, at some period of its living existence, was a simple, independent being. They have become the formed material of the bodies of plants and animals. Comparatively speaking, there are very few living cells.
The proportion of the living to the dead, or formed matter, is as the thin, narrow surface of the living coral insects to the mass of the coral island. When a cell has fulfilled its office, it dies, and is either thrown away or enters into the composition of the body in which it grew, to carry out the form of that body according to the mind which presides in, over, and about the organism. A cell may be considered an organic unit, and whatever its elementary composition may be, depends on the use it is intended to serve in nature's endless diversity of forms.
After long and careful investigation, with patience and years, some of our naturalists have almost arrived at the conclusion that many of what are classed among the lower plants and animals as distinct forms, species, and genera, are of doubtful character, and are but spores, or cells, that will possibly, and in some cases certainly, change into something else. Thus some of the plants that we have been looking at are liable to change, before our eyes, into something quite different from the parent, as the little string of beads in the Nostoc filament suddenly develops into a large, round vesicle or two, or four, and then suddenly relapses again into the common little cell. I do not know that we can call this development. Nature seems suddenly to have changed her mind, and we have a flying, egg-laying aphis after many generations of a helpless, wingless, plant-eating parasite. We have a lichen which is suspected as originating from a Nostoc. And, indeed, all our orders of lichens are suspected by some as being only escaped Algae, and held in prison by fungi. There are green coatings low down on shaded walls, fences, rocks, trunks of trees, and sometimes on the ground, when it and these are damp. These may be seen at all seasons of the year. They are generally single-cell plants. They are called Protococcus, Pleurococcus, Chlorococcus, etc., by botanists. It is possible they belong to something else—are a part of some process of development, which, for the time being, is delayed in its progress toward a higher state of existence, or, quite as likely, they never reach beyond their present form, and their little round of existence ends with the dissolution of the walls and granules that compose their cells.
I have used the word "differentiation" in the sense of special organs, "each performing actions peculiar to itself, which contribute to the life of a plant as a whole." Differentiation leads to a composite fabric, as stem, leaves, roots, flowers, fruit, etc. I can see no reason why the number of organs should invalidate or constitute any organism to recognition as such. Whether the plant has one cell, or an indefinite number, and a complex organization, matters but little with independence and individuality. For we may compare an animal, or plant, to a populous town where each person follows his own vocation, yet all helping in the general prosperity.
Lately, Edmond Perrier, at the Museum of Natural History in Paris advanced some new views in regard to this subject. They are probably not new to those who have considered transformations of plants and animals from their earlier beginnings. But M. Perrier may be the first one to publish these views. He says: "The law which I now have to put forward may be called the law of association, and the process by which it works, the transformation of societies into individuals." He has reference to colonial societies in which the individuals are almost, if not quite, in contact by continuity of tissue. For example: Polyps, as illustrated in the sponge and the coral. The animals of the colony are independent individuals, as may be proved by separating one or more of them from the group, when they will live and start a new colony. What, then, is a seaweed, a cabbage, or a tree, but a colony of independent plants, associated and working for a common interest and object? So we have a system of form, color, and regularity of structure, according to the mind that is in, over, and about every living organism. What that mind really is we do not clearly see, we do not fully know. But, as Dr. Carpenter, the world-renowned scientist, lately said, "I deem it just as absurd and illogical to affirm that there is no place for a God in nature, originating, directing, and controlling its forces by his will, as it is to assert that there is no place in man's body for his conscious mind." The application of science by the human intellect is limited. Professor Tyndall likens our minds to "a musical instrument with a certain range of notes, beyond which, in both directions, exists infinite silence. The phenomena of matter and force come within our intellectual range, but behind, and above, and around us, the real mystery of the universe lies unsolved, and, as far as we are concerned, is incapable of solution."
But, because we are placed in the midst of the infinite, there is no reason why we should not strive to solve all the problems within the range of our power. Moreover, that range has unknown limits to us. We know not how far in either direction we may be able to see and to comprehend. The fields of research in science are fruitful whichever way we look. Every fact we discover adds to our mental vista. Every well-tested phenomenon is an aid to discovery. We are strengthened and enlightened as we proceed. It may seem of little account to plod over a pile of seaweeds, or even to study the beautiful forms and colors that pertain to some of them, to admire the arrangement and structure of their cells, to learn their long Latin names, and perhaps worry no little in their classification and arrangement. And so it is of little account if we are to stop here. They are but the A B C, or, at best, short words, that go to make up the language that nature speaks. For---
"To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language."
No two plants have the same mind, or the same language to express that mind. The Nereocystis, with its long thread or rope-like stem, crowned with a wide expanse of leaves floating over the water, on which, in places, the sea otter feeds and sleeps, has a long history of seafaring life to tell us, in words old and strange, dating back to a period when "the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters" for the first time—an ancient language, yet always new to each succeeding generation, never a dead language, save to those who will not at least try to read it. Of a different mind, and a different language, are the pines that whisper over our heads in tongues more modern, and more complex---
"The murmuring pines, and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green."
While---
"Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and, in accents disconsolate, answers the wail of the forest."
But the voices of nature are only audible in a poetical sense. Her grandest works, and most wonderful and powerful processes, are silent to our ears. The coral islands, infusorial deposits, and Algae, with lime and silex, building up great continents, and not so much as the sound of a hammer is heard! Even the immense system of worlds, moving with inconceivable velocities about and among each other, and not so much as a vibration is felt by our senses. The "music of the spheres" may be all about us, but we cannot hear it.
I propose to give a few directions for the benefit of those who may wish to become somewhat, acquainted with the gardens of the seashore.
At nearly all seasons and times we can find interesting plants. But perhaps at midsummer and at low tide the number of strange and interesting things is greatly increased.
While these sea mosses and weeds are not garden plants in the sense of cultivation, they, nevertheless, have times and seasons, favoring and discouraging conditions. These may be abundant crops or entire failures.
Since I began the study of marine Algae, some twenty years ago, several beautiful and at one time abundant species have almost entirely disappeared from this locality, and I am sorry to repeat that none have come to take their places.
Like the land plants, some are annual and some perennial; some are short lived, coming forward in a few days, maturing and then decaying, while other kinds grow slowly and live for years. Some thrive only in sheltered coves or tide pools, while others form dense growths in the open water or wind-exposed and wave-washed points.
As Algae are flowerless, and without attractions of that kind, so essential to land plants, there is compensation in the great variety and beauty of color which belongs to the whole plant. Generally the coloring qualities are heightened and often changed in the process of drying. It is surprising how much of beauty may be developed from very dull and muddy-looking bits and parcels of seaweed by proper handling and mounting.
Algae vary greatly in size. Some kinds consist of a single cell, so small that we must call to our aid the microscope that we may see it. Other kinds are longer than our tallest trees, affording, like groves and forests, food and protection to innumerable animals.
Now as a rule the larger animals do not feed on these plants, as commonly supposed. The whales, seals, dolphins, sharks, and larger fishes are mainly carnivorous, feeding on the smaller fry of animals, especially the great family of mollusks; and these mollusks and their like subsist on the seaweeds.
However, I have not been fully satisfied with the statement that these animals are not vegetarians sometimes. In examining Captain Scammon's work on "Marine Mammalia" I notice that he found in the stomach of the "California gray whale" what sailors call "sedge," or sea moss. Exactly what kind of material this is I cannot tell, but it is evidently vegetable, and probably the same as sailors call "sea otter's cabbage," one or more of the large floating forming fields or great patches a little out from shore. It may be that these whales take in the seaweed in order to secure the animals feeding or sheltered by it. But it is evident that the plant digests with the other food and forms a part of the nutrition.
On the Channel Islands between England and France the inhabitants feed seaweeds to their cows with advantage. While the mammals of the sea may not subsist largely upon seaweeds, there is no evidence to the contrary and much positively in favor of it.
Then Virgil may have been no less truthful than poetic in speaking of
"Neptune's scaly flocks that graze the watery deep."
(Only these mammals do not have scales.)
It is, then, a source of satisfaction to the economist, who sees the immense heaps of these weeds decaying on our beaches and returning to their original elements unused, to know that they may be utilized, if not by man, at least by some of the larger inhabitants of the sea.
Marine plants nearly all belong to one order known as ALGÆ, which is the ancient name for seaweeds. Although the dictionaries do not tell us, I fancy it comes from some ancient language which means the origin, or parent—al, the, and ga, origin.
Botanists, however, define Algae to be" flowerless water plants of a colored cellular structure, absorbing their food through minute cell walls rather than through roots and a vascular system, as in nearly all land plants."
We may divide the marine Algae into four groups according to color. And, fortunately, this classification of seaweeds brings the kinds more naturally together than might be supposed.
1. BLUE ALGÆ (Cryptophyceae)—But few of these are found in the sea. They are mostly in fresh, brackish, or stagnant water arid sometimes on moist earth or mud.
2. GREEN ALGÆ (Chlorophyceae)—For the most part these are fresh-water plants; yet a good many are marine.
3. BROWN ALGÆ (Melanophyceae)—These are all marine plants.
4. RED ALGÆ (Rhodophyceae)—All marine.
I. Blue Algae.
We will mention but three genera of this class. They are almost strange to the sea, being mostly fresh, muddy, and stagnant water plants. Besides, they are not strictly blue, only possessing a material called phycocyan, which, mixed with the green color, gives, under certain conditions, a bluish or verdigris green.
Oscillaria (Vibrating)—These grow sometimes in sea water that has stood in pools until putrid. They are also found about wharves and mud flats, occasionally washed by the tide. Under a good lens the thread-like filaments, made up of disks, can be seen to vibrate back and forth. Bluish green or dark purple.
Calothrix (Beautiful hair)—Resembles Oscillaria in color and habit, but the filaments do not vibrate. Grows on rocks, piles of wharves, and decaying seaweed.
Rivularia (River habit)—Forms little round, dark bodies, from the size of a pin head to one-half an inch in diameter, usually on stones and other algae. It is not an attractive plant except to an ardent botanist, and as for use—there is an open field for inquiry.
II. Green Algae.
Ulva (Sea lettuce)—Nearly all our green Algae belong to this genus. The leaves are usually flat or thread-like, and composed of rows of cells or broad membranes of two layers of cells. Although called "sea lettuce," the plant is not used as food, except by snails and other sea animals. There are several species in the fresh as well as brackish water.
Cladophora (Branch bearing)--This is nearly same color as Ulva, but the branches are numerous, round, and jointed (articulate) usually. They grow in deeper water than the Ulva. They are also found in fresh water.
Bryopsis (Moss like)—This is one of our most brilliant plants, neither rare nor common, but when once seen we never forget it. Its color is a dark grass green. I have found but one species on this coast. When floated out in sea water, on nice cards, it makes a beautiful herbarium specimen.
There are other green Algae but the above are the most frequently met with, and their acquaintance will lead to the others.
III. Brown or Olive-Colored Algae.
These contain the "giant kelps." The first three grow to an immense length, often occupying the same localities. We read of their growing three hundred, five hundred, or even fifteen hundred feet in length; but I have seen none so large. Probably these are "sailors' yarns." But there is scarcely a limit to their growth where there is plenty of sea room, and other favorable conditions.
They might possibly be utilized as a kind of breakwater. Wherever they find a firm bottom of rocks, not too deep, they will grow in such profusion as to obstruct.
Laminaria (Leaf Plants)—These are abundant and are known in some countries by the name of Devil's Aprons, for what reason nobody knows, or, knowing, would care to say.
They may be known by a round stem six to twelve inches long, suddenly expanding into a wide, dark brown; tough leaf, one to three feet long, and of varying widths, without a midrib. A simple stem and leaf. These plants, of which there are several species, are rich in iodine and may be utilized for that some day. They grow on rocks in shallow coves.
Fucus (Sea Wrack, Sea Oak, Bladder Wrack, Kelp Ware, and Black Tang, are some of the common names)—These plants, of which there are three or four species in this neighborhood, retain the generic name, Fucus, by which all seaweeds were known not much more than half a century ago.
Fucus vesciculosus, common the world over, may be known by numerous little vesicles, or blisters, when the plant is mature, near the ends of the branches; sometimes quite a large vesicle near the fork of the branching stems. In color, dark brown, or olive, turning black when dried. About six to ten inches high. Composed of vegetable jelly and a large proportion of salts of potash, soda, lime, and phosphates, with some iron and other mineral substances.
Why should we import "hypophosphites" in expensive bottles from the East when our seashore abounds in tons of the raw material going to waste?
Halidrys osmundacea—This is, as the name signifies, the fern-like sea oak. It has a leaf and beaded air vessels that bear a faint resemblance to the osmunda fern. The leaf also resembles an oak leaf. The leaves grow near the root.
The characteristic feature is the long tangle of beaded fringes that the stem forms above and beyond the leaves, extending the plant two to ten feet. The dried leaves show considerable mannite, a white efflorescent, looking and tasting like fine white sugar.
Alaria esculenta—The edible winged leaf, as the name signifies, is common in places with the sea palm. We may recognize it by the long, black, silky ribbon (one to four feet), with a pretty stout midrib the whole length. The wing part of this long ribbon is often slit, and pieces torn out, and the tip is whipped and ragged. Between the root and the commencement of the ribbon, when the plant is mature, there are a number of curved leaflets, ribless, pinnate, in which the spores may be found.
It is called in Scotland and Ireland, where it is used as food, "badder locks," which I suppose means bad or bitter luck, for while the plant is nutritious, it has a bitter taste, and those who are forced to eat it are "in bad luck."
Postelsia palmaeformis—A curious and handsome seaweed called Postelsia palmaeformis, the " sea palm," may be found growing on some exposed points along the coast. It looks like a miniature palm. Has a hollow stem, six inches to two feet high, from the top of which the ribbed leaves radiate. It is easily recognized.
Pterygophora Californica—Which means the California wing bearer, because of the pinnate arrangement of the long leaves towards the top of a one to six foot stem. The stem is very hard when dry, almost like bone, and the leaves are one to four or five feet long, ribbonlike, all without a midrib, except the central one, into which the flattened stem seems to be lost, giving it the look of a midrib.
Egregia Menziesii—So named because the stems grow in clusters or gangs; or, perhaps, because it is an enormous kelp. Certainly it is egregious in that sense, for Menzies speaks of finding it twenty fathoms or more in length. It may be known from Macrocystis by having the edges of the fiat stem thickly-beset with short leaves, having at some of their bases a small air vessel, one-half to one inch thick, and two or three inches long, and many clustered branches growing from one stem. There are two principal varieties, one with smooth stem, while another is rough or rasp-like.
It grows nearer the shore than either Nereocystis or Macrocystis. The mollusks feed on it largely, and it forms a dense tangle for the protection and pasture of small animals.
Macrocystis—The next plant we notice is the Macrocystis pyrifera, meaning large-cyst pear bearer, having reference to the pear-shaped air vessels. It grows to a great length. I have seen it forty to sixty feet long, but am told that it reaches a much greater length in the North. The leaves are evolved laterally in a very interesting manner, at the tip of the stalk, by slits in the leading leaf. Each leaf when matured surmounts the air vessel, and by the twisting of the stem in growth, the leaves appear alternately, at regular distances along the cord-like stem, which is seldom more than half an inch thick. The air vessels are about one inch thick and three or four inches long. As seen in deep water about our wharves it is a beautiful and curious plant. It may be known by its pear-shaped air vessels and crinkled leaves evenly distributed along the stem.
Nereocystis (Sea cyst)—This is known as the sea otter's cabbage, or sea bladder of the Northwest, because these animals find a protection among the immense cysts or bladders and leaves that float in great abundance, forming fields or gardens, as it were. It is possible they also feed on the plant, but more likely they prey on other animals that come there to feed.
The Nereocystis may be known by its single long, cord-like stem, which, from the size of a pack thread near the root, or holdfast, very gradually increases until it becomes a hollow tube, bugle shaped, one, two or three inches in diameter, surmounted by a globular cyst from which grow clusters of long, soft, ribbon-like leaves, often six to twenty feet long and one to three inches wide.
The slender stems are used by the Alaskan Indians as fishing lines. The hollow portion they sometimes use as a siphon for pumping water out of their boats. I have read about these cysts being filled with water. This is a mistake. They are empty even of air while the plant is growing. When it begins to decay, water enters the cavity.
IV. Red Algae:
Gigartina (Grape stones)—These are numerous and prominent. One, the Gigartina radula (rasp or sea scraper), has a broad, rough leaf, sometimes a foot broad and two feet long; red, somewhat thick and tough. The surfaces and often the edges of this leaf are beset with little projections, like grape stones.
There is another, G. spinosa, which has a narrower leaf, darker, covered generally with longer spinous projections. Very abundant at Pacific Grove. G. microphylla is a rather soft, ribbon-like, mostly smooth-surfaced leaf, six inches to two feet long, with little leaves (microphylla) along the edges of the beautiful red frond. G. canaliculata is another pretty little plant, three or four inches high, of a purplish red color. Would make a good substitute for "Irish moss." In fact, nearly all these Gigartinas contain much gelatine of a nutritious kind. We have also a Chondrus which is nearly allied to the genuine Irish moss, Chondrus crispus.
Iridea laminarioides (Rainbow leaf)—Is a conspicuous plant on rocks and in tide pools at low tide. "Rainbow leaf" is a good name for the broad, soft, wavy leaf, when moving in the clear sea water, decomposing the light, giving rainbow colors. It is one of the choice garden plants of Nereus, "the old man of the sea."
Rhodymenia (Red leaf)—There are two species of this plant which are closely allied to the common "Dulse" of Europe, largely used as food in Ireland and Scotland. It is about three to six inches high, with a shining red leaf one-fourth to one inch wide, once or twice forked.
Nitophyllum (Shining leaf)—We have five or six species of this beautiful genus, quite abundant with the Gigartinas at low tide. The fronds are shining, clear, red, thin, and sometimes have the rainbow-colors in the clear water. Growing on rocks or the roots of Laminaria, adding greatly to the attractiveness of these curious seashore gardens.
Microcladia (Little branches) —There are three species of this fine sea moss. It is the most abundant and chief "moss" collected on our beaches for ornamental purposes. There is such a great variety in form and color of M. Coulteri and M. Californica that it is hard to believe them only varieties. Many times persons have brought me mounted specimens to name, thinking that they must have a great number of species, judging by color and form. But after examination I have often felt sorry to write so often M. Coulteri or M. Californica on specimens looking so unlike.
The other Microcladia (M. borealis) is easy to recognize by its one-sided plumose look.
Porphyra vulgaris (Purple weed, anciently used in dyeing)—" Marine Sauce," " Sloke" and "Laver" are some of the common names for this plant. At Monterey, where it grows very abundantly, on the hard granite rocks, it is collected in large quantities by the Chinese, dried, and sent to China for food. It is rich in gelatin, and doubtless contains salts that render it valuable with other food, in preventing and also curing scurvy and glandular diseases.
It may be known by its glossy brown, purple, or reddish color, clear, smooth, crinkled leaves, looking and feeling like very thin leaves of India rubber, having a similar quality of elasticity. It differs in form and color according to the place it grows. The one on rocks is glossy brown, three or four inches long; the one on the Nereocystis is red, and sometimes two feet long; the little one on a kind of grass is deep purple or violet, and seldom more than one inch long.
Ptilota (Pinnated)—A beautiful moss, common on Laminaria and other plants. Next to Microcladia is the most common of the sea mosses found here esteemed for ornamental purposes. There are some four species. The branches are pinnate, four to six inches long, of a dark red color. Most abundant in midsummer and fall.
Plocaimum (Braided hair)—Another bright red, handsome moss.. The tiny branches overlap like braid. Found with Microcladia and quite as common.
Polysiphonia (Many tubes)—This genus includes five or six species, nearly all very fine thread like plants, generally of a dark crimson color. Each little joint is made of several minute tubes. Grows abundantly on other Algae and rocks. One kind most frequently met with is found on the round sterns of the upper branches of Macrocystis, while the Microcladia in a similar manner grows on the Egregia. This may distinguish one from the other, usually without a close look.
NEREUS' GARDEN.
One fine morning not long since, at the close of our Chautauqua meeting at Pacific Grove, I enjoyed a scene that few have the pleasure of seeing. Five o'clock found me, with basket in hand, seeking the nearest road to "Moss Beach." - It was low tide—very low. The rough, angular granitic rocks form a shelf of considerable area stretching a long distance into the sea, gradually descending so as to form a somewhat level floor, on which, here and there, were tables and intervening pools. For half a mile in length and breadth this plateau was covered with seaweeds. At low tide it was a grand garden. No gardener for any king or millionaire ever had such a novelty of plants, ever such wonderful colors and beautiful forms. The sun was shining into the pools and on the little cliffs where these plants sparkled with the dew of the ocean, and with an iridescence charmingly beautiful. It is only once in a great while that such a garden is spread out to our view, perhaps not more than one or two mornings each fortnight during the summer season. There must be sunlight, a low tide, a calm sea, and a favorable spot where the plants may grow at the right season. A conjunction of all these things usually takes place while we are dreamily, unconsciously resting in our beds at five o'clock in the morning. There is no law to compel us to get up at that hour and walk a mile or two to enjoy such a choice bit of nature. I looked in every direction to see if any other human being was walking in the garden on this particular morning, but no one was in sight. I was monarch of all I surveyed, and there was no one to disturb the equanimity of my reflections. I might converse with each particular plant, not standing on ceremony, and call each by its long scientific name without having to introduce it to anyone who might chance to be with me; for it is a fact that but few of these plants have names, either common or scientific, known to many persons. They are mostly in books and catalogues, so that when we go to visit one of our seashore gardens, whether at early morn or any other time of day, the question comes too often, "What is this?" or What is that? " We might and should be more familiar with the marine flora that grows so near and so profusely, especially those of us who dwell near the seashore.
Turning from the merely beautiful and ornamental, let us contemplate for a moment the values we let go to waste every year because we do not utilize the Algae of our coast. Many of these plants yield the most healthy and nutritious food, rich in materials so necessary for our sustenance. Thousands of tons just as rich in the food elements as that little plant called "Irish moss," so highly esteemed, rot upon our beaches every year. The Iridea, Porphyra, some of the Gigantinas, a Chondrus, closely allied to the "Irish moss," and many others, are found in great abundance. Yet I am not aware that any of them are used for food or medicine on this Pacific Coast, although we import largely the very things we might find at home. The introduction of sea-plant products into our food would tend largely to our physical welfare. If we look at the northern shores of Europe, where marine products, chiefly Algae, enter so largely into use as food for men, animals, and as fertilizers for the soil, we shall find the inhabitants vastly superior physically to those who do not resort to our mother, the sea, for sustenance. Where in the world can we find more healthy men and women ? And where can we find more valuable domestic animals than the Ayrshire and Jersey breeds? The parent stock of these, not many years ago, fed on seaweed. The failure of the potato crop in Ireland, the consequent famine and agitations, leading to oppression and growing discontent, may be traced in part to a neglect of fertilization of land with seaweed.
It is the old story of the wrestler, Antaeus, the son of Neptune, and the earth, renewing exhausted strength by contact with the earth; and as the sea existed before the dry land, shall we not be renewed also by an occasional touch of old ocean?
Transcribed by Kathy Sedler