ae of “2 eeotls Ra eas ie : Osta: SUN os GALACTIG CENTER -++ THIS REGION NOT YET MAPPED 0 30,000 LIGHT YEARS Ficure 4,—Spiral structure of the local galaxy. (Reproduced by permission of G. Wester- hout and M. Schmidt, Leiden, Holland.) By an ingenious method it has been found possible to locate the area which is generating the noise. The transmission is spasmodic, some days it 1s present, other days it is absent, but by observing over long periods of time the noise has been found to vary in synchronism with the rotation of the planet. This defines a north-south line, or line of Jovian longitude on which the source lies. The planet’s speed of rotation, as given by observations of clouds in the atmosphere, 290 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 varies between the Equator and the Poles. The Equator rotates once in 9 hours 50 minutes 26 seconds, and the corresponding figure at the Pole is 9 hours 55 minutes 24 seconds. By timing the variation of the signals the latitude of the source can be obtained. This is, of course, not a very exact determination, and the method is further complicated by the presence of more than one transmitting area. Despite these difficulties the main noise area has already been located. It is close to the famous red spot which has been observed in Jupi- ter’s atmosphere since 1664. Surprisingly little is known about the spot from the optical observations. One hypothesis suggests that it is an island of solid ammonia or methane floating in the dense at- mosphere, while at the other extreme it is considered to be the product of an active volcano. Perhaps the radio observations will help us to determine the true nature of this disturbance. Radio observations have given indications that Jupiter may be surrounded by an ionosphere. The red-spot region does not produce signals at every position as it rotates. There appears to be an attenua- tion of the noise as the spot approaches the east or west limb and this has been explained by reflection effects in the ionosphere. The double and triple pulses forming the rumble are also explained in terms of the ionosphere. A signal from some disturbance in the atmosphere is received by direct transmission to produce the first pulse, while the second pulse is the echo produced by the surface of Jupiter. The third component is reflected from the ionosphere back to the surface before reaching the receiver on the earth. RADAR ASTRONOMY We are not limited to passive reception of signals. Great advances were made during the Second World War in the detection of aircraft by means of radio echoes. In the same way a high-power transmitter can be made to send out a series of pulses which will be reflected off celestial objects. Meteors are the nearest bodies of interest in astronomy, for although they spend many years circulating between the planets, they spend the last second of their life in the atmosphere of the earth about 60 miles up. The meteor particle collides with the atmosphere at such a high velocity that it completely evaporates, producing heat, light, and ionization. By studying the echoes from the column of ionization it is possible to measure the velocity of the meteor with fair precision. With three or more radar stations one can determine the direction of motion of the meteor. Velocity and direction together define its orbit, or life history, and we can then trace back its path among the planets. Radar observations have shown that meteors are members of the solar system and do not come from the space between the stars. We now RADIO ASTRONOMY—HAWKINS 291 believe that meteor fragments are shed by a comet as the icy nucleus of the comet evaporates in the heat from the sun. Farther out from the earth we come to the moon, and radio echoes have been obtained from the moon by many experimenters. At a dis- tance of 200,000 miles, radar astronomers have to wait for a period of about 2 seconds before the echo returns. The echo is subjected to many effects on its journey to and from the moon and from the way it has changed we can learn many interesting things about the atmos- phere of the earth and the surface of the moon. The radio wave form- ing the echo is formed, of course, from oscillatory electric and mag- netic fields which are at right angles to each other. When the electric field is parallel to the receiving dipole a maximum signal is produced. In this way the direction of the field can be determined. It is found that the field is rotated many times as the echo pulse travels to the moon and back. Most of the rotation occurs in the ionosphere of the earth, as it is proporticnal to the electron density of the transmitting medium and the strength of the magnetic field of the earth. This ro- tation gives us information about the ionosphere at great heights above the earth’s surface. As the radio pulse is reflected from the surface of the moon the mountain ranges and craters cause interference so that the echo power fluctuates. This effect is not unlike the glitter that is seen when light falls on a rough, shiny object. There are other things that cause the signal to fiuctuate more rapidly than the interference from a rough surface, but the origin of these rapid variations is at present unknown. Radar astronomy will probably never become as spectacular as radio astronomy. With pulse techniques we certainly are making our first venture out into space, and the radio pulse can certainly visit and explore the moon even if mankind at present is limited to the earth. But we will require tremendously powerful transmitters if we are to bounce an echo off our neighboring planets such as Venus and Mars. To reach the nearest star is impossible: even if we did have sufficient transmitter power we would have to wait eight whole years for the echo to return. The output of the natural transmitters of the cosmos is far greater than any we can make on the earth. Cygnus A, for example, on the edge of the visible universe, puts out a power which is more than a billion times greater than our man-made signals. Such considerations help us to realize our insignificant position as earth- bound mortals, and impress upon us the grandeur of the natural universe. ie ‘ahvaion ft ulin vid. ' ie 7 i) een avy Wika a hi tet hohe Mins al adel ini mi my fs Vit Os a vung ] ‘i [ bead ’ at ny vey ane ha ai v p ay ie Uses ; Piya Pah Nee Cie: Ut judy tly It nce de hey a 7 a f ti, ' | ae , Ms ey) ee i he sto as ag rf = iy 4 2 aiive mls me HAM |) ute ™ "a Sie BRAN as sep Bh ae ark yi : j lo iM haut ¥ ah Wa if Jet Streams’ By R. Lee Meteorological Service of Canada Department of Transport [With one plate] INTRODUCTION On April 1, 1954, three United States Navy F-9F fighters streaked across the United States on a cross-country flight. The lead plane of the trio unoflicially broke the speed record with a flight time of 3 hours and 45 minutes, assisted by tailwinds as high as 170 m. p. h. Spectacular as the flight was, an even more remarkable aspect of it remained unpublicized for, before the flight took off, Lieutenant Dickson, Navy meteorologist, estimated the flight time to be 3 hours and 41 minutes! The takeoff time and route were deliberately planned to take advantage of the jet stream high in the upper tropo- sphere. About 15 years ago, the possibility of such a flight would have belonged to the realm of fancy, yet today such feats of planning and flying are accepted as commonplace by the men who fly our modern jet aircraft. Let us look for a moment at the phenomenon which made this flight possible—the jet stream. In a sense, the accumulation of knowledge leading up to this successful forecast began as early as 1933, when V. Bjerknes, J. Bjerknes, H. Salberg, and T. Bergeron first gave evidence for the existence of jet streams in their classic textbook, “Physikalische Hydrodynamik.” Eleven years later, in 1944, Pro- fessor Willett of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology published a paper showing a jet stream, but it was not until the closing phases of World War II in the Pacific that its practical importance be- came widely recognized. As the scene of operations in the Pacific Theater shifted northward in 1944 and 1945, United States high- altitude bombers began to report westerly winds of up to 250 knots *Reprinted by permission from The Roundel, Royal Canadian Air Force, Victoria Island, Ottawa, Canada. 293 294 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 over Japan. The air speeds at that time were such that a high-level bombing run from east to west under such conditions meant that an aircraft would present a stationary target for the antiaircraft batteries below. Here, then, was a meteorological phenomenon whose military significance could not be ignored. The impact of this discovery on the meteorological world left little time for serious reflection on the nature of these strong, high-level air currents, which were later to be named “Jet streams.” Many questions remained unanswered. For instance, where are jet streams found? What is their structure? How do they behave? To an- swer these and other questions, the Office of Naval Research of the United States Navy sponsored a general atmospheric circulation project at the University of Chicago in 1946. Dr. C.-G. Rossby, one of the world’s leading meteorologists, was called upon to direct the project. His colleagues were Palmén, Riehl, and many other out- standing meteorologists. Since then, research activities related to jet streams have spread to all parts of the world. For a period of time, attention was focused on meteorological analyses of upper winds and temperatures obtained by radiosondes, which consist of meteorological instruments coupled with a small transmitter carried aloft by hydrogen- or helium-filled balloons. Winds were obtained by tracking the balloons with radar equipment. Out of these studies emerged a fairly complete large-scale picture of jet streams which has remained substantially unchanged in the light of subsequent research. In more recent years, research has been directed to the finer details of the wind field. A large part of jet-stream re- search is still being conducted by the United States Navy, Bureau of Aeronautics Project AROWA (Applied Research Operational Weather Analysis), at various locations in the United States and other regions of the world. Also actively engaged in this field is the Geophysics Research Directorate, Air Force Cambridge Research Cen- ter, which is sponsoring Project Jet Stream. The main task is to determine precisely the horizontal and vertical distribution of wind in jet streams in a large number of cases. For this purpose, specially instrumented aircraft are flown through jet streams, taking contin- uous observations whose analyses will yield details unobtainable in any other way. STRUCTURE OF THE JET STREAM As a result of the intensive preliminary studies at the University of Chicago and other institutions throughout the world, a relatively clear picture of the jet stream began to emerge. It was found that jet streams are worldwide features of the atmosphere. That is, they are essentially high-speed rivers of air that encircle the earth in the Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Lee PLATE 1 Typical jet-stream clouds as viewed from the ground. (Photographs courtesy of Dr. Vincent J. Schaefer, of the Munitalp Foundation, Inc.) 1 hy heal, an a an yas oe *. Vth ye) lh parry. a nm didi phil Bey yy ed wn y ' vi rar amply 9 ‘7 JET STREAMS—LEE 295 middle latitudes of each hemisphere. Air motion is generally from west to east; however, on any individual day, a jet stream may follow a meandering course that dips in some regions into the Tropics and extends north of the Arctic Circle in others. A schematic diagram showing a single jet stream is presented in figure 1. The heavy con- tinuous line defines the axis of the jet stream along which the wind speed attains its maximum values in the horizontal. One can usually find the axis of a jet stream encircling the globe on any given occasion. Figure 2 shows a view of a jet stream as seen by an observer look- ing downstream from a point along the axis. The numbers along the bottom of the diagram are the International Station Numbers which identify five stations in Alaska and one in the Yukon, lying approxi- mately in a line oriented from northwest to southeast. From right to left, they are named, respectively, Kotzebu (133), McGrath (231), Fairbanks (261), Big Delta (263), Northway (291), and Whitehorse (964). The distance between Kotzebu and Whitehorse is 735 nau- tical miles. The ordinate is pressure in millibars (mb.) plotted on a logarithmic scale; 500 mb. corresponds very nearly to 18,000 feet, 200 mb. to 39,000 feet, and 100 mb. to 53,000 feet. Lines of equal wind speed in knots, called isotachs, are used to portray the wind field. Thus, within the central closed isotach around the main jet axis, labeled J, above 400 mb., the wind speed is in excess of 90 knots. If we consider the horizontal width of that band of winds in ex- cess of a given value, say 80 knots, we would find it to be surprisingly narrow—of the order of 100 miles in this example, but generally about 300 nautical miles. The vertical depth of the winds greater than 80 knots in figure 2 is less than 2 miles. A comparison of the horizontal width of this jet core with the depth would lead us to the conclusion that the jet stream can be represented fairly accurately in shape by a flat ribbon parallel to the earth’s surface. Other features on the cross section are the tropopause, indicated by the discontinuous heavy line around the 300-400-mb. levels, and the continental arctic frontal surface separating the relatively warm maritime arctic air mass on the right of the diagram from the cold continental arctic air to its left. The broken lines are isotherms labeled in degrees Centigrade. RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN JET STREAMS AND FRONTS This particular cross section is typical of the northernmost jet stream which has been encountered by R. C. A. F. flights many times in the past. Further studies of jet streams have revealed that, on the average, four main tropospheric jet streams are present over North America during the winter months. Except for the southernmost subtropical jet stream which usually appears in the vicinity of Florida and Cuba, each of the other three is closely associated with one of 451800—58——20 296 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 an eae écret eas VP EK Z aoe aa | Wyse Ny Wp . ay Or Se Z Eee Ess? 3 yi ‘ ° Va d) a d Riis \t Hi « \\ am in the Northern Hemisphere. 1.—Typical path of the polar jet stre FIGURE JET STREAMS—LEE 297 PRESSURE (MB) li hil Aen 2 Ficure 2.—View of continental-arctic jet stream seen looking downwind (after McIntyre and Lee, 1954). Lower numbers identify Alaskan and Yukon stations. Ordinate is pressure in mb. Solid lines are isotachs in knots. Broken lines are isotherms in °C. Heavy solid lines show frontal surface and tropopause. 298 |= ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the three main frontal surfaces over North America in winter. These three frontal surfaces are respectively called the polar front, the mari- time arctic front, and the continental arctic front, found in this order from south to north. The polar and maritime arctic jet streams have structures very similar to the continental arctic jet stream in figure 2. There is one fundamental difference between them, namely, the height of maximum wind speed is found at higher altitudes as one proceeds southward. For instance, the axis of the continental arctic jet stream is normally found between 25 and 30 thousand feet, the maritime arctic jet stream between 32 and 36 thousand feet, and the polar front jet stream between 35 and 40 thousand feet. These jet streams are also found over Japan in winter. Thus we can see why the strong winds were not encountered by the high-altitude bombers of the Second World War until the scene of operations moved suffi- ciently far north in the western Pacific. Another notable fact about the three northernmost jet streams is that the axis of each jet stream is always found in the warm air above its respective frontal surface and most often above the 500-mb. (18,000 feet, very nearly) position of the front. This relationship has imme- diate value to the meteorologist, for, by means of it, he is able to estimate the location of a high-level jet stream from temperature data at the relatively low level of 500 mb., even in the absence of high-level wind observations. Furthermore, knowing which front he is dealing with, he can provide a reasonable estimate of the height of the axis. One other feature brought out by extensive cross-section studies is that the strongest winds at any level below the axis are invariably found in the warmer air. JET STREAM WINDS The wind speeds in the jet-stream cross section shown in figure 2 are not particularly high compared with those found at lower lati- tudes. Both the maritime arctic and polar jet streams consistently exhibit stronger winds on any given occasion. In fact, the strongest winds are found where two or more jet streams move closely to one another. Although this can occur anywhere, the preferred locations for such intense jet streams are the eastern coastlines of the Asian and North American Continents. What are the highest wind speeds likely to be found in jet streams? In the past, wind-speed measurements as high as 400 knots have fre- quently been reported in weather messages. However, when the orig- inal observations, which are obtained by balloon-tracking methods, are carefully checked, they are invariably found to be in error. For example, a reported 400-knot wind over Philadelphia late in January 1955 was checked and found to be incorrect on account of instrumental JET STREAMS—LEE 299 difficulties. The revised estimate of the maximum wind was around 270 knots. Recently a number of accurate wind measurements have been made by aircraft flying across selected jet streams. The highest reliable measurement made by this method up to November 1955 is 290 knots. However, it must be stressed that this figure does not necessarily belie the accuracy of winds reported by other aircraft not similarly equipped. A case in point is the encounter by a Comet of a 350-knot wind over Tokyo. Another significant feature of jet streams is brought out by the ver- tical cross section in figure 2—the asymmetry of the wind distribu- tion about the axis. The speeds decrease more slowly with distance on the right side of the axis than on the left side, facing downstream. Thus, a pilot wishing to maintain strong tailwinds would find it advantageous to stay to the right of the jet-stream axis, where a slight shift in location relative to it will produce little change in the tailwind component. A corresponding shift on the left side of the axis will result in a considerably larger decrease in the tailwind. Now, on the right side of the jet stream, the wind can drop off at a rate as high as 35 knots per hundred nautical miles. On the left side, however, there can be a much greater rate of decrease in wind speed with distance; actual measurements have shown rates as high as 100 knots per hundred nautical miles. It is also important to know the wind-speed variations in the ver- tical, or vertical wind shear. Above and below the jet axis, the wind speed decreases at an average rate of 10 to 15 knots per 1,000 feet. Extreme values of the vertical wind shear have been found to be as high as 30 to 35 knots per 1,000 feet by B-47 flights. Generally speaking, it is only necessary to fly at right angles to the wind for a short distance at the same height, simultaneously taking frequent observations of air temperature, to find whether one is above or below the axis. If the temperature changes very little, one will know the flight level is near the level of maximum wind speed. If the temper- ature increases while flying to the left of the wind, one can conclude that the flight level is above the level of maximum wind. Finally, if the temperature decreases while flying to the left, the flight level will be below the level of maximum wind. This association of the vertical wind shear with the horizontal temperature field is known to meteor- ologists as the “thermal-wind relationship.” It has been exploited by many commercial airline pilots to locate high winds on long flights across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. By way of example, Capt. Bernard C. Frost of B. O. A. C., in flying the North Atlantic routes between 15,000 and 25,000 feet, found that the outside air thermometer was a very valuable guide to the location of jet-stream winds. Once in a strong wind at a certain altitude, he found that the 300 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 strong wind could be maintained by flying along the same isotherm. He further states: An amazingly accurate guide for calculation of wind strength on either side of the jet stream (within altitude limits normally flown; viz, 15,000—-25,000 ft.) was that the wind decreased some 8 knots for every degree Centigrade drop in temperature on the polar (or cold) side; and it decreased some 16 knots for every degree Centigrade rise on the equatorial (or warm) side. N. E. Davis, writing in the September 1954 issue of the Meteorolog- ical Magazine, described a successful trans-Atlantic crossing in a jet stream by a B. O. A. C. Stratocruiser, under Capt. L. V. Messen- ger and Navigating Officer M. H. Sutcliff, on August 2-3, 1953. By the judicious use of their outside air thermometer, they were able to locate and fly for three hours (about 1,000 miles) in the strong winds below a jet stream. The penetration of the jet stream from the cold side was indicated by a sudden rise in air temperature. Therefore, to maintain strong tailwinds when flying below the jet axis, one should endeavor to stay in the warm air. Above the jet stream, one should try to stay in the colder air to the right of the jet axis. In a similar manner, the temperature field can be used to detect and maintain a track along which the headwinds will be more favorable, if one is flying into the wind. Research flights across jet streams have revealed some interesting details of the wind field in the vicinity of their axes. The results of several such flights under project AROWA have recently been pub- lished. They have shown that the wind speed is rather variable with- in a jet-stream core. Winds have also been found to vary consider- ably with time at a fixed point. For instance, Lt. Col. R. C. Bund- gaard, U. S. A. F., reported that the wind speed changed from 120 knots to 60 knots, and again to 120 knots, within 4 hours at 34,000 feet over Dayton, Ohio, on March 5, 1954. On another occasion, five B-47’s observed a wind change from 200 to 72 knots at 40,000 feet over Alabama during a 3-hour period on April 14, 1953. Such varia- tions are impossible to forecast at the present state of knowledge. It is hoped that further research into the mechanics of air motion will provide answers in the future. CLOUD FORMS OF THE JET STREAM Through the work of Dr. Vincent J. Schaefer, of the Munitalp Foundation, Inc., and many military as well as commercial pilots, there has now been gathered considerable information on cloud forms associated with jet streams. This knowledge can be used as an auxili- ary tool to locate jet streams. Dr. Schaefer has found four main cloud types associated with jet streams. They are cirrus, cirrocumulus, lenticular altocumulus, and JET STREAMS—LEE 301 altocumulus, extending from horizon to horizon, and having waves at right angles to the air flow. From the ground, these clouds can be observed to move at great speeds, often resulting in rapid local changes in cloud cover during short intervals of time. Plate 1 shows three of Dr. Schaefer’s remarkable photographs of typical jet-stream clouds as observed from the ground.’ Aloft, cloud formations at various levels can often give indications of the wind direction. Under conditions of high winds, an upper cloud surface will show streaks in the direction of the wind and a billow structure at right angles to these streaks, in a manner analogous to wind lanes on a sea surface with a superimposed transverse wave pattern. CLEAR-AIR TURBULENCE It was once thought that aviation hazards, such as icing and tur- bulence, were confined to the lower troposphere, and that, once aircraft could fly “above the weather,” all problems of flight comfort would be solved. This myth exploded when high-altitude aircraft encountered turbulence as violent as that encountered at low levels. The bumpi- ness, or turbulence, is described by those who have experienced it to be like the pounding of a fast speedboat racing across a very choppy sea surface. Since there is no visual warning, it has been called clear-air turbulence. In order to ascertain the nature of this phenomenon, many special research flights have been carried out over the British Isles, Europe, and the United States. Through the kind cooperation of R. C. A. F. personnel, the Meteorological Service of Canada has also acquired and studied numerous turbulence reports. The conclusions reached by various investigators are largely in agreement, but there are also contradictions which will only be resolved by further research. Clear-air turbulence can occur at any level of the atmosphere flown thus far. It is generally found in isolated patches 50 to 100 miles in length and width. These patches consist of one or more layers, the vertical thicknesses of which are generally not great, being of the order of 500 to 3,000 feet. On occasion, thicknesses of 6,000 feet or more have been reported. Because clear-air turbulence occurs in layers, a satisfactory method of moving out of turbulent air is to change alti- tude by 1,500 to 2,000 feet. Clear-air turbulence has been found to occur in the vicinity of jet streams where the wind speed varies greatly with distance in the horizontal or vertical. Thus, the regions above, below, and to the left of the jet axis, facing downstream, are the preferred locations of tur- *The writer wishes to express his gratitude to Dr. Schaefer for permission to publish these photographs here. 302 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 bulence. The air in the core of the jet stream and to its right is smooth by comparison. If an aircraft is flying parallel to a jet stream, an attempt should be made to fly on the right side of the jet axis, because not only would there be a smaller chance of encountering turbulence, but also there would be the added advantage of maintaining strong tailwinds. The frequency of various intensities of turbulence has been studied by J. Clodman, of the Meteorological Division. Analysis of more than 500 reports of aircraft turbulence over a height range of 18,000 to 45,000 feet revealed the following results. For three stations where reports of nonoccurrences were also made, about a quarter of all flights encountered turbulence. Fifty-two percent of these occurrences were classed as light, 25 percent as moderate, 5 percent as heavy, and 8 per- cent as severe. The remainder were classified as light to moderate or moderate to heavy. Hence the majority of these occurrences were in the light or moderate range. The few cases of moderate and heavy turbulence occurred in layers not greater than 3,500 feet in depth, in agreement with the results obtained in Britain. A comparison of the frequency of turbulence reports at each level with the frequency of time flown at each level showed that they were almost identical, from which it is inferred that the probability of en- countering turbulence at any level from 18,000 to 45,000 feet is approximately the same. A study of turbulence reports collected on Canberra test flights over Britain was described by Eric Hyde, test pilot of Short Bros. and Harland Ltd., of Belfast, in the April 1954 issue of “Flight.” The general conclusions are similar to those reached elsewhere. However, they do report that the intensity of turbulence decreased with increas- ing height. For example, all cases of severe and violent turbulence were encountered below 30,000 feet, the area most affected being around 25,000 to 29,000 feet. The highest recorded altitude of turbulence was 49,000 feet, where only light turbulence was felt. Only rarely was turbulence encountered above the tropopause, and it was never greater than moderate. In contrast to experience elsewhere, there were many flights through well-documented jet streams which yielded no trace of turbulence at all. Pollen and Spores and Their Use in Geology’ By Estetta B, LEopotp and Ricuarp A. Scott United States Geological Survey, Denver, Colo. INTRODUCTION THE WIDESPREAD aerial distribution of plant spores and pollen is made obvious each year by the symptoms of the many hay fever suf- ferers—the pollen count has become as familiar a daily statistic as the relative humidity. Less obvious is the fact that the circulating spores and pollen inevitably must settle out of the air, thus be- coming a part of the continuing accumulation of sediments at the earth’s surface. This incorporation of the rain of pollen and/or spores apparently has gone on throughout geologic time since the evolution of spore-bearing plants, although appreciation and utilization of this fact are relatively recent developments in paleontology. In the past 25 years there has been increasing use of these plant mi- crofossils in solving scientific problems ranging from the recon- struction of the forest environment of prehistoric man to the correla- tion of Paleozoic coal seams. They are especially valuable in de- termining the changes in climate associated with advances and re- treats of the Pleistocene ice. The study of pollen and spores, formally called palynology, is yielding information increasingly useful in dating sequences of sedimentary rocks and in interpreting past en- vironmental conditions and climatic successions. Pollen grains are small (5-200 microns in diameter) reproductive structures representing the male gametophyte in the seed plants. Their transfer to the female reproductive apparatus, a necessary preliminary to fertilization, is effected primarily by wind, water, or by insects. Pollination by wind is necessarily an inefficient process involving a vast supply of pollen grains; some wind-pollinated plants have as many as 10,000 grains per stamen in flowers with many stamens, and more than 10 million grains may be produced by a * Publication authorized by the Director, U. S. Geological Survey. 303 304 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 single catkin (e. g., birch; Erdtman, 1954). Only minute proportions of this quantity of pollen grains complete their role in the repro- ductive cycle of the plant, the excess being the primary source of the pollen rain incorporated into the sedimentary record. Most plants adapted to pollination by insects produce fewer pollen grains per flower, although some insect-pollinated plants produce enough pollen to be represented regularly in the pollen rain. Spores, produced by so-called lower plants ranging from the fungi through the ferns, lycopsids (club mosses), and sphenopsids (horse- tails), may represent different aspects of the life cycle in different groups but have in common their function as a means of dispersal. Some species among the ferns, lycopsids, and sphenopsids are hetero- sporous, producing two kinds of spores differing in function, struc- ture, and usually in size. The female or megaspores are typically large, ranging from about 150 to several hundred microns in max- imum dimension; the male or microspores are usually smaller, from about 25 to 100 microns in their maximum dimension, and are produced in far greater numbers than megaspores. However, sex, not size, is the fundamental difference between megaspores and microspores. Megaspores are usually less abundant and less widely disseminated than microspores. Although they have been described from younger beds (Dijkstra, 1951), megaspores are most important as micro- fossils in the Paleozoic. They were produced in numbers by arbores- cent lycopsid and sphenopsid plants that were important components in the vegetation forming the Carboniferous coals. The persistence of pollen and spores in numbers in sedimentary rocks of diverse geological ages is due to the remarkable resistance of their walls to most degradative processes. The walls of pollen grains and spores are composed of a waxlike compound, a chemically undefined polymer of stable, long-chain molecules. This compound, one of the most enduring organic substances found in nature, is resistant to acidic or basic solutions. It is, however, susceptible to oxidation resulting from prolonged exposure to air; consequently, pollen and spores are best preserved when deposited in relatively anaerobic environments. The wall of a modern pollen grain is complex structurally, usually consisting of an outer, 2-layered eame and an inner intine. Post- mortem changes result in the degradation of both the contents of the pollen grain and its intine, so that only the exine remains in fossil material. Modern pollen grains can be treated chemically to leave only the exine for comparison with fossil pollen. A great diversity of shapes and morphological features is found among the pollen and spores produced by the many kinds of plants. POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 305 Although the grains of certain unrelated plants are similar enough to be virtually indistinguishable, this situation is not common enough to be a major problem. Pollen grains of the flowering plants are in general radially or bilaterally symmetrical, although a few asymmetri- cal forms are known. Many pollen grains are basically spheroidal, but modification into various other geometric shapes is common, and flattening as a result of compression is usual in fossil material. The appearance of a single pollen grain may vary depending upon whether it is seen in polar or in equatorial view. The appearance of many pollen grains reflects the presence of pores and/or furrows (colpz), which may function as exits for the pollen tube at germination of the grain. Various combinations of these apertures occur; three to many furrows and/or pores are common in pollen of dicotyledonous plants, and one-furrowed grains occur frequently in monocotyledonous and gymnospermous plants. Pollen grains of other gymnospermous (co- niferous) plants have elaborate bladders or wings. Some basic structural features of typical pollen grains are illustrated in figure 1. Spores of mosses and ferns commonly bear a triradiate tetrad scar, representing the lines of contact of the four spores produced as a result of the two successive divisions of the spore mother cell. Most pollen grains are also produced in tetrads, but with the exception of a few extinct gymnosperms, do not retain the triradiate scar. Spores with a single scar (monolete) and without a scar (alete) also occur. Some examples of the basic shapes of modern spores are shown at the top of figure 1. . The tremendous variety in wall texture, shape, and configuration provides a reliable basis for the categorization of many isolated spores and pollen grains, either in terms of their natural affinities or into morphological types. Both approaches are utilized by palynologists. Natural affinities must be determined for the interpretation of pa- leoecological and floristic information, though stratigraphic correla- tions can be carried out by the matching of morphological types with little regard for their relationships to the parent plants. DISPERSAL OF POLLEN AND SPORES Basic to interpretation of a fossil pollen assemblage is an under- standing of the factors affecting the original representation of spores and pollen at the locality. This representation is determined by a complex of factors, including the proportion of wind- and insect- pollinated plants in the contributing vegetation, the total pollen production of individual plants and their relative abundance in the contributing vegetation, and the meteorological and other conditions affecting distance of transport. Spores of ferns and mosses are disseminated by wind or water, but pollen is distributed either by the wind, water, insects, or oc- 306 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 triradiate ferns | or and ris Paci sin anne | monolete scar fern allies wings agymnosper— furrows -mous plants no aperture no aperture monocotyledo - -nous plants l pore | furrow no aperture 3 tO many pores dicotyledonous plants 3 to many furrows 3to many furrows HOOO HOOs Pesce and pores Ficure 1.—Some common pollen and spore forms. POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 307 casionally by birds or other agents. The mechanisms of dispersal have been important in the evolution of the number and type of pollen grains produced by each plant species. Because wind is a random agent in comparison with insects, whose travels about the plant usually are motivated, production of enormous numbers of pollen grains has definite survival value among wind-pollinated plants. In addition to being produced in greater numbers per flower, pollen POLLEN PRODUCTION SPEED OF FALL LOG GRAINS PER FLOWER CM/SEC ° 10 100 1900 10.000 100,000 Imillion ° 20 40 60 CONIFERS Sa eee nee ey oe POLLINATED BIRCH OAK CERTAIN DICOTS BEECH MAPLE LINDEN HEATH a ay INSECT FLAX POLLINATED LOBELIA ee = MILKWEED | —> ORCHID SELF GENTIAN IN A RR Ach cee ee 8 Oe ean RNR RS i oS OLLINATED j ay OENOTHERA NONE RELEASED P (DATA FROM DYAKOWSKA, 1937; KNOLL, 1932, ETC.) Ficure 2.—The approximate numbers of pollen grains produced per flower, and the buoy- ancy of single grains (measured by rate of fall in air) for some common plants. adapted for wind dispersal is usually lighter and less sticky than that adapted for transport by insects. A quantitative comparison of pollen production for some common wind- and insect-pollinated plants, and specific gravity of grains as measured by rates of fall in air, is shown in figure 2. Some insect-pollinated plants do produce a large amount of pollen (e. g., willow), and some pollen adapted for transport by insects is carried by air currents and deposited in en- vironments favorable for its preservation. Nevertheless, the differ- 308 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 ences in number and buoyancy usually result in an exaggerated rep- resentation of the wind-pollinated types in the pollen rain in relation to the numerical importance of the parent plants in the source vege- tation. Conversely, insect- and bird-pollinated species, which are particularly important in the arboreal vegetation of tropical regions, may not be well represented in the sedimentary record. The distances to which pollen grains may travel vary widely with the nature of the grains, location of the source plants, and weather conditions. For example, light grains tend to travel farther than heavier ones, and pollen produced by plants forming the forest canopy is more favorably situated for long-distance dispersal than pollen originating in the undercover. Anthers typically open during dry, sunny weather when thermal updrafts may be present to raise the pollen to altitudes favoring extended transport. Mixing of pollen grains in the air produces a more or less representative sample of the regional vegetation. The fall of pollen from the air is hastened by such factors as rain, increase in the relative humidity, and decrease in wind velocity. By far the major amount of pollen is deposited in the immediate area of the producing plants, and most pollen is removed from the air within a distance of 50 to 100 kilometers (Faegri and Iversen, 1950). Long-distance transport of single grains for distances of as much as 1,000 kilometers is on record (Erdtman, 1954), but these rare occurrences do not appreciably affect the re- liability of a mass sample of pollen. In general, however, the oc- currence of fossil pollen is a less reliable indication that a particular plant grew in the immediate vicinity than is the presence of leaves or other detached parts. Within the temperate zone it has been shown that the density of pollen in the air is greatest over the continents and falls off rapidly as one travels out to sea. Erdtman (1954) cites an example in which the pollen content of the air over the coastal plain of eastern Sweden was several thousand times greater than the amount present in the air 200 miles west of the European coast at the same latitude. The density of pollen in the air in an inland mountainous area in Norway has been investigated by Faegri (Faegri and Iversen, 1950), who reports that the tree pollen fallout at collecting stations in the montane forest belt was 13 times greater than the fallout received by stations at and above timberline (fig. 3). Factors affecting the relationship of the pollen rain to the source vegetation have been listed by Kuyl et al. (1955). These authors point out in part that pollen may be retransported after its original deposition but before it is incorporated into sediments. This second- ary transport may be by wind, or if the pollen falls into running water, it may be carried long distances in the stream before final POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 309 deposition. Transportation by rivers, as well as by wind, may be re- sponsible for the intermingling of pollen derived from entirely dis- tinct ecological assemblages. The interplay of these factors has been illustrated by a study of the modern pollen fallout at Eagle Lake in northern Maine (Hyland et al., 1953). The aerial pollen fallout in 1950 was measured by counting the numbers of different pollen and spore types falling on a “sticky slide” exposed for daily intervals during the growing season (fig. 4). 172 a | — ee cman —— 4.4 4 445,44 Se tat ao 4 4,0 4 468% 4S, 4n b da £6736 44,64~,4 ae d—*44-2 abs, 444, A, 3 4 7 fa ®&) {SO 200 Kilometers Ficure 3.—Pine pollen fallout (number of grains per square centimeter) at mountain sta- tions in Norway during the growing season of 1942. Stations within the forest area accumulate much more pollen than those near timberline. (From Faegri and Iversen, 1950.) The results show first that pollen rain is actually a series of fall- outs that occur during the blooming periods of different local plant types; the trees release pollen in the spring, and grass pollen, weed pollen, and fungal spores appear during middle and late summer. Coniferous trees numerous in the local forests (pine, spruce, and cedar) contribute heavily to the total yearly average, but oak and elm, rare types in the local stands, are poorly represented in the pollen rain at this site. All the spore and pollen types shown in figure 4 are wind trans- ported except maple and willow, which grow in profusion on nearby ridges. These are rather meagerly represented in the yearly average pollen rain in comparison with their density in the vegetation at the immediate site. Insect-pollinated plants including maple and willow ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 310 ~ CES6l “Te 39 purlAyY woy ydein) ‘Ajlep pasuryd sam yoryM ‘sapts odoos -o1ntm AYIs Butsodxe Aq pouleigo 219M eIv ‘OSG JO UOsvas BuIMOIZ ay} BulINp ‘ouleyAy ‘oye'T o[seqy ye ules uoljod oy,—}F AUNT u38N31d3S isnony Lt 82 81 8 ir Wnisyodsody 15 19NNI SNO3SNVTTSOSIN VIMVNYESLIY 39nNudS 8 3Nid WNYON3ZGOWSOH NIVLNV Id wnigysns O33M9ld ——_—_—_—$§_~o-— SceuneneenCanmeeemee’ WOOINW3H QOYUN3G109 |e VINIDONd MOM Q33M9vV"N POLLEN AND SPORES—-LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 311 and those in the unknown category (not shown) represent a total of only 10 percent of the 1950 pollen rain. From studies of this type it can be seen that the pollen rain of an area reflects the local vegetation only in a general way, and that the representation of wind-pollinated species is better than that of in- sect-pollinated species. The amount of total pollen rain may vary from year to year depending on fluctuations in weather affecting blooming and pollen dispersal, but during a 10-year period the per- cent composition of the total sample remains somewhat similar for a given station. FACTORS IN DEPOSITION Although the aerial pollen rain settles out at random as a fine dust on land and water, pollen does not persist in numbers at or near the soil surface owing to prolonged exposure to oxygen and to alter- nate wet and dry conditions. Water-laid sediments that remain wet for long periods of time and that are relatively deficient in oxygen provide the conditions under which pollen is best preserved. Many lakes and quiet lagoons have a low dissolved-oxygen content in their deep-water layers and particularly at and below the mud-water inter- face (Vallentyne, 1957); consequently, these environments, along with acid peat bogs, furnish extensive areas for the accumulation of pollen. Because the pollen rain is progressively less in the seaward direc- tion, sedimentary environments in which pollen concentrations can be found are limited to near-shore sites in marine and lacustrine waters. Pollen and spores from modern marine sediments are often associated with microalgae, diatoms, and other forms of oceanic plankton; conversely, assemblages from fresh-water sediments often include typically fresh-water microorganisms. Evidence of this sort provides the paleontologist with a way to recognize the environment of deposition of a fossil sample. Pollen and spores are of silt size and are readily eroded with the sediment in which they are imbedded. Modern fluvial erosion of Tertiary pollen-bearing rocks, followed by transport and deposition of the Tertiary pollen in a modern stream terrace, is not uncommon. The situation can be recognized from the resulting mixture of extinct or ecologically displaced pollen types with a modern assemblage. Redeposition of pollen has been observed in sediments originating during periods of rapid erosion by glacial meltwater streams drain- ing ice masses that eroded older, pollen-bearing beds (Iversen, 1936). Redeposited pollen does not seem to be important in most highly organic sediments such as peats, coals, and black muds, but the paly- nologist must be constantly on the alert for it. 451800—58——21 312 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 The quantity of pollen and spores in a sediment sample is deter- mined by the relationship between the density of the pollen rain and the rate of accumulation of the sediment. Maximum concentrations of pollen are produced by dense pollen rains in combination with slow deposition of sediment. Original low density of pollen in a deposit can result from either a light pollen rain or from dilution of a heavy pollen rain by rapidly accumulating sediments. Examples of these relations are shown diagrammatically in figure 5. Bars in the lower part of the figure show the probable rate of annual sedi- ment accumulation; those in the upper part form a record on a loga- rithmic scale of the number of pollen grains per gram (dry weight) of sediment. Rich in pollen are samples of lake peat and Jake clay from Durham, Conn. (on right, fig. 5). It has been determined by carbon-14 dating that these sediments were deposited very slowly, perhaps at the rate of only one millimeter per year. The rich pollen flora contained in these sediments indicates that at the time of deposition well-developed coniferous forests grew near the lake. In all probability the annual pollen rain was like that of coniferous forests now growing in central New England, perhaps 70,000 grains per square centimeter per year. A sample of varved (laminated) glacial clay from Hartford, Conn., poor in pollen (fig. 4), is laminated in a manner that indicates rapid sedimentation. The varves, which are 10 millimeters apart, may mark increments of sediment that accumulated annually or oftener. Al- though the pollen rain may have been less than the present fallout at that site, the low pollen content in this sediment seems to have been due primarily to dilution of the pollen by rapid sedimentation. The most sterile sediment among these examples is a modern la- goonal mud from Kapingamarangi Atoll in the South Pacific. This sample, along with 10 others from different depths, contains 25 or fewer pollen grains per gram of sediment (McKee et al., MS.). The total land area of the atoll islands that surround this lagoon is less than one square mile, and does not support sufficient vegetation to furnish large quantities of pollen locally. In spite of the slow rate of sediment accumulation at these sampling stations (McKee et al., MS.), the pollen density remains low owing to the limited numbers of source plants. POLLEN- AND SPORE-BEARING ROCKS AND THEIR LABORATORY TREATMENT Unweathered sediments originating in reducing environments are most apt to contain pollen; these include marine and fresh-water shales, limestones, siltstones, coals, peats, and lignites. High organic content, usually manifested by dark color, is often an indication of POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 313 the presence of pollen and spores. Sandstones are usually barren, but the absence of pollen from many coarse, aquatic sediments is thought to be a derived condition. Modern lake sands that have been con- tinuously wet since deposition often contain an abundance of well- preserved pollen and spores, but lacustrine sandstones that have been elevated and partially eroded usually contain none. Sediments having POLLEN DENSITY 10.000/gm LOG GRAINS 7,000/gm PER GRAM DRY SEDIMENT l000- 50/gm 1l00- 25/gm | lo- oe a a o- be KAPINGAMARANGI VARVED LAKE CLAY LAKE PEAT LAGOON CLAY (CONN) (CONN,) SILTS (CONN) SPRUCE ZONE A PINE ZONE B lOmm/varve | v PROBABLY SLOW Imm/year Imm/yeor RATE OF SEDIMENT ACCUMULATION Ficure 5.—Pollen density in sediments compared with the rate of sediment accumulation. Kapingamarangi lagoon sediments (left) are low in pollen, owing to poorly developed local vegetation; the varved clay (second from left) is low in pollen because of dilution of pollen rain by rapid sedimentation; the sediments in the two remaining examples (right) are rich in pollen because of dense contributing vegetation combined with a slow sedi- mentation rate. 314 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 a grain size coarser than that of fine sand facilitate the penetration of oxygen and percolation of ground water to an extent destructive to spores and pollen. Sedimentary rocks altered by the heat and pressure of metamorphism or by extensive weathering and exposure are usually sterile, although they may once have contained pollen. Original sterility may be the case in deep-water deposits which were laid down too far from land to receive an appreciable pollen rain. The preparation of fossil pollen requires the facilities of a chemical laboratory equipped with a fume hood, centrifuge, miscellaneous glassware, and a microscope providing magnifications between 100 and 1,200. Care must be taken to prevent the introduction into the sample of stray pollen from dirty glassware or the air. Pollen and spores imbedded in a sediment must be separated from the mineral matrix in order to observe them. Detailed explanations of the treatments used are given by Faegri and Iversen (1950). Two common procedures employed to accomplish the separation entail either dissolving the mineral fraction by reagents that will not destroy pollen, or differential flotation of the sediment using heavy liquids in which the organic residues float while the mineral fraction sinks. Common reagents for the first procedure are HC] for dissolution of carbonates, followed by HF to eliminate silicates. The second (flota- tion) technique may be accomplished, after physical maceration of the rock, by the use of a bromoform-acetone mixture adjusted to a specific gravity of 2.38 (Frey, 1954). Coals may be broken down by oxidation with Schulze’s solution. The high concentration of dark humic substances in coal, lignite, and peat often requires the use of decolorizing agents, bleaches or strong bases, to clarify the otherwise opaque organic material. Acetylation is often used to remove cellu- lose. Variations of these procedures have been developed in each pollen laboratory to deal with the matrix at hand. After the pollen is isolated from the sedimentary matrix, it is washed free of the reagents used in preparation and mounted on slides in glycerine jelly, balsam, or a synthetic mounting medium. INTERPRETATION OF THE FOSSIL SAMPLE Because of the similarity of Pleistocene plants to modern ones, identification of their pollen with modern genera or (in part) species is theoretically possible for such relatively young material. Much pollen of Tertiary age can safely be attributed to living genera too, but in Cretaceous assemblages the detection of modern genera is usually difficult and often questionable because of the great amount of evolu- tion and extinction that has since occurred. Older fossil material, e. g., pre-Cretaceous spores and conifer pollen, is usually placed in extinct 451800 O -58 (Face p. 314) SPRUCE ZONE 13,500. +460 yrs OURHA ‘| POLLEN ZONES OAK SPRUCE A-4 A-3 SPRUCE A-2 A-| YOUNGER HERB ZONE | rem | IPREOURHAM SPRUCE ee grains Tie OLDER cA HERB ZONE TI iat + CHARA [2 ie tz iat 010 0 100 200 300 ol00l0 «(OO © 01020 246 NAP TOTAL = b aus non arboreal pollen ones % per |OO tree grains = tu a = fo) ms =i ~~? 2 =) = PS (hee (Sy te re Be onze =< =w ier Ort 2 2 8 = = a WW Ww < aq qoost<0 ox Dees. eas = oc cc OO) = ae Ole i eae
> | qa F FOa os 02 ali ak = ui secede hs re) ° ©! et in ard a {LYCOPODIUM | TREES SHRUBS HERBS FERN ALLIES & WATER PLANTS Ficure 6.—Pollen diagram of Totoket Bog, Northford, Conn. auu ye | ee ee Giga pes dg | t pe \ » f av froma it 73 OOP! ORD, CONN. -- CORE TOT B— Porcant pai | Wee ver ¥ hee in, me ie a (fl § & vg 4 ia ! oecteinath ieee ae z a rh ners 25 HP Pieper EEF Tee a pan “sah0 om oe G Omeaa , FD, (OF 05 9 of WD) A OB, Ie, O%, 8 ' & oO , oy g ic b = 7a ’ + f tad ' D4 a e 2 | 3 " Ai x ’ * ek Ber 2 . oF = Be gee ee) oS oR ’ : & y ~ 3 . Swe nr «© ae pt 4O> 4 aSeh < . £8. 2 (eee Re & ce rs) & be & as =o & =e SS: Sve 6 uw 6 8 Ooo ky 4 PF —t =. SEE uN intel lls “eae rasta: a eg Northiard, Conn, . POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 315 genera because, though one might be sure to what major taxonomic group the plant belongs, it is usually considered inappropriate to apply the names of living genera to such old material. Identification of fossil forms in terms of modern species and genera requires careful comparison with a large-as-possible collection of modern pollen, prepared by acetylation from authentic herbarium collections (Traverse, 1955). With proper preparation a fossil pollen sample may contain up to 1,000 grains per slide. If the assemblage represented is rich in types, it may consist of 60 to 100 forms, though usually it contains less. An estimate by eye of the relative proportions of all these types is usually not accurate, especially for the rarer forms, and instead it has become accepted practice to count 200 to 1,000 grains in order to compute the percent composition of a sample. Because the slide assemblage is mixed, systematic traverses of the preparation by means of a mechani- cal stage permit the observer to encounter a random sample. By performing counts in a consistent manner for each of several samples in a sedimentary sequence, and by converting the tallies to percent composition of the observed sample, quantitative data can be obtained. By plotting the data in graph form with the values for each sample arranged in a vertical series according to its placement in a section, the relative numerical importance of each pollen type at different levels in the section can easily be seen. Such a plot is termed a pollen dia- gram, an example of which is included as figure 6. When the sample count includes 1,000 grains, percent composition data are statistically very reliable for both rare and common pollen grains. If the count includes 200 or fewer grains, the calculated per- cent composition involves a sampling error that becomes increasingly serious for progressively smaller counts, and is more serious for com- mon pollen types in the sample than it is for rare ones. When two or more pollen diagrams from a deposit are essentially the same, reliability of the data is increased (Faegri and Iversen, 1950). The pollen diagram shown in figure 6 represents an analysis of a 4-meter core in a late-glacial bog near Totoket Mountain, Northford, Conn. As a help in visualizing the sequence, a diagrammatic section of the core sediments from which the pollen samples were taken is shown at the left of this figure along with a scale to show depth below the surface of the bog. Plant genera observed in the samples are ar- ranged from left to right starting with trees, followed by shrubs, — herbs, and water plants. The relative amounts of different pollen types are shown as deviations to the right from the vertical axes. The advantage of presenting data in a diagram is that at a glance one can easily see major trends, dominant types, and relations of sediment type to the pollen phases, and also observe the components 316 = ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 of a single sample by following one depth level horizontally across the graph. Interpretation of a complex pollen or spore diagram is facilitated by dividing the sequence into phases or zones, in order to outline further the major features of the sequence. Definition of zones. can be based on any feature that seems pertinent, such as a numerically dominant genus, or presence or absence of critical though less abundant microspores. In our example, the zones entered on the extreme left of figure 6 are labeled for convenience by alphabetical symbols and are based on the dominant plant type or genus: T zones for predominance of shrubs and herbs, A zones for spruce (Picea), B for pine (Pinus), and C for hardwoods (here Quercus, oak). From one or preferably more than one such fossil samples or se- quences, inferences can be drawn about the type of plants represented, the general climate at the time of deposition, the environment of deposition, and the approximate age of the sample. Examples of such conclusions are discussed later in relation to paleoecological in- terpretation and correlation by pollen and spores. It might be said again, however, that the interpretation must recognize that the pollen and/or spore rain represented in the sample does not define the exact composition of the vegetation adjacent to the site of deposition. Qualitative changes with time shown in pollen or spore sequences are more meaningful than the composition of individual samples. RECONSTRUCTION OF PAST ENVIRONMENTS For paleoecological purposes, fossil pollen serves as a means of determining the botanical relations of the plants in the assemblage. Having identified the fossil pollen, the pollen analyst, under the as- sumption that plants have not significantly changed their environ- mental tolerances in time, can deduce that an environment like that now required by these plants once existed in the vicinity of the fossil locality. If a modern species is now limited in its distribution by specific factors such as temperature or rainfall, then from a Pleisto- cene occurrence of the plant one can infer rather precisely the cli- mate at the time the plant grew. The validity of such conclusions increases with the number of different plants on which they are based. They are most exact for the Pleistocene and decrease in accuracy with increasing age of the sample. Such precise climatic inferences cannot be made from plant as- semblages of Tertiary age, but, because most modern genera (but not species) have existed throughout the Cenozoic along with gradually decreasing numbers of extinct forms, somewhat more general inter- pretations are possible. Most of the plant genera of the older Mesozoic and Paleozoic are now extinct. Hence ecological evaluation of these old assemblages is POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 317 especially dependent upon correlative evidence from associated fos- sils and from the physical character of the deposit. An example of the use of fossil pollen in reconstruction of a pre- historic human environment is the sequence described by Godwin (1948) for Shapwick Heath (bog), Somerset, England, where inter- esting Iron and Bronze Age artifacts have been discovered. The pollen, from a series of sediment samples taken at close intervals be- low, at, and above the levels where artifacts were found, documented a series of changes in the vegetation that revealed the nature of the human cultures. Interpretation of the resultant pollen diagram was based upon changes in the kinds and numbers of weed, forb, and agricultural plant pollen present in the section. Less than half a meter below the bog surface were discovered the well-preserved remains of a log trackway (Westhay trackway) con- structed of longitudinally laid birch timbers and small, more or less vertical stakes pinning these in place; the birch timbers showed clear ax cuts that by their nature could not have been made by a modern ax, but were characteristic of the marks left by certain ax types used in the late Bronze Age. Associated with the trackway timbers was a spearhead that was of late Bronze Age. At other locations in Shapwick Heath, commercial peat-mining operations revealed no less than five food caches buried below the modern surface of the bog, and these are datable to the Romano- British culture by the coins contained in them. At other localities, a scabbard (a Téne scabbard), of late Iron Age, and also a primitive boat, 18 feet long, were discovered under several feet of peat. The archeological age of the boat is not certain, but the plant species pres- ent indicate that open water has been scarce or absent on Shapwick Heath since the time of the Westhay trackway. In sediments just below the oldest of these artifacts (the timbers of the Westhay trackway), weed, cereal, and forb pollen types are present, and in sediments above the trackway believed to be con- temporaneous with the late Iron Age, these same pollen types are especially numerous. Pollen representing weeds and forbs in Shapwick Heath sediments include Rumex, Artemisia (sage), members of the daisy and lamb’s- quarters families, and plantains. The most significant plantain species is Plantago lanceolata which elsewhere in European post- glacial sequences has been found only in sediments younger than Neolithic Age. It is a well-established fact that this plantain species has proliferated in Europe only in the last few thousand years, and that it is probably a weed associated with human disturbance of the vegetation. The cereals present include grasses and members of the barley group, which are difficult to identify to genus by their pollen. 318 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Allowing for the possibility of burial of artifacts below sediments with which they were contemporary, the evidence from the Shapwick Heath pollen sequence indicates that clearing of the local forest was begun toward the end of the Bronze Age and just before the construc- tion of the Westhay trackway. A later and more pronounced maxi- mum of weed and cereal pollen in sediments of late Iron Age suggests that clearing and agriculture probably reached a peak of activity at that time. The occurrence of barley grain in the ruins of a local village of late Iron Age confirms the fact that agriculture was prac- ticed during that era. The archeological record of Shapwick Heath history ends with the Romano-British artifacts which are datable to the time of the dissolution of Roman power in Britain at the close of the fourth century A. D. Pollen data from a peat bog near Northford, Conn., illustrate how fossil tree pollen can be useful in inferring the nature of pre- historic climate. In the pollen diagram (fig. 6), from this bog, tree- pollen curves plotted on the left include data for spruce (Picea), a genus that no longer grows in appreciable numbers in the State. During the deposition of zone A, which began some 13,000 years ago, spruce was the dominant pollen type, and therefore was probably the dominant tree in the local forests at that time. By comparison of the amount of spruce in zone A sediments with its density in pollen rain of areas to the north, one finds that the nearest comparable mod- ern concentration of spruce lies in the Maritime Provinces of southern Canada. Because spruce distribution and abundance are controlled by growing-season temperatures, one can make the definite conclusion that July temperatures of southern Connecticut during the deposition of zone A were at least as low as those now found in the Maritime Provinces. These temperatures average 16-18°C. in July and are 3 to 4 degrees cooler than those now typical of southern Connecticut in the month of July (Leopold, 1957). If their present ecology is well understood, microalgae or marginal water plants in the fossil assemblages are sometimes helpful in re- vealing the original hardness or salinity of the water. In the Totoket diagram of figure 6, water plants and algae, shown on the far right, include: chara and A/yriophyllum (water milfoil), now characteristic of mineral-rich lakes; Pediastrum, a small floating alga that now prefers open water; and the marginal water plants 7'ypha (cattail) and Vymphaea (yellow water lily). Remains of all these are espe- cially prevalent in sediments of zone A. One can therefore infer that during deposition of zone A when the forests of southern Con- necticut were predominantly spruce, this basin was a lake with waters POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 319 somewhat rich in calcium. The basin is no longer a lake, for peat has filled the depression to create a bog in which the peaty muck at the surface is rich in humic acids and low in minerals. Hardwoods rather than spruce now grow around Totoket bog. Hence it is clear that the old muds underlying the peaty surface of the bog contain a record of a climatic and aquatic environment strikingly different from mod- ern conditions in the Totoket basin. An outstanding example of the use of fossil pollen, along with fruits, seeds, and wood, in a broad approach to the reconstruction of a Tertiary (upper Oligocene) environment is the investigation of the Brandon lignite. This unusual deposit of brown coal, near Brandon, Vt., was first discovered about 100 years ago and served as the fuel source for an iron industry once the largest in the United States. Recent rediscovery and study of the lignite (macrofossils: Barghoorn, 1950; microfossils: Traverse, 1955) has resulted in the identification of more than 50 genera of flowering plants; about 60 percent of these are represented by pollen alone. The affinities of the plants from the Brandon lignite reveal that ecologically they form a subtropical assemblage which probably grew under conditions much like those in the river swamps of the Atlantic— Gulf Coastal Plain. Such significant genera as Liqguidambar (sweet gum), Vyssa (tupelo), Cyrilla, Gordonia, and Engelhardtia, now found only in much milder climate than that prevailing in Vermont, are represented by fossil pollen. In addition, presence in the flora of some genera now growing under warm conditions but only in south- east Asia, e. g., Glyptostrobus and Alangium, is proved by the occur- rence of their pollen. The present ecology of these and the other Brandon genera is compelling evidence for the existence in Vermont in the early Tertiary of climatic conditions similar to those now typi- cal for coastal Florida or South Carolina. Pollen from the Tertiary brown coals in Europe has been inten- sively investigated (Thomson, 1953), but the known Tertiary vege- tational history of the United States is as yet based primarily upon leaves and other macrofossils. From studies such as that of the Bran- don lignite, it is clear that palynology can contribute to a fuller under- standing of the evolutionary and migrational history of past and present vegetation by adding another category to the list of detached fragments from which the geologic record of plants must be deduced. The potential of pollen and spores in this respect arises not only from their occurrence in rocks that do not contain other plant parts, but also from the fact that a single slide may contain the pollen of 20 or more genera; a sample of this size is amassed much more tediously when dealing with plant macrofossils. 320 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 CORRELATION The practice of dating rocks by the fossils they contain is based upon the fact that during geologic time the complex of factors affect- ing organisms has resulted in their evolution, migration, and extinc- tion. Establishing the sequence of changes in individual categories and assemblages of organisms provides a basis for a relative chronol- ogy. The stratigraphic paleontologist can make correlations and age determinations by comparison of fossils from beds of unknown age with those from beds where the age is established. The suitability of pollen and spores for geologic dating arises from several of the factors already discussed, namely, their small size, taxonomic individuality, resistance to degradation, and wide- spread distribution. They may be used in correlation either as a means for identifying botanically the plants they represent or as arbitrarily designated forms. In practice, a combination of the two is often employed. The botanical approach takes advantage of the fact that the times of appearance and disappearance of most of the major plant groups are known. Thus Carboniferous plant microfossils reflect the dominance of extinct arborescent lycopods and horsetail relatives along with many ferns and seed ferns. Within the Carboniferous, changes in generic and specific composition and relative abundance with time are sufficient to make the numerous plant microfossils in coal useful for correlating coal seams within a basin (Kosanke, 1950). Permian and older Mesozoic rocks are characterized by the ab- sence of many of the Carboniferous types and the increasing propor- tion of winged gymnospermous grains and cycadophyte pollen. An- giosperm pollen is not certainly present until early Cretaceous time and is not abundant until late Cretaceous time. Pollen from Upper Cretaceous rocks is predominantly that of extinct angiosperm genera ; the floras assume an increasingly modern and more provincial aspect in the Tertiary. Such floral changes are revealed, for example, within the Tertiary sediments of the Great Basin, where fossil pollen assemblages record major changes in the composition of the woody flora due to migra- tion and to evolution. These changes are of the same nature and on the same order as the regional floristic changes already outlined from study of fossil leaves and fruits. As do the leaf floras, the Cretaceous and early Tertiary pollen assemblages contain many strange uniden- tifiable types, a few recognizable subtropical families or genera, coni- fers, some of which are now extinct, and a few warm-temperate trees that still grow on the North American continent but are no longer present in the local flora. Middle Tertiary sediments show several POLLEN AND SPORES—LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 321 broad-leafed genera that now grow exclusively in Asia and also woody types that are now temperate in their distribution. Late Tertiary pollen assemblages show progressively more modern tem- perate floras in successively younger sediments. Pleistocene sedi- ments in the west contain an essentially modern flora that underwent north-south or altitudinal migrations during the several climatic changes of that interval. Generalized floristic trends, such as those outlined above, can be safely used within a limited region, like the Great Basin, as a broad standard with which to evaluate assemblages of completely unknown age from the same area. This type of dating requires identification to modern family or genus, where possible, of the dominant fossil pollen forms. A striking example of applied palynology has been described by pollen workers employed in petroleum geology studies in the Mari- caibo Basin, Venezuela (Kuy] et al., 1955). By extraction of organic residues from cores as long as 3,000 feet that included sediments of Cretaceous and Paleocene (early Tertiary) age, these workers ob- tained characteristic fossil pollen assemblages that could be traced laterally from well to well for total distances of as much as 100 miles. Pollen zones marked by changes in relative numbers or qualitative composition of the assemblages in the long vertical sections were the basis for a subdivision of underground sediments that could not be successfully delimited by other means. By means of identical floral successions revealed by pollen, four facies provinces in the Tertiary of western Venezuela were correlated. The lower parts of these cores are composed of shales deposited in a marine environment, as indicated by remains of marine algae and Foraminifera. The sediments that unconformably overlie these obviously marine (Cretaceous) beds are mostly nonmarine coal beds, sandstones, and fresh-water shales. A pollen zone boundary that was fundamental in the oil-geologic interpretation of the basin struc- ture forms a nearly horizontal stratigraphic line that transects both the rough plane of contact between the marine and nonmarine beds and the irregularities of the textural sediment zones. The most reliable pollen zone boundaries were based on fossil pollen and spore types that showed a similar vertical succession over a very wide area; these types were assumed to reflect the regional vegetation changes. Because of the apparent usefulness of stratigraphic correlation by means of fossil pollen and spores, many of the large oil companies throughout the world now have installed research laboratories equipped for the study of these microfossils in sediments pertinent to petroleum-geologic problems. 322 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 SUMMARY Pollen and spores have the singular advantage of being the smallest plant components that can be linked taxonomically with the parent plants. Their production in large numbers, together with their buoyancy, has insured their representation in aerially deposited dust over wide areas. Resistance of pollen and spore walls to most deg- radative processes has resulted in their preservation in varied kinds of sedimentary deposits from diverse environments, often from deposits otherwise without fossils. Rapidly expanding appreciation of the presence of these micro- fossils in geologic sediments, together with development of methods for their recovery and criteria for their utilization, have led to appli- cations in archeology, paleoecology, and paleobotany, and in stratig- raphy. The developing usefulness of pollen and spores in such fields as petroleum geology promises that in the future these small fossils will be even more widely employed in these and other areas of research. REFERENCES BaRcHoorn, Hb. 8S. 1950. Geological and botanical study of the Brandon lignite and its signifi- cance in coal petrology. Econ. Geol., vol. 45, pp. 344-357. DisKstTRA, S. J. 1951. Wealden megaspores and their stratigraphical value. Meded. Geol. Sticht., S’Gravenhage, n. s., vol. 5, pp. 7-21. DYAKOWSKEA, J. 1936. Researches on the rapidity of the falling down of pollen of some trees. Bull. Intern. Acad. Polon. Sci. et Lett., Cl. Sci. Math. et Nat., ser. B (1), pp. 155-168. ERDTMAN, G. 1952. Pollen morphology and plant taxonomy. Angiosperms. (An intro- duction to Palynology, I). 539 pp. Stockholm. 1954. Introduction to pollen analysis. 239 pp. Chronica Botanica, Waltham, Mass. Farcri, KNutT, and IVERSEN, JOHS. 1950. Textbook of pollen analysis. 168 pp. Copenhagen. Frey, Davin G. 1954. A differential flotation technique for recovering microfossils from inorganie sediments. New Phytol., vol. 54, No. 2, pp. 257-258. GopwIn, H. 1948. Studies of the postglacial history of British vegetation, part 10. Philos. Trans. Roy. Soc. London, ser. B, No. 600, vol. 2338, pp. 275-286. Hyanp, F.; GRAHAM, B. F.; STEINMETZ, F’. H.; and VIcKERS, M. A. 1953. Maine air-borne pollen and fungus spore survey. 97 pp. University of Maine, Orono. IVERSEN, JOHS. 1936. Sekundires Pollen als Fehlerquelle. Danmarks Geol. Undersggelse, IV Raekke, Bd. 2, No. 15. POLLEN AND SPORES—-LEOPOLD AND SCOTT 323 KosANnKE, Rosert M. 1950. Pennsylvania spores of Illinois and their use in correlation. Illinois State Geol. Surv. Bull. No. 74, 128 pp. Kuyt, O. S.; MuLter, J.; and WATERBOLK, H. TH. 1955. The application of palynology to oil geology with reference to western Venezuela. Geologie en Mijnbouw, n. s., vol. 17, pp. 49-76. LEopo.p, E. B. 1957. Comparisons by pollen chronology of late-glacial climate in eastern USA with that of the Alleréd in northern Europe. INQUA, V Con- grés International; Résumés des communications, pp. 105-106. McKeEz, BE. ; Curonic, J.; and LEoPotp, E. B. Sedimentary belts in lagoon, Kapingamarangi Atoll. (MS.) Prue, H. 1953. Zur Entstehung und Entwicklung des Angiospermiden Pollens in der Erdgeschichte. Palaeontographica, vol. 95 (B), pp. 60-171. THIERGART, I’, 1949. Die stratigraphische Wert mesozoischer Pollen und Sporen. Palae- ontographica, vol. 89 (B), pp. 1-34. TuHomMSON, P. W. 1953. Pollen und Sporen des mitteleuropiischen Tertiars. Palaeonto- graphica, vol. 94 (B), pp. 1-138. TRAVERSE, A. 1955. Pollen analysis of the Brandon lignite of Vermont. U.S. Bureau of Mines, Rep. Invest. No. 5151. 107 pp. VALLENTYNE, J. R. 1957. The principles of modern limnology. Amer. Sci., vol. 45, No. 3, pp. 218-244. Wiison, L. R. 1944. Spores and pollen as microfossils. Bot. Rev., vol. 10, pp. 499-523. WODEHOUSE, R. P. 1935. Pollengrains. 574pp. New York. Reprints of the various articles in this Report may be obtained, as long as the supply lasts, on request addressed to the Editorial and Publications Division, Smithsonian Institution, Washington 25, D. C. a ity Pave 7h “a y i ke re Hh a9 he iY ‘ ) aa Pate vig: iy wet ESE dv, Ay i oe os uh eI, Aha TOECKI A: SHO Dh a ine ue ; Nyy A Oyo0b ag Wie yi bine Lin Oilr ibaa et wil i-asiodtithe inblashar ‘eotaiciaes. semis ¥ -eihitbis ; aapat NOEs ere iaeh axesthions hea erin ds eet nas teat cAI) mye we Bie Mh ate Ane | Meola: ‘ty ah een aefiad Hats ia te AT SL SCONE ban 6 orb a ve he ah lene ‘ai, agoaih: a slots d ve aa € un : ; ra 4) } f, ; A wan vale ti boon ete: niga HK ie ne aint al ait via Quid Ot eae ante OR vile se rhiaceor eden wth eal ates fk aPC df Ms uae tty at ae Sai, ‘it onl bub foes ) ine SUH wiles Pare hit ait. RY Bi. WG Hae Ae 2 oar fet ) ee, bee: taliteg aati pc ‘Bae An RAD BOP a Pe Bast: aes RES ‘ a: Ae ha fm Connisinist? adalah ia ert hie 3 ( ant’ wets ely’ esata NA Wea \. PaO) ae Pe eee Rat BEA a, CT), Bee. ba? i oltqaty 7 fe ea eB de elie ‘So paowe, 2 deur oT %0 citoratt cobalt att dis at Leta ior aver ase tir hee JOSS we sata path Air ell : Bt ae Hee be, PA epoca toainthepiia His. Agta ay i ath 4 7 i) t Tae { ui ; I wae he eecarg Can Li lt am | a ee ue ipginiae da sy fey: i hy ato, at Key Ripa, COU lake Eas i Ni nid Oe Tam AN 33 Oa fa wrest Ast ates it cs € Aig but peg? ele jas a : yi a) Bi ee a ae | | oy SSR aaa | N \ Nhadpede, tm Sony Ten days basa a via : aputhiltney ey ae. . 1S Os aah peeps (Ma GL eles Qi ugh od +n , , i Ane j # } ‘ i ual Pa a : ft ] Ce Way Mt ke a PRP has many i i pA, FA) PE ey YiaP yy Dae as se ie - aad t ; ae : > : ; Paty m, a us vat, 4 heal fi ane 1] w i ; if We Montane ‘unt (nt dela vy ‘6 ‘auuncney hy wie 4 . PNMIEAE ART Rp Oo Hur a Jr i o ant p 1, : Lil Ty a) A ir eis 1 i , » hats ; We sii a uy! pk wil esd: Ah ait a . ; Teg At: Ai, y d , hy war r pone ot HA Ninecipay ; een , her bt Hey ies ae i a betrd ca, Ey Say taney wait As ym : ' nt aM, i Négeiy wi Ai ri r iitiets Ala aa me oat oes ss eee is ‘hope hai i iat e, Pie: ay ny tee fi as me oi ne Pa a a iene Lae a ! i i. Puy » ‘ate bed uy vec biely ae The Influence of Man on Soil Fertility’ By G. V. Jacks Director, Commonwealth Bureau of Soils Rothamsted Experimental Station Harpenden, Herts., England By Man, spelled with a capital M, I mean human societies, includ- ing men and women, cows, crops, microbes, cars, steelworks, and stock exchanges. By soil fertility I mean the capacity of a soil to produce living material, regardless of how the soil acquired that capacity. Tf one man treats a spoil heap with fertilizers he may produce a fertile soil within a year, but the fertility will be evanescent, and he will not find it worth his while to maintain it. But Man—human society— may judge it worth while to reclaim the spoil heap for permanent agriculture, in which case he sets in motion some long-term processes largely governed by such things as the output of cars, activity in the steel industry, and level of the bank rate. These are among the major factors which determine the influence of Man on the present-day evolution of our soil. When a soil scientist studies the influence of a forest on soil forma- tion he pays most attention to the influence of the tree canopy, which is the dominant living influence on the soil because it conditions the existence and activities of all the lesser living factors such as the ground flora, the fauna, and the soil micro-organisms. But when a soil scientist studies the influence of Man on the soil he gives all his attention to the direct operations of the farmer and cultivator, the downtrodden ground flora of the human forest, and ignores the domi- nant influence exerted on the farmer’s daily and secular activities by social and economic emanations from the canopy of the towns. My theme will be mainly the influence of towns on the secular evolution of the soil. In embryonic societies, before towns exist, nearly everybody is en- gaged in food production, agriculture is of the self-sufficient type, and 1 Address delivered at the Sheffield Meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science on Thursday, August 30, 1956. Reprinted by permission from The Advancement of Science, No. 50, September 1956. 325 326 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 , there is no incentive to increase soil fertility, though there is a need for the whole community to organize itself so that a minimum level of soil fertility is maintained. This need is the basis of the tribal organi- zation of many primitive societies living by nomadic, shifting culti- vation which allows the soil to rest and recuperate between short periods of cultivation. It was also the basis of the three-field system of communal agriculture which maintained soil fertility in feudal England or, rather, slowed down the inevitable soil exhaustion that had to accompany social evolution. In these predominantly agricul- tural stages of human societies Man is a consumer of soil fertility. He cannot help it, any more than a young forest can help taking more out of the soil than it gives back; he cannot help it even when he is armed with all the wisdom which past experience and twentieth- century science can give him—because it is part of the nature of economic Man. It seems also to be the nature of part of economic Man to congregate in towns at a certain stage of his social development, and to abandon agriculture for more profitable pursuits. The growth of towns has a powerful effect on soil evolution. 'Towns create far more, and more concentrated, wealth than agriculture can create, a rising standard of living, and a greater demand for the produce of the soil. A small, but very significant, fraction of this town-made wealth flows back into the country, and the towns’ demands for food, clothing, and, nowadays, the agricultural raw materials of industry make it profitable for farmers to produce as much as they can from their land. To begin with, this results in an accelerated exhaustion of the soil, but if the towns continue to grow in size and prosperity a stage is reached— and has been reached in every successful civilization—when it pays the farmers to intensify production, to increase output per acre and, therefore, to raise soil fertility. If it pays Man to increase soil fertility, he does it. That, I think, is the basic natural law governing the growth and survival of civilization. A good example of the initial fertility-destroying and subsequent fertility-making influence of towns is afforded by the recent history of the United States. The drain on soil fertility to satisfy the demands of British towns for cheap food in the last century was one cause of the terrifying soil erosion which has afflicted the United States. But very recently a small part of the immense wealth pro- duced by American industry has begun to flow back into the soil. Farmers are finding that it pays to conserve their soil and to raise its fertility. Soil fertility, measured by crop yields, is rising more rapidly in the United States than in any other part of the world. Towns increase a country’s soil fertility by enabling farmers to afford to put more into the soil than they take out of it. Fertility INFLUENCE OF MAN ON SOIL FERTILITY—JACKS Bh cannot be increased merely by getting the soil to take in its own washing, that is, by self-contained or self-sufficient farming which, at best, returns to the soil only a part of what is removed from it. The fertility-producing farmer must be able to buy, or otherwise procure, fertility from outside and he must have a continuing economic incentive to do so. There are various ways in which farmers can acquire money and various forms in which they can buy soil fertility (by which I mean anything or any measure that will increase yields) ; but, in general, farming Man can earn enough not only to pay for his necessities and luxuries, but also to improve his land in the hope of further gain, only by selling to a stable and wealthy market—a town which produces many times more real wealth per acre than the best soil can. In this industrial age enough wealth is being produced in the towns and cities of the world to fertilize very large areas of food- producing land. Most of the people in the cities have enough to eat; most of the 60 percent of the world’s population that are underfed are producers of food. I have so far distinguished three stages in the evolution of soil under Man. First, there is the shifting-cultivation stage when human activity has only an ephemeral effect on the soil. This stage is as- sociated with a low density of population, and may not occur in societies living in places, like Egypt, irrigated by fertility-producing water. Secondly, as and when population increases, permanent settle- ment occurs and soil-exhausting agriculture is practiced because society has few other sources of wealth than the soil to draw on. Society tends to develop a structure which prevents too rapid an exhaustion of the soil. This we may call the soil-exhausting stage. Thirdly, as the population increases further it congregates in towns, reducing the pressure on overworked, unimproved land, but gradually increasing the demand for its produce. Towns produce wealth from other sources than the soil, which enables them to pay for their demands and makes it profitable for farmers to satisfy them by investing money in soil fertility. We may call this the soil-conserving or fertility-producing stage. Society becomes urbanized and largely loses interest in agri- culture, but wealth continues to flow from the towns into the soil. A state of equilibrium may be reached when the input of soil fertility by the towns is balanced by the output in rich harvests. What happens subsequently is not clear. We have examples of all these three stages of social and soil evolution in the world at the present time, and we may have examples of a later stage of soil evolu- tion under Man in the overpopulated, because underurbanized, re- gions of southeast Asia where nearly half the people in the world live. We do not know whether yields in India and China were once higher than they are today when they are much too low to support, except 451800—58—_22 328 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 in dire poverty, the mainly agricultural populations; but whereas yields in all industrialized countries have increased markedly within the last 50 years and are still increasing, they have not increased in India and China. In both countries, however, the present govern- ments are aware of the importance of industrialization and getting people off the land as a means of raising the standard of living, which would lead to some improvement in soil fertility. The different stages of soil evolution under Man are not, of course, distinct. They merge into one another, as do the corresponding stages of social evolution, and it is quite possible for all three (or more) stages to be apparent in one country at the same time—as, for exam- ple, in modern Ceylon, where shifting cultivation, soil-exhausting subsistence agriculture, and soil-conserving commercial agriculture are operating simultaneously. Western Europe is the only large area of the world that is at the climax of soil evolution; much of the rest is so young in human history that it is still in the soil-exhausting stage, a fact which affords an adequate ecological reason for the pres- ent worldwide prevalence of soil erosion. The soil-exhausting stage will pass, and one factor which is accelerating its passing is the widely felt fear that it may not pass. A glance at the past and present histories of Man in different parts of the world will show that they all conform to the same general pattern in relation to the soil. ENGLAND The history of England affords an excellent illustration of the way in which soils have evolved under human society from their original forest-made condition of quite low fertility to their present man- made condition of very high fertility. Parallel with this soil evolu- tion occurred a social evolution from a tribal to a feudal to a highly industrialized capitalistic society. In these parallel evolutions the outstanding influence on soil fertility was the growth of towns. The first people to clear the English primeval forest were probably shifting cultivators. Then, gradually, an invariable system of settled agriculture developed, of which the most essential feature was the resting fallow. This “three-field system” was a characteristic of the feudal age. The land was worked according to a fixed set of rules, to prevent the otherwise rapid exhaustion of the land and the break- down of the community. The rules not only checked soil exhaustion, but also prevented soil improvement. The fallow, however, did not completely prevent soil exhaustion, and by the time the feudal period was coming to an end many of the open fields were getting into a bad state with increasing weediness and falling yields. As is well known, the early commerce of this INFLUENCE OF MAN ON SOIL FERTILITY—JACKS 329 country was based on wool, and the rise of the wool trade gave a great impetus to the enclosure of common land which, after enclosure, was almost invariably put into pasture for sheep. Grass is the best soil improver known; indeed, it is noteworthy today that wherever soil improvement is being planned, from the Poles to the Equator, first reliance is placed on grass. At the time of the Tudor enclosures, at the end of the exhaustive stage of soil evolution, it was pressure from commercial interests, and against the will of the great majority of farmers, that gave the soil its first dose of fertility-producing medicine. Later, great improvements, which would have been im- possible on unenclosed land, were effected in pastoral and arable farming, mainly with capital earned in the towns. Investment in soil fertility was profitable because the towns provided a market for all that the soil could be made to produce. Large-scale investment in soil fertility of money earned in com- merce and industry continued until about 90 years ago with immense benefits to both farmers and land. Then the opening up of the New World brought near disaster to British agriculture, and offered greater attractions than did British land for the surplus wealth of the towns. However, the subsequent neglect of British agriculture, which lasted until 1940, had little effect on the inherent fertility of the soils because so much land went back to grass, which gave the soil a rest. If arable farming had been maintained at the 1870 level with insuflfi- cient capital investment, the loss of inherent soil fertility might have had serious consequences in the two world wars. At the present time the crying need of the soil is for capital which can only be provided in sufficient quantity by the products of industry. It is becoming evident that, in future, Britain will be unable to rely to the same extent as formerly on buying unlimited food from abroad, so more of the wealth of the towns may again be diverted into the soil. A1- ready the state pours money into the land on a vast scale; the level of soil fertility—crop yields—would fall immediately if the state ceased to do so. NORTH AMERICA In North America the soil is going through a similar sequence of evolutionary stages under the influence of Man. Social development has been telescoped into a much shorter space of time than was the case in Europe. Most people would say that industrial progress has advanced further in America than in Europe, but it is of very recent date and the beneficent effects of American industrialism on the soil are only now beginning to be discernible. At first there was a period of “shifting cultivation” as the frontier was pushed westward. The land was skimmed of its fertility and then 330 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 abandoned or passed on to another who continued the skimming process. The greater part of the habitable land was occupied within a century. Then followed a period of soil-exhausting agriculture when the unimproved soils were bled not only to keep their owners alive, but also to feed the teeming urban populations of Europe and thereby to provide some capital for founding American industry. The land got back little for what it gave, but in the mushrooming cities seeds were being sown which would bring forth a rich harvest of soil fertility. The disastrous effects on unfertilized American soil of huge exports of food, mainly to Europe, are very evident at the present time in the widespread occurrence of soil erosion, a disease from which many other parts of the world are also suffering. Food exports, of course, were only one of many causes of the rapid exhaustion of American soils that in its turn was the immediate cause of soil erosion by the physical breakdown of soil structure. That all this erosion should have happened is usually regarded as unfortunate, sometimes as tragic, and occasionally as sinful. Taking a global view of agricul- ture, soil erosion is certainly a phenomenon of tremendous signifi- cance today. It has been described as a symptom of maladjustment between society and the soil, but I regard it, rather, as a symptom of a normal stage of the evolution of soil under Man’s control. Human society destroys soil fertility before it begins to create it, and there is nothing society can do about it until it has created a great surplus of wealth, over and above what the land can produce, with which to fertilize the soil. Unlike Europe, North America has not evolved a cast-iron social system to check the outflow of fertility from the soil. Events have moved too quickly. But in the 1930’s the soil-conservation-district movement was started in the United States, by which the farmers of a district voluntarily organized themselves, with Federal and State backing, to farm according to established soil-conservation practices. The movement spread with astonishing rapidity, and today most of the farmland is included in soil-conservation districts. In many dis- tricts good intentions are more evident than soil conservation, but that the movement should have swept the whole country in less than 20 years is most significant. The much greater effect on soil fertility of a phenomenal increase in industrial production has to some extent masked the direct effects of soil-conservation measures. Although the event is still too recent for us to be certain about its significance, the economic depression of the 1930’s may have been the turning point in the evolution of American agriculture from soil exhausting to soil conserving. During the depression millions of acres of overworked land got a rest, and the virtues of grass as a protector of the soil from erosion and as renovator of soil fertility INFLUENCE OF MAN ON SOIL FERTILITY—JACKS 331 became clear to all. As in our first agricultural revolution, the farmers did not like having to change their traditionai ways, but they could not stand up to the harsh economics of the time, any more than our open-field farmers could resist the powers of enclosure. When the second World War came, food production was enormously in- creased, as it had been in the first war, but this time fairly adequate precautions were taken to protect the land from erosion, and soil fertility was not used up—indeed, it was increased by the greatly expanded use of fertilizers and other applications of science and technology. Since the war, crop yields have continued to rise, and now average about 35 percent above prewar. Farmers have had money to spend and to spare, and some of it has found profitable in- vestment in soil fertility. Boom conditions, however, do not last for- ever. America is now producing more from its land than it can dis- pose of. What that portends for the future I do not know, but it suggests that American economy and soil are still far from a bal- anced equilibrium. The soil-conservation stage has a long way to go. USSR Data on the progress of agriculture in the Soviet Union are un- reliable, but there is no evidence whatever of such great advances in yields and intensity of production as have recently occurred in North America. In Russia the towns do not provide surplus capital to fertilize the land; on the contrary, the land is starved of capital to feed the expansion of industry, as happened in the United States until a few decades ago. Russia is still in the soil-exhausting phase of economic development—indeed, in some respects it is still in the shifting-cultivation phase. If the industrial revolution is carried through successfully in Russia, however, the land should ultimately get some of the surplus wealth of industry in the form of capital investment and applied science, and the normal effects of industrial- ization on soil fertility should then appear. Russian soil science is remarkable in two ways. It is 25 years ahead of the rest of the world in its conceptions and 25 years behind in its application. The limit- ing factor to greater productivity is not lack of knowledge of the soil, but lack of capital as a fertilizer. To this might be added the apparent absence of all incentive to the collective farmer to improve the land. The present trend in Russia is toward the supersession of the collective farm by the state-owned, factory-operated farm. Collective land ownership, during the short time it has operated, has failed to increase soil fertility. It is quite possible that state owner- ship, which is in some ways analogous to the large-scale individual ownership which played such an important part in promotang soil fertility in England, may have similar effects in Russia. To the 332 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 western mind the much advertised project to reclaim 70 million acres of semiarid virgin land in central Asia for grain production seems a colossal waste of effort when so much more could be done by intensi- fying production on the naturally fertile and more accessible black earths of the Ukraine, but it must be remembered that so far the influence of Man on the soils of the Soviet Union as a whole has been very small, and parts of that vast country are still in the shifting- cultivation stage. There is still the urge to people the empty spaces, which appears again and again, and not only in Russia, in schemes to reclaim deserts or to settle the Arctic, and reflects the inborn long- ing of Man to be master of all he surveys. One must recognize, too, that the Chinese Communist revolution, with its emphasis on industrialization, may bring new life to China’s wornout soils, many of which seem to be in the last stages of decline after some thousands of years under Man’s control. But the revolu- tion has scarcely started yet. SOUTH AFRICA AND AUSTRALIA These two large countries are taken together not because of any similarity in their agriculture or soils, but because both are at the same critical stage of soil evolution. In both, soil exhaustion and erosion have been very severe and have caused the utmost alarm to farmers, financiers, and politicians. Indeed, the late General Smuts once said that soil erosion was bigger than politics—which meant something in South Africa! Since the last war, however, a remarkable change in outlook has come over both countries. Immense progress, for so short a time, has been made in the reorganization of agriculture on a soil-conserva- tion basis, particularly by the establishment of soil-conservation dis- tricts based on the American model, and by the intensification of agriculture and the introduction of ley farming. In both countries, too, agriculture has ceased to be the main occupation of the inhabi- tants. In Australia three-quarters of the whole population is now urban. In South Africa heavy industry produces more wealth than either mining or agriculture. Both countries have just reached the stage where the wealth of the towns can begin to fertilize the soil. The voluntary communal control of soil erosion by means of soil- conservation districts, which has taken such firm root in America, Australia, South Africa, and also on European land in Rhodesia, seems to be the modern equivalent of the communal farming rules enforced to check soil exhaustion throughout feudal Europe. Land- use regulations, made to ensure the maintenance of soil fertility, are enforcible by a district’s own laws, as the fallow was enforcible by manorial law. The old three-field system, however, merely prevented INFLUENCE OF MAN ON: SOIL FERTILITY—JACKS 333 soil exhaustion from going too fast. The soil-conservation district aims not only to prevent soil erosion, but also to build up fertility— which was impossible under the three-field system. The soil-con- servation district may well turn out to be the characteristic not only of the final stage of the soil-exhausting phase in these rapidly grow- ing nations, but also of the emerging fertility-producing phase. It was originally devised to check the precipitate exhaustion of the soil that, in the previous absence of any social control, was getting out of hand, but it is now being used everywhere to build up soil fertility. The soil-exhausting phase is merging into the fertility-producing phase. In South Africa, in particular, the soil-conservation-district move- ment has swept through the country within the last few years only. A sudden impetus has been given to soil conservation, the results of which have not had time to appear, but there can be no doubt about the impetus which, again, may not last. It does seem, however, that the great progress and prosperity of South African industry are convincing farmers that it will pay them to invest in soil fertility, for example, by adoption of ley farming, by applying sulfate of ammonia to grassland in order to build up the soil’s humus content, and other measures whose lasting efficacy cannot be known for many years. The significant fact is that the spirit of soil conservation is abroad, inspired by the money flowing from South Africa’s young industries. Australian pastoral and arable farming is also tending to become fertility-producing, though, as in South Africa, the revolution, if it is one, has scarcely begun. The creation of more fertility than was present originally in Aus- tralia’s soils has been made possible by using superphosphate to grow wheat and clover. Australian soils are among the oldest in the world, and were poor in the two essential plant nutrients, phosphorus and nitrogen, even before soil-exhausting farming began with the arrival of the white man. Wheat and wool have since removed much of the remaining nutrients. Deficiency of phosphate is widespread in both agricultural and pastoral land, and trace-element deficiencies are common. A general advance in Australian soil fertility can only be achieved by overcoming these deficiencies. There is also a deficiency of water that is more difficult to overcome, but Australia has a long way to go before water becomes the final limiting factor. By applying superphosphate to the—to European eyes—miserable Australian pastures which, nevertheless, produce the finest wool in the world, dense crops of subterranean clover can be grown that enrich the soil with nitrogen, double or treble its carrying capacity, and pro- vide humus for more intensive arable farming. By such simple 334 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 means, reminiscent of the introduction of clover into English farming, there are almost limitless possibilities for increasing the fertility of Australian soils. Superphosphate, subterranean clover, and a few trace elements have the power to make at least much of southern Australia fertility- producing. But the existence of the means is not enough to effect the revolution. The high price of wool that resulted from the Korean war gave a great fillip to soil improvement, but will not last forever. The Australian people, however, are already three-quarters urban and are developing secondary industries which should produce a surplus of wealth with which to fertilize the soil. Australians occupy a huge continent and are concentrated mainly in five large cities. Jt remains to be seen how far the fertilizing influence of these five widely sep- arated cities will spread into the outback, most of which is still in the shifting-cultivation stage. TROPICAL LANDS In the mostly thinly populated areas within tropical latitudes, Man has seldom succeeded in ousting the plant world from its dominant position in the soil’s economy. The Indian subcontinent is the best existing example of permanent tropical agriculture that has continued for centuries. It is also one of the most densely populated of tropical countries. As elsewhere in the Tropics, the basis of this permanent agriculture has been paddy cultivation in which flooding suffices to maintain plant nutrients in the soil at a level adequate for at least sub- sistence production of rice. The example of other countries, like Japan and Australia, shows that rice yields could be greatly increased in India by fertilizers, mechanization, use of high-yielding varieties, etc., and there should be no difficulty in providing all the people of India with adequate food from her soil, if the wealth to fertilize the soil were there—which, of course, it is not. There is far too high a proportion of the people on the Jand for its efficient utilization, and they are too poor to fertilize it. The rapid increase in India’s rural population within the last century seems to have accelerated soil ex- haustion, at least as far as soil erosion is symptomatic of it. There has been no increase in average crop yields during this century. This may indicate the normal exhaustion phase of soil evolution under Man, to be followed by a conservation phase when the country has been urbanized and enriched by industry, or it may represent a later phase in which society is too old to adapt itself to the creation of soil fertility. The Indian Government is exerting every effort toward industrializa- tion, wherein undoubtedly lies the main hope for the future fertility of Indian soil. INFLUENCE OF MAN ON SOIL FERTILITY—-JACKS 335 No other well-tried system of settled agriculture except paddy-rice growing is known that will at least maintain, if not increase, the fer- tility of tropical soil. Rice is the almost universal basis of settled tropical agriculture, as wheat is of temperate agriculture. The min- erals in the floodwaters together, perhaps, with nitrogen fixed by algae often found on paddy fields usually suffice to maintain soil fertility under continuous cultivation for hundreds or even thousands of years without needing a very complex social organization to operate the system. Rice growing, with a little pasturage and livestock, can pro- vide the minimum necessities of a settled tropical society. Otherwise, tropical agriculture is mainly of the shifting-cultivation type which precludes permanent settlement. A patch of land will be cleared and cultivated for two or three years, after which the available plant nu- trients in the soil will have been used up, and crops will fail. The land is then abandoned for, say, 10 to 20 years, during which a secon- dary growth of vegetation will invade the soil, restore its fertility and make possible another short period of cultivation. Shifting agri- culture is essentially exhaustive, the purpose of the abandonment of cultivation being to rest the soil and restore its fertility. Such a system can only work with a very low population density. The impact of European civilization on the Tropics has greatly accelerated, but does not seem to have altered, the normal course of soil evolution under Man. European colonists cannot live by shift- ing cultivation, and they have tried with some success to introduce peace and better health into their colonies. Consequently, colonial populations have recently tended to exceed the limits at which the land can be rested long enough to restore its fertility. In every tropical colony (using the term in its widest sense) shifting cultiva- tion is breaking down, and invariably and inevitably soil-exhausting settled agriculture is taking its place. Social and soil evolution is going through the normal stage of soil-exhausting agriculture, often accompanied by catastrophic soil erosion. The wealth required to create soil fertility and, still more, the demand for a high standard of nutrition from a large, well-to-do urban proletariat are absent. Until this demand appears there will be no incentive to bury money in the soil. To the few Europeans who operate highly capitalized plan- tations in the Tropics, however, the incentive of supplying their own urban markets, at home and abroad, is making itself felt. We already have examples of intensive, fertility-producing agri- culture in the Tropics that is basically similar to intensive European agriculture. In Southern Rhodesia a system of ley farming with large applications of nitrogen has given consistently high yields of maize, meat, and milk, and has improved the condition of the soil. But it has not been operated long enough to merit the term “per- 336 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 manent agriculture.” The system is worked by a few progressive Europeans whose extra output is not sufficient to depress the price of maize. If every farmer followed suit there would be such a glut that all would be ruined—or at least would be unable to buy the necessary fertilizers. Under present conditions there would be insufli- cient demand for the produce. On the other hand, if all the people in the towns could afford to live well, their demands would tend to raise the price of maize, and some of the money they spent would flow back into the soil. All—and it is a big all—that Rhodesian soil needs to make it fertile is more and richer townspeople. Until it gets them it will have to put up with a good second best—the mag- nificent work of its agricultural officers. I should like to pay a tribute to this handful of key men who, throughout our tropical Empire, are smoothing out the agonies of the violent agricultural revolution which has followed the breakup of shifting cultivation, and are preparing the ground for the next, more prosperous stage. Most colonial countries are now in the early soil-exhausting stage of evolution, and are developing social and agricultural systems which will slow down the loss of soil fertility that is bound to occur before the peoples are numerous and wealthy enough to enrich the land. Today, in most colonies, agricultural society is being reorgan- ized, largely by agricultural officers, on a basis of soil conservation with laws, ordinances, sanctions, and subsidies to ensure at least the safety of the remaining soil. One can see social systems evolving in which it may be as difficult to mishandle the soil as it was in feudal England. In a recent flight over Africa what impressed me most was the quite frequent appearance of that most characteristic feature of soil conservation—terraced, strip-cropped fields. It was also the most beautiful feature of the generally dismal view one gets of Africa from the air. The open fields of England might have given a balloon- ist a similar impression 500 years ago. These emerging social and agricultural systems, designed to con- serve tropical soils, tend to be less flexible and more compulsive than those which are evolving in temperate regions whose inhabitants are politically and socially more advanced. They may become as un- adaptable to purposes of soil improvement, as distinct from soil con- servation, as was the rigid three-field system of England. We are acquiring the knowledge to make tropical soils fertile, but there are still lacking millions of people in towns producing nonagricultural wealth, the best fertilizer soils can have. CONCLUSION Throughout history the picture of Man in his relation to the soil has had certain common features: his first struggle to adjust himself to INFLUENCE OF MAN ON SOIL FERTILITY—JACKS 300 the existing balance of Nature either by adopting shifting cultivation in forest lands or by nomadism in grasslands; then, with increasing population, upsetting the balance of Nature by the practice of settled, subsistence agriculture with social checks on the unavoidable exhaus- tion of the soil; then the concentration of the growing population into towns, the creation of new wealth in manufacturing, commerce, and the arts, a rise in the urban standard of living, a demand for more of the necessities of life, an overfiow of wealth into the soil, and the creation of new fertility to satisfy the towns’ demands; finally, the reestablishment of a biotic balance when the inflow of soil fertility is balanced by the outflow. As long as most of the population is urban there is no apparent upper limit to the number of people who can live in a region or country without exhausting its soil; but the present-day condition of southeast Asia suggests that a relatively low total popu- lation density can be a heavy burden on the soil when most of the people live on the land. By contrast, the countries showing the highest average soil fertility are the most densely populated and highly in- dustrialized—Britain, Germany, Holland, Belgium, Japan—and agri- cultural Denmark, the exception to prove the rule. Today, as a result of the rapid opening-up and development of a large part of the habitable land within the past century, most of the world is in the soil-exhausting phase, a fact which, unless viewed in ecological perspective, may lead to a certain loss of faith in the future of mankind. But it is a passing phase, which seems alarming only because it is happening over such large areas at thesametime. Already we can see signs in some rich new countries that the soil-conserving phase is approaching. Will the world of a hundred years hence be able to feed the 6,000 million people who will then be in it? The answer is yes, provided most of them live in towns and produce enough wealth to pay for the food they need. If they offer enough money for their food, the food will be produced. As every farmer knows, it pays to fertilize when the market is good. That may, perhaps, be regarded as an oversimplification of the phenomena of civilization; nevertheless it explains quite a lot of them. Pay ak Ay ; Walk Te Cu aaae! fi oe , dope j i | Ryo Anns X g é ‘Br f Lipid (eed Wwe ath nen re, H Pike obs Ri OR Na 4 aan Bes Bh, tn} oh RY tik ify Mappa - i mm tA WA . J i Meera ) ‘ vi ; Pasar J Pay ! ‘ Ie A atF es fi AP hh ei Dat her O ‘ Piavih i" hep @ fia 7 7 ha G a Mee a. f NL Ory - Pint ies een y Ve Stee aes, ( ie eee Ps Teen ve yy ata a iets Pay tie the _ nist ks ath Sin ih Cretan «° Pant fre fh eat ft yt sft atl ay bee Mahe real ; hent \ ¥ i The Land and People of the Guajira Peninsula’ By Raymonp E. Crist Research Professor of Geography University of Florida, Gainesville [With 10 plates] Paracuaipoa, market town of the Venezuelan Guajira, only 90 kilometers from the bustling, modern, oil-rich metropolis of Mara- caibo, is in time and historical evolution several thousand years away. Beyond Paraguaipoa one enters a veritable cultural island, where the mode of life today is in many respects similar to that depicted in the Old Testament in the days of Abraham in the Old World desert of Arabia. It is a land of marked contrasts and violent extremes, where months-long droughts are followed by disastrous inundations; a land of shy but friendly people among whom the most violent blood feuds still flare up, where the biblical injunction of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is followed to the letter, unless retribu- tion be made by the offender in the wealth of the land, namely live- stock. Here also young women are frankly and openly acquired by purchase, in accordance with Guajiran law, and a man may have as many wives as his purse, his years, and his fancy will allow. What are the factors, physical and cultural, that have made pos- sible the formation and the preservation of a distinct society and culture in this little-known corner of South America? Already the Spaniards found a vigorous culture flourishing there, with its own language, institutions, and pattern of occupancy (though it was they who introduced the domestic animals on which most of the present- *The field and library work on which this paper is based was made possible by a grant of the Creole Petroleum Corp. Various departments of the or- ganization cooperated in every way to further the undertaking. Thanks are due the ministries of the Venezuelan and Colombian Governments that helped to facilitate fieldwork involving movement back and forth across the frontier; also to Professor Lorenzo Monroy and Mr. ©. J. Lamb, who were of assistance at every step throughout the author’s stay in Venezuela. To Drs. Woodfin L. Butte and Guillermo Zuloaga, directors of the Creole Corp., the writer is espe- cially grateful. 339 340 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 day wealth of the Guajiros is based). In this harsh and hostile desert environment a nomadic or seminomadic people, widely disseminated, has evolved and maintained a society with a highly developed group consciousness, though lacking, to be sure, many of the features characteristic of modern life. Although this land and this people have had an international boundary superimposed upon them, the people nevertheless continue to be Guajiros, speaking their own language, wearing their own dress, thinking of themselves, noé as Venezuelans or Colombians, but as Guajiros. The Venezuelan and Colombian Governments, despite the political boundary line, have been forced to recognize local laws and customs and to grant a high degree of local cultural autonomy. The observer cannot but wonder how such tenacity of cultural traits has been possible. A succinct dis- cussion of the physical and historical background, supplemented by observations in the field, may provide a basis for understanding some of the cultural forces that have been operative in the evolution and the cohesion of Guajira society, in spite of—or perhaps because of—extremely unfavorable physical factors. Not so long ago, geologically speaking, the northeastern part of the Guajira Peninsula, La Alta Guajira, was probably an island, cut off from the mainland by a downfaulted block or graben, one side of which ran from the Cabo de la Vela south past Cerro La Teta and into the Gulf of Venezuela. Gradually, during Quaternary times, the shallow water covering this graben has been filled in with sedi- ments deposited largely by the Rio Rancheria and the Rio Paragua- chon as they eroded the Sierra Nevada and the Montes de Oca. Large sectors of the peninsula north and east of Paraguaipoa and Maicao and almost as far north as Cerro La Teta, are inundated even today during the wet season; the mountains from which most of the waters come can sometimes be seen as dark spots on the distant southern horizon. Most of this area is a vast plain of recent alluvium, covered with fine, fertile silt, and during pronounced droughts almost devoid of vegetation of any kind. It would be a garden spot if it could be irrigated rationally. A small amount of filling in has been carried on by the flash floods from the Serrania de Cocinas, at the base of which alluvial fans of coarse, unconsolidated debris have been formed. The coastline along this area of alluvial fill, from Rio Hacha to Cabo de la Vela in Colombia, and from Cojoro to Sinamaica in Venezuela, consists for the most part of sandbars flanked either by a fringe of sand dunes or by lagoons into which sea water is allowed to enter in order to be evaporated for salt. Dune formation is ex- tremely active on the windward Venezuelan coast, from slightly west of Castilletes to Paraguaipoa. The dunes are moving inland at vary- ing rates, depending on the strength of the wind locally. Scenes remi- GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 341 niscent of the sand wastes of the Sahara are encountered. In the shelter of the first line of dunes, in certain sectors, coconut groves have been planted, which anchor a considerable population. Slightly farther inland fields of millets can survive on the thin deposits of sand. Between Paraguaipoa and Sinamaica the sandbar borders long stretches of salt flats, which are exploited by the federal government. The rugged part of the peninsula lies northeast of the well-defined fault lines, where mountains up to 900 meters in elevation are found. The cores of the Serranias de Cocina, de Jarara, and de Macuira are formed largely of igneous intrusives, and deposits of recent alluvium in the form of coarse rubble are found at the base of these low moun- tains. Extensive alluvial fans and terraces on the windward sides of these igneous formations seem to be at two levels, the first and higher level probably having been deposited when the mountains were higher and were therefore able to wring more moisture out of the winds. At the base of the leeward slopes, over the area surrounding the shallow, bottle-necked embayment known as El Portete, thick de- posits of unconsolidated sands and silts have been laid down. Just to the south of the Serrania de Cocina, striking almost east- west, is an especially good section of the Cretaceous, with the caves and sinkholes typical of Karst topography. The whole complex of igneous cores and of indurated sedimentary deposits is in places cut by dikes of igneous intrusives. Roads and trails in this rugged, mountainous part of the Guajira traverse bare windswept terraces of recent alluvium, mesalike plat- forms of sedimentary deposits and of igneous extrusives, and canyons deeply incised into formations of limestones and shales, slightly dip- ping to vertical. The Guajira Peninsula is a dry land, where evaporation far ex- ceeds precipitation, as in so many parts of the globe at 10° to 15° north or south of the Equator. For where winds blow most of the time equatorward they are increasing in temperature, and as their temperature increases their capacity to absorb moisture increases. Hence they are drying winds and, when persistent, they create a situation in which evaporation is steadily greater than precipitation, with the result that desert or semidesert conditions prevail. This is true wherever such winds, the trade winds, blow for most of the year over a stretch of land of low elevation, whether it be in Africa or in America, whether at 10°-15° north or south of the Equator. It is true of the small, low-lying islands of the Caribbean, such as Curacao and Margarita, as it is of most of Falcén, on the mainland of northern Venezuela, and as it is of the Guajira Peninsula. And the winds in the Guajira are vigorous enough to dry out and pick up sand from the beach for many miles and blow the particles in- 342 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 land, where they collect a few hundred meters from the shore in the form of dunes that gradually migrate farther landward. It is during the months when the low-pressure belt is over the area—usually from October to December—that the Guajira gets its scant precipitation from convectional rains. It seems to be generally true that the less rainfall a region has the more irregular and un- predictable it is, and the Guajira Peninsula is no exception to this rule. When it does rain, however, the aspect of the landscape changes almost overnight. The seemingly dry and dead roots, plants, and shrubs at once begin to absorb the life-giving water and to send out shoots; seeds of grasses and forage plants, long dormant, begin to sprout, and many trees, long bare of leaves, are quickly covered with a canopy of foliage. And many are the Guajiros who hurriedly re- turn to the land of their birth, to plant their patches of millets and corn, beans and melons. Then they enjoy a few months of compara- tive plenty, before the lean months, or years, again force them to migrate to Maracaibo, to the Perija foothills, or even farther from their beloved homeland. To be sure, here, too, as in many parts of the world, is heard the familiar lament for “the good old days”—in the land of the Guajira it is for the good old days when the rain was more abundant than now and people could grow more crops. One is told of certain areas in which crops that were grown 20 years ago can no longer be grown, because the climate has become drier during the past generation. Perhaps the true reason is that the population, whose members are less inclined than formerly to cultivate marginal crops on marginal lands, is being siphoned off into other areas where economic opportunities are greater or more attractive. Some lands have become economically submarginal in an expanding national economy. Furthermore, the intensive health campaigns which have provided pure drinking water and diminished disease-bearing vectors, have resulted in a lowering of the death rate, especially the rate of infant mortality, with a con- sequent increase in population, which in turn increases the pressure on the food supply. At the same time more attractive economic op- portunities elsewhere in the Republic, and the improvement of roads, coupled with the availability of motor vehicles, have helped to bring about a strong current of migration away from the Guajira. The net result is the same as if there had been an actual change in the physical climate. Rights to real property, both surface and subsurface, are at the present time vested in the nation. Title to land, on which to build a house, in the vicinity of an urban agglomeration such as Para- guaipoa, can be granted by the Concejo Municipal. Over most of the Peninsula, however, land that can be used for agriculture is simply Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 1 et ERG ee No. 4 2. The casimba at Cuitza, with a woman on the crude platform in the act of dipping up water to fill her jar. PLATE 2 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist aovy AvWO}sNS YIM ‘eslensy ‘uns ayi Jo sAvi SuoMs oy} Jsulese uoljo9}01d e—sunuied oy} JO uvUIOM BUNOX °*7 ‘ouroy si fo Smithsonian Report, 1957. —Crist PLATE 3 2. Watering goats by hand. PLATE 4 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist *pua oy} 28 soul} 2014} YUM ajod Zuo] B Jo asn ay} Aq payonjd si snqjovd UvsIO [][v1 ay} FO WNIf aq], *Z *soov|d suliojeM Jur ioOdul a1OU 9Y} JO auIOs }¥ s][fupuIM Aq posJamod sduind payjeis -UI DARBY SJUSWIUIIAOD UIqUIO[OD, pu URJaNzoUZA YT, "T Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 5 2. Spinning thread by hand from the raw cotton. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 6 - 2. Large jars, or tinajas, are fashioned without the use of the potter’s wheel. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 7 1. Children help with the family food supply by gathering the fruits of the low, broad- leaved cactus. fe Am = : : re a 2. Guajiros settled for the weekend in the enramada of a tiny store. Goat meat is drying on the roof at the right. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 8 cs, “2 Pee ee * -* * 1. Drummer at a chichamaya dance, with a black-faced dancer in the background. The monotony of life on the desert is relieved by the gaiety and social enjoyment of the dance. 2. An aspect of the chichamaya dance. The man backs away from his partner, who tries to trip him up; when this happens he is out of the dance, and another takes his place. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 9 1. Another aspect of the chichamaya dance. Observers may at any time become partici- pants, and thus the fast tempo is kept up hour after hour. 2. The Guajiros resemble Bedouins as they ride across their trade-wind-swept peninsula. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Crist PLATE 10 2. When he dies, the Guajiro is buried in the floor of his house where food and kitchen utensils are left for his use. The survivors abandon the house for good. GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 343 fenced in and cultivated. As long as the fence of organ cactus or thorn brush is kept intact and the land is actually cultivated, the usufruct thereof belongs to the cultivator. When the land is no longer cultivated and fences fall into disrepair, it reverts to the community, or goes to someone else who wants to work it. When the land is un- fenced or unworked, the surface rights are assumed to belong to the collectivity, for animals graze over long distances. The interna- tional boundary is meaningless to the Guajiro; it is crossed by him and his flocks at will in the never-ending search for pasture and water. Indeed he takes no account of it in any of the phases of his seminomadic life. It is, in short, as if it did not exist. Here, as in most arid regions, rights to water are more important than rights to land. Those who have become wealthy, those who own the largest flocks and herds, are those who have managed to get control of a permanent supply of water. They have either enlarged an old jagitiey, or pond, or they have dug or drilled a well on which a windmill is installed to lift the water, or they have appropriated, and perhaps deepened, a caszmba, or open, dug well. The federal governments are cognizant of the importance of pure drinking water for people and for their animals, and the work being done by the Venezuelan Ministry of Agriculture and Hus- bandry—drilling wells, installing windmills, digging large jagieys and cas¢mbas—is carried on with the idea that the water will be avail- able at all times to the collectivity, on equal terms to all. (PI. 4, fig. 1.) In the Colombian Guajira, the federal government is making extensive use of modern heavy equipment to build reservoirs—an im- provement over the old-fashioned jagwey—which are filled when it rains, and some of the old casizmbas are being deepened and lined with cement walls. Whether the water is lifted by wind power or by hu- man brawn, these watering places are still among the most important and the most colorful of the foci or community centers where Guajiros congregate. In all probability the cultural factor of greatest significance in the life of the Venezuelan Guajira of recent date has been the construc- tion of the good, all-weather highway from Maracaibo to Paraguai- poa. In many parts of the world, when highways have been built into fertile, sparsely inhabited regions, settlement immediately follows. One of the most notable examples of this phenomenon is to be found along many kilometers of the newly constructed Carretera Pan- americana south of Lake Maracaibo, where what was only a few years ago dense tropical rainforest has already over vast stretches been converted into cattle ranches. But a highway is for two-way trafic. If it extends from a highly developed area to one which is poor, in 451800—-58—-—23 344 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 which it is difficult to make a living, or in which the political climate is unfavorable, then there tends to be a flow of population away from the poorer area toward the more highly developed one. This trend has been marked in the Guajira, which has been a kind of human reservoir in which the pressure of population upon the physical resources has been greater than it has been elsewhere in the nation. When such a region is tapped by a road, pressure is released by the migration over it of a part of its population. Witness the great exodus of Guajiros to Maracaibo, to the cattle ranches of the foothills of the Sierra de Perija, and toward other parts of the republic. The French in North Africa constructed magnificent highways into the great desert of the Sahara, thus facilitating the migration of hun- dreds of thousands of Bedouins into the Atlas Mountains and even into the cities of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. Be it noted that these liberty-loving nomads have proved to be some of the most vig- orous fighters against French colonialism. The Guajiro equivalent of the old saying that “all roads lead to Rome” would be that “all trails lead to Paraguaipoa.” Over the entire peninsula there is a ceaseless coming and going, both diurnally and seasonally, on the part of shepherds in search of water and pasture for their flocks of sheep and goats, but when animals are ready for sale, they move gradually toward the brisk market in Paraguaipoa, as inevitably as water runs down hill, in response to the pull of the high prices obtaining there. Flocks vary widely in size from those of two, three, or five animals to flocks containing scores. Animals are sometimes taken “in trade” by the owners of the little stores scat- tered around the peninsula and are by them driven or shipped by truck to Paraguaipoa. At other times the owners themselves drive their flocks to market. Setting out with their entire families, on foot, on horseback, on burros, they may take days or even weeks to arrive, camping each night on the way where darkness overtakes them, for they allow the animals to browse leisurely as they move along. On the outskirts of Paraguaipoa, all through Saturday afternoon and Sunday, flocks continue to arrive, and the picturesque shepherds and their families establish themselves on the windswept plain in prepara- tion for the big Monday market day. At night for a radius of several kilometers west of Paraguaipoa the sand is dotted with campfires, around which families and friends gather to eat and drink and gossip. Early Monday morning merchants from Maracaibo come in by truck, buy up animals in lots, and return with them to the city the same afternoon. After selling their flocks, the Guajiros wander around in little groups; they buy yard goods and foodstuffs—panela, crude sugar, cooking oil, and other necessities—and by late afternoon they are ready to begin the long trek back to their homes in the bush. GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 345 The feeling that comes over the traveler as he leaves Paraguaipoa to enter the desert of the Guajira is in many respects comparable to that experienced by one boarding a ship. As the ship puts out to sea the traveler is effectively cut off from all that goes with his modern world; he will receive no letters, friends cannot drop in on hin, and he cannot be reached by telephone. Similarly, as he moves out into the desert beyond Paraguaipoa, he realizes that he is, as it were, isolated and on his own for as long as he stays away from that narrow black strip of asphalt that ties him to Maracaibo and to all that is associated with modern urban life: juke boxes and traffic jams, cock- tail parties, and a kind of breathless living full of forced and synthetic enthusiasms. In the desert one must be self-sufficient, one must live on his own inner spiritual resources and not be dependent on his fel- lows for companionship or excitement. And as night overtakes him, and the sun goes down behind the giant organ cactus, and the stars come out so bright and seemingly close enough to touch, and the songs of the birds are stilled, then the traveler feels that he is indeed alone. (Pl. 1, fig. 1.) Only the persistent trade winds continue to hasten on about their business, blowing through the scantly leaved trees and bushes. What a haven then the solitary thatched hut, from which the friendly and hospitable Guajiro host greets the traveler with the words anshi pid—“You have arrived”—the simple statement that serves aS an invitation to stop in his humble home! And indeed the house is usually equipped to take care of friends and strangers, nomads or seminomads like himself, for the enramada, or framework of upright posts covered over with thatch of palm or slats of the organ cactus, is placed just outside most Guajiro dwellings, and it is here that the traveler swings his hammock, whether he be a traveler who rests there a few hours in the afternoon, the late-comer who stays all night, or the relative or friend who may tarry for days or weeks. More important than the market, as centers of daily intercourse, are the widely scattered waterholes. In fact, a large part of the life in any desert area is carried on around springs and wells, natural or manmade, be it in the Guajira or in the Sahara or in Arabia Deserta. Since time immemorial the Guajiros have dug wells during the long dry months in dry river beds, or in alluvium or in sand dunes, in order to reach the life-giving water. As the water table goes down, the well is simply dug deeper. These waterholes are known as casimbas. People come to them in a constant stream from many kilometers in all directions. If the casimba is deep, a crude scaffolding is built out over it so that the continuous procession of men and women can walk out over the water and lower their jars, buckets, or cans to fill them. (PI. 1, fig. 2.) At a little distance 346 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 from the casimba itself troughs are set up from which goats, sheep, donkeys, and cattle drink, and bateas, or wooden basins, are filled with water in which clothes are washed and small children are bathed. (Pl. 8, figs. 1 and 2.) After the people have slaked their thirst and that of their animals, and have bathed and washed their clothes, they load their donkeys with great jars of water to be used at home, often many kilometers away. The places of those who leave are taken by those newly arriving, and the lively pageant continues throughout the day. Similar scenes are enacted around the springs or oases of the Sahara and Arabia. The grim struggle for the barest existence—for mere survival—is to be observed in the life of plants and animals as well as in the life of man. Many trees and shrubs are thorned, or of bitter taste or pungent smell, as a protection against enemies, and most of them are scantly leaved and of thick bark, in order to conserve all the moisture possible. The struggle of man with his environment is no less grim. When the drought is sore upon the land, and food supplies dwindle rapidly with no possibility of immediate replenishment, small children rove the sectors of flat-leaved cactus, the fruits of which they knock off into gourd bowls with sticks. When the bowls are filled they empty them on the ground and roll them about with twigs and thus remove the protecting tufts of tiny fine spines. All day long the children gorge themselves on the luscious fruit and in the evening they take their sacks and containers to their homes, where the parents eke out their frugal meal with these fruits. The fruits not eaten raw are peeled and cooked and placed in large earthen jars to ferment and form chicha, a drink highly prized by the Guajiros. Over the centuries poor children have often been bribed or forcibly caught by so-called civilized people to be sold into slavery. Hence their parents warn them to be wary of strangers, and fill their tender minds with horror tales about kidnapings, actual or invented; the vivid imaginations of the children invest these accounts with all sorts of fiendish overtones. The result is that when a stranger comes upon these children in the bush, they frequently take to their heels and flee like wild animals. This happened on one occasion when at our approach four children were surprised gathering cactus fruits. ‘Two of them took off through the scrub like rabbits and were not seen again. The two others had left their fiber bags and gourd shells of fruit near the road, and, fearful of losing their prizes, they stopped a few hundred yards away and looked back. The kindly, tactful interpreter was gradually able to convince them that we meant no harm. Little by little these two urchins, burnt black by the broiling sun of this part of the world, and ready to fly at the slightest false move on our part, edged back to their belongings and talked to the in- GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 347 terpreter, who manifested great interest in the fruits and in how they were gathered. By his gentle demeanor and the distribution of candy at a propitious moment, he gradually got the elder of the two—a charming little girl, at first scared half to death—to pose in the act of knocking the little fruits into the gourd, and to explain the whole process of gathering them and of making chicha out of those not consumed raw. (Pl. 7, fig. 1.) One’s faith in humanity and its future is immeasurably strengthened by observing these children, conditioned from their tenderest years to assist uncomplainingly in the ceaseless struggle for survival where nature is so barren and niggardly. The harshness of the physical environment predisposes the sparse population to a nomadic existence (pl. 10, fig. 1), but cultural factors as well are operative. One wonders why, for instance, with so much space available, the Guajiros live in tiny cramped huts, all packed tightly together. To this question my interpreter answered with two words: poverty and custom. The Guajiro is so poor that he cannot afford to construct a roomy, solidly built house. And why should he? For whenever a death occurs in a house the family abandons it, and no good Guajiro would run the risk of living in the house again. (Pl. 10, fig. 2.) After a death the various parts of the dwelling, with the enramada, are used for a while as a place in which to re- ceive relatives and friends from a distance, but after three or four days or at most a week, when the velorio, or lloro, the wake and re- ception, are over, the family moves away, at least 2 or 3 kilometers, and builds another house. Near Cojoro, a new house, substantially constructed, with cement floor and walls and a tin roof, was abandoned by the owner, after the death of a son, and left to fall into ruin. The Indians who have migrated to Maracaibo, or who have absorbed Spanish culture, do not, to be sure, move from their house when a death has occurred. My interpreter told me that he would not leave his house because of a death, but his father-in-law, a wealthy Guajiro, moved from Jepi to Cojoro, 30 kilometers away, when his eldest daughter died in childbirth, and when his second daughter died of galloping pneumonia he moved another 30 kilometers to La Gloria near Paraguaipoa. Thus a basic cultural factor orients the people toward nomadism or seminomadism, rather than in the direction of a sedentary life. Such a factor will remain potent long after heroic attempts have been made to make the people sedentary by digging new wells, teaching new techniques of dry farming, and so on. Another factor that has favored a certain amount of migration or seminomadism is the pito or vinchuca, a kind of outsized winged bed- bug, found in many sectors. Its normal habitat is the thatch roofs or the cracks in the daub-and-wattle walls. From their hiding places 348 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 these vermin come out at night, descending the ropes that sustain the hammocks or crawling out to the sleeping mats on the floor, and feed on their sleeping hosts. It is said that the kings of France moved from palace to palace as the bedbugs along with other vermin became so numerous as to make sleep impossible. By the same token the Guajiros are not averse to migrating in order to flee from the ravages of these revolting pests, which in Brazil and in the western Ilanos of Venezuela have been found to be the vectors of the Chagas disease, a close relative of African sleeping sickness. Fortunately the construc- tion of houses with cement floors and walls and tin roofs, and the widespread use of DDT, are gradually diminishing this dread pest. The Guajira is a land of hammocks, in which people sleep, sit, and spend their leisure hours, in which children are conceived, and in which old people breathe their last and are buried. As soon as a baby is born in a Guajiro household, it is put into its own diminutive hammock; when visitors arrive at a Guajiro home, hammocks are immediately hung for their comfort. Chairs are rarely seen and even more rarely used. The making of hammocks in the home is a craft learned early by the womenfolk and practiced all their lives. They are of two types, the closely woven hamaca, and the looser-meshed chinchorro, both worked with elaborate designs and gay color combi- nations as well as of solid white. Some of the handsomest hammocks made anywhere in the Americas are turned out on primitive hand looms by these master craftswomen. The making of a fine hammock, a cooperative family enterprise, requires from one to several months, depending on the number of women or girls who work on it. (PI. 6, fig. 1.) As they find some spare time between their other household chores, the womenfolk sit down on the floor in front of the loom, one working at it now alone, now accompanied by her mother, her sisters, or other female relatives. There is no deadline or fixed date on which the work must be finished, and much friendly gossip is ex- changed as the chore progresses and as deft fingers move so rapidly at their task that their manipulations are hardly visible to the naked eye. Guajiro women wear the manta, a kind of loose, flowing, long- sleeved Mother Hubbard, formerly of coarse, homespun cotton cloth and simpler cut, now usually of imported yard goods of bright hues and lively patterns. Under this garment it is customary to wear only a sort of bikini, a wide band of cloth held by a cirapo, a belt made of many strings of beads. In former days the principal female garment was a homespun cotton tunic, slipped over the head, or merely an ampler breechcloth (the latter garb appearing in pictures of only a quarter of a century ago). This has given way in large part to the more elaborate manta, an adjustment to the climate in many ways GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 349 similar to the loose-flowing robes of the Bedouins. Indeed when traveling on their donkeys, with a billowing cape or pafuelo over their large straw hats flapping in the vigorous trade winds, they re- semble the Old World Bedouin women. (PI. 9, fig. 2.) The manta and its forerunner, the tunic, betray the “civilizing” influence of the missionaries. The men wear a very brief guayuco, or breechclout, so curtailed as to make a bikini bathing short seem like a full-dress uniform. The guayuco is secured, front and back, by a broad, bright-colored, finely crocheted belt, which is wrapped around the waist and from which the gaily tasseled, crocheted money bag hangs down at the side. (PI. 2, fig. 1.) Bag and belt, worked in intricate patterns and vivid color combinations, are made by each Guajiro woman for her husband. At the present time, especially for wear in town, most of the men have adopted the shirt, and they often cover their legs with a short draped skirt of yard goods or with trousers, but at home or traveling across the desert many still wear only the guayuco. Men, as well as women, are bedecked with beads and jewelry. The most humble hut may be the center of a household industry, or craft, or of many industries. There is, to be sure, a certain amount of specialization in each home; frequently, however, a number of activities are engaged in simultaneously in the same house. One person will be laboriously seeding by hand cotton bolls picked from bushes in a tiny plot nearby (pl. 5, fig. 1) ; another will be spinning thread with a primitive hand whorl or spindle (pl. 5, fig. 2), or weaving a hammock on a hand loom from spools of thread already spun, while still another may be making or polishing clay pots before firing them. In the kitchen, at the same time, bitter yuca may be in process of being ground for the manufacture of food or starch. Bitter yuca is used for food here as it is in so many parts of tropical America, and the juice, which is poisonous unless processed, is made into a pleasant, refreshing beverage which is drunk like chicha, the fer- mented liquor made from corn. Water containers, one of the basic necessities, particularly in a desert area, are of several kinds, natural and manmade. The hard- shelled fruits of the totwmo tree furnish small containers of varying sizes and shapes; coconut shells are fashioned into simple spoons and cups, and a vine similar to a squash or pumpkin vine produces the amuro, a huge green pear-shaped fruit with a hard shell, which, when cleaned of its pith and seeds, will hold a gallon and a half to 2 gallons of water. In shape it is very much like the jars of clay, which are made here and there as a household industry. The process of making these earthen jars is complicated and time consuming and it is carried on under extremely primitive conditions. (Pl. 6, fig. 2.) Clay is 350 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 brought in on donkeyback from some distant deposit of clay or bed of indurated, clayey shale; it is ground into a powder in a hand mortar, mixed with water to achieve the right consistency, and la- boriously, but most dexterously, built up by hand, without the use of the potter’s wheel. Once properly fashioned, the jar is dried in the sun for a day or two before it is carefully polished by scraping and sanding, and then crudely painted with 62ja, a natural-colored red or brown clay. After this it is ready for firing over a slow fire of dried cow dung, the pieces of which are still a little green inside in order to make a slow, hot fire. It is difficult to conceive the mis- erably puny output of a few jars a week that results from this toil- some labor. A large jar holding about 3 gallons sells for a dollar to a dollar and a half, depending on whether the area is under the influence of the Colombian peso or the Venezuelan bolivar. These jars may be fitted into openwork fiber bags which can be hung onto the pack saddles of donkeys for transport over long distances. One potterymaker complained that the light had gone out of her life and that she worked on in darkness because her two daughters had left, together with a cousin, in a truck for Ziruma (the Guajiro slum section of Maracaibo), and had not been heard of since. They seemed to have been swallowed up, and try as she might she could find no trace of them. She said that she had cried till the fountain of her tears had dried up, and that life held little attraction for her if she could not find her daughters. Sad and pinched were her features as she tried to force a smile of gratitude when she was offered a little candy and tobacco. She was somewhat vainly hoping to be able to make a better living so that her one remaining daughter, now 10 years old and soon to change into a woman, would want to stay on with her and would not turn her thoughts to leaving. She fervently yearned to keep some blood relation with her, to share her life and her work, for at best she could look forward only to a penniless and friendless old age, living alone in the vast, immutable desert, unfeeling and inscrutable, with the trade winds soughing through the spiny branches of the giant organ cactus. She was the epitome of tragedy, of the grief of a mother at the loss of the children of her womb, of sadness as immemorial as man on this earth, and as poignant as the immortal themes rehearsed on the Greek stage during its Golden Age. One of the most interesting of the Guajiro customs is that of the encierro or blanqueo, the period of sequestration or confinement of several months, or even years, for the girl during puberty, commencing when, as they say, she begins to “formarse”—to acquire a woman’s figure—and lasting from one month to two years, the length depend- ing somewhat on her social position. During that time she is kept indoors and is not allowed to see men or to be seen by them. She GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST BT learns and practices, in what is a period of intensive domestic train- ing, the arts of cooking, making chicha, and weaving hammocks. The first hammock she completes is her own, to be put by for use in her future home. Kept out of the strong wind and the blistering sun, her skin becomes pale, soft, and velvety, and when she comes out of the dlanqueo she is ready for sale (somewhat as in our so- ciety a girl is ready for the marriage market after her “coming out” party). A man buys a bride for a specified number of sheep, goats, cattle, and donkeys, or their cash equivalent. His friends help him in the task of arriving at the bride price, one giving a sheep, another two donkeys, another ten goats, and so on. In our society at the time of marriage, wedding invitations are sent out, resulting in presents from friends for the future household, whereas the prospective Guajiro groom receives actual, timely assistance from his friends in something that counts in acquiring a wife—livestock. If the bride is the eldest daughter, her price goes to her father and it cannot be less than the price he had to pay for her mother. The price of the other daughters belongs to the mother or to a maternal uncle. The bride price varies from a few goats to as high as 15,000 bolivars (about $5,000), de- pending mainly upon the wealth and standing of the bride’s family. Polygamy is an established practice among the men, some of whom are known to possess as many as 20 wives. Even to poor men plural wives are an asset, for women not only perform the laborious house- hold chores but work the fields as well. A few Guajiros are famous for maintaining 10 or more wives in one household; husbands in gen- eral, however, take the precaution of keeping Pine wives in widely separated establishments. The diet of the vast majority of the Guajiros is Fraited. Malnutri- tion and actual hunger are not uncommon during dry seasons, when the meal may consist of water sweetened with crude brown sugar, and perhaps wild fruits in season. In periods of prolonged drought many are the days when whole families must subsist on the fleshy pulp of the organ cactus, which is cooked to make it edible—a filling, however bitter and unpalatable, dish. When the rains come, food crops such as corn, beans, pumpkins, and millets thrive; corn and millets are used also in the making of the refreshing chicha, and it is said that millets produce a drink even more pleasant than corn. Bitter yuca (Manihot esculenta) is able to survive the drought in certain plots of alluvial soil. The small fruits of the round-leaved cactus, as has already been related, are used both for eating and for making chicha. When the datos, or fruit, of the high organ cactus are in season, they are eagerly sought for by all, and many go equipped with a long stick with prongs on the end with which to gather the fruits as they come upon them. (PI. 4, fig.2.) Along the 352 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 sectors of the coast where coconut palms thrive, these trees provide one of the principal crops, but only one with some financial backing can undertake to plant a grove, because his family must somehow live while waiting the 3 or 4 years until the trees begin to bear. In these groves hogs are fattened on the residue of coconut meats after the oil has been extracted; they are kept in pens off the ground so that they cannot run off the fat they accumulate. In recent years there has been a steady rise in the high rates of natural increase among this population, inured as it is to extremely unfavorable living conditions, in spite of dire predictions to the contrary.2, Those who live through infancy are tough—they prove it by their survival. Moreover, interest in improving general health conditions, particularly in the field of infant care, has been aroused on a national scale, with the result that in the Guajira, too, the rate of infant mortality, though still high, has been greatly decreased. Gov- ernment-sponsored public-health measures are being pushed. Even in remote corners of Venezuela houses are regularly sprayed with DDT to eradicate malarial mosquitoes, as well as other household vermin. The drilling of wells and the installation of windmills, in many sectors of the Guajira on both sides of the border, to provide an adequate supply of uncontaminated water for human and animal consumption, has gone a long way toward decreasing the incidence of gastroenteritis, dysentery, typhoid, and other water-borne diseases, which are still among the leading causes of death. The per capita consumption of alcohol in the Guajira appears to be exceedingly high. Each little store lost in the immensity of the bush, even when its entire stock is not worth more than a few dollars, has on hand a barrel of firewater. The tired wayfarer or visitor often is proffered an alcoholic drink, or a dozen drinks, rather than food. Tremendous quantities of beer and hard liquors are drunk with no thought of eating anything at all. On one occasion, my chauffeur and his host (the husband of his cousin), while waiting for breakfast, tossed off six cold beers, presumably by way of recovering from the long bout of the night before. As a binge continues on into its sec- ond or third day, or longer, less and less thought will be given to the consumption of solid food. After an Indian has performed a piece of hard manual labor—changing and repairing the tire of a truck, for example—it is customary to give him a shot or more of powerful fire- water, rather than a substantial meal, by way of compensation. To _ be sure, the reward of a drink has become so common and accepted that it would perhaps come as an unwelcome innovation if food were offered instead. One cannot but feel, however, that a half-and-half * Weston, Julian A., The cactus eaters, p. 130. London, 1937. GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 353 arrangement might well be substituted, for a gradual shift from strong drink to wholesome food would certainly be a step in the di- rection of increased hours of productiveness—one might even add, of consciousness, in view of the long hours and days that are passed by all too many, and too often, in a sodden stupor. Nor is it a happy sight to see a group of Guajiro men, just returned from Maracaibo with a neat sum of hard-earned bolivars, spending their savings of 6 months or a year in a week’s carousal, on their way home, in some tiny country store. These thatch-roofed, or at present more often tin-roofed, little stores, seemingly lost in the vast expanse of scattered bush, act as community centers; along with the waterholes and the large markets of Paraguaipoa and Maicao, they are the economic and social foci of the population of seminomadic herdsmen and of more or less sedentary people anchored to their small garden plots and their looms. The forlorn, lackluster look of these little centers during the week has nothing in common with their appearance on holidays or weekends. As early as Friday families of Indians from outlying areas begin to arrive, silently stretching their hammocks, spreading their pro- visions of dried goat meat on the roof of the enramada or on the branches of a convenient thorn bush, stacking the fiber bags of their few belongings in piles nearby, and otherwise making ready to spend several days. (PI. 7, fig. 2.) So much of their lives is nomadic that it is easy for them to make themselves at home wherever they are. They bring to the little store the goats, sheep, or lambs, the calves, chickens, or eggs they are planning to turn into cash. All too often they take their pay in hard liquor or in flashy trade goods they may want but do not particularly need. As the day wears on, little clus- ters of people form around a rickety table in the lean-to of the store itself, around hammocks in the enramada close by, or in silent circles under the branches of the scant-leaved trees. The menfolk tend to hang around the store where they drink a lot, talk a lot, and forget their everyday tasks; the women form litile groups, silent for the most part, now looking fondly, with soft, black, liquid eyes, at the baby at the breast or asleep in its tiny hammock, now glancing, perhaps with a trace of apprehension, across the narrow strip of space in the full glare of oppressive sunlight, at the menfolk around the store getting louder and drunker, or more often gazing fixedly at the outline of cactus-studded hills in the distance, bathed in the blue-gray haze. With regard to money prices for goods exchanged, an interesting phenomenon has arisen as a result of the international boundary which runs through the Guajira: the influence of the stronger economy, or at least the stronger currency, that does not respect 354 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 frontiers. For many kilometers into the Colombian Guajira all prices are quoted in Venezuelan currency, which is the only medium of exchange. Even a poor herdsman with his goat or sheep to sell, or the housewife with her chickens and eggs, quotes prices in bolivars. Against this type of subtle, intangible economic penetration govern- ments are virtually powerless to act. Boundary dines automatically broaden into frontier zones. It would be a fascinating study to trace along the various routes from Venezuela into Colombia the depth of the area under the influence of the bolivar. The storekeeper not in- frequently makes a huge profit on goods that he buys in Colombian pesos and sells for the same number of bolivars, although the bolivar is worth twice as much as the peso. His percentage of profit under such favorable circumstances is at least 100 percent. Sometimes he charges even more. There seems to be a kind of Guajira wireless system that enables the mest distant storekeeper to know the rate of exchange, for the bolivar rate for the peso closely follows the rate of the dollar against the peso in the free market, as quoted in Bogota. Since the Spaniards found no gold in the Guajira Peninsula and no large body of industrious agricultural Indians to subject, they largely bypassed it and paid scant attention to its people. Their example has been rather generally followed by the national govern- ments, with the result that a high degree of cultural and political autonomy has been preserved. The Spaniards were responsible, however, for introducing horned cattle and donkeys, sheep, goats, chickens, and hogs. When one realizes that practically everything that today represents wealth for the Guajiro was introduced in the Colonial period, one cannot but wonder what the basis of the pre- Colombian economy was. The Guajiros must have lived on deer and rabbits and shellfish (and the presence of kitchen middens of large extent would support this view) along with primitive agriculture on small plots. Perhaps they carried on a certain amount of trade along the north coast of Colombia and into the Lake Maracaibo Basin. But the carrying capacity of the land of the peninsula without the domestic animals that were introduced from the Old World must have been much less than it is at the present time; in other words, the Guajiros must have been many fewer in number than they are today. To be sure, the Dutch Boers in South Africa originally settled as intensive agriculturalists around Capetown and became nomadic herdsmen as they migrated inland, but they had vast acre- ages of good land available and a large native population to exploit. Even now, in spite of recent increases, the Guajiros are few in number. (No systematic census has been taken. Estimates vary widely from 80,000 to 130,000, including both sides of the Peninsula.) The Guajiros wrest their living from a harsh and hostile environ- GUAJIRA PENINSULA—CRIST 355 ment. Most of the basic items of their material culture have been introduced. Yet over the centuries the elements of their nonmaterial culture seem to have suffered almost no change. We must look to cultural factors for an explanation. Whereas in Western society a patriarchal and patrilinear system prevails, the family consisting of father, mother, and children, with the father acting as head of the household, Guajira society is matri- linear, the family consisting of the mother and her children and the blood relations on the mother’s side of the house, the father being but loosely attached to the group, and a maternal uncle serving as head. The husband controls his wife, but not the disposition of her children, except that the bride price of the first daughter belongs tohim. Children have relatively few obligations toward their fathers, but they are an integral part of the closely knit, nuclear, and extensive family of their mother, and they take their mother’s name. They live the most impressionable years of their lives in a cultural climate that is strictly Guajiro, they become imbued with the culture of their mothers—Guajiro culture. The children of Guajiro mothers, whether their fathers are Indian, Negro, zambo, white, or mestizo—and a considerable amount of intermarriage occurs—for the most part grow up Guajiros. Some Guajiros, mestizos as well as purebloods, that have been educated in Maracaibo or Barranquilla, Caracas or Bogota, are happy to return to the land of their childhood, put on Guajiro dress, and assume the way of life they lived as children. Guajiro society has thus been able to absorb new racial strains, and new elements of material culture, such as domestic animals, without the loss of any of the essential characteristics of Guajiro culture. It is not a question of whether “blood will tell,” but rather of whether culture will tell, and in the case of the Guajiros we have a textbook example of a societal organization in which the cultural factor has outweighed by far the racial and economic factors. 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F P , Oo ‘i e . os ¥ fn ee cs rem ee am J El errett broveesitukd Ten note tarss Mai " Ant) neea Ota tort iedteabsiiitoxsenklay didi, se ier: holly Lait i Avaytoty yobs ep ‘a toddixze) a! ade Gor eouphinn sian genie Aton iaaisllon Hare bite ty sethioioeh breil anode dobdony min holioxthenm® ‘{stetonm s Si - sultie regartie Dieu omthesimaatad itn Ipipet adtcantt ' | ounmenbh-osstiie di dito cbt bho $id bec clin a4 path 0.4 . Huidlabetoserkti tt algwelared gadsduc 9 foldageu yinionk o on imvotaaon! cats iterhrences weak dovintyhariowe tower pic . ware fest gaoth bres: aioioadedk: doug View: HUG EAN HDA, a racbageci sth ari sth stint Reeth ai hte ia ome tage. Te be su snibonill rome pe Al as tats tk 16 manta ” q : _ 7 - ; ’ ne Pe D th. beeps) Om >, _ r « - The Nature of Viruses, Cancer, Genes, and Life—A Declaration of Dependence’ By WENDELL M. STANLEY Professor of Biochemistry and Director of the Virus Laboratory University of California Eacu of the four topics mentioned in the title of this lecture is sub- stantial enough to warrant having an entire lecture devoted to it alone. Actually a proper and full discussion of viruses, of cancer, of genes, or of life would require many hours. It may, therefore, appear quite presumptuous to have included all four in the title of a single lecture. But let me hasten to indicate that I do not pro- pose to attempt to develop these topics as such, but that I do propose to sketch in certain basic information and then to devote most of my time to a discussion of new relationships between these four subjects, relationships which I believe to be of the utmost importance. Recent scientific discoveries, especially in the virus field, are throw- ing new light on the basic nature of viruses and on the possible nature of cancer, genes, and even life itself. These discoveries are providing evidence for relationships between these four subjects which indicate that one may be dependent upon another to an extent not fully ap- preciated heretofore, and hence the time is appropriate for a declara- tion of the nature of the dependence that may be involved. Too often one works and thinks within too narrow a range and hence fails to recognize the significance of certain facts for other areas. Some- times the important new ideas and subsequent fundamental discover- ies come from the borderline areas between two well-established fields of investigation. I trust, therefore, that this declaration of depend- ence will result in the synthesis of new ideas regarding viruses, can- cer, genes, and life, and that these ideas in turn will result in the doing of new experiments which may provide the basis for funda- mental discoveries in these fields which are so important to every one of us. = Sian} Soo 1Penrose Memorial Lecture, April 25, 1957. Reprinted by permission from Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, vol. 101, No. 4, August 1957. 357 358 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Now I suppose there is no doubt that, of the four topics, life is the one most people would consider to be of the greatest importance. One would think that the nature of life would be easy to define since we are all experiencing it. However, just as life means different things to different people, we find that in reality it is extremely diffi- cult to define just what we mean by life or by a living agent in its most simple form. There is no difficulty in recognizing an agent as living or nonliving so long as we contemplate structures such as man, cats, and dogs, or even small organisms such as the bacteria, or, at the other extreme, structures such as a piece of iron or glass, an atom of hydrogen, or even a molecule of water, sugar, or of our blood pigment, hemoglobin. The former are examples of animate or living agents whereas the latter are examples of inanimate or nonliving things. But what is the true nature of the difference between a man and a piece of iron, or between a bacterial organism and a molecule of hemo- globin? The ability to grow or reproduce and to change or mutate has long been regarded as a special property characteristic of living agents. Certainly mankind and bacteria have the ability to assimilate and metabolize food, respond to external stimuli, and to reproduce their kind—properties not shared by bits of iron or by molecules of hemoglobin. Now if viruses had not been discovered, all would have been well. The organisms of the biologist would have ranged from the largest of animals, whales and elephants and the like, all the way down to the smallest of the bacteria which are about 200 my or a few millionths of an inch in diameter. There would have been a definite break with respect to size since the largest molecules known to the chemist were less than 20 mp in size. Life and living agents would have been represented solely by those structures which possessed the ability to reproduce themselves and to change or mutate, and all of these were about 200 mp or larger in size, thus more than ten times jarger than the largest known molecule. This would have provided a comfortable area of separation or discontinuity between living and nonliving things and would have provided ample justification for con- sidering life as something set distinctly apart and perhaps unap- proachable and unexplainable by science. Then around 1900 came the discovery of the viruses—first the plant virus of tobacco mosaic, then foot-and-mouth disease virus of cattle, and then the first virus affecting man, namely, yellow fever virus. These infectious, disease-producing agents are characterized by their small size, by their ability to grow or reproduce within specific living cells, and by their ability to change or mutate during reproduction. Their inability to grow or reproduce on artificial or nonliving media did not cause too much concern and their reproductive and mutative powers were enough to convince most people that viruses were merely VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 309 still smaller ordinary living organisms. However, around 1930 the sizes of different viruses were determined with some precision, and it was found that some viruses were indeed quite small, actually smaller than certain protein molecules. Then in 1935 the first dis- covered virus, tobacco mosaic, which is a middle-sized virus, was isolated in the form of a crystallizable material which was found to be a nucleoprotein, that is, a substance composed of nucleic acid and protein. This nucleoprotein molecule was found to be 15 mp in cross section and 300 my in length and to possess the unusually high molec- ular weight of about 50 million. It was, therefore, larger than any molecule previously described, yet it was found to possess all the usual properties associated with larger protein molecules. The same material could be obtained from different kinds of mosaic-diseased plants such as tomato, phlox, and spinach plants, whereas plants diseased with different strains of tobacco mosaic virus yielded slightly different nucleoproteins. Many tests indicated that the new high molecular weight nucleoprotein was actually tobacco mosaic virus and it was concluded that this virus could, in fact, be a nucleoprotein molecule. Here, therefore, was a molecule that possessed the ability to reproduce itself and to mutate; hence, the distinction between living and nonliving things which had existed up to that time seemed to be tottering and soon a full-scale intellectual revolution was in progress. Today the revolution is past and we know that the gap between 20 and 200 mp has been filled in completely by the viruses—so much so that there is actually an overlapping with respect to size at both ends. Some larger viruses are larger than certain well-accepted living or- ganisms whereas some small viruses are actually smaller than certain protein molecules. We have, therefore, a continuity with respect to size as we go from the electrons, mesons, atoms, and molecules of the physicist and the chemist, to the organisms of the biologist and on, if you please, to the stars and galaxies. Nowhere is it possible to draw a line in this continuity of structures and say that all above this size are living and all below are nonliving. There appears to be a gradual transition with respect to size and complexity of struc- ture as one goes from things that are normally considered to be alive to things that are generally considered to be nonliving. One is re- minded of the quotation attributed to Aristotle over 2,000 years ago to the effect that Nature makes so gradual a transition from the animate to the inanimate that the boundary line between the two is doubtful and perhaps nonexistent. Much scientific knowledge has been accumulated since Aristotle’s time but the essence of his statement is as true today as it was when he made it. But does this mean there is really no difference between the animate and the inanimate? I do 451800—58——24 360 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 not believe that it does. However, we must be willing to define what we mean by life and then we must be willing to accept as living any structure possessing properties fulfilling such a definition. The essence of life is the ability to reproduce. This is accomplished by the utilization of energy to create order out of disorder, to bring together into a specific predetermined pattern from semiorder or even from chaos all the component parts of that pattern with the perpetuation of that pattern with time. This is life. Now there is another very basic property which seems to be characteristic of living things and that is the ability to mutate, to change or to respond to a stimulus. I do not believe this property is absolutely necessary for life, but it certainly lends grandeur to life, for not only is it re- sponsible for the whole evolutionary process and thus for the myriads of kinds of life we have on earth but, most importantly for mankind, it permits one to dare to aspire. It is presumably responsible for man, his conscience and his faith. It is obvious that I believe that mutation merits much, much study. The discovery of viruses has permitted us to contemplate the nature of life with a new understanding. It has enabled us to appreciate in a new light the inherent potentialities of chemical structure, whether that of a single molecule or that produced by the interaction of two or more molecules. Viruses were discovered by virtue of their ability to replicate and in the last analysis this ability to reproduce remains today as the only definitive way in which they can be recog- nized. We may purify and isolate preparations from virus-diseased tissues but it is only when a reasonably pure material is obtained and units of this are found to possess the ability to reproduce themselves that we are privileged to refer to the material as virus. Since the isolation of tobacco mosaic virus in the form of a crystallizable nu- cleoprotein 15 by 300 mp in size, many other viruses have been ob- tained in pure form and characterized in part by their chemical and physical properties. My colleagues, Arthur Knight, Robley Wil- liams, and Howard Schachman, have made major contributions to the biochemical, electron microscopical, and biophysical knowledge of viruses. Until two years ago all viruses studied had been found to be at least as complex as a nucleoprotein. However, some appear to have lipid, carbohydrate, and in some cases a limiting membrane in addition to nucleic acid and protein. Whereas some viruses, like tobacco mosaic, are crystallizable nucleoproteins which have the usual molecular properties, other viruses, such as vaccinia, have a degree of morphological differentiation which can hardly be called molecular in nature and which is rather more organismal or cell-like in nature. Some of the bacterial viruses have a very complex morphology, with a head and a tail somewhat similar to the sperm of higher organisms. VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 361 For a long time many investigators thought that the plant viruses differed basically from viruses affecting animals and man. This idea stemmed mainly from the fact that for 20 years all the crystallizable viruses were plant viruses. This idea had to be relinquished two years ago when my colleagues, Carlton Schwerdt and Frederick Schaffer, obtained poliomyelitis virus, which is a typical animal or human virus, in crystalline form. Since then at least one other ani- mal or human virus has been crystallized and this is crystalline Cox- sackie virus obtained by Doctor Mattern of the National Institutes of Health. Hundreds of viruses are known and more are being dis- covered every month; yet only a dozen or so have been obtained in purified form. In view of the possibility that these may represent the more stable and more readily purified viruses, one cannot be cer- tain that a true picture of the chemical and physical properties of viruses as a whole has been obtained as yet. However, I believe that we have sufficient sampling to be significant for the purposes of the pres- ent discussion for we already know that viruses may range from small erystallizable animal, human, or plant viruses which are nucleoprotein molecules, through intermediate structures consisting of nucleoprotein, lipid, and carbohydrate, to large structures possessing a morphology and composition similar to that of accepted cellular organisms. All these diverse structures are bound together by one all-important prop- erty, that of being able to reproduce their own characteristic struc- ture when placed within certain living cells. They are all, in short, by definition, alive. Now I am only too fully aware of objections that some may have to considering a crystallizable nucleoprotein molecule as a living agent. Some may feel that life is a mystery which is and must re- main beyond the comprehension of the human mind. With these I must disagree. Some may believe that a living molecule is contrary to religion. Here again I must disagree for I see no conflict what- soever between science and religion and I see no wrong in accepting a molecule as a living structure. To many scientists the diverse ex- pressions of chemical structure represent miracles, and our expanding knowledge of the wonders of nature provides ample opportunities to express our faith and only serves to make us full of humility. Some may prefer to regard a virus molecule in a crystal in a test tube as a potentially living structure and to restrict the term “living” to a virus during the time that it is actually reproducing. I would have no serious objection to this for I am reminded of the facts that certain tapeworms a foot or so in length can live and reproduce only in cer- tain hosts and that even man himself can be regarded as requiring rather special conditions for life, yet no one objects to accepting man and tapeworms as examples of life. I am also reminded that we are 362 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 taught that the essence of a thing is not what it is, but what it does, and the doing of something involves time; hence there may be good reason always to consider the virus with time. Regardless of certain mental restrictions that may differ from person to person, I think there is no escape from the acceptance ultimately of viruses, including the crystallizable viral nucleoprotein molecules, as living agents. This must be done because of their ability to reproduce or to bring about their own replication. Certainly the essence of life is the ability to reproduce, to create a specific order out of disorder by the repetitive formation with time of a specific predetermined pattern and this the viral nucleoprotein molecules can do. Of course, it would have been dull indeed if the first formed living agent had been restricted to exact duplicates of itself. The logical reasoning provided in schemes such as those outlined by Calvin, Haldane, Horowitz, Oparin, and Urey by means of which relatively complex organic substances could have arisen from inorganic matter provides justification for assuming that a chemical structure, per- haps something like nucleic acid, which possessed the ability to repli- cate, did come into being once upon atime. It need to have happened only once, and thereafter without the great phenomenon of mutation it merely would have kept going until it had filled the world with replicates of this precise structure or until it had exhausted the start- ing materials. However, Nature has provided a built-in error so that the replication process is not perfect and about one in every mil- lion or so replicates is slightly different. ‘This change, which has been of tremendous fundamental importance, we now recognize as muta- tion, and as these errors or differences were accumulated by replicat- ing structures it became necessary to make formal recognition of them. These differences or markers we now call genes. We do not recognize genes directly but only by differences. Needless to say, some physical structure had to be responsible for the accumulation, preservation, and potential exhibition of these differences and this assembly of genes we call a chromosome. The incorporation of one or more assemblies of genes into a structure possessing a limiting membrane, which we now call a cell, then made possible gene interchanges between these cellular assemblies. This genetic interchange by the fusion of two cells, a sexual process, also represents a phenomenon of the greatest fundamental importance for this permitted genetic recombination, a factor that has served to speed up the evolutionary process im- measurably. Therefore, life as we know it today is dependent not only upon reproduction but also upon mutation and _ genetic recombination. Now let us consider for a moment the relationships between genes and viruses since we see that both are related to life. Muller’s esti- VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 363 mate of the maximum size of a gene would place it just below tobacco mosaic virus, near the middle of the viruses. Both genes and viruses seem to be nucleoproteins and both reproduce only within specific liv- ing cells. Both possess the ability to mutate. Although viruses gen- erally reproduce many times within a given cell, some situations are known in which they appear to reproduce only once with each cell division. Genes usually reproduce once with each cell division, but here also the rate can be changed, as, for example, in the case of polyploidy resulting from treatment with colchicine. Actually the similarities between genes and viruses are so remarkable that viruses very early were referred to as “naked genes” or “genes on the loose.” Two great discoveries, one which began in 1928 and the other which occurred in 1952, have provided experimental evidence for an exceed- ingly intimate relationship between viruses and genes. In 1928 Griffith found that he could transform one specific S type of pneu- mococcus into another specific S type by injecting mice with non- virulent R forms together with large amounts of heat-killed S pneu- mococci of a type other than that of the organisms from which the R cells were derived. Living virulent S organisms of the same type as the heat-killed S forms were then recovered from the animals. Later Dawson and Sia as well as Alloway found that the addition of an extract of one type of capsulated pneumococcus to a culture of a noncapsulated rough form would convert the latter into the same type of capsulated pneumococcus which provided the extract. It was ob- vious that something was being transferred and in 1938 I discussed the possibility that this “something” might be a virus. In 1944 Avery and his colleagues at the Rockefeller Institute proved that this some- thing was a transforming principle consisting of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA). Muller in 1947 discussed the possibility that the DNA might correspond to still viable parts of bacterial chromosomes loose in solution which, after entering the capsuleless bacteria, undergo a kind of crossing over with the chromosomes of the host, but this suggestion was not widely accepted. That the phenomenon was not an isolated one was demonstrated in 1953 by Leidy and Alexander who obtained similar results with an influenza bacteria system. The close relationship to genetics was further emphasized by work of Hotchkiss and by Ephrussi-Taylor who, as well as Leidy and Alexan- der, showed that drug resistance and other genetic factors could be so transferred. This work provided evidence that genetic factors or genes, if one prefers such a designation, can be represented by DNA and can be obtained in chemically pure solution. This information, as well as our knowledge of viruses, was soon fortified by the very important discovery by Zinder and Lederberg in 1952 of transduction in Salmonella by means of a bacterial virus. 364 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 It was found that genetic factors could be carried from one type of Salmonella cells to another type by means of a bacterial virus. In this type of transformation the genetic fragment is not free but is carried within the structure of the bacterial virus. It is, for example, not affected by the enzyme deoxyribonuclease, and in this respect is unlike the DNA pneumococcus transforming principle. However, it is not necessary for the virus actually to possess virus activity, for killing of the virus by ultraviolet hght does not prevent the transduc- tion of other traits. The closeness of the relationship between the virus and the genes of the host is emphasized by the fact that the transducing ability of any bacterial virus is determined strictly by the character of the cells on which the virus was most recently grown. Virus grown on Serotype E, Salmonella cells will, when added to Serotype E, cells, convert a fraction of these cells into Serotype E, cells. It is of interest to note that the virus in filtrates of toxin-form- ing bacterial strains will convert nontoxin-forming cells into toxin- forming cells. In transduction, a fragment of a chromosome which might be regarded as a gene or a collection of a few or even many genes can be transferred from one kind of donor cell to another kind of receiver cell and be incorporated into the genetic apparatus of the receiver cell. In the pneumococcus or influenza bacterium this can be caused by a DNA preparation which can be separated and isolated as such and in Salmonella this gene or gene collection rides within the bacterial virus, presumably with the viral DNA, which is added to the cell to be transduced. Here one hardly knows what to call a virus and what to call a gene for it is obvious that at times the two merge completely. The persistence of a bacterial virus in an apparently concealed form of prophage in lysogenic strains of bacteria, extensively investi- gated by Lwoff, provides further evidence in this direction. Lyso- genic bacteria perpetuate in what may be considered a hereditary manner the property of being able to produce a bacterial virus. The term “prophage” is used to describe the form in which the potentiality to produce a bacterial virus is perpetuated in lysogenic bacteria. Prophage is nonpathogenic and noninfectious in the usual sense, but, since it is multiplied at least once with each cell division, it may be regarded as infectious in the sense that genes or chromosomes are in- fectious. In other words, the prophage might be considered as a temporary part of the genetic apparatus of the cell, the genetic element that differentiates a lysogenic from a sensitive cell, and at the same time as the noninfectious form of a bacterial virus. There are times, therefore, when a virus may not exhibit its normally infectious nature but have its potentially unlimited reproductive capacity under genetic control so that it replicates only once with each cell division. There VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 365 are times when a specific genetic element of a cell can be freed of the normal controlling mechanism of the cell and go forth in viable form in solution or associated with a virus, enter a different cell, replace a homologous chromosomal segment, and resume its original specific function in the new cell. It is obvious that the latter phenomenon could readily be considered an infectious process, and that viruses can act as genes and genes as viruses under certain circumstances. I should now like to discuss the relationships which involve cancer. You probably know that cancer or abnormal, uncontrolled cellular growth may occur in all kinds of organisms and that cancer is second only to heart disease as a killer of mankind; hence I need say no more about the relationship between cancer and life. Cancer originates when a normal cell for reasons, some known and some unknown, sud- denly becomes a cancer cell which then multiplies widely and with- out apparent restraint. Cancer may originate in many different kinds of cells, but the cancer cell usually continues to carry certain traits of the cell of origin. The transformation of a normal cell into a cancer cell may have more than one kind of a cause, but there is good reason to consider the relationships that exist between viruses and cancer. Viruses have been implicated in animal cancers ever since Peyton Rous, in 1911, transmitted a chicken sarcoma from animal to animal by means of a cell-free filtrate. Despite the fact that today viruses are known to cause cancer or tumors in chickens, pheasants, ducks, mice, frogs, rabbits, deer, and other animals, and even in certain plants, there exists a great reluctance to accept viruses as being of etiological importance in human cancer. However, basic biological phenomena generally do not differ strikingly as one goes from one species to another, and I must say that I regard the fact, now proved beyond contention, that viruses can cause cancer in animals to be directly pertinent to the human cancer problem. It should be recog- nized that cancer is a biological problem and not a problem that is unique for man. Since there is no evidence that human cancer as generally experi- enced is infectious, many persons believe that because viruses are in- fectious agents they cannot possibly be of etiological importance in human cancer. However, this is not a valid conclusion for several reasons. It is well known from the work of Bryan and of Beard that animal cancer viruses may alternately be filterable and hence infec- tious and then nonfilterable and hence appear noninfectious, appar- ently owing to great variations in the actual amount of virus present in the cancer. It is also well known that viruses may be highly spe- cific, so specific in fact that a given virus may infect and cause disease only in one kind of cell in one kind of animal and hence, under all other conditions, appear noninfectious. For example, the kidney 366 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 carcinoma virus of the leopard frog studied by Lucké would appear to be such a virus. Then there is the possibility that many may be carrying viruses of etiological importance for cancer which for one reason or another have not yet been discovered. The possibility of mutation of latent viruses into a new strain of etiological impor- tance must also be kept in mind. Pertinent to both of these possi- bilities is the discovery during the past few years of dozens upon dozens of hitherto unknown viruses in human beings. These con- sist of the ECHO viruses isolated from the human intestinal tract, the adenoviruses isolated from the upper respiratory tract and eyes of man, and a group of viruses isolated from human sera. New viruses of man are discovered almost every week. Thus we now have many more human viruses than we know what to do with and there is no reason to shy away from giving consideration to viruses as causa- tive agents in human cancer for lack of the viruses. During the past few years there has been an almost unbelievably rapid development of techniques by means of which it is now possible to grow almost all kinds of human and animal cells in the test tube and, as a consequence, vast new opportunities for experimentation on human cells without danger to man have opened to us. These cells are also providing a means for the isolation of new viruses, since many kinds of cells are very susceptible to many viruses. The human amnion cell, which my colleagues Elsa Zitcer, Jérgen Fogh, and Thelma Dunnebacke first obtained from the full-term amnion in cell culture, is proving of great use in this connection as well as in studies on the transition from a normal to a potentially malignant cell. For example, we are finding interesting changes in chromosome number and in ability to grow in cortisone or X-ray treated animals as these human amnion cells are passed in culture. It is also of interest that one of the adenoviruses has been found to destroy human cancer cells both in the human being and in the test tube. Thus a virus may cause a cancer and a virus may destroy a cancer. Unfortunately in the case of Huebner’s studies on carcinoma of the human cervix not all of the cancer cells were destroyed and the cancer eventually progressed. However, Huebner, as well as others, is attempting to train a series of viruses to grow on cancer celis, so this approach may not be too hopeless. In the same way it is possible to train cells to respond to viruses and this may provide even better test systems for human viruses as yet undiscovered. Kven if eventually one should find no cancer virus among the large number of human viruses, the fact that man carries so many viruses within his cells and that these are con- tinually passing from person to person means that we should be ever alert to the possibility of transduction by these viruses. Of course, there is no confirmed case of transduction in higher organisms as yet. VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 367 However, human cancer is a fact and there is certainly something within every human cancer cell that insures its reproduction whether we call it a gene or a chromosomal fragment, and so long as human viruses are so abundant we certainly have the possibility of trans- duction. There are many examples of latent viruses that may remain hidden for a lifetime or even for generations only to come to light as a result of some treatment or change. Most human beings acquire the virus of herpes simplex quite early in life and in many persons the evidence for the persistence of this virus throughout their lifetime is quite good. Traub has found that infection of a mouse colony with the virus of lymphocytic choriomeningitis can result, with time, in an inapparent infection of all animals. The virus is apparently trans- mitted in utero and remains with the animal throughout its life; hence this virus persists throughout generation after generation of mice. In- jection of such mice with sterile broth can revive the pathogenicity of the virus and bring it into light. Certain potato viruses such as potato X virus, also known as the healthy potato virus or the latent mosaic of potato virus, can be passed from generation to generation without causing an apparent disease. This virus is not present in several varieties of potato grown in Europe, but it is thought to be present in all, or almost all, potato plants grown in the United States. Needless to say, it was only by virtue of the fact that potato plants without this virus are known to exist and the fact that this virus causes obvious disease symptoms when inoculated to certain other plants that it was possible to establish the actual existence of this virus. In the absence of this information this latent mosaic virus would have to be regarded as a normal constituent of the potato plant. Since viruses can mutate and examples are known in which a virus that never kills its host can mutate to form a new strain of virus that always kills its host, it does not seem unreasonable to assume that an innocuous latent virus might mutate to form a strain that causes cancer. The great wealth of newly discovered viruses of man plus our knowledge of the latent virus phenomenon provides ample justi- fication to reexamine quite carefully the relationships between viruses and human cancer. Another fact which may prove of the greatest importance in this connection is that treatment of certain lysogenic strains of bacteria with physical and chemical agents, such as X-rays, ultraviolet light, nitrogen mustard, certain chemical-reducing agents or iron-chelating agents, results, after a latent period, in the lysis of the bacterial cells and the release of large amounts of bacterial virus particles. These agents are called “inducers” and you may recognize some as carcino- genic agents for man and animals. Nonlysogenic bacteria are un- 368 | ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 affected by these “inducers” in so far as the production of a bacterial virus is concerned. Is it possible that this activation of a prophage by certain chemical or physical agents with development into a fully infectious bacterial virus and the consequent destruction of the bac- terial cells provides a biological example of a process which occurs in man? I believe that this activation of prophage as well as the phe- nomenon of transduction by free deoxyribonucleic acid in the pneu- mococcus and by bacterial viruses in Salmonella is pertinent to the human cancer problem, especially so in view of the recent discovery of dozens upon dozens of new viruses of man. Certainly the experi- mental evidence now available is consistent with the idea that viruses, as we know them today, could be the etiological agents of most, if not all cancer, including cancer in man. I have been urging the accept- ance of this idea as a working hypothesis because it will result in the doing of experiments that might otherwise be left undone, experi- ments that could result in the solving of the cancer problem. Needless to say, what we do in the way of experimentation depends in large measure upon what we think and I am sure the time has come when we should change our thinking with respect to the nature of cancer. I hope that by this time it is obvious that viruses, cancer, genes, and life are tied together by a whole series of relationships, that viruses can act as genes and genes as viruses under certain circumstances, that viruses can cause cancer and that viruses are structures at the twilight zone of life partaking both of living and of molecular properties. Let us now see whether there is a common thread of understanding per- meating all these relationships. We know that viruses have been thought to be at least as complex as a nucleoprotein, but we also know that the transforming agent of the pneumococcus has been found to be a deoxyribonucleic acid and there is presumptive evidence that the genetic stuff of the bacterial viruses is also deoxyribonucleic acid. However, until recently no gene or chromosome or any of the ordinary viruses had been isolated as such in the form of nucleic acid; hence the “stuff of life,” as well as the viruses, has been considered to be nucleo- protein in nature with considerable doubt as to whether the protein or the nucleic acid or the combination of the two was really the bio- logically active structure. A recent very important discovery made in our laboratory by Doctor Fraenkel-Conrat has changed the situation considerably and now makes it seem certain that nucleic acid is the all-important structure. It was reported by Fraenkel-Conrat and also shortly there- after by Gierer and Schramm in Germany that special treatment of tobacco mosaic virus yielded a nucleic acid preparation possessing virus activity. It would now appear necessary to recognize that a nucleic acid structure of around 300,000 molecular weight can VIRUSES, CANCER, GENES, AND LIFE—STANLEY 369 possess, coded within its 1,000 or so nucleotides, not only all the information that is necessary to bring about in the host cell the production of more of this same nucleic acid, but also apparently the de novo synthesis of its own characteristic and highly specific protein with which it eventually coats itself. This work provides wonderful evidence for a direct relationship between specific nucleic acid and specific protein synthesis and makes it possible to consider virus and gene action, including their relationships to cancer and to the nature of life, in terms, not of nucleoprotein structure, but of nucleic acid structure. We see, most importantly, that viruses, cancer, genes, and life are all directly dependent upon the structure of nucleic acid. It may be calculated that a thousand-unit polynucleotide linear chain consisting of a coded repeat of only four different components, adenine, guanine, cytosine, and uracil, in the same ratio as exists in tobacco mosaic virus nucleic acid, could form about 105°° different arrangements. This number is so large that it is incomprehensible. Even a hundred-unit polynucleotide chain of this composition could exist in about 10°’ different arrangements and this number is vastly larger than the total of all living things on earth and in the oceans. We have, therefore, in this structure consisting of the four chemicals, adenine, guanine, cytosine, and uracil (thymine in the case of de- oxyribonucleic acid), repeated many times over in unique fashion, the code for every bit of life on earth and in the sea. When a normal cell becomes a cancer cell there is undoubtedly a change in this structure within the cell. It is of interest to note that many anti- cancer compounds are antimetabolites for these chemical components of nucleic acids. And in our laboratory Litman and Pardee made the very important observation that the incorporation of 5-bromouracil into a bacterial virus in place of thymine resulted in the production of the highest percentage of mutants ever recorded. Certainly all this information plus the discovery that virus activity can be a property of nucleic acid and our knowledge of relationships between viruses, cancer, genes, and life now make it obvious that the common thread upon which all of these depend is specific nucleic acid structure. Therefore, this declaration of dependence revolves around nucleic acid. I believe that the elucidation of the structure of nucleic acid in all its aspects is the most important scientific problem we face today. It is vastly more important than any of the problems associated with the structure of the atom, for in nucleic acid structure we are dealing with life itself and with a unique approach for bettering the lot of mankind on earth. It is possible that the solution of this scientific problem could lead eventually to the solution of major political and economic problems. Never before has it been possible to realize so fully our utter dependence upon the structure of nucleic acid. 370 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Eventually chemists should be able to synthesize a small polynucleo- tide specifically arranged; hence one may now dare to think of syn- thesizing in the laboratory a structure possessing genetic continuity and of all the tremendous implications of such an accomplishment. SELECTED REFERENCES Avery, O. T.; MacLeop, C. M.; and McCarry, M. 1944. Studies on the chemical nature of the substance inducing transforma- tion of pneumococcal types. Induction of transformation by a deoxyribonucleic acid fraction isolated from pneumococeus type Ill. Journ. Exp. Med., vol. 79, pp. 187-158. CALVIN, MELVIN. 1956. Chemical evolution and the origin of life. Amer. Sci., vol. 44, pp. 248-263. 7 Fiupes, Sir Paut, and VAN Hrynincen, W. E. (Eprrors). 19538. The nature of virus multiplication. Cambridge University Press. FRAENKEL-CONRAT, H. 1956. The role of the nucleic acid in the reconstitution of active tobacco mosaic virus. Journ. Amer. Chem. Soc., vol. 78, p. 882. FRAENKEL-ConratT, H., and WiILLIAMs, Ros.ry, C. 1955. Reconstitution of active tobacco mosaic virus from its inactive pro- tein and nucleic acid components. Proc. Nat. Acad. Sci., vol. 41, pp. 690-698. GIERER, ALFRED, and SCHRAMM, GERHARD. 1956. Die Infektiositiit der Nucleinsiiure aus Tabakmosaikvirus. Zeitschr. Naturforsch., Bd. 11b, pp. 138-142. GRIFFITH, F. 1928. The significance of pneumococcal types. Journ. Hyg., vol. 27, p. 113. LEDERBERG, JOSHUA. 1956. Genetic transduction. Amer. Sci., vol. 44, pp. 264-280. Oparin, A. I. 1938. The origin of life. Trans. by 8S. Margulis. New York. Rivers, THomaAs M. 1941. Theinfinitely smallin biology. Science, vol. 93, pp. 143-145. Rous, P. 1946. Concerning the cancer problem. Amer. Sci., vol. 34, pp. 329-358. ScHarrer, F. L., and ScHwerpt, C. B. 1955. Crystallization of purified MEF -1 poliomyelitis virus particles. Proc. Nat. Acad. Sci., vol. 41, pp. 1020-1023. STANLEY, W. M. 1939. 'The architecture of viruses. Physiol. Rev., vol. 19, pp. 524-556. 1941. Some chemical, medical and philosophical aspects of viruses. Science, vol. 93, pp. 145-151. 1949. The isolation and properties of crystalline tobacco mosaic virus. Les Prix Nobel en 1947. Stockholm. ZINDER, N. D., and Leprersera, J. 1952. Genetic exchangein Salmonella. Journ. Bact., vol. 64, p. 679. ZITcER, Eisa M.; Foau, Jgrcen; and DUNNEBACKE, THELMA H. 1955. Human amnion cells for large-scale production of polio virus. Science, vol. 122, p. 30, Mystery of the Red Tide’ By F. G. Watton SMiTu Vice President, The International Oceanographic Foundation Coral Gables, Fla. {With four plates] One of the commonest and yet most bafiling problems of marine science underlies the red tide which has killed millions of fishes off the west coast of Florida in past years. ‘Temporarily, it caused physi- cians’ offices to be swamped with patients suffering from the accom- panying windborne irritant gas. Mounds of dead fish covered the beaches for miles and had to be bulldozed and buried in order to re- move theirstench. The effect on the tourist industry alone was serious enough to awaken both State and Federal governments to its economic importance and eventually to set teams of scientists to work in a con- centrated effort to solve the problem. What caused the sea to change color, fish to die, and visitors to develop sore throats? Marine biolo- gists and oceanographers are following up all possible clues in an attempt to unravel the mystery and to control its devastating effects. MANY COLORS From the earliest days man has viewed with surprise and, at times, with awe the sudden appearance of a vivid discoloration in the natural waters of lakes and the sea. Nearly always the cause turns out to be a rapid growth or “bloom” of microscopic water life, normally present in comparatively small numbers, but under certain circumstances growing and reproducing at an excessive rate until it is presently in very heavy concentrations— sufficient to affect the color, feel, taste, and smell of the water and sometimes, though not always, to render it poisonous to the fish in- habiting it. A WORLD-WIDE PLAGUE In the early fall, along the western coast of Japan, patches of water frequently become brown in color and oily in appearance, owing to Reprinted by permission from Sea Frontiers, Bulletin of the International Oceanographic Foundation, vol. 3, No. 1, March 1957. Unless otherwise credited, photographs by courtesy of Sea Frontiers. 371 372 | ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the blooming of one of the diatoms, a form of microscopic plant life of the sea known as Rhizosolenia. The abundance of another micro- scopic plant, the alga Z'richodesmium, is responsible for the color which gives its name to the Red Sea, and to the Vermillion Sea in the Gulf of California. Blue-green algae in the Baltic Sea and Sea of Azov are often so numerous that the sea surface has been compared in color to a green meadow. In other places and times bacteria cause the Sicilian “Lake of Blood,” and some of the shallow European seas, too, become discolored. The most striking of all these plankton blooms are the red waters, known as red tides. Some were reported off the coast of Chile as long ago as 1832 by Charles Darwin on the voyage of HMS Beagle, and from such widely scattered places as British Columbia, the Gulf of Mexico, South Africa, Japan, and Australia. Not all red tides are accompanied by the death of fishes, nor are they all caused by the same organism. During the past year a red tide off the coast of Chile was investigated by an expedition of the University of Miami and found to be due to a bloom of a diatom called Prorocentrum micans. In other places bacteria, algae, and another microscopic form of sea life, dinoflagellates, have been found responsible. In some cases jellyfishes and small crustaceans such as copepods and euphausids, the krill or food of whales, have caused the discoloration. CAUGHT BY SURPRISE Few people in Florida, other than fishermen, had ever heard of red tides before the latter part of 1946, when the poisonous red water began its disastrous work. Nevertheless, the records show that the discolor- ation of water and death of fishes were seen off the coast of Florida as early as 1844 and on several occasions since then. But the west coast of Florida was not then the popular area for anglers, tourists, and those who wish to retire in the sun. In November 1946 patches of brownish water containing dead or dying fishes were seen by fishermen about 14 miles off the coast of Naples. The pestilence began to spread northward, and during the following three or four months it appeared at Sanibel and Captiva Islands just off the coast. From Cape Romano in the south to Engle- wood Beach in the north dead fishes were found floating in the water. Huge quantities of the dead carcasses were washed ashore, in places as much as 100 pounds to the front foot. Dr. Gordon Gunter and fellow scientists from Miami found dead turtles, shrimps, crabs, and oysters as well as an impressive list of the various species of commercial and noncommercial fishes before the first series of outbreaks died down in March 1947. THE RED TIDE—SMITH aha NEW OUTBREAKS AND EMPTY HOTELS The scourge reappeared later as far north as St. Petersburg and by the time it finally died out in August 1947, more fish had been killed than in the earlier outbreak. Faced with a disastrous repetition of beaches littered with dying fish, residents and visitors complaining of irritant gases, and the hotels, motels, and beach resorts changing in a few weeks from prosperous enterprises to almost deserted buildings, there was a great public outcry for action. But the inflexible system of legislation and gov- ernment makes it almost impossible to authorize the moving in of a team of qualified scientists at a moment’s notice or even to pro- vide the funds for doing so. Fortunately, however, J. N. Darling, a winter resident of Captiva Island and a well-known naturalist, was present at the first outbreak. He not only made his own observations but also with his own funds helped defray the expenses of biologists who set out to investigate the problem during January 1947. THE COUNTERATTACK BEGINS The appearance of the water immediately suggested the presence of plankton bloom. By examining samples under a microscope it was soon found that a prodigious growth of microscopic organisms had indeed taken place and that one in particular seemed to be more characteristic than others. The credit for first noticing this goes, however, to Mr. Darling, whose curiosity had been aroused by strange little moving blobs of protoplasm which he noticed under a borrowed microscope. Miami scientists recognized this as a type of organism already notorious as a killer of fish when present in plankton blooms. This kind of microscopic sea life passes under the cumbersome general name of “dinoflagellates.” One of the dinoflagellates, Gonyaulax catenella, was found to be the cause of mussel poisoning along the coast of California during the summer months. Large numbers of this organism in the plankton, when taken in as food by mussels, rendered these shellfish dangerous for human consumption. Others have been found in poison water else- where. One in particular bears the general name of Gymnodinium, and it was this kind which the marine biologists found in Florida red tide. During the investigations as many as 60,000,000 individual cells to the pint of water were found in the affected waters. MEET “JIM BREVIS” Examination of the Gymnodinium present in the Florida outbreaks showed that it is a 4-lobed blob of almost naked protoplasm, with a whiplike flagellum trailing from one end. Although practically 374 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 transparent, the organism carries oval-shaped objects which give it color. It secretes a slimy substance from its surface in huge con- centrations and this in turn gives the water the consistency of thin syrup. The first step was to determine exactly which species of Gymnodin- tum was causing the damage. Careful study disclosed it to be different from any previously known to science. Accordingly, Dr. Charles Davis, of the Miami staff, wrote a careful description and officially Ficure 1.—The cause of the red tide, Gymnodinium brevis, magnified 3,000 times. First found in the 1947 outbreak. (Diagram courtesy of Sea Frontiers.) named it a new species, Gymnodinium brevis. It was not long before the press and the general public nicknamed it “Jim Brevis.” It is still known by this to the residents of Florida’s west coast. GAS WARFARE OR FOREIGN AGENTS? While this was happening there were many other theories advanced, both by the general public and by armchair scientists. Some said that nonpoisonous plankton clogged the gills of fishes and asphyxiated them. Others held that wartime poison gases had been dumped into the ocean and that the release of these was responsible both for dead vU r > ea m Smithsonian Report, 1957,—Smith Fla., during the red tide attack off the coast in October 1957. 2. Heavy concentration in one of the inlets near St. Petersburg, (Photograph courtesy of St. Petersburg Times.) September—October 1957, along the Gulf of Mexico at Johns Pass, 1. Windrows of dead fish at low tide, casualties of the red tide attack of north of St. Petersburg Beach. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Smith PLATE? 1. Dead fish, killed by the red tide, drifting in through the inlet near St. Petersburg, Fla., October 1957. (Photograph courtesy of St. Petersburg Times.) Heavy accumulations of dead fish marking the edge of oily red water near ‘Tampa Bay (Photograph courtesy of Ecological Monographs and Associated Press.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Smith PLATE 3 ~ - * : ale a - a o « : - ~ . iat, 5 e a 1. Beaches littered with dead fish, a common sight and smell during red tide outbreaks. oon 2. Cleanup equipment used at City of St. Petersburg Beach. Blade piles decaying fish and seaweed, and pitchforks are used to load beach debris into trailers. (Photograph courtesy of St. Petersburg Times.) (‘samt Bingsiaiag “1g Jo ‘yoveg Sinqsiojag “19 JO You 3A09 Asaqinoo ydeiz0j0Yyg) “10]0W pivoqino UO pepueiis YsyaION “BING AYPOI OUT SjuatInd [wpa Aq poliivo s1oM pure “yore /C6] 19qG0190 -slalag “1 Jo you “ep y ‘sseg suyof ev s}eoq paioyoue Suowe 3ur —laquia}dag oy} Sulinp ‘a1oysyo ‘oorxayy Jo J[ny oy ul op pas oy} “YUP /S6] 19qG019Q Jo Youie sy ZulInp apt pal ayi Aq peay[hy Ysty °Z Aq pal[P] atom Ysy ssayy, ‘“sseg suyof ie ysy peop jo dnasojD *] * a Ss — E n Smithsonian Report, 1957.- THE RED TIDE—SMITH 375 fish and the sore throats, quite forgetting that red tide, dead fish, and sore throats had appeared off the Florida coast long before any war gas was available for dumping. Some theories were even more fan- tastic, involving the deadly and secret activities of foreign agents. But the investigators by now were satisfied as to the immediate cause of the trouble. Small fishes were placed in samples of water containing “Jim Brevis.” The fishes died in less than 24 hours. In similar tanks of water with no “Jim Brevis” the fishes lived. Samples of sea water from a red-tide outbreak were heated nearly to boiling point and the vapor given off was found to cause coughing and sneezing. Unfavorable publicity in the wake of the red-tide troubles led to a vigorous effort to combat them, and the scientists from Miami who conducted the original investigation were now reinforced by investi- gators from the United States Fish and Wildlife Service and the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. Dr. Paul S. Galtsoff con- firmed the original findings of the poisonous nature of “Jim Brevis” by carefully conducted tests. Irritant gas, first earlier obtained by boiling red-tide water, was traced by Alfred Woodcock to small par- ticles of water thrown into the air by breaking waves, and remaining in suspension for a considerable time. In this way the red-tide poison became airborne. Injection of a small amount of red-tide water by spray into the nose caused the familiar sneezing and sore throat, thus confirming Woodcock’s theory. THE CAUSE OF A CAUSE The direct cause of red tide and its attendant evils was clear enough. The recognition of “Jim Brevis” did not help very greatly in prevent- ing it though. It is true that copper sulfate and other chemicals have long been known as potential killers of plankton blooms if sprayed on the sea, but, by the time a red-tide outbreak is noticed, the fishes are dead and drifting onto the beaches and the tourists and residents are coughing and sneezing. It is then too late. Like an explosion, the red tide must be stopped before it breaks out. It is necessary to predict the time and place of an outbreak. The $64 question was what are the events or causes which antedate the sudden catastrophic blooming of “Jim Brevis” ? An obvious thing to look for is the source of food to support the rapid growth of plankton characteristic of plankton blooms. In Florida there seemed to be a ready answer in the existence of phos- phate mining operations. Land plants need fertilizer—phosphorus, nitrogen, potassium—for food, and also certain other substances in very small quantities to promote and sustain growth. This is equally true even of small plantlike cells in the sea, including “Jim Brevis.” Moreover it frequently happens that the phosphorus compounds are 451800—58——25 376 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the least plentiful, so that any sudden increase in their quantity in the sea may lead to a great growth of plankton. RAINFALL AND RED TIDE The Miami scientists, together with others from the University of Florida and the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service, followed up these speculations. The probability in mind was that excessive rainfall of an equivalent type of mechanism might wash down into the sea un- usual quantities of phosphorus dissolved out of the phosphate rocks inland, or from the mining refuse by way of rivers. Unfortunately the final analysis seemed to show that even in years of no red tide there is sufficient phosphorus in west coast Florida waters to support a red-tide outbreak. Why then is red tide not always present? A possible clue comes from a study of rainfall and river discharge. There seemed to be some connection between red-tide outbreaks and a higher than average river discharge. But red tide had not developed in all of the past years when rainfall or river discharge was high. So something else must be involved. There were indications that in the shallow creeks and bays, separated from Gulf of Mexico waters by a chain of islands, materials important to the growth of “Jim Brevis” occurred and that the mixture of this water with the sea water outside might provide exactly the right conditions for red-tide development. RESEARCH ALMOST ABANDONED Careful detective work was almost brought to a stop at this stage. Since 1947 red tide seemed to have disappeared and there was no way of telling whether it might return in 1 year or 10 years. Consequently public interest disappeared and with it also the funds necessary to continue research. The problem now facing the scientist was not red tide, but the difficulty of being able to continue investigations without interruption. It is unhappily true that legislatures and gov- ernments, being in the public service and sensitive to public opinion, are apt to finance research only when an emergency such as the red tide actually occurs, at which time, paradoxically, the necessary de- lays in legislative machinery render it too late to be of service. As soon as the emergency is over, all the painstaking groundwork which could lead to the final answer is likely to be discarded. NEW OUTBREAKS REOPEN RESEARCH Although marine biologists from Miami were unable to follow up their earlier discoveries in full measure and although the Fish and Wildlife Service Laboratory at Sarasota was closed, scientific interest continued since it was to be expected that at some undetermined THE RED TIDE—SMITH Sat future time the plague of dead fish would return and with it a public clamor for a solution. These expectations were partly realized in 1952 when a fresh but minor outbreak occurred. About the middle of September 1953 further red tide was reported and this continued at intervals through- out the winter and in the spring and summer of 1954. The new alarms brought special funds to aid research at Miami and increased federal activity. The State of Florida made a wise move by setting up a Red-Tide Committee in order to coordinate research activities. This might also serve to keep legislature advised of the need for continuing research between red-tide years. RED TIDE IN TEST TUBES Materials are needed for the growth of “Jim Brevis” and the sus- picion that the brackish bay waters contained some essential part of these materials received new attention as the result of work carried out by the Haskins Laboratory in New York. For the first time the red-tide type of organism was kept alive in the laboratory in a pure culture, uncontaminated by bacteria or other organisms. The Fish and Wildlife Service followed this up and is now seeking more de- tailed information about the food requirements and behavior of “Jim Brevis” in the laboratory. Part of this is being done at Galveston, Tex., part in Florida in a laboratory in Naples where a converted cabin cruiser is stationed. Many of the questions of the likes and dislikes of “Jim Brevis” may thus be answered by the Service, which now has a team of 20 people engaged in the investigation. Not only is “Jim Brevis” being kept alive for studies of his daily needs, but experiments are being con- ducted to determine the best way of killing him. PREDICTIONS AND PATTERNS As the Fish and Wildlife Service attacks one side of the problem, a four-man team from Miami advanced from another direction. In order to kill “Jim Brevis” and to prevent the red tide spreading, even if a suitable poison were available, it would still be necessary to know in advance when and where an outbreak was likely to take place and how it was likely to spread. Red tide first appears as a patch of discolored water, with dead and dying fishes, particularly along its edge. Within a few days the enormous concentration of microscopic dinoflagellates brings about their own death by overcrowding, the red color vanishes, and after the dead fish have been drifted ashore, all the typical signs begin to disappear. Several days or even weeks later, however, a similar out- break may take place at another part of the coast. In a typical red- 378 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 tide year a succession of such outbreaks at different parts of the coast may occur with varying intervals of time. What was the connection between successive outbreaks? In order to prevent the death of fish by poisoning “Jim Brevis” before it could bloom, it now seemed clear that not only must the first outbreak be predicted but it must also be possible to predict the pattern of future successive outbreaks. These were the tasks undertaken by the Miami oceanographers. A NEW LINE OF ATTACK First, records of all past outbreaks were examined in great detail. They suggested that when one or perhaps several patches of water be- come suitable for a red-tide outbreak they might be carried by the system of water currents to other parts of the coast. This new way of attacking the problem has finally given a clue to the prediction of red tides. The fully equipped seagoing research vessel Gerda (see article in vol. 2, No. 2, of Sea Frontiers), with all the latest types of apparatus for studying conditions at sea, left Miami for the west coast of Florida. Under the direction of oceanographers Imo Hela and Frank Chew, there began a long and exacting study of the water currents and tides in every detail. By working night and day while out at sea they accumulated a prodigious amount of data. Back at the laboratory, samples of sea water were examined chemically and the long task of mathematical analysis began. A SCIENTIFIC FLEET Results were checked and analyzed by the use of free drifting buoys and floating cards, whose travel between the time of dropping in the water and the time and place where found gave further evi- dence of water movement. On occasions a large fleet of yachtsmen, fishermen, and power-squadron members cooperated by dropping cards, identified by numbers, in the waters at numerous places simul- taneously. Several days later they returned to locate the cards, floating in their sealed plastic covers. The complicated pattern of currents changes somewhat with the season of the year, so that it was necessary to repeat the work at sea on anumber of occasions. But the interlocking system of currents that gradually unfolded showed how red tide could, apparently haphaz- ardly, jump from place to place, as the affected water was carried along. This led to the next stage in the attempt to predict red tides. WHAT MAKES WATER MIX Water flowing in tides and currents and acted upon by wind and wave tends to mix and this would tend to disperse red-tide water. If THE RED TIDE—SMITH 379 a water mass were to remain red-tide active while moving along the coast, it must not mix too quickly with surrounding harmless water and so be dissipated. Therefore, said the oceanographers as they reviewed the results of the Gerda cruises, we must next find out just what the conditions are that prevent mixing. These will be the con- ditions which allow a series of red-tide outbreaks to occur and they may well lead us to a method of prediction. Chew and his group from Miami worked out a mathematical for- mula. In simple language it said that “sea water becomes heavier or denser as it becomes cooler or more salt, but less dense as it warms up or becomes fresher. The mixed bay and Gulf water which supports red tides is lighter than Gulf of Mexico sea water. The red-tide water therefore tends to float above the rest. If it is very much lighter, though, it spreads out like an oil film and so begins to disappear. If it is only slightly lighter than the Gulf water it will mix more easily.” So, for red tide to progress into a major series of outbreaks the difference in density must be neither too much nor too little. But how could this density be predicted? Clearly it was related to the amount of brackish water entering the ocean and so to the fresh water entering the bays and this in turn to river drainage and rainfall during the previous months. It was also related to the dif- ference in temperature between Gulf water and bay water and con- sequently to the air temperature of winds which influence them. SUCCESS It seemed a long shot, but after taking meteorological figures for 26 past years and performing numerous calculations with different combinations of the data, a formula emerged which worked. The weather information for any year was placed into the formula. When the numerical result fell within a certain narrow range, then a red- tide outbreak happened during the next 12 months. If outside the range, there was no red tide. But this was only a start. The test ould come when predictions for future years could be checked. Time was of the essence, since a red-tide outbreak is a serious matter to the west-coast residents, and might well cause millions of dollars of lost business if not con- trolled. So, though a scientist does not like to take chances, it was decided, even before the theory had been fully worked out, to risk a forecast. In November 1955 the State Board of Conservation in Florida was notified that there was little likelihood of major red-tide outbreaks in the year 1956. It turned out that there wasnone. A simi- lar prediction was made for 1957. The west-coast waters of Florida will be watched with interest to see if it holds good. 380 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 WHAT OF THE FUTURE? There have been no serious outbreaks since 1954. If history were repeated, then public interest would die and research would be dropped. But this time there is a committee watchful of the citizens’ interests to guard the future. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service may continue to probe the needs of “Jim Brevis,” and the cooperating group from Miami may be able to extend its method of prediction so as to forecast the time and place of the next outbreak in order to stop it before it starts. Already there are indications that a knowledge of tidal movements will play a part in this. Information from the Miami field station at Boca Grande and from the hard-working research ship Gerda, combined with the facts growing from the Fish and Wildlife Service studies, may in.the not too distant future bring about a sure control of the plague of Florida’s west coast, the red tide. Reprints of the various articles in this Report may be obtained, as long as the supply lasts, on request addressed to the Editorial and Publications Division, Smithsonian Institution, Washington 25, D, C. The Return of the Vanishing Musk Oxen’ By Hartitey H. T. Jackson ? [With two plates] THE MUSK Ox, one of those species which had dwindled in numbers so as to be in danger of extinction, at present lives in the wild only on the northeast coast of Greenland and in arctic barrens directly north and northwest of Hudson Bay as far as about latitude 83°, or within 400 or 500 miles of the North Pole. Even within this range musk oxen live only in certain areas, there being large expanses where none occurs. Although today there are no native wild musk oxen west of the Mackenzie River, there is sufficient evidence, from parts of skeletons that have been found, and from stories of the Eskimos, that a few of the animals inhabited Alaska as late as about 1850. At that time the species undoubtedly lived over most of arctic North America and northeastern Greenland. Whereas in those days the number of musk oxen in existence probably numbered in the hundreds of thou- sands, now a high estimate would be 20,000 individuals, most of which live on the arctic islands. PHYSICAL APPEARANCE The musk ox is an odd-looking, hoofed mammal that resembles a small, shaggy-haired, miniature buffalo. It combines certain features of cattle with those of the sheep, but is in no sense a connecting link between them. Stocky in build and short legged, a large male measures about 7 feet long, stands a little over 4 feet high at the shoulders, and weighs about 550 pounds. The female is smaller. A hump on the shoulders of the animal reminds one of the bison. Its tail is only three or four inches long, its ears are small, and its eyes rather prominent. Its head is broad and heavy; its face wide and short. The male carries thick down-curved horns, the broad flat bases of which nearly meet over the forehead to form a frontal shield. The horns of the female are smaller. *Reprinted by permission from the Audubon Magazine, November-December 1956 and January-February 1957. ? Formerly biologist with the United States Fish and Wildlife Service. 381 382 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 HOW IT GOT ITS NAME Although it is not a true ox, the peculiar buffalo-like appearance of the musk ox prompted the name “ox,” and the prefix “musk” had its origin in the characteristic musky odor of this animal. The Eskimos call it the o0-ming-mack; the Chipewyan Indians, e¢-jer-ray. Most species of mammals are known by various names, but “musk ox” is its universal name known to white men, though in olden times it was sometimes called the musk bison or musk buffalo. Even in other languages than our own the term musk ox can be literally translated. For example, in French, the name is le boeuf musque. One might well surmise that any animal adapted to such uninhabited regions as the arctic barrens would be safe from human molestation. To enter the domain of the musk ox, one must take a journey by plane, or by ship amidst arctic ice fields, or else travel by canoe and foot through many miles of Canadian wilderness. Parching winds, cold, and possibly hunger may greet the hunter. Often, miles of search are necessary to locate a herd of musk oxen, for even in an area known to be inhabited by them they live in small scattered groups that shift their range in following the changing food supply. This gregarious habit, this tendency to gather in herds, is a marked instinct in the musk ox, though the groups are usually small ones of from 10 to 380 or 40 individuals, quite in contrast to the huge herds of bison that formerly contained thousands in a gathering. Search for food may induce musk oxen to wander many miles, but there is no regular sea- sonal movement, or migration, such as is likely to occur in a species that congregates in immense herds or flocks. FOOD HABITS Grass is the principal food of the musk ox, though it frequently eats willow browse, small flowering plants, and particularly in summer, the tender shoots of the dwarfed shrubs of its homeland. It is sup- posed not to like lichens or mosses, but a Mr. Hoare, in an old report for the Canadian Government, says: The plain on which these musk oxen had been feeding was windswept and only about two inches of snow lay on it so the top of the vegetation was plainly visible. It was evident that the musk oxen had been feeding on several varieties of moss and lichens which the barren land caribou commonly use as winter food. ... On one side of the moss-covered plain was a gentle slope on which bunch grass could be seen sticking up through the snow. Up this slope the musk oxen had evidently passed, without cropping any of the grass, to the mossy ground above. There was also a thick growth of coarse hay a short distance away on the opposite bank of the river. Grass, willow tips, and flowering plants were quite accessible in the district had the musk oxen preferred these sorts of fodder. In the winter, herbs and all vegetation of the Barren Grounds are often covered with snow. It is then that the powerful hoofs of the RETURN OF THE MUSK OXEN—JACKSON 383 musk ox come into play as it paws away the snow to obtain its food. At this season it quenches its thirst by eating snow, since all fresh water is frozen over. AGGRESSIVENESS OF BULLS IN SUMMER The bulls become rather pugnacious during the summer, and fre- quent battles ensue between them. Hoare describes a combat which he watched: About 9 o’clock on the night of June 26, I was resting my pack on a big rock about 3 miles up Hansbury River when I saw 3 large musk oxen feeding on a hay meadow across the river from where I was. They had not seen me so I quickly got behind the rock and went into camp by getting into my sleeping sack. From there I could watch them comfortably without being seen. After some little time two of the three animals stopped feeding, walked out of the wet meadow to some higher dry ground and began circling one another with lowered heads, as if for battle. Hach then placed its heavy, horn-protected head against that of its opponent and tried to force it back by main strength. After a short while of this, with little success to either side, each animal backed away a few paces, and ran with lowered head at the other. They came together with considerable shock. Three times they met, with little advantage to either. Then each backed away until they were about 25 paces apart. In their new positions they stood glaring at each other for a few moments, then, as if at a given signal, each bounded at the other on the same instant, gathering speed at they went, and met with such impact that both were knocked back some distance, one on his haunches. The victor stood in fighting attitude for a short while, then, receiving no further opposition from the vanquished, went and lay down. The other soon followed suit. The third musk ox which seemed to be larger than either of the other two, seemed to pay not the slightest attention to the battle but went on feeding in the meadow. During the breeding season in August the males are particularly combative, and fight each other for control of the females. They do not breed until 4 years old. As with some of the other herding mam- mals, polygamy is the rule, and each successful bull has a harem of about 10 cows. Sometimes 2 or 3 bulls with their harems gather to- gether into one herd of 30 animals. BIRTH AND GROWTH OF YOUNG The baby musk ox is born in May or early in June, and lies for a while hidden in moss or snow. One calf to a mother every other year seems to be the rule. Blackish brown except for a white patch on its forehead and white feet, it is a curious little fellow covered with fuzzy hair or wool. At birth it weighs only about 16 pounds, but at that it is well developed and within a few hours follows its mother. When the calf is 6 months old, little knobs that form on the fore- head indicate the beginning of the horns. By the time a male is 15 months old these knobs have grown into straight horns about 6 inches long that protrude parallel with the ground. As the horns continue 384 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 to grow they broaden at the base and bend down and forward in a graceful curve, the ivorylike tips pointing upward. DEFENSE AGAINST WOLVES AND MAN Except for man, and occasionally a bear, the wolf is the only real threat to the musk ox. The herding instinct, however, is a great protection to the musk ox, and even the wolf is not often successful in its attack on a group. Several wolves in a pack may at times best a single animal that wanders from the gang. An attack on a herd is a different matter, for the musk ox has a method of defense that defies its enemy. At the least suspicion of approaching danger the bulls surround the calves and cows, and, with heads out and lowered, face the wolves in regular battle array. The cows later may join the battle front, and what a front it is! Each head has a heavy bony shield flanked by two sharp horns that with a single upward thrust might disembowel an unwary wolf and leave it prostrate. No wise wolf would approach such a fortress. Thus, the musk ox is well adapted to fight its natural enemies of the Barren Grounds. From outside, however, came white men, entirely foreign to the musk ox and its country. Armed with rifles, they had no need to fear that threatening battle formation of horns and shields, for they could kill from a safe distance. Herds of musk oxen were slaughtered without mercy. Now that the species is almost gone, laws and regulations have been passed and reservations set aside for its protection. We hope that it is not too late. Although robust and clumsy in appearance, the musk ox is not slow on foot, and it can run swiftly. It is able to run up steep hills with surprising ease and speed, and could well escape many of the attacks of man if it chose to run away rather than to stand its ground. Eskimos have long hunted musk oxen for food and clothing, but until the use of the rifle against musk oxen, the killing among the herds had never endangered the existence of the species. FIRST CAPTIVE MUSK OXEN The meat of the musk ox is nourishing and tastes like tough beef, but some white men who have eaten it say that it has a peculiar musky taste that they do not relish. The pelt of the musk ox is of very little value to white man, because it is too coarse in hide and hair for him to wear. Eskimos find it valuable for clothing because of its ereat warmth. In all the recent attempts to domesticate the musk ox no reference is made to studies on the subject by others; no apparent effort is made to profit by the experience of others in attempting to raise the musk ox, no balance is taken of all known factors, bad as well as good, in meas- RETURN OF THE MUSK OXEN—JACKSON 385 uring procedure. Musk oxen may be seen in a few of the larger American zoological parks, where, once they become acclimated, they may thrive moderately well. The first captive musk ox in America was exhibited in the New York Zoological Park, where it arrived from arctic America on March 12, 1902. In this same zoological garden the first baby musk ox ever born in captivity arrived Septem- ber 7, 1925. Others have been kept captive in northern European countries, and the governments of Norway and Iceland have experi- mented in rearing them, but without success. The Dominion of Can- ada, through protection of the musk ox in its native environment, has increased its population on the Thelon Game Sanctuary, northeast of Great Slave Lake, Northwest Territory, since the establishment of this range in 1927. The only comprehensive study on the musk ox in captivity is that made by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service in Alaska. In April 1927, the Legislature of the Territory of Alaska sent a memorial to the United States Senate and House of Representatives urging favorable action in appropriating funds to reestablish musk oxen in the range formerly occupied by them in Alaska. During May 1930, under the active leadership of Senator Peter Norbeck of South Dakota and Representative C. C. Dickinson of Iowa, an appro- priation of $40,000 was granted for the project. Administration of it was assigned to the Bureau of Biological Survey, United States De- partment of Agriculture, now the Fish and Wildlife Service, United States Department of the Interior. It was impossible at that time to obtain live specimens of any of the races of musk oxen that lived in North America. It was necessary to buy stock of the Ward’s musk ox, which inhabits northeast Greenland. An order was placed with Johs. Lund, Aalesund, Norway, and late in August 1930 word was received that 34 animals, including 19 females and 15 males, had been captured. All were under 2 years of age and about half of them were calves of the year. CAPTURING MUSK OXEN IN GREENLAND TO SEND TO ALASKA The leader of the Norwegian expedition that captured these musk oxen in Greenland, reported on his observations and procedure, as follows: The animals nearly always appear in flocks but are only seldom met. The older ones range by themselves while the young ones keep together. They are generally guided by a leader. There is much violence in a flock of musk oxen. Once we saw a flock of 18 grazing in a plain. Two of the animals wandered away from each other to a distance of some 50 metres, then took a run and flew against each other. The loser left the battlefield. The animals pasture like cows. Sometimes they will set out at high speed for a distance of 100 to 1,000 metres when they stop short. When attacked they draw up into a flock with 386 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the leader at the head and then make a sally unflinchingly. The animals are swift, and keen of scent, so extreme care must be taken in undertaking to capture them and such hunting is as much as one’s life is worth. When the older animals have been disposed of the young are captured alive by use of a lasso made of particularly strong rope. The legs of the young animals are bound together and they are carried aside. The whole affair is a matter of seconds and you must be quick, for the remaining animals might attack you, and even the young ones are not to be trifled with. It is no easy thing to transfer the animals to the vessel. There is likely to be some trouble. The year-old calves are easily caught and managed. It is a great advantage that they have no horns. About two or three men are able to manage such a calf with their bare hands. By means of a muzzle or halter we contrived to get them on board the boat. Many are rather refractory but we leave them as much as possible to themselves during the transporting. Then we get them into the whaling boat and upon reaching the ship’s side we heave the whole boat on deck with the animals in it. We then put them in spacious and solid cases made of two- inch boards. At first the animals try their strength against the side of the cases, but when after a while they understand that the cases are stronger than them- selves they give in. After a day or two they begin to feed. It is no use to give them hay or grass grown in contaminated fields as the animals fall ill with such grass and hay, and die. They are very particular although hardy; for instance, they never taste water that is not entirely fresh. They soon get used to man. Having been in the crates on deck for about a week they easily understand that there will be a dainty tidbit when members of the crew approach with grass or moss. The young ones are the most easily naturalized. Therefore, we catch young animals by preference. HOW THE MUSK OXEN WERE SHIPPED TO ALASKA Transported in crates to Bergen, Norway, the 34 musk oxen on September 6, 1930, were shipped from there on the Norwegian-Ameri- can liner Bergensfjord to New York, where they landed September 17. The newcomers were received at the port by the late L. J. Palmer, then in charge of the United States Biological Survey experiment station at College, Alaska, the late E. A. Preble and the late W. B. Bell, both at that time of the Washington office of the United States Biological Survey. In order to insure against the introduction of some of the many diseases of hoofed animals, such as foot-and-mouth disease, rinderpest, and surra, the animals were held in quarantine for 33 days at the Bureau of Animal Industry Quarantine Station, Clifton, N. J. Two 72-foot steel express cars then carried the animals to Seattle, where they were transferred to the steamship Yukon of the Alaska Steamship Line and reached Seward, Alaska, 7 days later. Four ordinary freight cars with a temperature of 20° to 40° carried them over the Alaska Railroad to College, Alaska, where they arrived the night of November 4, and the next day, with the temperature at 16°, were unloaded and released in a 40-acre en- closure on the College of Alaska campus. During their American journey the animals were in roomy, individual crates, and were fed alfalfa hay and given an abundance of water. They all reached their RETURN OF THE MUSK OXEN—JACKSON 387 destination in excellent condition. Most of the animals were not wild and were easily driven. One or two of the smallest ones even yielded to petting and handling. Food for their first Alaskan winter was varied for tests, but they were successfully fed on a number of grasses, including alfalfa hay, oat hay, brome hay, and native hay (sedge and redtop). Each animal ate about 5 pounds of food daily. A SIX-YEAR STUDY OF CAPTIVE MUSK OXEN And so began the unique 6-year study of confined musk oxen. Charles H. Rouse and the late Lawrence J. Palmer, two outstanding authorities on range management and animal husbandry, conducted the research. Each had had practical experience with range cattle, sheep, and horses; each, a thorough university education in range mangement; each, long, close contact with big game in the wild. Early in the spring of 1931 the animals were released in a 4,000-acre fenced enclosure of the 7,559-acre pasture included in the experiment station grounds. Soon it was noticed that the 4,000-acre pasture was too large and the herd was then confined to a pasture of 1,077 acres of which 600 acres were summer pasture, 325 acres spring pasture, 82 acres fall pasture, and 70 acres winter and hay meadow. Smaller pastures were fenced for isolating a few musk oxen for observation or study. Corrals were constructed and a loading chute built for easier handling of the animals. Three years later, June 30, 1934, of the original 34 animals, 24 had survived—12 breeding-age cows and 12 bulls. Ten deaths in the herd had occurred—five animals were killed by black bears, one cow had a broken leg, one died from meningitis, one from actinomycosis, and two from some unknown sickness. Between April 29 and June 24, seven calves were born of which five lived. One had been still- born and another died from injuries received from a bull musk ox. The spring of 1935 was a rewarding one, for each adult cow gave birth to a calf, though in one case of a stillborn calf, the cow also died. The herd then comprised 12 adult bulls, 11 adult cows, and 15 immature, or young ones; a total of 38 musk oxen, the highest number reached at the experiment station. No calves were born in 1986, and through the deaths of seven animals and the transfer of four to Nunivak Island for adaptation studies, the herd was reduced in June to 27 animals. It is believed that the cows that gave birth to calves, both in 1934 and in 1985, did so because their previous year’s calves were separated from the cows in the fall of 1934. The following year of 1936, the calves were not isolated from their mothers, there- fore were not weaned, and the cows did not breed. In the wild, natural condition on its native range, the musk ox does not wean its calf until the second summer and so breeds every other year. 388 | ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 CAN THE MUSK OX BE DOMESTICATED? Hope for domestication of musk oxen was high in the early stages of the study at the Alaska Experiment Station. It was first believed musk oxen were less difficult to drive and corral than reindeer. As the animals aged they became untractable and hard to handle. They broke down strong fences. They were belligerent. Familiarity with humans had made the musk oxen fearless of their captors. Even though they were given excellent care and attention, they nevertheless were susceptible to diseases and infections, such as meningitis, acti- nomycosis, lip-and-leg ulceration, stillbirth, and pneumonia. Black bears were destructive to them. Mosquitoes bit the eyes of the musk oxen. Some animals were so badly bitten by mosquitoes that they were temporarily blinded and in running through the brush seriously dam- aged their eyeballs. Alaskan experiments were made on the possible commercial use of the musk ox. Valuable wool constitutes about 60 to 80 percent of the hair, the remaining 40 to 20 percent is coarse guard hairs. The wool is one of the finest known, comparing favorably with that of cashmere or even vicuna. The difficulty would be to obtain pure wool in quantities. Clipping the animal may result in its death. Moreover, clipping produces a mixture of wool and guard hairs, and no process, mechanical or manual, is known by which the wool can be separated economically from this mixture. The musk ox sheds its wool be- ginning about the middle of May and up to the middle of June. It can, at that time, be combed from the oxen, which, again, endangers their lives either through shock or pneumonia. Wool can be collected from objects on which it has attached itself as the animal passed, but this would be too slow and tedious a way to get quantities of wool for commercial use. Nevertheless, close to 100 pounds were thus gotten at the Experiment Station, and much of it used in experimental textile work at the University of Alaska in making scarves, stockings, and mittens. The flesh of the musk ox is edible, but most people would prefer beef, mutton, or pork. Moreover, the quantity of better meat cuts from musk oxen is meager, because of their heavy necks and foreparts, which produces a relatively small meat salvage in butcher- ing. The milk of the cow musk ox is as good as cow’s milk accord- ing to some who had nothing but “tinned” cow’s milk for compari- son. But the cow musk ox produces no milk until it is 5 years old, and then the quantities are small. CONCLUSIONS ABOUT THE COMMERCIAL USE OF MUSK OXEN The experiments conducted by the United States Fish and Wildlife Service near Fairbanks, Alaska, clearly indicated that it is entirely impracticable to raise musk oxen as a farming or commercial enter- RETURN OF THE MUSK OXEN—JACKSON 389 prise, and any attempt to do so should be regarded only as an ex- pensive experiment almost certain to fail. The primary purpose of the studies in Alaska, which were to learn how best to adapt the introduced Greenland animals to Alaskan conditions with a view to establishing the species there, bids fair to be successful. The 4 animals transferred to Nunivak Island Wildlife Refuge in 1935 had done well; however, the herd at the Alaska Experiment State had become such a problem that the 27 musk oxen remaining there were transferred to Nunivak Island and all were released on the refuge on July 17,1936. These 31 animals were all that remained of the original 34 and their offspring. Nunivak Island was selected for this intro- duction after careful consideration of all factors—there were no predators there, few disease hazards, and a favorable environment. The island is 70 miles long by 40 miles wide, and is in the Bering Sea, some 25 miles from the Alaskan mainland, directly west of the mouth of the Kuskokwim River. Here the musk ox herd has done well. In the autumn of 1951 an accurate count by airplane showed 76 musk oxen on the island, 7 of which were calves. A stock of musk oxen when left alone in the wild in Greenland tends to double its number in about 11 years. The Nunivak herd has maintained this rate of increase. I do not discredit the effort to raise musk oxen as experimental research. I cannot, however, condone the high-pressure sales propa- ganda that has developed about raising musk oxen commercially. Says the advertising, “This will be the first new animal to be domesti- cated since the Copper Age.” ‘This is pure bunk! Many animals, both birds and mammals, have been domesticated since the Copper Age—among mammals, the silver fox, mink, chinchilla, golden hamster, Chinese hamster, and cotton rat. High-pressure advertis- ing has developed false hopes about raising musk oxen. Already it has influenced people to risk their money in raising the musk ox as a commercial venture, an investment which is more “wildcat” than “musk ox.” My advice is “Do not gamble on musk ox farming.” is uso nea heath akeeee ae) eiaka dal bei Aeetres an! ds if sowrabee so nat My ; Ske " A bt oF ; em ad oo. 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VES. ala "1; Bh ts TAY ¢ : pee a: A ath A Oy i AGS EPCS LE i ii pipe _ * ¢ *. ’ * mies derek Docrideiv tnd tee ay lou Gla tox ‘ ioe bi hah Led f ; i ie ; q 7 pou: 4 - res >» Ms s nae had cay SD dani aA : fob Pe ELV ae | wIE havmoeab baci ee igck. to! ppb ertcns A ee we oe ae auateia ae ay t pi er a} if Ae Tee Dem Lt cee WAG REM NAS Kena Tea ELL | out i ua Py | oh : a. ? 5 ‘i b . * an ry we: ethos eh erate bey 7 ta’ £ v. 4 Bae Fa ay At tour ema at . i Pe RY ' alas it: ie ‘ nat, ,, Biel ot ey px oad MELON f OF: ys Mads Dol ren al ree rey ; ce " ri ti hi ay a kere his ee es ; PLATE 1 Smithsonian Report, 1957,—Jackson “BYSE/Y Ul xO YSnNu 9st SulYsi[qeyssal fo odoy 94d YIM Pueb[UsIIL) ulOlt JYysno1q SEPA “BXSELV £93 9|[0D “UOl} "1G quowliodxy ADAING [eosojoig Sd1BIS pour) oY} 1B WoxO YSNAy a MET OE ae re eg ANT Mt 2 86ST FSB . a et Oe ae ot aah Jey. psoy oy? fo ysed si siyy, Smithsonian Report, 1957.--Jackson PLATE 2 Sei een it 1. Something is wrong. An enemy is suspected near, and the small group faces it, as in battle formation, with shoulder humps raised in a demonstration of anger. 2. The musk ox, somewhat resembling a small shaggy buffalo, is an odd-looking animal. Note the broad frontal shield formed by the wide bases of the horns, the long hairs hanging in fringes, the hump on the shoulders and the pale saddle just back of it. Bamboo in the Economy of Oriental Peoples’ By F. A. McCiure’ Plant Introduction Section Agricultural Research Service United States Department of Agriculture [With 10 plates] Bameoo is fascinating alike to the artist, the poet, the craftsman, and the scientist. The Western traveler in the Far East has never failed to be intrigued by the ubiquity of bamboo and by the number of ways in which it enters into diverse phases of the life of the people. He has been struck by its beauty as an ornamental and by its aston- ishingly varied role in the arts and industries. He has listed its mul- titudinous uses, praised its virtues, and advocated its incorporation into Western agricultural and industrial economy. BAMBOO AS A GARDEN ORNAMENTAL Bamboo is an essential feature of many planned landscapes in the Orient: the elaborate and extensive gardens characteristic of the Golden Era of China, the more restricted type peculiar to Japan to- day, the relatively tiny secluded inner court of inn, teahouse, or pri- vate dwelling where there may be room for little more than a bamboo screen (pl. 1, fig. 1). In Oriental gardens we find living bamboos used as hedges, borders, and screens, in mass plantings, in groves, and in isolated clumps. Dwarf forms are often used, in Japan at least, as ground cover for open parklike areas, and especially under pine trees. Some bamboos are suited to a great variety of treatment, while others are less responsive to the skill of the gardener. The most tractable are the ones commonly employed in pot culture. Several types of manipulation are practiced to produce either dwarfed speci- *Reprinted by permission from Hconomic Botany, vol. 10, No. 4, October-— December 1956. ?Present address: Research Associate, Smithsonian Institution, Washington 25, D. C., care of Department of Botany. 451800—58——26 391 392 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 mens or bizarre topiary effects. The dwarf habit is sought especially in connection with the production of miniature gardens, though many dwarfed specimens are cultivated individually in pots or trays solely for exhibition. Dwarfness may be a natural state related to genic constitution, or it may be the result of cultural treatments involving controlled watering and restricted nutrition. Certain devices are employed for simulating the dwarf habit by more direct methods to avoid spending the time required for bona fide dwarfing. Sometimes a bamboo culm of large dimensions is separated from its mother clump, cut down to a short stump, and transferred to a suitable pot just before new growth starts. The ensuing growth is greatly reduced from the normal size, and the presence of the stump itself is considered, by a certain school of gardeners and plant fanciers, to enhance the artistic merit of the general effect. This treatment is usually practiced with bamboos of the clump type of growth, where the new shoots originate from the base of the mother culm. Another method is used with bamboos of the running type, in which the new culms normally arise from lateral buds of the slender horizontal underground rhizome. A young section of the rhizome with dormant buds is dug up and set upright or at a slight inclination from the vertical, in a suitable receptacle, with the basal 8 or 4 inches covered with soil. The exposed portion soon turns green in response to light. The buds that develop under the soil produce greatly re- duced culms, while those that develop above the soil send out short leafy branches. The net effect of the small stature of the slender culmlike rhizome with its short internodes is a deceptive appearance of dwarfness that is often very pleasing to the uninitiated. To the expert, be he professional or amateur, this device is but an obvious humbug. In another procedure, the culm sheaths, which normally protect the tender growing part of the young culm, are removed prematurely. As a result, elongation of the culm is stopped. Plants of a naturally small stature, and of either type of growth, may be used for this treatment. Where the climate is sufficiently warm, young plants started from depauperate offshoots of a dwarf form of Bambusa multiplen make most satisfactory subjects for tray gardens and miniature mountain landscapes. Bamboos having naturally some bizarre character, such as the shortening of the internodes that occurs in Phyllostachys aurea, Bambusa ventricosa, and B. vulgaris, for example, or the square form of internodes and prominent spiny nodes in Chimonobambusa quad- rangularis, or the green-striped golden culms characteristic of certain horticultural forms of Bambusa vulgaris, B. multiplex, and Phyllo- stachys bambusoides, are given special attention in gardens. BAMBOO—-McCLURE 393 Many species and varieties of bamboo are highly esteemed as orna- mentals. Plants of various species of Sasa and Phyllostachys are perhaps most numerous among the bamboos in Oriental gardens, partly because of their ease of culture and their natural decorative value, and partly because, in the Orient, gardening reaches its highest state of development in the warm-temperature climate preferred by these genera. Three tropical species deserve special mention because of their striking appearance and popular appeal. These are the white powdery bamboo (Lingnania chungit) of southern China, the mon- astery bamboo (Z’hyrsostachys siamensis) of Thailand, and the giant bamboo (Dendrocalamus giganteus) of India. The first, as yet un- known in the West, has been highly esteemed and even memorialized by Chinese poets and artists since very early times. The last is widely known and greatly admired in the West as well as the East, for the unique size of its culms which attain truly gigantic proportions. In Japan various parts of bamboo are regularly used for their decorative effect. The full-grown leafy culms are often massed to- gether for temporary background purposes. After the leaves have fallen, the dried culms, with their branches bedecked with colored paper streamers or gleaming lanterns, are set up for all manner of festive occasions. Large bouquetlike arrangements, in which three culm sections of unequal length form the central element, with ever- green branches massed about the base, constitute a more formal type of ornament. In all objects made of bamboo, whether flower vases, ornamental baskets, figurines, children’s toys, or any of the thousand and one objects of everyday use, the natural decorative value of the culms or other parts of the plant is always presented to advantage. BAMBOO IN PAPERMAKING Bamboo occupies a very important place in the ancient handcraft of papermaking in the Orient. Not only is the greater part of the paper used in the Far East composed of bamboo pulp, but until recently practically all of it was made on molds, the essential part of which is fashioned from slender strips of bamboo wood. Establishment of a paper mill is conditioned upon the availability of a sufficient supply of pulp material within easy reach. The in- dustry depends also upon a steady supply of clear water and a cheap source of the digesting materials, such as quick lime, soda ash, or potash. The methods employed in the old mills where paper is made entirely by hand are of a very primitive nature and are, for that reason, not adequate for refining the highly lignified tissues of ma- ture bamboo culms. Therefore, the better grades of paper are made from young culms only—those that have not yet put forth their leaves. For cheap papers the requirements are less exacting, and a 394 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 wider range of bamboo species is employed as a source of pulp. In fact, it is probable that any local species in sufficient abundance and available at a reasonable price may be used. For making some of the very coarse dark papers of common use for filters, wrappings, etc., mature stems are acceptable. The tips of the mature clums, a by- product of the split-bamboo industry, are so employed in southeastern Asia. The time allowed for digestion is very long, often a full year, and the pulping methods are not highly refined. In the construction of the common type of mold, on which the finest paper is still made by hand in the Orient, bamboo is always used. The essential part of the mold is a flexible screen of slender wirelike units fastened together in parallel array by means of hair, silk, or ramie. The best screens are made from the peripheral wood of large culms of Phyllostachys pubescens or P. bambusoides. Aiter pre- liminary splitting, the strips are reduced to the desired size and to a cylindrical form by being pulled through a hole in a piece of steel, after the manner of wire drawing. In this way wirelike strips of marvelous uniformity and fineness may be produced. Some screens have as many as 82 strips to the inch. The finished screens, after having been treated with lacquer, are objects of great beauty and unbelievable durability. The binding fibers, which correspond to the warp in weaving, are the first part of the screen to wear out. When a screen has been in use many years and can no longer be repaired, the bamboo strips are salvaged and reworked into a new screen. Bamboo finds numerous other more or less incidental uses in the average Oriental mill where paper is made by hand. The half-stuff is carried from the digesting vat to the bamboo treading trough in bamboo baskets suspended from a bamboo pole. The finished pulp is “combed” by means of a bamboo loop to remove coarse fibers (“shives”) which have escaped reduction by digesting and treading. Upon addition of water, after it has reached the dipping vat, the pulp is agitated by means of a bamboo stirring rod to effect an even dis- persal of the fibers. The vatman and the drier work by the light of a bamboo lamp at night. Bamboo rope is used on the windlass for applying force to the press. Bamboo forceps are used to pick up the corners of the wet sheets from the block as it comes from the press. Old bamboo culms that are too highly lignified to make pulp by hand methods are commonly used as fuel for drying the paper. The bales of finished paper are often covered with bamboo culm sheaths and bound with bamboo bands. A bamboo tool, combining the functions of a gauge and an awl, is used to space the bands upon the bales and tuck in the twisted ends. The principal technical problems arising in connection with the use of bamboo for paper pulp in modern mills have been solved, and BAMBOO—McCLURE 395 many variants of the process have been patented in those countries where paper is made on a large scale. At least one of the several modern paper mills established in China under an earlier regime used bamboo exclusively as a source of pulp, and it is claimed that 90 types and grades of paper were made, ranging all the way from wrapping paper and tissues to bond and ledger. As a result of long and careful pioneering experiments by William Raitt, and more recent studies by Indian technicians working at Dehra Dun, India leads the Oriental countries in the volume of bamboo pulp produced. Indian mills are now turning out bamboo pulp at a rate approaching 250,000 tons per year, principally from the culms of Dendrocalamus strictus. The major portion of this is used for blending, to upgrade inferior pulp made from herbaceous grasses and short-fibered hardwoods. In Thailand a modern mill makes paper entirely from bamboo, but the total amount and the identity of the species used have not been reported. Indonesia and Burma both have plans on foot for building modern mills to convert a part of their vast bamboo resources into paper. Pakistan has just completed an ultramodern mill designed for an initial production of 30,000 tons of bamboo pulp per year, principally from the culms of Melocanna baccifera (pl. 2, fig. 1). Japan is producing paper by modern methods on an experimental scale and plans for expanded facilities are under way. The species of principal interest there is Phyllostachys bambusoides. BAMBOO AS A TEXTILE A great many objects of common domestic and industrial use are fashioned entirely or in part from woven bamboo. These have the qualities of lightness and flexibility, and there is about them an artistic appeal not to be found in any other equally cheap material. Bamboo has numerous characteristics that fit it especially for weav- ing purposes: straight grain, ease of splitting, flexibility, toughness, natural gloss, and lightness in proportion to volume, to mention the more obvious ones. The individual textile units are long, thin, tan- gential segments of the outer layer of the culm, with the epidermis occupying the greatest possible dimension. As prepared for most pur- poses, these units vary up to about 8 feet in length, from one-fourth to three-eighths of an inch in width, and from one-sixteenth to three- sixteenths of an inch in thickness. For certain types of basketry and matting these may be much narrower or much wider. For very fine matting the outermost layer is removed to make the strips perfectly flat and to eliminate the unevenness occasioned by the nodal rings, and the finished strips may be but one-sixteenth of an inch or less in width, and exceedingly thin. For certain kinds of sawale (a type 396 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 of matting common in the Philippine Islands, whence comes the name, and in southeastern Asia generally), the culms are first cracked at several points around each node, then opened by a single longitudinal slit. When the diaphragms have been removed, the culms are spread out flat. BAMBOO IN BASKETRY In the Orient bamboo baskets and trays enjoy a usage more varied, perhaps, than that accorded any other bamboo article. This is true in the outer world of industry and transportation as well as in domestic circles where there is still much fetching and carrying to be done and where drying is the prevailing method of preserving foods. The Orient possesses no material, other than bamboo, that is available in such abundance or is so well suited to the construction of light, con- venient, attractive, and inexpensive baskets and trays. Baskets of a design peculiar to the individual need are used by money changers, carriers of sand and earth, tenders of newly hatched chicks, wholesale food merchants, dealers in crude drugs, and peddlers of fish, fruits, and vegetables. Baskets in an infinite variety of shapes and weaves are available, particularly in Japan, for the decorative arrangement of flowers and fruits. For the farmer’s wife, the herb- alist, and the maker of candied fruits, bamboo trays provide a cheap, light, and convenient means of exposing things to the sun and of gathering them up again quickly when rain threatens. Bamboo baskets and trays constitute an important item of equipment required for many large-scale industrial and commercial pursuits in the Orient. In the silk industry the mulberry leaves are brought from the field in bamboo hampers, while the silkworms are hatched, and spend the whole of the caterpillar stage, on bamboo feeding trays. As a fitting finale they are placed, when mature, upon racks fashioned from bam- boo in a form suggesting treetops where, in the wild free state, their ancestors spun their cocoons. The shape of these spinning racks is cleverly designed, however, in deference to the requirements of space economy. In southeastern China, pig crates, chicken baskets, and tree pro- tectors (pl. 1, fig. 2, and pl. 5, fig. 1) are made from heavy strips of the culms of Bambusa tuldoides and related species. In this same region trays and baskets are woven principally from thongs of Bambusa teatilis, while certain heavier parts, such as the stays and rims, are usually made from Bambusa tuldoides and similar kinds. In more temperature regions, including Japan, various species of Phyllo- stachys are used for all parts of these containers (pl. 7, fig. 1). In more tropical regions a wide array of species, chiefly of the genera Bambusa, Dendrocalamus, Melocanna, Gigantochloa, and Schizo- stachyum, yield basket-making materials. BAMBOO—McCLURE 397 Stones used in the construction of dams and in the repair of dykes are held in place by being confined in cylindrical baskets of bamboo (pl. 2, fig. 2) of the same general pattern as the pig crates and tree protectors mentioned previously. BAMBOO MATTING Bamboo matting is woven in a great variety of shapes and patterns and is employed in many ways in the Orient. One sort, of incredible fineness and flexibility, is used in China as the equivalent of bed sheets and pillow cases during summer weather. Long narrow strips of a sturdy tight-woven form are used by itinerant duckherds for corralling the fowls at night, and by farmers for making demountable grain bins. Fruits and other products which would be spoiled by contact with the soil are spread out to dry on squares or rectangular pieces of coarse bamboo matting. Similar mats are used as overnight covers or during showers to protect farm produce being cured or dried in the sun. Bamboo mats are made in various sizes and weaves for use as a covering for the walls and partitions of bamboo dwellings (pl. 3, fig. 1) and more temporary structures. Matting of open weave serves to reduce the light to an intensity suitable for orchid culture, while sunshades and windbreaks of close-woven bamboo mats are often erected for the protection of other delicate horticultural crops. On certain types of water craft, bamboo mats serve as shelters against the elements and on occasion as emergency sails. The “sea anchors” employed to harness the current for steadying boats engaged in fish- ing or dredging are made of bamboo matting. Fences made of coarse bamboo matting may also serve as windbreaks or screens for privacy. Most matting is uncolored and depends for its ornamental appeal upon the weave pattern. Sometimes, however, interesting color pat- terns are produced by using dyed strips of various hues. Stage set- tings are sometimes composed of scenes painted on bamboo matting. Plain bamboo matting is effectively used as a background for the display of paintings and objects of art. The Institute of Science and Technology, at Manila, has recently conducted successful experiments in the use of fine bamboo matting as a stress skin for airplane fuselages. The bamboos used are re- ported as Bambusa spinosa and B. vulgaris. In Japan and the temperate parts of China various species of Phyllostachys yield the strips used for matting. In southern China, Bambusa textilis is the matting bamboo par excellence. In the Phil- lippine Islands matting is made principally from the culms of Schizostachyum spp., while in the more southerly parts of Asia and in Indonesia and adjacent islands those from Bambusa, Dendroca- lamus, Gigantochloa, Melocanna, and Schizostachyum are used. 398 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 We usually think of matting as a woven product, but there is a kind called “smooth matting” made in China by another method. These mats are constructed by stringing together, edge-to-edge, par- tially split sections of the culms of Phyllostachys pubescens. Flaw- less sections are selected from the lower middle portion of large culms where there is the least taper and no branches. These are cut to a length precisely equal to the width of the finished mat. The external nodal projections are planed or scraped down to the level of the rest of the culm surfaces. Each section is then split into strips about an inch in width, and these are kept in their original order. ‘The frag- ments of the diaphragms are now removed and the strips are again split at intervals of perhaps an eighth of an inch this time through only about two-thirds of their length and alternately from the two ends. These inch-wide strips may now be flattened out. They are laid, one by one, outer side down, on a flat surface and drilled tan- gentially with three pairs of holes (one pair at the middle and one near each end) always precisely located. The different sets of strips from the several culm sections are now matched, planed on the edges where necessary, and then strung together on heavy cotton cord. Such mats are used chiefly for covering beds and cots for summer use in warm climates. The upper side, which is formed by the outer waxy surface of the bamboo, takes on a pleasing natural polish with use and provides incredibly cool and comfortable sleeping conditions in the hottest weather. BAMBOO ROPE Ropes made from bamboo are used more extensively in China, per- haps, than in any other Oriental country. They have several points of distinct superiority over ropes made from other fibers. This is especially true where the rope is frequently wetted or subjected to an unusual amount of abrasion, as in the drilling of wells, the pumping of salt brine, and the towing of boats. Two general methods of manufacture are used. The easier and more common method is essentially like that by which rope is made in the West by hand, the same twisting devices and “rope walk” being employed. It consists simply of the operations involved in twisting the individual strips together. The primary units may be further united, by twisting, into successively larger units until cables of pro- digious size, up to 2 feet in circumference, may be made. Such great ropes are employed only in constructing mighty cable bridges or in the repairing of important dikes during a flood. A much more durable type of rope is plaited or braided in a tubular form, but this can be made only in rather slender sizes. The work is performed in a tower, and the rope is lowered to the ground as it is finished. It is much more tedious to make this kind, but it has a con- BAMBOO—McCLURE 399 siderably greater tensile strength per unit of weight than the twisted sort. For tracking purposes (towing river boats by manpower), the superiority of the braided rope is outstanding. Being of open con- struction and consisting of coarse units, it holds less water and dries more quickly after having been submerged. Again, in places where the towpath swings around the convex side of a rock cliff, the rope often rubs against the rough surface under considerable tension. When the plaited type of rope becomes damaged by this hard usage, individ- ual strips may be replaced, thus restoring it more or less completely to its original condition. When this rope becomes so aged or worn that it must be discarded, it is cut into convenient lengths, dried, and used for torches. Small bamboo ropes of the twisted type are commonly employed for such temporary functions as binding together the units of rafts made up of lumber, fuel wood, or bundles of bamboo, for transportation by water. When these rafts are moved by means of the stream current or the tide instead of being towed, guiding, braking, and anchorage are miraculously accomplished by means of stone-weighted wooden an- chors attached to the stern by means of bamboo rope, and floated inter- mittently upon smaller, trailing bamboo pilot rafts. The passage boats operated on the inland watercourses are towed by means of large twisted bamboo ropes or cables. Bamboo ropes are used in western China for drilling salt wells and for hoisting brine. BAMBOO AS A BUILDING MATERIAL In vast areas, bamboo is the one material that is sufficiently cheap and plentiful to fill the tremendous need for economical housing (pl. 8, fig. 1). Bamboo is employed in many ways, often as much for its ornamental value as for its superior fitness in homes built primarily of more substantial and more costly materials. It is eminently suited and economically desirable for the construction of all parts of a house. It serves admirably for the builder’s scaffolding as well. The natural units, or culms, are of a size and shape that make handling, storing, and processing both convenient and inexpensive. The characteristic physical structure of the culms gives them a high strength-weight ratio. They are round or nearly so in cross section and usually hollow, with rigid crosswalls strategically placed to prevent collapse on bend- ing. The strong, hard tissues of great tensile strength are most highly concentrated near the surface of the culm walls. In this position they can function most effectively, both in giving mechanical strength and in forming a firm resistant shell. Because of the nature of their sub- stance and grain, bamboo culms are easily divided by hand into shorter pieces by sawing or chopping, or into narrow strips by splitting. No costly machines are required; simple tools suffice (pl. 4, fig. 1). The 400 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 natural surface of most bamboos is clean, hard, and smooth, with an attractive color when the culms are properly matured and seasoned. Bamboos have little waste and no bark to remove. The construction of bamboo walls is subject to infinite variation, de- pending on the strength required for resistance to natural forces, such as earthquakes and hurricanes, and protection from rain and ordinary winds. Either whole culms or longitudinal halves may be used. They are arranged either horizontally or vertically. In the vertical position they function more effectively and are more durable because they dry more quickly after a rain. For practical reasons window and outside door openings are kept to a minimum, though they must be sufficient to supply the needed light and ventilation. They may be framed with wood or bamboo. The doors themselves may be wood, or they may be woven bamboo matting stretched on a bamboo frame. . ROS pe F ant ae aoe rah 2. Stoutly built of resilient bamboo, these poultry crates are light, airy, and durable. Easily handled by porters, they may be stacked sky-high without danger of shifting or toppling. Peking, China. (Photographs by P. H. Dorsett, from the U. S. Department of Agricul- ture.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure PLATE 2 —- 1. At the recently completed Karnaphuli Paper Mill, East Pakistan, bamboo will be used to produce 100 tons of pulp per day. Equipment shown was specially designed to lift rafted bundles of bamboo from the river to the flume, by way of which they will reach the mill. 2. Although the bamboo withes from which they are made appear frail and inconsequential, these baskets effectively stabilize a footbridge of field stones near Kao-dien, Hupeh Province, China. (Photograph by F. N. Meyer, from the U. S. Department of Agri- culture.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure PLATE 3 1. Hardwood-framed house with walls of bamboo matting and roof of bamboo shingles (Bambusa polymorpha). A modern adaptation developed in Burma. 2. The muli bamboo (Melocanna baccifera) is the principal material used for housing and industrial purposes in East Pakistan. Millions of culms of this bamboo come into Chittagong each year by raft. Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure PLATE 4 1. As demonstrated by this bamboo worker at Chittagong, East Pakistan, who is making lashings to take the place of nails, no complicated or costly machinery is required to process bamboo for building purposes. 2. Aged cooper making bamboo hoopstock at Oimachi, Japan. The versatility of bamboo is explored by the skill and ingenuity of the craftsman in adapting his simple tools to the processing the culms. (Photograph by P. H. Dorsett, from the U. $8. Department PLATE 5 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure (‘aInqynoIsy Jo JuewyIeded °S *y eT} ‘OAYOT, “sqni puv syseo UIPOOM O} Y}SUII]s sv [Jam se AInNveq ppv COqUIv JO sain} -BSI] POATIJUOD A]SNOIUSSUI PUY DAISSBUT Sey IP] IY] UT ‘7 woud} *jesI0q “Y ‘gd Aq sydes3004g) “eIsauOpuy ‘Uapiey) s1uvjJog 103cgq ayi 1e AjaAtdaya pue Ajeatsuedxeut 9213 SsunoA snoideaid e spiens ooquieg I Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure PLATE 6 1. Where traffic is light, a costly bridge would be no great improvement over this simple bamboo cable. With the aid of a sturdy hardwood clip, it uses the force of the current to propel the heavily laden ferryboat to and fro across the Siku River on the border of Tibet. (Photograph by F. N. Meyer, from the U. S. Department of Agriculture.) 2. Bamboo provides the yoke and the ‘‘bed”’ for oxcarts, the principal means of transporting building materials in India, Pakistan, and many other parts of the Far East. PLATE 7 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure ‘uede if forlyIqg ‘sovejd 942 uo umols ‘ ‘DININIUIZy JO JUOWIIedaq *¢ “fF Aut WO’, “IasIOG “TT "ag Aq sudvi30}01 [NILsV F da’s ‘Nl °y J H ‘d “4 84 ld or 1G Ue G “OUIYIeR JUST|ISOT pue ul SuTYysoiyy uMO sty i ace! O} [eYIUIMoloyM oY. Joules [Piuot() ey saptaoid >1GXL e *sjayseq oy Sulepowuiosse UI pUv s}OOYs dy} Suryoed ur Aurouosa Ioj soyeu uvde{ ut poioavy adeys ivpnsurjoe1 ey], “uo -onijsuod Apinjs jnq YS] JO sjoyseq Coquieg ul JoyIeU O7} uoyey ole (suaasaqnd sky svisop ey J) $}00OYs OOqUIe | “I PLATE 8 MeClure 57. ian Report, 19 sonian Smith "eulYyD ‘uojURD = “saquiaidag 07 A[nf Worf poonpoid aie syooyg = parydde si JaztjN10; pure 41 punore yseasye dn padvoy st yjive {Arenuef 10 Jaq $ a[qIpe Iayi Iof sooquieg durnjo Jay10 pue snupkayraaq snUMDv],IOULY JO 21NI[Nd dy1 UT -UWldd9q] ‘Ul Ieod YORI PoLPAOUOL ST queyd oyt fO 98eq aut “sj00y Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure PLATE 9 Bet The garden of Sankichi Ishida, near Tokyo, Japan. Japanese bamboo gardens are ad- mirably managed. The exacting procedures for spacing the culms and harvesting the edible shoots require care, skill, and experience. (Photograph by P. H. Dorsett, from the U. S. Department of Agriculture.) PLATE 10 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—McClure acquires a special attractiveness from the crisp texture x and harmonious beige and russet-brown coloring of the bamboo culm sheath wrapping. This Japanese lunch, “‘ready to go, S. Department of Agriculture.) (Photograph by P. H. Dorsett, from the U. BAMBOO—McCLURE 407 weak-stemmed plants. The sprinkling buckets are equipped with bamboo spouts. Windbreaks are often used as a protection against unseasonable blasts from the north, and, for certain delicate plants, bamboo sun screens are sometimes erected. Within the household are found, in addition to the various articles of furniture, bamboo brooms, rakes for gathering fuel, fire-blowing tubes, laundry poles, chopsticks, serving trays, colanders, sieves, grat- ers,etc. It isa common practice among the more primitive peoples of the Orient to use sections of large bamboo culms as water buckets and for storing oil and other liquids or for conveying them from place to place. BAMBOO AS A FARM CROP IN THE ORIENT The rural culture of bamboo in the Far East varies in its nature all the way from the intensive and detailed husbandry (pl. 9) charac- teristic of Oriental agriculture and horticulture, in general, to a casual treatment in which the plants are practically allowed to shift for themselves after they have been set out. The bamboos grown as a farm crop may be classified, roughly, into three groups: those grown | for their edible shoots alone, those grown for both shoots and mature culms, and those grown for the mature culms only. There are two general types of cultural practice, corresponding to the two types of rhizome growth. Bamboos of the clump type (those that have sympodial or determinate rhizomes), such as species of Bambusa, Dendrocalamus, Schizostachyum, and Lingnania, are cul- tivated by preference on level land, since the shallow rhizomes of this type of bamboo sometimes are at a certain disadvantage in hillside culture. Even when grown on level land, many of these bamboos thrive best when some fresh earth is thrown over the rhizomes each year. In the culture of this type bamboo for shoots (Sinocalamus beecheyanus and S. latiflorus), as carried on in southeastern China, the earth is pulled away from the base of each clump every year in December or January and the dead wood of old rhizomes is removed. The earth is then heaped up afresh and the systematic application of fertilizer, usually diluted urine, is begun (pl. 8). In addition to protecting the rhizomes and roots from undue exposure and drying, these heaps of earth serve to protect the young shoots from the light until they are large enough to be harvested. This is important, for the action of sunlight spoils their flavor. Bamboos of the spreading type (pl. 9) with slender, indeterminate rhizomes, such as species of Arwndinaria and Phyllostachys, are grown on both level land and hillsides. Aside from the question of fertility, which is usually higher in level land, hill land seems to be preferred by bamboos of this type. This may be due in part to their abhorrence of poor drainage. It may be, also, that the slope of the land affords 451800—58——27 408 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 a certain stimulus which would explain the use by the rhizomes of a greater vertical range of the soil strata, a condition evident in hillside cultures. This postpones the competition between rhizomes which soon becomes apparent in plants grown on level land. Culture of bamboo exhibits a great range of care. One extreme is represented by complete neglect of the grove other than harvesting the shoots at the appropriate time or cutting the culms when they are mature. One degree of improvement comes with selection of those shoots that are to be allowed to reach maturity, and the intelligent choice of culms to remove, looking to the maintenance or increase of the productivity of the grove. A further improvement is represented by removal of weeds and bush from the grove once a year. When the careful farmer sees that the soil has become choked with an accumula- tion of old rhizomes, he renovates the grove or shifts its location. In addition to being grown as a farm crop, bamboo is extensively used throughout the Orient to form living hedges, barriers, and wind- breaks. While these are usually informal, they are sometimes trimmed and restricted rather systematically. Bamboos of the clump type are preferred for these purposes in areas where they are sufficiently hardy. Unlike bamboos of the running type, they form rather com- pact tufts, spread slowly, and do not encroach upon adjacent land. For small, formal or informal, ornamental hedges in tropical and sub- tropical areas, varieties of Bambusa multiplex are generally used. In more temperate regions dwarf species of Phyllostachys, Sasa, or some of the other related genera are employed. For the protective barriers about villages so commonly seen in the more tropical parts of the Orient, large spiny-branched bamboos of the genus Bambusa are employed. The shoots of Bambusa sinospinosa and B. blumeana are edible after parboiling. In China the former are usually dried for consumption during the winter season. The latter are used to a very great extent as an esculent in the Philippine Islands. BAMBOO IN THE PREVENTION OF EROSION Although the potentialities of bamboo as a means of preventing erosion on steep slopes have never been fully exploited in the Orient, the plant has been consciously used to excellent advantage for this purpose on levees and dikes. Bamboo groves of the spreading type on mountain sides incidentally serve this very important function to a much greater extent than is generally realized. USES OF BAMBOO CULM SHEATHS Bamboo culm sheaths are husklike structures which completely clothe and protect the young culm or shoot. The base of each sheath is attached to the culm at a node. In most bamboos the sheath falls BAMBOO—McCLURE 409 away from each successive node, beginning at the basal ones, as soon as the internode stops its growth in length; in some the sheaths persist and gradually disintegrate in place. The culm sheaths of certain species of bamboo, particularly of the genera Bambusa, Dendrocalamus, and Phyllostachys, have special characteristics in respect to size, texture, toughness, and flexibility, which suit them for various purposes. The flexible sheaths of several of the larger species of Phyllostachys, for example, are commonly employed, in both China and Japan, as covers for earthenware jars in which certain food products are stored. Other foods are regularly wrapped in these flexible sheaths for display and retail disposal (pl. 10). In Japan, slender strips of this same type of sheath are widely used in place of twine and in nurseries as a substitute for raffia. They are moistened to increase their toughness while being tied. In southern China the sheaths of a large thorny species (Bambusa sinospinosa) are torn into narrow strips to serve as the weft of coarse sandals. Here also woven-bamboo casks lined with the broad, stiff sheaths of Stnocalamus latiflorus are commonly employed for transporting incense powder. In central China the sheaths of the larger species of Phyllostachys are used to line these incense casks and to serve as a protecting cover for bales of the cheaper grades of paper. In various localities in the Orient, bamboo culm sheaths are employed as a waterproof and sunproof lining for inexpensive hats. In Oriental hand printing and block-print making, the paper is laid upon the inked block. ‘re uty YAR f v | ash ) “nol Puke bay): ites yd i en ‘ali? nt il vi ve | "come baw { stv tit ‘geld ak secon A de iz hy iar nm BY ; As » ie) Oh a biaseican ‘ Aniline Dyes—Their Impact on Biology and Medicine’ By Morris C, LEIkIND Medical Historian and Archivist Armed Forces Institute of Pathology Tum year 1956 marked a centennial significant not only in the his- tory of chemistry and chemical technology, but in the history of biology and medicine as well. It was just 100 years ago that an English schoolboy, aged 18, made the first aniline dye. The repercussions of this discovery were felt in the fields of chem- istry and chemical technology, in the textile industry and in fashion salons, and also in agriculture, in coal mines, in banks and counting- houses, in legislative halls, and in the foreign offices of governments. Last but not least, the coal-tar dyes had an impact on biology and medicine that was as unexpected as it was significant. Before reviewing the influence of aniline dyes upon the growth and development of the life sciences during the past hundred years, it seems not only appropriate but even necessary to recall briefly the life and work of William Henry Perkin. Although he has been dead scarcely half a century, few among the present generation of biolo- gists and medical men know who he was, and fewer of the many who use biological stains and administer wonder drugs know anything of the man who made them possible. William Henry Perkin was born in London on March 12, 1838. He was the youngest son of George Fowler Perkin, a builder and con- tractor of moderate means. William’s education began in a private school. His father wanted him to become an architect, a wish en- couraged by the fact that the boy liked to draw and often copied plans for his parent. *Read at the Perkin Centennial, 1856-1956, commemorating the discovery of aniline dyes, held at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City, during the week of September 10, 1956. Sponsored by the American Association of Tex- tile Chemists and Colorists. 429 430 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 However, shortly after his twelfth birthday, William found a friend who showed him some chemical experiments and as a result he acquired a keen interest in chemistry. He was fascinated by chemical reactions and especially by the beautiful forms of crystals and de- cided that if it were at all possible he would become a chemist. By the time he was 18 he was accumulating bottles of chemicals and performing experiments at home. Just about this time he was sent to the City of London School, one of the very few schools in England where science was taught. Even there, however, instruction in science was informal, for it had no place in the regular curriculum. The edu- cated man was marked by his knowledge of the classics rather than of science and “stinks” was the name reserved for chemistry. The man who taught science at this school was a Mr. Thomas Hall who had been a pupil of the great chemist, August Wilhelm Hofmann. Hall’s teaching of science was informal and was a sideline to his regu- lar and full schedule of conventional classical subjects. Twice a week during the dinner hour science instruction was more or less “sneaked in,” and it was in this way that young Perkin obtained his first system- atic knowledge of chemistry. His assiduity attracted the attention of his teacher, who invited the boy to become his laboratory assistant. William found chemistry so interesting that he skipped many meals in order to have time for experiments. When he was 14 his instructor suggested that he write to Michael Faraday, then lecturing at the Royal Institution, for permission to attend the lectures. Faraday graciously consented and sent a ticket that admitted the youth to the Saturday afternoon sessions. By this time Hall felt that his pupil was ready for more advanced studies and urged him to enter the Royal College of Chemistry. The boy’s father objected since he still wanted his son to become an archi- tect and he could see no prospects for a decent living in chemistry. In the course of several personal visits to the elder Perkin, Hall ob- tained parental permission for the boy to choose his own career. Thus at the age of 15 he enrolled for study under Hofmann, a student of Liebig, who, during 20 years as director of the Royal College of Chemistry, trained the leading British chemists of the Victorian Era. William Crookes, of Crookes’ tube fame, was an assistant in the Col- lege and he gave the new student his first task—that of studying the reactions of metals. Perkin soon completed the ordinary course of analysis but was not content to become a mere analyst. He wanted to do research, and it was not long before he attracted the attention of Hofmann himself who was then investigating the production of organic bases from hydrocarbons by the reduction of nitroderivatives. He gave Perkin the job of trying this method on anthracene. The first problem was to extract this substance from coal-tar pitch, but ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 431 it ended in failure since, with laboratory quantities, the yield was insignificant. Larger amounts of pure anthracene were finally ob- tained from a tar distillery and Perkin tried to nitrate this. Again he failed. As a matter of fact, it was 25 years before the problem was finally solved. Nevertheless, Perkin did, without realizing it then, produce anthraquinone by the action of nitric acid on anthracene. Anthraquinone happens to be the parent substance of alizarin, the red dyeing principle of madder, which Perkin later had a hand in synthesizing. Despite these failures, Perkin had now learned a great deal of chemistry, and Hofmann made him his assistant. Hofmann was him- self a most enthusiastic and stimulating teacher, and through him Perkin was able to meet most of the scientific leaders of Britain and the Continent when they visited the Royal College of Chemistry. Thus by the age of 18 he already had a vast knowledge of contempo- rary chemistry and a mature insight into its problems. Since Perkin’s duties at the College left him little time for independent research he fitted up a small laboratory at home where he could work evenings and during vacation. It was there that he made his first great discovery. Hofmann, in the annual report of his laboratory for the year 1849, had suggested that the time was ripe for an attempt to synthesize quinine. This drug, it will be recalled, is the principal alkaloid of cinchona, the bark of the cinchona tree, native to certain areas of South America. It has long been used for the treatment of fevers, especially of malaria. For centuries the drug was used simply in the form of the powdered bark of the tree or as an extract or infusion. Then in 1820 Pelletier and Caventou of France succeeded in isolating quinine from the bark as an alkaloid in which form it gained an in- creased popularity as a drug. At the same time chemists became interested in synthesizing this compound, but without success. Never- theless Professor Hofmann felt that the state of chemical knowledge of the mid-nineteenth century justified another attempt at the synthesis of quinine. In 1849 he wrote: It is a remarkable fact that naphthalene, the beautiful hydrocarbon of which immense quantities are annually produced in the manufacture of coal gas, when subjected to a series of chemical processes may be converted into a crystalline alkaloid. This substance, which has received the name of naphthilidine, con- tains 20 equivalents of carbon, 9 equivalents of hydrogen and 1 equivalent of nitrogen. Now if we take 20 equivalents of carbon, 11 equivalents of hydrogen, 1 equivalent of nitrogen and 2 equivalents of oxygen as the composition of quinine, it will be obvious that naphthilidine, differing only by the elements of 2 equivalents of water, might pass into the former alkaloid simply by the assump- tion of water. We cannot, of course, expect to induce the water to enter merely by placing it in contact, but a happy experiment may attain this end, by the discovery of an appropriate metamorphic process. 432 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 We know now, of course, that his reasoning was wrong, based as it was upon an incomplete knowledge of chemical structure. Nevertheless, it was this “happy experiment” which Perkin in his eighteenth year attempted to perform in his home laboratory during the Easter vacation of 1856. He began with toluidine, a coal-tar de- rivative, which he treated with allyl-iodide, getting allyl-toluidine which was converted into a salt and precipitated with potassium dichromate. A dirty reddish-brown substance was the result, but it was not quinine. This did not discourage Perkin. He found the reaction interesting and he thought that a clue to the synthesis of quinine might be found by using the same procedure on a simpler base. He therefore chose aniline. He treated aniline sulfate with potassium bichromate and now he got a black precipitate. But again, it was not quinine. At this point many investigators would have become discouraged and quit. In fact, it is often stated, without much foundation in fact, that Perkin did get discouraged and dumped his residue into the sink whereupon a purple color appeared. This makes a good legend but is not borne out by the facts. For Perkin did not throw his residue into the sink. He decided to take a second look. He began to investigate the nature of the precipitate, and what he found was most interesting. When this black precipitate was purified and dried and then digested with spirits of wine, it gave a brilliant purple solution. Then came an act of genius. Perkin immersed a piece of silk in this colored solu- tion and found that his aniline purple was a dye. Perkin put the quinine problem aside and concentrated on a study of the coloring matter. When he returned to the Royal College of Chemistry he showed the new substance to one of his colleagues who strongly urged him to patent it. But Perkin was hesitant. He doubted the practical value of the dye because it appeared difficult to make on a large scale. Nevertheless, he did send a sample of dyed silk to a textile firm and received a most enthusiastic response, with a reservation, of course, about price. The new coloring matter was found to be not only attractive but also faster than any similar color available. This latter quality was highly important to textile manu- facturers. So fugitive were the contemporary purples that if a lady put a violet ribbon on her hat in the morning she could never be sure that it would retain its color till evening. Encouraged by the reception of his first samples, Perkin continued his pilot experiments, and by August 1856 he was sufficiently sure of his results to obtain a patent. He now decided to leave the College to become an industrial chemist. As he later wrote about this episode: Although the results were not so encouraging as could be wished, I was per. suaded of the importance of the colouring matter, and the result was that, in ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 433 October, I sought an interview with my old master Hofmann and told him of the discovery of this dye, showing him patterns dyed with it, at the same time saying that as I was going to undertake its manufacture, I was sorry that I should have to leave the Royal College of Chemistry. At this he appeared annoyed, and spoke in a very discouraging manner, making me feel that perhaps I might be taking a false step which might ruin my future prospects. But this youngster of 18 was not deterred. Although he antago- nized his professor by deserting pure science for a commercial gamble, he succeeded in persuading his own hard-headed father to invest his life savings in this enterprise. His elder brother, who already had a promising business as a builder, was also induced to join the firm. In 1857 a small factory was started at Harrow and a new industry was about to be born. The beginning was not easy. Besides purely chemical problems which had to be solved, there were chemical engi- neering problems as well. Much of the apparatus needed for large- scale manufacture of dyes did not exist and had to be invented. Yet within 6 months after the factory was opened, Perkin, not yet 20, was selling aniline dyes. Within 2 years aniline purple was being made in France where it gained the name “mauve,” and soon the color was so fashionable it was made the subject of music-hall jokes. (Punch reported that a Frenchman who visited London returned and told his friends that even the policemen there were ordering people to “get a mauve on.”) When Queen Victoria wore a silk dress dyed with aniline purple, the rage for mauve was really on. In 1859, the French paid tribute to the importance of this discovery by awarding a medal to Perkin. It was the first of many similar honors paid to him. Within a relatively few years he was manufacturing eight coal- tar colors, seven of them by processes originating in his own works. These included mauve, Britannia violet, Perkin’s green, and alizarin, all of which were made on a large scale. Alizarin, which Perkin de- veloped independently of Graebe and Liebermann in 1869 (the Ger- mans beat Perkin to the patent office by one day), was of the greatest economic importance. Natural alizarin, or turkey red, was an ancient dyestuff obtained from the fleshy part of the root of the madder plant (Rubia tinctorum and R. perigrina). It was known to the ancient Egyptians, and it has been identified as one of the dyes used to color some of the robes worn by King Tut. It was introduced into England in the eighteenth century by way of India, the Levant, and France. The demand for this coloring matter was great and thousands of acres were devoted to raising the plants from which the dye was produced. Madder, incidentally, was one of the earliest dyes used in microscopy, as we shall see shortly. Then in one fell chemical stroke an immense agricultural industry was wiped out. Within a very few years after the synthesis of alizarin, some 400,000 acres in France and 434 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 elsewhere, which had been producing the madder plant, had been con- verted to the growing of food crops. A few years later the synthesis of indigo forced the elimination of another agricultural product. By 1874 Perkin felt that he had had enough of chemical technology. He therefore sold out his interests for about 100,000 pounds and re- tired to devote himself to pure research. His later work included the synthesis of coumarin, an odoriferous substance with the smell of new-mown hay. With this discovery he laid the basis for the syn- thetic perfume industry. He also studied the formation of unsat- urated fatty acids and did considerable fundamental work on the sub- ject of magnetic rotation. Perkin married twice and had three sons and four daughters. The sons all became chemists, and the eldest, William Henry Perkin, Jr., became one of England’s greatest organic chemists. The elder Perkin received many honors during his lifetime. He was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1866, named a Royal Medallist in 1879, and was awarded the Davy Medal in 1889. In 1906 the Jubilee of the Dis- covery of Mauve was celebrated in both England and America. In 1907, shortly before his death, Perkin was knighted by his king. We turn now to a consideration of the effect of the discovery of aniline dyes on biology and medicine. This is in fact one of the most instructive episodes in the history of science, since it illustrates so beautifully the unexpected way in which a discovery in one field of science may profoundly influence developments in other areas. In 1856 when the first aniline dyes were made no one could have antici- pated that within a few years a whole family of coloring agents de- rived from coal tar would be of assistance in solving many funda- mental problems in cellular biology and pathology and would play a major role in the discovery of the causes and cures of many infectious diseases. To appreciate the full significance of the discovery of aniline dyes on the biological and medical sciences let us glance quickly at the status of knowledge in these subjects a century or more ago. The way in which aniline dyes exerted their influence on biology and medicine was first of all as an aid to the microscope. ‘These dyes were discovered at a moment when they could be effectively used to help solve certain important problems for biologists and medical men. To appreciate this it will be useful to recapitulate very briefly a few facts about the history of the microscope and microscopy. Several periods may be distinguished. Although the microscope was in- vented sometime between 1590 and 1608 (the exact date is uncertain) little important scientific work was done with it at first. The first important phase from 1660-1723 was the time of the “Classical Mi- croscopists.” These included Marcello Malpighi, who discovered the ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 435 capillaries and was a pioneer in the study of the microscopic anatomy of plants and animals; Robert Hooke, who first described compart- ments in cork which he called cells, thus introducing this word into the language of biology. Hooke also published the first serious sci- entific monograph on microscopy. Another of these early workers was Jan Swammerdam, who performed incredible dissections of insects under the microscope and devised the techniques of micro- injection and micromanipulation. Perhaps the greatest of the classi- cal microscopists was Antony van Leeuwenhoek, who first saw bac- teria and protozoa, saw the blood pass through the capillaries from arteries to veins, described spermatozoa, and was also the first to use a coloring agent to stain tissue for observation under the microscope. From the time of the death of Leeuwenhoek in 1723 to about 1830 advances in microscopy were sluggish. One reason was that micro- scopes were so crude and their lenses so poor that few persons were willing to take the trouble to use them. The principal defect in the lenses was chromatic aberration. By 1830, however, crown and flint glass was available, and this glass made possible the development of lenses, especially in combinations, in which chromatic aberration was eliminated. With the aid of achromatic lenses new advances were made. The microscopic structure of plants and animals began to be better undestrood, and in 1839 Schleiden and Schwann summarized the observations of many workers and announced the cell theory. His- tology, cytology, and embryology began to emerge as sciences. Nev- ertheless, for technological reasons, progress was again limited. Most of this early work was done with the use of low-powered lenses and weak illumination and without the use of stains. Thus it was that in the middle of the nineteenth century, Ferdinand Cohn, professor of botany in Breslau, wrote: As long as the makers of microscopes do not place at our disposal much higher powers, and, as far as possible, without immersion, we will find ourselves . . . in the situation of the traveller who wanders in an unknown country at the hour of twilight at the moment when the light of day no longer suffices to enable him clearly to distinguish objects, and when he is conscious that, not- withstanding all his precautions he is liable to lose his way. Cohn’s complaint was soon to be answered. The production of the substage condenser and the development of homogeneous immersion lenses (unavailable in Cohn’s day) led to the tremendous improve- ment in the illumination of objects observed under the microscope. Simultaneously staining techniques were introduced, and they soon became indispensable in biological and medical research and in medi- cal diagnosis. The early history of biological staining is, as a matter of fact, still quite confused, and it is foolhardy for anyone at present to give more 436 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 than a tentative priority to any one individual because the prospects are still good that a diligent searcher may at any time unearth an obscure reference showing that someone else has antedated one’s own “first.” If one investigates the early history of the subject, he can see this for himself. For a long time it was believed that Joseph von Gerlach introduced the use of stains in microscopic work in 1858. Then it was shown that Goeppert and Cohn (1849) had preceded him. They had, in fact, been antedated by Ehrenberg in 1838. Preceding all of them was the Englishman Sir John Hill, who as early as 1770 had used dyes, especially extract of logwood, to study the microscopic structure of timber. Actually, however, as mentioned earlier, it was Antony van Leeuwenhoek who was apparently the first to record the use of a dye as an aid to microscopic observation. He was attempt- ing to study the difference between the muscle fibers of a fat cow and a lean one. To improve the visibility of the material under his lenses, he soaked some fibers in saffron, a yellow dye obtained from the crocus plant. Leeuwenhoek failed to follow up his observations, or to perfect his technique, and so it was almost two centuries before systematic efforts were made to use dyes or coloring matter as an aid to microscopic observation. But if Joseph von Gerlach was not the undoubted originator of staining, he certainly was its most articulate promoter, and for this he definitely deserves credit. Gerlach (1820-96) was professor of physiology and then of anatomy at the University of Erlangen during most of his active life. He was a keen student of microscopic anatomy and contributed much to the development of microscopic technique. One of his greatest contributions was the discovery, independently, and partly by accident, of the staining properties of carmine, a dye obtained from the cochineal insect. He had been trying unsuccess- fully to use this dye as a stain when on one occasion he inadvertently left a section of brain in a dilute solution overnight. In the morning he found a beautifully stained specimen. His previous failure had obviously been due to the use of a highly concentrated solution. He at once recognized the significance of this observation and proceeded to develop its technical consequences. Not only that, but he so enthusi- astically promoted its use among his colleagues and students that despite the earlier use of carmine by others Gerlach’s name was associ- ated with the beginning of staining techniques in biology. Tt was at this most opportune time that William Perkin made his epochal discovery of aniline dyes. As soon as the dyes were com- mercially available, it was almost inevitable that someone would try them out on a microscopic preparation. This happened in 1862 when Beneke of Marburg, about whom little is known, employed acetic acid ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 437 colored with lilac aniline. It is not certain just what dye this was in modern terminology, but it is believed to have been the same as aniline violet, aniline purple, or mauve discovered by Perkin. Beneke’s an- nouncement was made in the form of an untitled letter to the editor of a small journal and it is difficult to assess its influence. Im 1863 W. Waldeyer, also a German, began to use aniline dyes for anatomical studies. He used such stains as aniline red, Paris blue, and aniline violet. Soon other workers were experimenting with the new dyes. In the United States the first worker to use aniline dyes for the staining of pathological tissues was Joseph Janvier Woodward (1883-84), a surgeon and brevet lieutenant colonel in the United States Army. Practically all who have written on the history of stains and staining have overlooked Woodward’s contribution. He was an assist- ant curator of the newly established Army Medical Museum in Wash- ington, D. C., when he did his histological work. In 1864 he wrote a letter to Rudolph Virchow in Berlin, the draft of which still exists in the Medical Museum Archives, and it contains the following passage: Have you been able to retain with any permanency the color of your carmine preparations? Have you used aniline or any of its derivatives for coloring microscopical specimens, or are you acquainted with any coloring material preferable to either? Regrettably, Virchow’s reply, if he ever answered, has not been found. During the following year, however, Woodward published a note in the American Journal of the Medical Sciences (vol. 49, pp. 106-113), under the title: “On the use of aniline in histological re- searches, with a method of investigating the histology of the human intestine, and remarks on some of the points to be observed in the study of the diseased intestine in camp fevers and diarrheas.” He began his paper with these words: Since July 1864 I have made considerable use of aniline colors in my histo- logical studies and they have been extensively employed in the investigations carried on under my direction for the microscopical Department of the Army Medical Museum. As the use of these colors for the purpose of staining certain parts of tissues and thus rendering them more visible appears to be unknown in this country and, so far as I can learn from the journals accessible to me, is imperfectly understood abroad, I have thought it advisable to make public the method of using them employed in the laboratory under my direction. Woodward’s first samples of dye were obtained from a Dr. Genth of Philadelphia. He used fuchsin, a reddish dye, and a blue one labeled Bleu de Lyon. He was the first American to employ aniline dyes in histological work and was probably the first anywhere to use them in pathological studies. His efforts unfortunately had little influence on the development of staining techniques in this country. 438 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 There were very few microscopes in America, and microscopists were even scarcer. Thus the principal advances were made in Germany where the dye industry was being developed at a rapid pace and where research, both academically and industrially, had already progressed from amateur to professional status. A technical development of considerable importance came in 1869 when Boettcher and, later, Fleming (both of Germany) in 1875 devel- oped the principle of alcoholic differentiation. By overstaining and then removing the excess dye with alcohol it was found possible to control with great accuracy the end result. It was this method of differentiation which led Fleming to develop some years later his famous triple stain. The method of producing double and triple staining effects had very important consequences in another direction to which we shall come in a moment when we consider the work of Paul Ehrlich. In the field of biology the advent of the new dyes made possible new knowledge concerning the internal structure of cells and a better understanding of the phenomena of cell division. The stains provided the roots for such fundamental terms in cytology as chromatin and chromosomes, referring to the ability of these structures to take up dyes. In pathology the new stains helped to improve diagnostic techniques and were invaluable tools in the solution of many problems. Thus in 1869 Julius Cohnheim of Breslau began his classical studies of in- flammation, the nature of which was scarcely understood. Even Virchow had misconstrued the process since he argued that inflamma- tion was a local cellular response manifested by cells at the site of injury. However, there were some who believed that other cells, especially white corpuscles of the blood, were also involved. In a brilliant series of experiments Cohnheim showed that this was so by tagging leucocytes with aniline blue and then following their course to the seat of an inflammatory process. But useful as the aniline dyes were to pathology in increasing our understanding of the seats of diseases, they played an even more signifi- cant role in revealing the causes of infections and parasitic diseases and even in their cure. One of the most important applications of the new dyes was in the field of bacteriology, then in the process of becoming a science. It will be recalled that Leeuwenhoek had first seen bacteria in 1676. He did not, however, associate these minute organisms with infectious dis- eases. Indeed it was 200 years after bacteria were first seen before their role in the etiology of disease was conclusively proved. There were, of course, many reasons for the delay. The solution of the prob- lem had to wait upon improvements in the microscope, improvements ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 439 in observing techniques, and above all on the invention of methods for handling bacteria and growing them in pure culture. Practically all the early observations were made upon free-living forms as found in nature. Their role in such natural phenomena as fermentation and putrefaction was not understood at all; most workers, in fact, regarded microbes as the result of these reactions rather than the cause. These ideas implied a belief in the theory of spontaneous generation. Thus, before any real progress could be made in understanding the role of bacteria in the economy of nature, this theory had to be disproved. The story of the battle over abiogenesis is too long to recount at this time. Through the labors of many workers, especially Louis Pasteur and John Tyndall, it was finally shown beyond the shadow of a doubt that bacteria are not generated in fermenting or putrefying materials but in fact are the causes of these reactions. It was demonstrated that if proper precautions were taken to keep microbes out of such things as milk, urine, blood, grape juice, flesh, etc., no fermentation or putrefac- tion occurred. Furthermore, it was demonstrated that specific reac- tions were associated with the presence of specific micro-organisms. Now the way was cleared for an attack on one of the oldest of human problems, the cause and prevention of infectious diseases. From time immemorial men had lived in helpless dread of plagues and epidemics. They were attributed to evil spirits, the wrath of God, or to such assumed natural causes aS miasmas or noxious emanations from swampy or low-lying areas, or climatic conditions. Thus the name “malaria” (literally bad air) is a verbal fossil surviving from the days of miasmatic thinking. But from time to time some bold thinkers put forth the notion that invisible living agents might cause infectious diseases. After the discovery of bacteria, the number of these specula- tions increased. But no one came forth with any proof. In 1840, Jacob Henle, a German pathologist, published a small monograph in which he examined this question. He argued that the time was ripe for an experimental attack on the problem of infectious disease and pointed out that there was some very suggestive evidence indicating that microbes might in fact be the causative agents. Henle drew up a set of postulates or principles which would have to be satisfied in such a demonstration. First of all it would have to be shown that a specific organism was invariably associated with a specific disease. Second, it should be possible to separate the specific organism from the diseased body and grow it in pure culture. Third, it would have to be possible to produce the disease in susceptible animals by infecting them with this organism and then reisolating it. Twenty-five years later, Henle’s brilliant pupil, Robert Koch, working in a home labora- tory with homemade equipment, demonstrated the validity of these criteria (hence generally known as Koch’s postulates) in anthrax, a 451800—b8——29 440 § ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 disease of cattle. He saw the germs of the disease in the blood of infected cattle. He was able to grow these germs outside the animal body for several generations in culture media which he devised; and when he reintroduced these germs into susceptible mice they promptly became ill and died of anthrax infection. While Koch was carrying on these investigations, another worker, Carl Weigert, was working along a line that converged on Koch’s problem. Weigert as a pathologist was concerned with methods of recognizing cellular elements under the microscope. He knew about the new dyes that were appearing from the great chemical factories in Germany. He was also aware of one of the cardinal problems in the infant science of bacteriology. This was the question of recogniz- ing the presence of bacteria in tissues. In the unstained state they were almost impossible to distinguish from other cellular structures. Weigert tested a number of dyes, and in 1875 he was successful in demonstrating cocci in tissues by the use of methyl] violet, a coal-tar stain. In 1877 he successfully stained anthrax bacilli in various organs of a dog using methyl violet, Bismarck brown, and other aniline colors. These results helped enormously in convincing skep- tics that there might be something to the germ theory of disease. Robert Koch now began to perfect methods for handling and observing bacteria, techniques without which bacteriology could not emerge as a science. He developed the solid-culture method for isolating and growing pure cultures of bacteria. Then he devised a simple method for staining bacteria outside the body tissues. In the living state, especially while in motion, microbes were almost im- possible to resolve and identify under the microscope. This fact made accurate diagnosis practically hopeless, and study extremely difficult. Koch solved the problem by making very thin smears or films of bacteria from cultures, body fluids, or exudates on glass slides or cover slips. These films were fixed by gentle heat or air drying and were then stained. The organisms now stood out sharp and clear in a microscopic field without distortion or alteration of size. Koch found that of all dyes the aniline colors were best suited to bacteriological work. He further found that such stained prep- arations could easily be photographed. From his photographs, Koch was able to confirm the existence of flagellae in bacteria, struc- tures about which a controversy had been raging between those who claimed they saw them and those who said they were imaginary. Within a span of about two decades, often called the golden age of bacteriology (1875-95), with the aid of pure culture techniques and staining methods devised by Koch and his school, the causative agents of many of the most important diseases afflicting man and animals were identified. ‘These included the tubercle bacillus and ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 441 the germs of leprosy (now called Hansen’s disease), cholera, typhoid fever, puerperal fever, pneumonia, glanders, diphtheria, brucellosis, malaria, tetanus, and others. The discovery of bacterial and parasitic causes of disease led at once to attempts at prevention and cure. In the field of surgery Joseph Lister worked out the principles of antisepsis, later modified to asepsis. These were primarily techniques for keeping bacteria away from a surgical operative field by the use of antiseptics and sterilized instruments and dressings. Thus the horrors of wound infection were removed from the operating room and hospital wards. In this field also, coal-tar derivatives played a most important role in serving as a source for antiseptic agents for wound dressings and as a sterilizing medium for instruments. But the real impact of aniline dyes in the field of therapeutics was made by the work of Paul Ehrlich, who was born in eastern Germany in 1854, just two years before Perkin made the first coal-tar dye. Like Perkin, Ehrlich was also a very young man when he made his first notable scientific contribution. While still a medical student he began to study the effect of dyes on tissues. Stimulated by the work of his teacher Julius Cohnheim and his cousin Carl Weigert, Ehrlich became interested in the chemistry of dyes and the relation of chemi- cal structure to specific actions on cells. The coal-tar dyes very quickly attracted his attention, and he was the first to recognize the biological difference between acid and basic dyes. This led him during the years 1877 to 1880 to his epochmaking studies on blood in which he differentiated several varieties of white blood corpuscles by means of their responses to stains. These included basophiles, eosinophiles, neutrophiles, lymphocytes, and monocytes. He was the first to recognize stippling in red blood cells and described the earliest known case of aplastic anemia. Shortly after leaving medical school, Ehrlich was invited by Robert Koch to work in his laboratory in the Imperial Health Office in Berlin. He arrived there about the time that Koch was carrying on his classic researches into the cause of tuberculosis. On the day after Koch announced his discovery of the tubercle bacillus, Ehrlich devised an improved method of stain- ing the organism with aniline dyes. Ehrlich’s method is still used in every diagnostic laboratory, although it is known to generations of technicians as the Ziehl-Nielson stain because of two minor technical modifications introduced by these workers. Ehrlich also worked out the rationale of the polychromatic staining methods which have since become so popular and useful. There are numerous modifications among which may be mentioned Unna’s polychrome methylene blue, Mallory’s aniline blue connective tissue stain, Romanowsky’s eosin methylene blue stain for use on blood smears and for the diagnosis 442 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 of malaria. Variants of these stains are known by the names of Leishman, Giemsa, Wright, Hastings, and others. Shortly after coming to Berlin, Ehrlich contracted tuberculosis and went to Egypt to recuperate. After 2 years, the disease arrested, he returned to Germany and began work on the standardization of antitoxic sera, especially those against diphtheria and tetanus. His studies, although directed toward a very practical purpose, produced results of the highest theoretical significance, since they led him to evolve his famous side-chain theory of immunity. It would lead us too far afield to discuss this here, but it should be mentioned that the basic concept was derived by Ehrlich from his work on the specificity of staining reactions. From the very beginning of his investigations, he had been obsessed with the idea that the basis of staining reactions was the ability of specific cells or parts of cells to fix or have an affinity for specific stains. He generalized this idea in his motto “Corpora non agunt nisi fixata’”—bodies do not react unless they are fixed— and from this Ehrlich derived his idea for a search for a “magic bullet” or drug effective against the specific agent of specific diseases. The “magic bullet” was no mere whimsey or figure of speech. It derives from an ancient theme in Germanic folklore and in fact provides the motif in von Weber’s opera, Der Freischiitz. With this notion, Ehrlich created the modern science of chemo- therapy. He began from the observation that methylene blue seemed to have a special affinity for nerve cells. He was curious about the reason for the unique specificity. He therefore suggested to chemists, notably Caro of the Badische Analin and Sodafabrik, that certain modifications of the dye be prepared which might provide a clue to its selective action on nervous tissue. In the course of these investi- gations a new coal-tar intermediate was discovered which provided the basis for synthesizing a whole new series of commercially im- portant dyes, the rhodamine series. Here we have an example of how a purely biological research proved useful to industry and commerce. In the meantime Ehrlich had discovered that methylene blue was a very effective stain for malaria parasites. This was in 1891 and it led to some trials on patients. The results were not too promising but were not completely negative since they pointed the way later to the synthesis of some really effective antimalarial drugs. Ehrlich next attempted to find a drug effective against trypanosomes, one type of which causes African sleeping sickness. The first result was the synthesis of a tetrazo dye, trypan red. This was found to be effective against Trypanosoma equinum, the causative agent of mal de caderas, a disease of horses. Trypan red worked in mice infected with this organism and was the first example of a specific drug syn- thesized to be effective against an experimental infectious disease. ANILINE DYES—LEIKIND 443 Shortly thereafter two French workers, Mesnil and Nicolle, made up two additional dyes of the same series, trypan blue and afridol violet. The trypan blue was found to be effective against a try- panosome disease of cattle. But the carcasses of cows so treated en- countered sales resistance in the butcher shop. Bright blue meat did not attract customers. A search was therefore started for a colorless trypanocide. The Bayer Company, after synthesizing and testing several thousand compounds, finally developed Bayer 205 or Germanin, which was found to be very effective against African sleeping sickness—so effective, in fact, that the Germans, after World War I, offered to release the formula only in return for their last African colonial empire. Britain refused and shortly thereafter Fourneau of the Pasteur Institute in Paris successfully synthesized the drug. Ehrlich meanwhile pressed forward with his own researches. In 1906 he was made the head of a privately endowed laboratory in Frank- furt, the George Speyer Haus, devoted exclusively to chemotherapeutic research. As early as 1902 Ehrlich had begun to study certain ar- senic-containing compounds related to atoxyl. This was the first organic arsenical tried in trypanosomiasis. It was named atoxyl be- cause at first it was thought to be nontoxic to the host. This proved not to beso. Ehrlich and his chemists attempted to modify the mole- cule so as to enhance its effect on the parasite while decreasing the toxicity for the host. One byproduct of this work was the production ofacriflavin. This chemical, while not effective against trypanosomes, was found to have value as a wound disinfectant. In 1905 Schaudinn and Hoffmann discovered the cause of syphilis and at once Ehrlich began a hunt for a compound effective against the spirochete. Once again he tried modifications of arsenic compounds in the form of a radical hooked onto a dye molecule. In 1909, after testing com- pound 606 in his series, he, together with his assistant Hata of Japan, announced the discovery of salvarsan or arsphenamine as a cure for syphilis. It was Ehrlich’s greatest triumph. Among many honors showered upon him was the Nobel Prize. Ehrlich now became interested in the possibility of finding a cure for cancer. It was his last major investigation before he died in 1915. That he failed is not to his discredit since no one else has yet dis- covered a cure for this disorder. Yet if and when such a cure is found one may predict that it will probably be discovered along the road and by the methods so successfully charted by Paul Ehrlich. The high hopes raised by Ehrlich’s brilliant chemotherapeutic suc- cesses were not sustained after his death. For, while a number of compounds had been found which were useful in the treatment of protozoal and spirochetal diseases, no really effective magic bullets had been found against bacterial infections. 444 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 The outbreak of World War I led to a renewed search for new and better antiseptics to combat wound infections. Once again aniline dyes proved useful. It had already been observed that certain of these dyes, when incorporated into media for growing bacteria, had the ability to suppress the growth of some germs while permitting others to develop. This was a useful diagonostic tool in isolating certain bacteria from mixtures. Now it was found that some of the germs against which the dyes exerted a selective bacteriostatic action were common causes of wound infection. Gentian violet, brilliant green, and other members of the triphenylmethane series were found to be especially effective. Thus, during the war gentian violet was used with considerable success at the Walter Reed Hospital in Washington for the treatment of diphtheritic infections of amputation stumps. Another antiseptic of considerable value developed during this period and stemming directly from Ehrlich’s own studies was neutral acri- flavine. Mercurochrome and related substances are familiar to all. Yet despite a concerted effort in numerous laboratories all over the world, little practical progress was made in finding chemotherapeutic agents effective in the patient’s body against such organisms as the pneumococcus, streptococcus, the enteric organisms. The _ break- through came in 1932-85, when Gerhard Domagk of Germany discov- ered the first of the sulfa drugs of which literally hundreds have been synthesized. Again these find their chemical basis in coal-tar dyes. The subsequent discovery of the antibiotics is outside the scope of this story. However, to make this account complete and, in fact, to return to the starting point, as it were, I must mention the search for anti- malarial drugs. It will be recalled that Perkin discovered aniline dyes by accident while attempting to synthesize quinine. With the increase in chemical knowledge, others took up the problem where Perkin left it and this time with more success. Between World Wars J and IJ a series of potent antimalarial drugs such as atabrine, plas- mochine, paludrine and others were prepared. These were found to be especially effective during the Second World War when supplies of natural quinine were cut off. Then in 1944, quinine itself was synthesized by Woodward and Doering of Harvard. How Perkin would have rejoiced at this feat, for a feat it was. But synthetic quinine, while representing a scientific triumph, is not a practical drug since it is too expensive for commercial use. In summary, we have seen how the aniline dyes discovered by Wil- liam Henry Perkin came at a most fortuitous moment in the history of medicine and biology. In retrospect, it is even possible to question whether medicine and biology as we know them today could have reached their present position had they not traveled the rainbow road that poured out of Perkin’s test tubes and tar buckets. Causes and Consequences of Salt Consumption ’ By Hans Kaunitz Department of Pathology, Columbia University Tur appitTion of salt (sodium chloride) to our food has been curi- ously taken for granted, although there seems to be little physiological evidence as to whether we are benefited by this habit. Ever since his- torical records have been kept, salt has played an amazingly important part in the lives of men. Wars have been fought over its sources, and for centuries its trade was more important than that of any other material, as can be seen from the word “salary.” Homer called it “divine,” and it has played an important part in many religious cults, in folklore and superstitions. Although there was certainly a great deal of deep wisdom connected with the use of salt in ancient rites, it scarcely seems possible at present to appreciate the meaning of the old cults because we have as yet been unable to free ourselves from many prejudices connected with its use. In our own time, the sharpness of the discussions as to the advisability of salting one’s food may still be a reflection of this tra- dition, which also makes it understandable that the discussions are so frequently carried on by faddists rather than nutritionists. For these reasons and because the physician is so frequently ap- proached with the question of whether one should use salt, an unprej- udiced discussion of this subject seemed desirable. It should be stated, however, that undeniable facts, which should form the basis of this discussion, are indeed scarce. One is forced to be guided all too often by biological innuendoes and vague clinical impressions; thus the conclusions here set forth should be taken with more than a “grain of salt.” It seems particularly timely to give consideration to the problem of the action of sodium and potassium salts from a point of view other than their conventionally accepted role as regulators of osmotic pres- 1 Reprinted by permission from Nature, vol. 178, pp. 1141-1144, Nov. 24, 1956. Bibliography omitted. 445 446 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 sure because, in the present era, of cell physiology, the conclusion is inescapable that inorganic materials play an important part in hor- monal and enzymatic processes. Therefore, it seems not inappropriate to discuss the role of sodium and potassium salts from this point of view, although at this time the considerations are largely of a specula- tive character. Theories which lay the groundwork for our own concepts were gradually developed about 150 years ago. In a book which reveals a remarkably modern outlook, Lehmann, in 1853, came to the conclusion that the adding of salt to natural foodstuffs is unnecessary for man. This view seemed to be supported by the fact that most animals, in freedom and in captivity, do well on natural foodstuffs without addi- tion of salt. Although some species (for example, cattle, deer, etc.) consume salt eagerly when they are offered the substance or when they encounter it in salt licks, there is no proof that they need it for a healthy life. Later, however, von Bunge formulated his famous hypothesis that extra dietary salt is needed by populations consuming predominantly vegetable products. The excess salt was presumed to be necessary for the more effective excretion of potassium. Bunge arrived at this con- clusion on the basis of anthropological studies which he thought indi- cated that nomadic societies mainly subsisting on meats do not add salt to their food, whereas, once agriculture is developed, salting becomes necessary. He linked this with his observation that the intake of salt is accompanied by the rapid onset of potassium excretion. How- ever, he emphasized that the large amounts of salt usually consumed are out of proportion to what he thought are biological needs. Osborne and Mendel later showed that salt requirements for growth of experi- mental animals are indeed low; their animals were able to live on traces of salt. Thus, one might have expected that this theory could never have achieved major importance; but, curiously enough, this has not been the case, and it is still cited without further discussion by current textbooks of nutrition and anthropology. Objections to the theory should by now be all too obvious. So far as the increased potassium excretion after salt intake is concerned, such a reaction occurs unspecifically with many injuries and diseases. Bunge himself never offered any proof that the increased potassium excretion is biologically of advantage, although he implied it. Now we might be inclined to the opinion that these potassium losses are disadvantageous. As for Bunge’s anthropological data, he brushed away the objection that some African tribes mainly subsisting on a vegetarian diet use potassium-rich plant ashes rather than salt as a condiment. Even at the present time there exist a considerable number of societies which do SALT CONSUMPTION—KAUNITZ 447 not add salt to their food. Important in this respect are studies by Kroeber of the food habits of Indians of the northwest Pacific. In the southern half of the area studied, salt was used, but not in the northern half. There was no predominance of plant or animal food in either region. I have been given recent and direct anthropological evidence dealing with this question by various workers in this field.?_ I have learned of studies of places as distant as Melville Island in Australia, the Kalahari Desert in South Africa, and Tierra del Fuego which lead to the conclusion that the use or non-use of salt by various tribes is irrespective of the amount of agricultural products they consume. The observation is probably of deep significance that the Siriono Indians of eastern Bolivia, a hunting people, were ignorant of salt until it was introduced to them by an anthropologist. At first, they found it distasteful, but they later developed a craving for it. This indicates that, once some people are exposed to salt, they cling to its use stubbornly—as do so many of us to the consumption of alcohol, coffee, nicotine, etc. When carefully weighing the available evidence, one cannot escape the conclusion that normal metabolic processes are possible without the adding of salt to natural foodstuffs. Why then do we eat salt ? Merely to answer that certain societies like its taste whereas others do not would be trite and superficial. It seems to me that salt intake is probably correlated with emotional stimulation, a fact perhaps more keenly appreciated in the superstitions of the ancients than in our own rational approach. In view of the fact that this stimulation may be consciously or unconsciously pleasurable, it may be a causal factor in the craving for salt. When we now try to deal with the possible consequences of adding salt to the diet, it must be emphasized that the nutritional essentiality of salt for humans has been firmly established. Only the quantity necessary is much in doubt. For a better understanding of this sub- ject, it seems advisable to review briefly the main trends in studies dealing with the biological effects of sodium chloride. One involves investigations of its distribution in the organs and the excretion of salt in health and disease. Others deal with the peculiar antagonism of sodium and potassium in living organisms. An important subject of investigation is concerned with why salt is an essential ingredient of any living cell; and another trend centers ?I wish to express my gratitude for the invaluable information given to me by Miss Jane C. Goodale, of the University Museum of the University of Pennsyl- vania, Drs. S. K. Lothrop, Hallam L. Movius, Jr., and John Marshall, of the Peabody Museum of Harvard University, and Dr. Harry Tschopik, Jr., of the American Museum of Natural History. 448 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 around the regulatory mechanisms, especially of the higher animals, developed for the maintenance of an optimum distribution in the body. The high potassium content of the parenchymatous cells as opposed to the higher sodium chloride content of the blood serum has been recognized at least since von Liebig’s time. Soon thereafter, many studies were conducted which gradually led to the recognition that, in disease, the low sodium chloride content of the cell increases while the potassium level decreases. Speculation as to how the body can maintain the high concentration gradients within the distance of a few microns between the surface of the cell and the blood plasma origi- nally involved the idea of the specific permeability of cell membranes. It was held that the cell membrane is specifically permeable to potas- sium salts and almost impermeable to sodium chloride under normal conditions and that this is disturbed in disease. Some investigators recognized the weaknesses of these hypotheses at an early date. Keller, in particular, attacked the idea that the separation of the minerals was due to the function of an “inert” mem- brane rather than to the discriminatory power of the whole living cell. He tried to replace this static view with his electrostatic theory, the study of which is still rewarding even after 50 years. Neverthe- less, the permeability theory was accepted by most biologists until isotope studies proved that the cell membrane is equally permeable to both potassium and sodium salts and that the low sodium chloride content of the cell is due to its rapid expulsion from the cell. This mechanism is now often referred to as the “sodium pump,” a term which might well be improved. Although these studies prove that the removal of sodium chloride from the cell is a dynamic process the disturbance of which leads to the accumulation of sodium chlo- ride within the cell, and although many modern physiologists have demonstrated the weaknesses of the membrane theory, some investi- gators are not as yet ready to give it up entirely. The modern concept of competitive antagonisms within enzyme systems, which gradually evolved from studies on minerals, has proved a useful tool for the understanding of some functions of sodium and potassium salts. In practically all biochemical and pharmacological studies, it has been shown that sodium and potassum have opposite functions. For example, potassium salts favor diuresis; sodium salts do the opposite. Many more examples have been cited. Lately, some evidence has been put forth that this antagonism is particularly important in regard to the action of chloride, the biological effect of which depends upon whether it is accompanied by sodium or potassium. | } In studies concerned with the question of why sodium chloride is essential for the living cell, tenable ideas are sketchy. It seems im- SALT CONSUMPTION—KAUNITZ 449 portant that a number of enzyme systems can only function if sodium chloride is present at certain concentrations. In view of the fact that we now believe that the life of the cell is maintained by enzymatic processes, sodium chloride is an integral part of the cell. These dynamic equilibria are encountered in any living organism. In higher animals they are, to a considerable extent, under hormonal control, and disturbances of the more basic processes become notice- able if the hormonal control breaks down. Thus, one finds that in many diseases the sodium-potassium ratio in the tissues is disturbed, which probably interferes with metabolic processes bound to a con- stant sodium-potassium ratio. It is quite probable that in diseases which are of generalized character and are also accompanied by signs of renal damage, excess dietary salt can enhance the disturbances of the sodium-potassium ratio in the tissues and can thus contribute to the occurrence of metabolic failure; but these conditions are by no means clear, and the influence of dietary salt in health and disease can be better appreciated from its effect on the hormonal mechanisms than from its action on the basic processes. The regulatory mechanisms of salt metabolism not only involve incretory glands but also every major organ directly or indirectly. One mechanism involving the central nervous system was discovered by Claude Bernard, who demonstrated that injury to a certain part of the medulla is followed by the excretion of large amounts of sodium chloride. Although a great deal of thought has been given to the central nervous regulation of mineral metabolism, neither its correla- tion to other regulating mechanisms nor how it is affected by changes in salt intake is clear. Renal mechanisms in salt metabolism have received considerable at- tention. In fact, the salty taste of urine attracted the curiosity of people for a long time, and this was the reason for its medicinal use. Despite the enormous amount of work done since then on the ex- cretory mechanism of the kidney, there is little evidence as to whether the dietary intake of salt eventually interferes with the excretory power. From an evolutionary point of view, it is well to remember that sodium chloride is a scarce material for most animals and is constantly reabsorbed by the kidney. Excess salt intake forces the kidney to excrete rather than to reabsorb it, which may “prove too much for it” in the long run. Such a view is supported by the rapid occurrence of histological changes in the kidneys of animals on a high dietary salt intake. The regulatory mechanism for sodium chloride metabolism at pres- ent best understood rests in the adrenals. This function of the adrenal cortex was educed in R. F. Loeb’s studies on patients with Addison’s disease. It was demonstrated that the low serum sodium 450 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 chloride values in patients with adrenal insufficiency are associated with continued urinary losses and are accompanied by low potassium excretion and increased serum potassium values. These changes are prevented by the normal secretion of the adrenal cortex involving steroids such as deoxycorticosterone, cortisone, and aldosterone. However, these hormones not merely influence sodium chloride and potassium salt metabolism but also play an important part in the regulation of protein metabolism (increased urea excretion in hyper- adrenalism), carbohydrate metabolism (diabetes in adrenal hyper- function; hypoglyczemia in adrenal insufficiency), blood pressure (hypertension in adrenal hyperfunction; low blood pressure in adrenal insufficiency), fat metabolism (changes in fat distribution in adrenal hyperfunction), pigment metabolism (discoloration in ad- renal insufficiency). If, then, certain body functions are directly influenced by the adrenal cortical hormones, one might ask whether the intake of sodium chloride affects them because of its intimate relationship with adrenal function. Abundant proof has been given that the deleterious effects of ad- renal insufficiency can be at least partially counteracted by the ad- ministration of salt. This is true both for humans suffering from Addison’s disease and adrenalectomized animals. On the other hand, salt intake is clinically undesirable in conditions in which the induc- tion of hyperadrenalism is a disadvantage. As is known, the ad- ministration of either cortical hormones or salt may lead to similar symptoms in circulatory conditions, hypertension, and the like. There exists by now a considerable body of evidence linking the functions of the cortical hormones to those of salt. Thus, hypertension produced by deoxycorticosterone is enhanced by simultaneous admin- istration of sodium chloride. The kidney lesions and changes in food and water intake brought on by salt are potentiated by cortisone. There exists, furthermore, a considerable similarity in the influence which the adrenal cortex or salt exerts on carbohydrate metabolism. Hyperadrenalism is accompanied by increased deposition of glycogen in the liver and a high blood sugar. On account of the simultaneously increased urea excretion, it was deduced that the increased glycogen formation is due to catabolic processes in protein metabolism. The administration of salt leads to similar changes, namely, increased deposition of glycogen, reduced oxidation of glucose leading to in- creased blood sugar, and increased urea excretion. On the other hand, the reduced intestinal absorption of glucose on adrenalectomized animals can be equally corrected by a salt or by adrenal hormones. Unless one assumes that this latter finding is only due to improved intestinal blood supply, a more specific salt effect becomes probable, which leads to the conclusion that the effects of salt and of adrenal SALT CONSUMPTION—KAUNITZ 451 hormones on carbohydrate metabolism are perhaps interrelated and that the mechanism of this effect is the stimulation of the cortex by salt. The restoration of carbohydrate metabolism in adrenalectomized ani- mals may perhaps be due to the stimulation by salt of tissues which are functionally related to the adrenals. Additional material in support of such a theory will be given below. Thus, the conclusion is unavoidable that cortical hormones and salt enhance each other’s actions. But the question must be asked whether this relationship is important when salt is added to the diet, because one might argue that excess salt leads to a compensatory decrease in adrenal secretion of some of the hormones. This latter seems im- probable because it has been shown experimentally that increased salt intake is followed by adrenal enlargement suggestive of adrenal hyperfunction. Clinically, high salt intake is probably related to hypertension, again a sign of high cortical hormone secretion. Such a concept is supported by the effect of sodium chloride in a number of conditions which have in common: loss of sodium chloride by way of one of the body fluids, a drop in serum sodium chloride, and a favorable response to the administration of salt. In addition to Addison’s disease, one should mention here heat exhaustion, various uremic conditions with or without histological signs of kidney disease, and high intestinal obstruction. It is usually believed that the benefit resulting from the intake of sodium chloride in these conditions is due to the replacement of sodium chloride which has been lost. A more careful analysis indicates a different mechanism. In profuse sweating, the sodium content of the sweat and urine is rapidly reduced to such an extent that the total salt loss was, within 5 to 8 hours, less than that occurring in the same period without pro- fuse sweating; a correlation between the salt content of sweat and adrenal activity has been fairly well established. The fact that vari- ous uremic conditions respond favorably to salt administration has been well known for at least 30 years. These studies are related to observations on “salt wasting nephritis.” No balance studies indi- cate whether these patients actually had a negative salt balance. We were able to carry out such a study on one patient with a rapidly progressing uremia, profuse vomiting, and a drop in serum sodium chloride. This patient consumed only a little bread and milk and yet had a positive sodium and chloride balance. Similarly, it is known that the amounts of sodium chloride necessary for improving the condition of animals vomiting because of intestinal obstruction are much higher than the amounts actually lost. The improvement produced by salt in the above conditions cannot be due merely to the replacement of salt losses but must be rooted partly in some pharmacological effect of the substance. The thera- 452 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 peutic effect becomes understandable if one assumes that the pharma- cological effect of salt is that of adrenal stimulation, which results in the improvement of the existing “stress” condition. This theory would be more acceptable if it could be demonstrated that there is some reason for the assumption that a similar mechanism is partly responsible for the salt action in Addison’s disease and in adrenalec- tomized animals. In human adrenal insufficiency, the amount of salt required to produce optimal clinical improvement is high, perhaps 50-100 times what might be considered “normal” minimum require- ments. Whether these high requirements are only due to the high renal losses or whether they are also needed for their adrenal-stimu- lating effect has not as yet been studied. If the effect were only due to the replacement of losses, one should suspect that the amount just sufficient to bring about equilibrium of the salt balance should allow optimal clinical improvement. Whether the high doses are neces- sary to give equilibrium of the salt balance or whether this could be achieved with much smaller amounts has not as yet been studied. Some very sketchy information obtained on adrenalectomized rats indicated that the salt requirements for maximal improvement are much higher than those necessary to bring about equilibrium of the balance. This point, however, needs more attention in the future. Finally, if one asks whether a similar mechanism may also be re- sponsible for the action of salt in adrenalectomized animals, some pertinent data can be uncovered in the literature. As mentioned be- fore, the intestinal absorption of carbohydrate is restored by salt or adrenal hormones. Similarly, fat resorption is improved. Salt or cortical hormones keep hemoglobin formation at normal levels, keep adrenalectomized rats fertile, and prevent cytological changes in the pituitary of adrenalectomized animals. Inasmuch as salt has scarcely a hormonal effect per se, its action may well be mediated by stimula- tion of tissues capable of partly replacing the adrenals. The stimulating effect of salt probably sets in motion adaptive mechanisms involving enlargement of the liver, kidneys, and adrenals; this has been found in experimental animals. Similar conditions have been thoroughly discussed in many other “stress” conditions. The possible changes, especially perhaps in the emotional sphere, brought on by the stimulating action of salt are, of course, entirely a matter of speculation. The greater responsiveness of people, if they were so stimulated, could have helped throughout the ages in the ac- cumulation of knowledge. Whether this is one of the roots of the reverence which was accorded salt by the ancients can scarcely be guessed at this time. It would be of inestimable value if we could be sure how long ago the majority of mankind learned to eat salt. It has been assumed that SALT CONSUMPTION—KAUNITZ 453 this took place when peoples went through their neolithic stages, which were accompanied by the introduction of agriculture and which took place for the more complicated civilizations about 5 to 10 thousand years ago. The evidence for the simultaneous introduction of agricul- ture and salt eating isscant. The first known signs of salt mining were found in the Austrian Tyrol and date back to the late Bronze Age for that part of he world, about 1000 B. C. However, it is obvious that all the more complicated older cultures (Egyptian, Babylonian, Chinese) antedating that period knew the use of salt. One clue as to when tribes became used to salt is that Sanskrit and its daughter lan- guages have no common root for salt and that therefore the Indo- Europeans, when first migrating, did not then know its use. For these reasons, we are still inclined to believe that salt was gradually more extensively used when the tribes went through their neolithic stage. Is there any reason to assume that the constant use of salt as a stimu- lant has changed our intellectual capacity? If our previous specula- tions are correct, one must assume that man in the upper Paleolithic period (10 to 35 thousand years ago) did not salt his food; yet, Cro- Magnon man created magnificent art. Intellectually, therefore, he was our equal. He differed from us only in his lack of knowledge. Thus, although salt eating did not change man intellectually but may have facilitated learning, it possibly was an important historical force. Are there, finally, any reasons why the physician and public-health worker should recommend a certain level of salt intake on the basis of present-day scientific knowledge? There is no question that there is a sound basis for the prescribing of low-salt diets in many diseases, particularly those involving the circulatory system. When it comes to normal people, however, recommendations are infinitely more diffi- cult. It is certainly true that the chemistry of the body does not re- quire the addition of salt to our food. The physician, however, is not primarily interested in the mere metabolic processes but in the general welfare of his patients, and he should consider that the quickened pace of a more complicated society demands persons with a heightened re- sponsiveness. Salt may be one of the ingredients producing this effect. sai $i A f iL itt i ' Ay ; ik) tint Coe 4, ilo’ Woes tli art | ; : ! Meh Hae f ih apt i bith | sats bp i oy da 7 Eisler caddie a NAY oh wa vat if rey vig se es aid ¥ sac)iy, Mil tnk ‘ af ’ ) ‘ mh bia ky seth Le Ter ad eye een es iy Ab terely M q j bag [hi Si bat Ks om usr i ¥ - r 7 i 4 hi iy vented vit hy | RON on . ie Wnt ALi al Tey ay ra m8 1 \ y j my ey ohn ng. tub sey ad smo “nth ning aul ssa Year i yk age on a a ar amass $4 ' i peters parts wi q h M. ie aU ny ne ' hy Stee brian a nal Ni wa a ea ant S on an in? Roman Garland Sarcophagi from the Quarries of Proconnesus (Marmara) By J. B. Warp PERKINS Director, British School at Rome, Italy [With six plates] Frew opsects of antiquity have received more attention from the archeologist and the art historian than the rich series of sculptured Roman sarcophagi, dating from the second to fourth centuries, ex- amples of which, of varying degrees of refinement, can be seen in most of the museums of the western world. The literature is vast and scattered, dealing both with individual pieces and with groups classified by style, subject matter, or location. For all its bulk, how- ever, this literature is curiously stereotyped. There are innumerable studies of these sarcophagi as documents for the history of Roman art; others, less numerous but equally fruitful, treating them as social documents, indicative of the status and beliefs of the persons buried in them. Little attention has, on the other hand, been paid to other more prosaic, but no less important, questions which they raise. Where were they made, and by whom? How were they produced and dis- tributed? What was the relation between sculptor and client? These are in themselves vital questions to anyone who wishes to study Roman sarcophagi in their proper setting, rather than as museum pieces, detached in time and space, and unrelated to the lives and aspirations of those who made them and used them. They are, moreover, questions that need to be answered before one can hope to get a true picture of them either as works of art or as social documents. In studying, for example, the representation of a particular pagan myth, it is obviously essential both for the art historian and for the student of ancient beliefs to know whether any individual piece was created for a particular client, or whether it was a school piece, one of a group of standardized products, manufactured in quantity for sale in the open market. The point is an obvious one; but it is all too often ignored. In all this the student of Roman sarcophagi, as of so many other fields of classical antiquity, has been the victim of an attitude of 451800—58——30 455 456 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 mind—that of generations of classical archeologists preoccupied above all with problems of style and stylistic attribution. It is true that in recent decades there has been a steady tendency to substitute for this predominantly esthetic approach one borrowed from archeology proper and based primarily on typology and systematic classification. The result has been a series of iconographic and regional studies, which have greatly advanced our knowledge of individual categories of sarcophagus, and have produced a valuable framework of reference for further research. But even studies such as these are, by definition and intent, limited in their approach; in very few cases have they taken into account the practical problems of output and distribution that conditioned the activities of sculptor and client alike. It is these that are the subject of the present article, as illustrated in an important group of second- and third-century sarcophagi, one of the finest of which is now at the Smithsonian Institution. The sarcophagus at the Smithsonian Institution is one of a pair that were acquired in Beirut, Lebanon, by Commodore Jessie D. Elliott, USN, and brought to the United States in 1839 aboard the U.S. 8S. Constitution. The circumstances of their discovery are not recorded; but from a study of the sarcophagi themselves it is evident that they were found together, presumably in some underground burial chamber in Beirut itself or in the immediate neighborhood; and that, although looted in antiquity, they had remained concealed and protected until very shortly before the time of their acquisition. On their arrival in the United States, Commodore Elliott presented one of them to the National Institute for use as a final resting place for the remains of President Andrew Jackson; its companion he presented to Girard College, near Philadelphia, as a tomb for its recently deceased founder, the distinguished philanthropist Stephen Girard (1750-1831). Neither was in fact put to its intended use. Jackson declined to be buried in a tomb which, he felt, would not be in keeping with his republican principles, and Commodore Elliott accordingly gave the National Institute permission to retain it as a historical relic. It was first exhibited at the Patent Office, and was turned over to the Smithsonian Institution in 1860, where it now stands in front of the Arts and Industries Building. Its companion, after standing for many years in Girard College, was recently trans- ferred on permanent loan to Byrn Mawr College, where it can now be seen in front of the deanery, close to the entrance to the library (1). The body and lid of the Smithsonian sarcophagus (pls. 1 and 2) are carved from single blocks of Greek marble, white, tinged with blue in more or less definite streaks, and of a uniform crystalline *Numbers in parentheses refer to notes at end of text. ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 457 structure, with medium-sized crystals. The body, which measures 7 feet long by 3 feet 6 inches wide by 3 feet 1 inch high, is carved on all four faces, with moldings at top and bottom and, between them, a formal design of looped garlands, variously supported and enriched with small decorative motifs in the spaces above each loop. The massive gabled lid, with acroteria at the four corners and slightly irregular in shape, measuring 7 feet 414 inches (7 feet 514 inches) long by 3 feet 10 inches (3 feet 1014 inches) wide by 2 feet 1 inch (2 feet 1% inches) high, is carved only on the front and ends; it was fastened to the body with six iron cramps, sealed into place with lead. The contents of the sarcophagus were looted in antiquity through a hole cut in the upper part of the left-hand end, but apart from various clean breaks at the back and ends it is otherwise intact and in good condition. Its companion at Bryn Mawr (pl. 3) is of identical marble and carved to a very similar design. Its proportions are such that it appears rather less bulky than the Smithsonian sarcophagus, although the dimensions of the body are in fact slightly larger than those of its fellow (7 feet long by 3 feet 6 inches wide by 3 feet high) and those of the lid almost the same (7 feet 5 inches by 3 feet 10 inches by 2 feet 2 inches). It, too, was looted in antiquity through a hole cut in the rear right corner of the lid, which the thieves evidently found too heavy to move, even although it had not been fastened with metal cramps; as it now stands, the lid has been placed back to front. Both sarcophagi have a panel reserved for an inscription, but only the Bryn Mawr sarcophagus was actually inscribed. The text, IVLIA. C. FIL. MAMABA. VIX. ANN. xxx (2), records that the sarcophagus contained the body of Julia Mamaea, daughter of Gaius, who lived to the age of 30. The name, Julia Mam(m)aea, is the same as that of the Syrian wife of Emperor Alexander Severus (A. D. 217-235), who was murdered in Syria, and it is perhaps not altogether surprising that, when first found, the pair of sarcophagi were thought to be those of the imperial couple—a fact which no doubt helps to explain the scruples of Andrew Jackson. In actual fact, although the date cannot be very far wrong, the purchasers of these sarcophagi must have been folk of much humbler standing; Julia Mamaea was probably the daughter of the couple who were buried in the Smithsonian sarcophagus, whose names and style were no doubt prominently re- corded elsewhere in the mausoleum in which the pair of sarcophagi once stood. The two sarcophagi from Beirut belong to a distinctive group of sarcophagi which were quarried on the island of Marmara (the ancient Proconnesus) near the southern entrance to the sea of the same name, and which were exported over the greater part of the eastern Mediterranean. In antiquity, as later, the island was one of 458 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the principal sources of fine white marble. The earliest reference to this marble is a statement by Vitruvius (3) that king Mausolos of Halicarnassus, the builder of the fabulous Mausoleum, used it to veneer the walls of his palace, and it seems to have early acquired and to have long retained a reputation for quality among the cities of western and southwestern Asia Minor, where there are a number of inscriptions stipulating that a particular monument (in several cases the monument in question is a sarcophagus) is to be made of this specific marble (4). Despite its uniform grain and fine translucent surface, it was never much in demand for statuary, no doubt on account of the difficulty of getting a large enough block that was free from blue discoloration. But as a building material it was rivaled only by the Pentelic marble of Attica. This, the marble of the Parthenon, was in some respects a finer marble, but it had two serious disadvantages : there were few beds from which it was possible to quarry really large blocks that were free from veins of impurities, which were both unsightly and a source of structural weakness; and the location of the quarries on Mount Pentelikon meant heavy initial expenditure from quarry to shipboard. Proconnesian marble suffered from neither disadvantage, and it must always have been considerably cheaper than its rival. These were not, of course, by any means the only Greek marbles of this type to be quarried, some of them virtually indistinguishable from Proconnesian both in quality and appearance. Few if any others, however, were exploited for more than local use, certainly none on a scale approaching that of the quarries of Proconnesus after the great expansion of production that took place during the first century A. D. The immediate result of the reestablishment of the Pax Romana by Augustus, and of the great imperial building pro- grams carried out both in the capital and increasingly, as time went on, in the provinces, had been to create an enormously increased de- mand for fine building materials. Augustus’ well-known boast that he found Rome a city of brick and left it a city of marble had a solid foundation of truth; and although most of the marble of his own buildings came from the newly opened quarries of Luni (the modern Carrara), which remained for several centuries the principal source of supply for domestic Italian use, his successors made ever-increasing demands upon the supplies of finer-quality marble that were available in the provinces, principally in Greece and Asia Minor, although there were also important quarries in North Africa (“giallo antico”) and Egypt (porphyries and granite). Already by the middle of the first century A. D. we begin to detect the impact of the new market on the traditional sources of supply. ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 459 As far as we can tell, the actual quarrying methods remained very much what they had been before—what, indeed, they were to remain until the introduction in very recent times of machines for the ex- traction of the marble from the quarry face: marble working is in many respects a very conservative trade, and a visit to the quarries of Carrara can still teach one much about ancient techniques of ex- traction and transportation. What was new was a revolution in the scale and organization of production, and in the relations between producer and client, a revolution that was greatly facilitated by the fact that from the reign of Tiberius onward mines and quarries were, by law, imperial property. In Greek times normal practice seems to have been to quarry a particular consignment of marble for a par- ticular purpose, at any rate in the case of an order of any size. The Roman answer to the enormously increased demand was not only to open up large numbers of fresh quarry faces, but also to introduce what may not improperly be termed methods of mass production. Apart from such exceptional cases as the blocks for Trajan’s Column or the outsize columns used in some of the great Imperial monuments (e. g., the Pantheon), the marble was henceforward quarried in bulk to a variety of convenient shapes and sizes and held in stock against future orders (5). The principal evidence for the reorganization is to be found in the simple fact that at various times within the first century A. D. the marble from a limited number of imperially owned quarries did begin to reach the foreign market in quite unprecedented quantities. There is, however, also the evidence of the quarry marks, carved or painted on individual blocks of marble, a large number of which have been found both in the quarries themselves and in the marble yards of the importing cities. These quarry marks consist normally of one or more serial numbers, very often accompanied by the name of a respon- sible official and a date, and they attest an elaborate system of account- ing, with individually numbered quarries and working faces and periodical stocktaking. The fact that individual blocks occasionally bear two different dates shows that they were liable to be held in stock for considerable periods. The first and immediate result of this reorganization was to increase greatly the amount of fine marble available for building purposes. In Rome we can first detect the results with certainty during the reign of Nero (A. D. 54-68), and by the end of the century the trickle had become a flood. In the provinces the full results were not felt until rather later, not really before the second century. In Tripolitania, for example, an outlying and relatively unimportant area, the first large-scale importation of foreign marble took place during the reign 460 | ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 of Hadrian (A. D. 117-137), and it was not available in bulk until the middle of the second century. The impact, when it came, was for that reason all the more striking. By the end of the second century there was hardly a major public building in Lepcis Magna or Sabratha that had not been at least partially rebuilt in the new material. The effects were not, however, limited to the mere substitution of one material for another. The structural properties of marble dif- fered widely from those of the building stones available in many of the provinces to which it was now imported. This alone was bound to have an effect upon local architectural practices, There were, however, other and more far-reaching consequences. Once again, the case of Tripolitania will serve to illustrate what in varying degrees was happening in many other parts of the Roman world. Here the monu- mental architecture of the earlier Roman period, i. e., down to the end of the first century A. D., was still a typically provincial architecture, in that the classical models on which it was based were often pro- foundly modified by local traditions, building practices, and materials. This local style finds no expression whatsoever in the marble archi- tecture that succeeded it. The constructional forms and ornament of the marble buildings of second-century Tripolitania have nothing to do with the previous architectural history of the province; they were those of the regions from which the marble itself was imported (with some admixture of motifs derived from the contemporary architecture of the capital), and it is quite evident that in this par- ticular case the shipments of partially prefabricated building ma- terials were accompanied by the establishment of workshops capable of carving and handling a material of which the local masons had had no previous experience. This was a somewhat extreme, but by no means unique, case. All over the Empire, even in Rome itself, we find evidence of the establishment of permanent or temporary work- shops, whose business it was to handle the consignments of marble from the great exporting quarries. What had happened was that, under conditions of widespread peace and commercial prosperity, it was the highly organized producer who captured the market; and, as is the rule in such cases, what had started as a practical reorgani- zation, designed to increase output, became in the event a powerful factor in shaping the development of architectural style and practice throughout the eastern, and over large parts of the central and western, Mediterranean. It is hardly surprising that the methods employed with such suc- cess in architecture should have been applied also to the manufacture of sarcophagi. Here we lack the evidence of inscriptions; but for- tunately that of the sarcophagi themselves is quite explicit. The Italian quarries, which supplied the bulk of the marble used in the ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 461 workshops of the West, seem to have been content to produce rec- tangular, coffin-shaped blocks, without attempting to give them any more finished form. But the two other major centers of production for export, Attica and Proconnesus, both in varying degrees adopted the methods of prefabrication that had proved so successful in the architectural market. In the case of the fine figured sarcophagi of Attica, examples of which were shipped all over the Mediterranean, it is clear that in a great many, very possibly in all, cases the figured designs were sketched on the sarcophagus in low relief before despatch. All that remained was for the carving to be completed on receipt, either by skilled workmen who accompanied an individual consign- ment, or by workshops established in the major receiving centers in the provinces (6)—an ingenious compromise, whereby the work- shops of Attica were able to make the fullest and most economical use of the local resources of skilled craftsmanship upon which the quality of their products ultimately depended, while at the same time avoiding the damage to fine detail that would certainly have taken place had these massive but fragile objects been shipped fully carved. The workshops of Proconnesus were less ambitious. They adopted a system whereby the broad lines of the finished design were estab- lished before despatch, but considerable latitude was left to the re- ceiving workshop as to the working-out of the design. In the case of one widely distributed series, all that the quarry did was to shape the body and lid, the former as a plain rectangular trough, the latter to the roughed-out outline of a gable roof with acroteria, just as we see it on the back and one end of the lid of the Smithsonian sarcophagus. Sarcophagi so shaped were widely used locally, in Thrace and north- western Asia Minor; and they were exported in large numbers to the Danube provinces and northern Italy, and as far afield as southern France (7). The advantage of this particular design was that it greatly reduced the weight, and therefore the cost, of transport, while leaving wide latitude to the importing workshop to develop the super- ficial ornament in accordance with local taste. The series to which the Smithsonian and the Bryn Mawr sarcophagi belong was more specialized. Here, in addition to shaping the ld, the quarry workshops also roughed out the body to the simple design illustrated on plate 4, figure 1, a sarcophagus now in the grounds of the American University at Beirut. There were minor variations from one sarcophagus to the next. The design might be carved on all four faces, or alternatively on three only, leaving the back plain; the central motif on the front might be a panel destined to carry an inscription or it might be just another circular boss, like those within the two flanking loops; or again, the upper molding might be omitted altogether, indicating presumably that the dimensions of the parent 462 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 block were found to be insufficient. These were, however, minor var- iants within what was in practice a remarkably stereotyped design. And the fact that this design is found identically on the unworked faces of sarcophagi as widely scattered as in Asia Minor, in Syria, and in Egypt, leaves no room for doubt that it was carved before shipment. It was only on arrival at its destination that the sarcophagus was worked up into its final form. That, too, is proved beyond question, not only by the consistent differences that distinguished, for example, a sarcophagus found in Syria from one found in Egypt or Asia Minor, but also by the fact that the sculptor of the finished piece has very eften been able to take into account the location of the sarcophagus within the tomb for which it was destined, and so to concentrate his attention upon those sides that would be most conspicuously visible after installation. One or more sides might be left rough, just as re- ceived from the quarry, and in certain extreme cases this is the only surviving indication that a particular sarcophagus belonged to the series in question. Such, for example, are a pair of fine sarcophagi from Tripoli, in Syria, now in the museum at Istanbul (8), the one showing on the front a woman reclining on a couch and attended by a slave girl, the other a figured scene from the story of Hippolytus and Phaedra, which is clearly inspired by the representations of the same scene on contemporary Attic sarcophagi. The marble of both, how- ever, is Proconnesian and the telltale garland design can still be seen roughed out, in the one case on the two ends, in the other on the back. They were found moreover, with a garland sarcophagus of unusual elaboration but otherwise conventional design (pl. 4, fig. 2) (9), and there can be no doubt that all three were shipped from Proconnesus as potential garland sarcophagi, roughed out in the usual manner. The three sarcophagi from Tripoli are exceptional, a shipment that found its way to a local workshop of unusually cosmopolitan tastes and competence. Normally the importing workshops seem to have been content to work within the limits imposed by the parent design. The garlands are supported by Victories or Cupids standing on bases or brackets, or by rams’ or bulls’ heads; the circular bosses above the garlands are worked up into human heads, or rosettes, or small birds; the garlands themselves are variously carved, with or without pendent bunches of grapes. By cutting a little deeper into the marble the sculptor could introduce secondary motifs in low relief, such as the ribbons which figure on many of the sarcophagi, trailing into the field above and below the garlands. Alternatively, he might simplify the design by leaving parts of it substantially uncarved, one of the com- monest of such simplifications being to treat the garlands as the plain, bolsterlike loops that figure on the Bryn Mawr sarcophagus. He might even be content merely to work over the original quarry design, Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Ward Perkins PLATE 1 TIO GLA ASRS Meat 2. Back and left-hand end of the Smithsonian sarcophagus. PLATE 2 Smithsonian Report, 1957.— Ward Perkins “ply ‘7yd14 fa[sur Teal ‘49]uUa9 *JUOI] “faT ‘sn3vydooies uvluoOsyiwg aY2 Jo s[ieieq Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Ward Perkins PLATE 3 : . aes Me ce 1. Bryn Mawr sarcophagus, front. (Photograph from Girard College.) 2. Bryn Mawr sarcophagus, back. (Photograph from Cornelius Vermeule.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Ward Perkins PLATE 4 a : age YAGDADWIS:! Oa" YF Serer ANN EEE OED rw } (UOT ISMIVeISe ies w, we restore a} LS CE See Sees 2. Tripoli (Syria) garland sarcophagus. (Photograph from British School at Rome.) PLATE 5 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Ward Perkins (‘auIOY Iv JOoYDS yYstyig wo sydess0j0yq) *snseydooies 1jodt1 J, Jo pus jo jlvjaq °Z “snsevydooies 1[odi1 7, JO JUOI; JO [IejJaq “| oh ie HOYOVOOYON OOOO OF ERU SENOS aS UAANANAINNANININIAININ y? Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Ward Perkins PLATE 6 1. Byzantium (Istanbul) sarcophagus. (Photograph from British School at Rome.) 3. Detail of right-hand panel of Byzantium sarcophagus. ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 463 dressing and smoothing the surfaces, but making no attempt to add any fine detail. In an extreme case the sarcophagus might even be used just as it was received from the quarry without any further refine- ment, as in the case of the sarcophagus illustrated in plate 4, figure 1. The range of possibilities was very wide, and we can rarely do more than guess at the reasons that lie behind the idiosyncrasies of a particular piece—economy, the shortage of competent local crafts- men, a sudden emergency, the taste of an individual sculptor or client. But such individual traits are no more than variations on a basic theme, a theme that was determined in broad outline by the form in which the sarcophagus was shipped from the quarry. How did this form first come to be adopted? This is one of the as yet unresolved problems connected with this series of sarcophagi, and we must be content to state such facts as do seem to be reasonably established. The close similarities that exist between the more elab- orate of the finished pieces, wherever they are found, make it clear that the designs carved on them all derive from a single source, either an actual individual sarcophagus or else a small group of very closely related pieces. The Smithsonian sarcophagus, with its wide repertory of figures (Victories, Cupids, bulls’ heads, rams’ heads) and secondary motifs (Medusa heads, rosettes, bunches of grapes) contains nearly all the motifs that can be attributed to the archetype, and, allowing for certain differences of detailed treatment, it may well give a very good idea of its general appearance. How or why this particular iconographic scheme came to be adopted in the first place is another matter. The individual motifs are all such as would have been available to a sculptor working in northwestern Asia Minor in the early years of the second century, and we may guess that garland sarcophagi of this sort were first produced for local use. If so, they were not long in reaching a wider market. The earliest well-dated example is that of Caius Julius Celsus Polemaeanus, whose tomb chamber beneath the library at Ephesus was completed some- where about A. D. 135; and it cannot have been very long after this that the first sarcophagi of this sort were reaching Syria and Egypt and the cities of Pamphylia and Cilicia, in southern Asia Minor. These first examples must have been accompanied by craftsmen who set up workshops in certain favored centers, such as Alexandria, and who there established the pattern of the finished design in local usage. The practice of carving a simplified version of the garland design before shipment was probably adopted with an eye to those markets that were dependent on relatively unskilled local workshops (the saving in weight can hardly have been a sufficient reason in itself) ; and the form of it may well have been suggested in the first place by 464 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 the way a sculptor would naturally lay out a pattern of this sort on the surface of the stone before starting work. Whatever the circumstances in which the type of the garland sar- cophagus was first established in the marble yards of Proconnesus, there can be no doubt of its subsequent popularity, especially in the provinces of the eastern Mediterranean seaboard. Well over a hun- dred examples are known from this area, and this can only be a tiny percentage of those that once lined its crowded cemeteries. Of the 30 recorded marble sarcophagi from Alexandria, 29 were of this type (10) ; and Professor Mansel’s recent excavations in the cemeteries of Perge, in Pamphylia (11), are a vivid reminder of how much has been lost on other, less favored sites. Outside Egypt they are found principally in Syria and the coastlands of Asia Minor, in both of which areas they constituted by far the largest single group of imports. They are not found at all in mainland Greece, and only a single example in Cyrenaica, where .the Attic workshops seem to have secured a monopoly comparable to that of the Proconnesian workshops in Alexandria. In the West, the distribution was rather different. The plain gabled sarcophagi of Proconnesus found a good market in northern Italy, and a few garland sarcophagi reached Rome itself. On the whole, however, the exporters of Proconnesus seem to have found it wiser to conform to Italian practice, and the very large quantities of Proconnesian marble that were used in the sar- cophagi of Italy and southern Gaul, and to a lesser extent in the other western provinces, seem to have been imported almost exclusively in plain form, without any prior shaping in the quarry workshops. To the art historian these sarcophagi have a value quite apart from. the glimpse that they afford of the sculptor at work and of the factors that controlled his output. The essential unity of the series offers an invaluable connecting thread for the study of a whole range of other- wise disparate objects, scattered over territories whose detailed artistic development within the Roman period isstill all too little known. The garland sarcophagi were not only imported; they were copied, and copied widely, by local craftsmen working in local materials. In the Syrian coastlands the commonest form of decorated sarcophagus in the Roman period is derived so closely from these imported marble models that their earliest commentator, mistaking the nature and di- rection of the relationship, was led to claim the garland sarcophagus as a specifically Syrian creation (12). Nor was it only the more elabo- rately carved pieces that were copied. Local craftsmen found the simplified quarry version of the design both congenial and easy to copy, and it, too, passed into the local repertory—a remarkable and possibly unique instance of a purely abstract design passing into provincial Roman art from a purely classical source. Much the same thing hap- ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 465 pened in Egypt. In the Kom el-Shukafa catacomb, for example, we find the frontals of the grave recesses carved with garlands and rosettes, in obvious imitation of the familiar marble design (18); and at the same time we also find the local workshops producing a version of the quarry design in a dark local stone, several examples of which can still be seen in Alexandria itself (14) and, by some unexplained twist of circumstances, two others in Ravenna, beside the church of San Vitale. In at least two cases it was not only the design that was copied but also something of the methods of producing it. At Ephesus, which had a good white marble of its own, there is a local series of garland sarcophagi which is barely distinguishable from those of Proconnesus, and which may very well have been inspired in the first place by that of Tiberius Julius Celsus Polemaeanus, already re- ferred to as having been buried in a heroon beneath the library that bore his name. There is also a series of miniature sarcophagi based on the same model, and these were widely exported within Asia Minor and even, in exceptional cases, abroad, to Athens and to Rome (15). So, too, in the region of Salonica a number of sarcophagi that are virtually indistinguishable from those of Proconnesus were carved in the coarse, grayish-white marble from the nearby quarries of Thasos. Even in Italy, there can be very little doubt that the few examples that were imported from Proconnesus had an important influence on (and may even have originally inspired) the large and varied Italian series of garland sarcophagi. In this case, however, it is difficult to be more precise until the latter have been more thoroughly studied. To the student of Roman funerary symbolism, the Proconnesian gar- land sarcophagi have little to offer. There is an important distinction (all too often disregarded by those who discuss the history of religious ideas) between those symbols that are consciously selected and used to convey a particular idea and those others whose use is determined mainly or even entirely by association and custom. The motifs used on the Proconnesian sarcophagi fall decisively into the later category. To the average purchaser of one of these sarcophagi the message con- veyed by its ornament can have been little more profound than the cherubs and scrollwork on an eighteenth-century tombstone. The fact that so many people were prepared and able to purchase them is, on the other hand, an interesting commentary on the distribution of wealth in the cities of the eastern provinces. However economi- cally organized, the quarrying and transport of one of these bulky objects must have been a very heavy item in the budget of any pri- vate individual. It was probably this fact above all that gave the Proconnesian quarries their advantage in the eastern Roman market. Produced in very large quantities and loaded almost directly on 466 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 shipboard, without any costly land transport, they must have been one of the cheapest items of their quality available. Rather than the artistic qualities or the social significance of these sarcophagi, however, it is the evidence which, in common with many other aspects of the marble trade, they yield of Roman economic or- ganization that makes them of particular interest to ourselves. They show that the methods of standardized production and prefabrication which we are apt to regard as a discovery peculiar to the present me- chanical age have ample precedent in antiquity. Asso often when one comes to examine the detail of almost any aspect of Roman achieve- ment, one is brought vividly up against the fact of its essential modernity. NOTES 1. For information about, and facilities for studying, these two sarcophagi the writer is indebted to the authorities of the institutions concerned; also, for much valuable help, to Karl 8. Brown, Prof. Howard Comfort, Perry B. Cott, Harold W. Parsons, M. Henri Seyrig, Prof. Lily Ross Taylor, and Cornelius Vermeule. 2. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, iii, 1, 15*=iii, Suppl. 1, 6694. 3. li, 8,10; ef. Pliny, Hist. Nat., xxxv1, 47. 4. For sarcophagi, see Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum, 3268, 3282, and Inscriptiones Graecae ad Res Romanas Pertinentes, 1464, 1465 (all from Smyrna) ; Arif Mtifid Mansel, Excavations and researches at Perge (Tiirk Tarih Kurumu Yayinlarindan, ser. 5, No. 8), p. 4, No. 4 (at Perge, in Pamphylia), 1949, Ankara. 5. For this reorganization see the article “Tripolitania and the Marble Trade” cited in Bibliographical Note, p. 467. 6. See the article “The Hippolytus Sarcophagus from Trinquetaille” cited in Bibliographical Note p. 467. 7. They are common, for example, in the cemeteries of Aquileia and Concordia. The example illustrated in plate 6, figure 1, is characteristic of those found in the cemeteries of Byzantium (Constantinople), which were commonly left rough, as received from the quarry, with one or more small carved or inscribed panels cut in the principal face. The two details of the same sarcophagus (pl. 6, figs. 2 and 8) illustrate very clearly the successive stages of dressing the marble: with a coarse punch, to shape the whole block; with a slightly finer punch, to rough out the right-hand panel (which for some reason was never fully carved) and to prepare a more level surface for the carving of the left-hand panel; with a claw chisel, for the triangular panels on either side of the inscription (the secondary surfaces of a sarcophagus were often left at this stage); and a smooth chisel for the carved detail. For a recent discussion of this group, see A. M. Mansel, Belleten, vol. 21, p. 395 ff. 8. G. Mendel, Musées Impériaux Ottomans: catalogue des sculptures grecques romaines et byzantines, vol. 1, No. 26, pp. 109-114, 1912, and vol. 3, No. 1170, pp. 412-414, 1914. 9. Ibid., vol. 3, No. 1159, pp. 397-399. 10. The greater part of the Alexandrian series has been well, though not very accessibly, published by HE. Breccia in Le Musée Gréco-romain (Municipalité d’Alexandrie) 1922-1923, pp. 10-19, 1924, Alexandria; see also subsequent vol- umes in the same series, variously titled, for the periods 1925-31 (Breccia), 1932-33 and 1935-39 (A. Adriani) ; and A. Rowe, Illustrated London News, June 25, 1949, p. 893. ROMAN GARLAND SARCOPHAGI—WARD PERKINS 467 11. See note 3, above. 12. EH. Michon, Syria, pp. 295-3804, 1921. Commodore Elliott’s two sarcophagi are presumably to be identified with Nos. 12 and 13 on Michon’s list (from Beirut, present whereabouts unknown). 18. Alan Rowe, K6ém el-Shukafa (reprint from Bulletin de la Société royale d’archéologie d‘Alexandrie, No. 35), 1942. 14. e. g., Breccia, op. cit., pl. XII, figs. 2, 3. 15. A. L. Pietrogrande, Nuova serie asiatica di urne e di piccoli sarcofagi, Bullettino del Museo dell’Impero Romano, vi, pp. 17-87, 1935 (appendix to Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica del Comune di Roma, Ixiii, 1935). BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE The pioneer of a broader approach to sarcophagus studies was the late Gerhart Rodenwalt, whose article ‘“Sarkophagprobleme” in Roemische Mitteilungen, vol. 58, pp. 1-26, 1948, sums up his own previous work and is by far the best general statement of the whole problem (Abb. 7 and 8 of this article illustrate a Proconnesian garland sarcophagus from Viminacium on the Danube). An outstanding detailed study, in which a small group of sarcophagi found together in Rome are considered as documents both for the artistic development and for the beliefs of the period, is that of K. Lehman-Hartleben and E. C. Olsen, Dionysiae sarcophagi in Baltimore, 1942, Baltimore; for sarcophagi as docu- ments for the beliefs of their purchasers, see further the works of Franz Cumont, passim, and Jocelyn Toynbee and J'iohn Ward Perkins, The shrine of St. Peter, chap. 4 (b), “Beliefs,” 1955. As examples of valuable regional and iconographic surveys, one may cite C. R. Morey, The sarcophagus of Claudia Antonia Sabina and the Asiatic sarcophagi, Sardis, vol. 5, p. 1, 1924, Princeton; M. Lawrence, Columnar sarcophagi in the Latin West, Art Bulletin, vol. 10, pp. 1-45, 1927; id., The sarcophagi of Ravenna, College Art Association of America, 1945; Fernand Benoit, Sarcophages paléochrétiens d’Arles et de Marseille (supplement & Gallia, V), 1954, the last-named author being one of the few students to have appreciated the vital importance of identifying the source of the material from which a sarcophagus is made. Other articles by the present writer on the marble trade in Roman antiquity, the results of which are cited largely in the preceding pages, are Tripolitania and the marble trade, Journal of Roman Studies, vol. 41, pp. 89-104, 1951 (the organization of bulk trade in marble for architectural purposes); and The Hippolytus sarcophagus from Trinquetaille, ibid., vol. 46, pp. 10-16, 1956 (the carving and shipment of Attic sarcophagi). ix i ah M Ts rh # : | hacer Ou! tol Te tanh pate a0 ee by | aie dalla RM fia. BC, fia, Saf tM iM 8 RR aI a ita ci Jee hts Wika shh choke RE c ‘ - he ~ ae, s Feeeey " ath Tah +. iy MB Alyy aly hive oly ALSTAY "eiy't Vel ea] ; HE LE Sreet ul - ‘ eS aia ee . ‘ AT VE 1 4 ie +2 ow at; ‘ , ut HI meer ue ne Hay 06" a Me fi h Dan a oer 4 an rc. abel gue ty i te i Ties . B iy yet shana: x ests seed in wh veo Want, Uh aimee Hr wah ate vat . Fira be 7 : if hy becmbtrcvantanh EGE Tee et Ie pg Coen it 7 * % % ‘ 5 it ULE) are, ww lel igee T tg pa i | ¢ hd nti ad by i) Sth BAP KOs Al) oa fons ye eo Os I : ionigninott oo? “wailed £ ua 34 82 ' q ; os et : oe ae r t J : r Me as BAYA. & Ate sow Role A 70. aid ‘tt j pints ‘ nga Sate TEP 4 ct } i eT Re See 1 ¢ wae Ot to : ow Ayens ayia 4 4 “fl co fualig | : Rene) | vr ie ote 4 i VPs 5 Syme ee ep Sa PP aa lot: ' Frie Oz % -_ patent ve wa os ‘ “s Pi P pre 7 P Ok hoe delefiintt-anadeal dd al, Dotty sift ae sud » 5 4 } . ry ee . : rey aad eS - ere ay tae : NTS MEY VTL ~ : a Partie wes gee niin Ve 1 ? as , a , Ome ae em mn ag a a) Bit Sie Ree Bre wal NT : 4th to Walled: astt . Mele | Tan v i a ‘i F (,: “ley ae sabi!" de Neb hee os ~ pa of a } MITTS ie ONG yi «Att Chat, ep sie th Yh wy oe ae saat eich v at BM) coe ts Beak rele op i 20 a a pen Tekh ‘daa ae een ‘nm ef oxrugad "tate Sat hea 4y ‘ Wbowe a! airy yadda te ws —_ act al nba poe Wi tga ioe as Stone Age Skull Surgery: A General Review, with Emphasis on the New World By T. D. STEwart Curator, Division of Physical Anthropology United States National Museum [With 10 plates] NearRLy A CENTURY has elapsed since anthropologists first realized that Stone Age men practiced operations on the living human head— operations which sometimes were spectacular and often were success- ful. This came about as a result of a trip to Peru in 1863-65 by E. G. Squier, the American diplomat-anthropologist. While in Cuzco Squier obtained part of a human skull that had a rectangular opening in the forehead made by canoe-shaped cuts crossing one another in a tick-tack-toe pattern (fig. 1). Not having seen such a thing before and wondering whether the opening could have been made in life, Squier sought the opinion of Paul Broca, the leading French physical anthropologist of the day. The latter saw signs of infection in the porosity of the surrounding bone and therefore declared (1867) that this Peruvian Indian had lived about 15 days after his operation. Although the present writer raised doubts recently (1956) about the accuracy of Broca’s interpretation in this instance, this belated criti. cism did not negate the fact that discoveries of many specimens during the 1870’s and 1880’s in both the Old and New Worlds had confirmed the antiquity of skull surgery. These discoveries also had told much about how and why the operations were practiced so commonly and so widely. Two cases little publicized heretofore bear witness to the spectacular nature of skull surgery (trephining or trepanning) as practiced in the New World (pls. 1 and 2). One of these, like Squier’s case, comes from Cuzco but differs in showing 7 healed circular openings (the largest number previously reported is 5—MacCurdy, 1923). Very likely this individual had undergone seven separate successful oper- ations. The other case is a mummy from Utcubamba, probably in the 469 470 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Central Highlands (Vidal Senéze, 1877), and shows a large unhealed circular opening in the left parieto-occipital region made by the drill- ing technique, a somewhat uncommon procedure. Although larger openings made by other techniques have been reported, this one seems to be the largest made in this way. It should be noted also that the appearance of the opening in the scalp indicates that the opera- tion was made in life. However, since the bone gives evidence of being unhealed, the operation, as the saying goes, was successful, but the patient died. The writer’s contribution to this subject, mentioned above, is based on a series of 75 Peruvian skulls in the United States National Museum—many previously undescribed—and introduces the idea that evidence has been preserved regarding the nature of the incisions made through the scalp to expose the bone for trephining. Involved in this new addition to our knowledge of an ancient practice is a dif- ferent way of looking at skulls that have been operated upon. The nature of the reorientation will be explained later and here it will be mentioned only that the rarity of specimens filling in certain parts of the surgical picture led the writer to seek verification in other unde- scribed collections. His quest took him first to the American Museum of Natural History in New York where he was enabled to study 23 skulls with artificial openings collected in the region of Lake Titicaca in the 1890’s by A. F. Bandelier, and then to the Peabody Museum, Harvard University, where he studied 102 such skulls collected in the Central Highlands of Peru prior to 1912 by Julio Tello. Subse- quently the writer saw a few more specimens at the British Museum (Natural History) in London and at the Musée de Homme in Paris. For courtesies received at these institutions he is indebted especially to Dr. Harry L. Shapiro, Dr. W. W. Howells, Dr. Kenneth Oakley, and Dr. Henry V. Vallois, respectively. The present paper will give a broad summary of skull surgery as practiced in ancient times and among certain recent people still having a Stone Age culture. In the part dealing with the New World some of the new observations on the collections mentioned above will be pre- sented. In addition, some new observations on putative examples of trephining from North America will be presented. DISTRIBUTION Europe.—tThe publicity that Broca gave to Squier’s trephined skull from Peru led soon to the recognition of skulls showing evidence of surgery from the Neolithic period in France. It began with Pru- niéres’ report of 1873 (1874) of such specimens from the dolmens of Lozére in southern France and was followed by Broca’s (1876) expla- nation of the perforations and the often accompanying rondels or STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 471 amulets of bone, and still later by Manouvrier’s (1895) recognition of the nature of the “sincipital T’”—a cross-shaped scarring of the skull vault resulting from cauterization—to mention only landmarks in the resulting extensive literature for Europe. Fortunately, it is no longer necessary to go back to this literature for answers to many of the questions that come to mind, because Piggott (1940) has summarized and interpreted the record in an admirable fashion. He has also listed most of the references for this area. Ficure 1.—Squier’s famous Cuzco skull, the first recognized case of prehistoric trephining. q ? g P Pp g (Squier, 1877, p. 457.) In brief, some 370 examples of the practice have been reported from the whole of prehistoric Europe, from Portugal in the southwest to Sweden in the northeast, and from England in the northwest to Czecho- slovakia in the southeast (fig. 2). In time they range from about 3000 to 200 B. C. Judging from the concentrations of specimens and from archeological considerations, it would appear that a major surgi- cal center developed in southern France about 1900-1500 B. C. and this led—perhaps through a cult—to the formation in late Neolithic times of a secondary center in the Paris area and also to much of the wide distribution noted. Very likely the ancient custom can be connected directly with the beginnings of modern European surgery. Pacific.—It is not clear just when knowledge of the practice of skull surgery in the South Pacific reached the western world. In France 451800—58——-81 472 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Hamy already knew about it in 1874 when Sanson summarized an article on the subject from the Medical Times for the Anthropological Society of Paris. Hamy could add that in his opinion the perforations made by the South Sea surgeons differed considerably from those made by Neolithic man in France. Thus, although the existence of the practice in the Pacific may have been known in Europe for some PREHISTORIC ye TREPANNED #¢ SKULLS Ficure 2.—Map of Europe showing 98 sites from which some 200 trephined skulls have been reported. (Modified from Piggott, 1940, p. 117, fig. 2.) time, the fact that it was still continuing in this remote area seems to have been overshadowed by the current discoveries in Europe concern- ing the antiquity of the practice. Also, actual examples of trephining from the Pacific were slow in reaching Europe. In 1875 Lesson sent to Topinard some surgical instruments, said to be for trephining, which he had collected in Tahiti, but not until 1879 does it appear that STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 473 the Anthropological Society of Paris received a trephined skull—in this case from New Caledonia. (See Bull. Soc. Anthrop. Paris, 3° sér., vol. 2, p. 719.) Among the best summaries of the literature on skull surgery in the Pacific area are those by Wolfel (1925), Ford (1937), and Heyerdahl (1952). From these and other sources it appears that the practice centered mainly in Melanesia, particularly in the Gazelle Peninsula of New Britain, in the southern part of New Ireland and certain out- lying islands, in New Caledonia, and in the Loyalty Group (fig. 3). *o acai 4RELAND ° ° : es . d % NEW BGRITAIN SOLOMON 1S. ere & CUORTR AINE Ke ja! Qo HEBRIDES SEA & Townsville vovacry CA Wem AES, Ficure 3.—Map of Melanesia showing the island groups where a primitive type of skull surgery was practiced in recent times. (Modified from Ford, 1937, p. 473, fig. 1.) Wher we consider how much study has been devoted to Polynesia, the actuai evidence for the existence of the practice there seems strangely disproportionate to the rumors. Heyerdahl (1952) made a special study of this and many other cultural features in developing the thesis of east-west transpacific migrations in prehistoric times. Except for three trephined skulls in museum collections (one each from the Marquesas, the Tuamotus, and New Zealand), his assembled evidence is largely hearsay. The skull from New Zealand (Wé6lfel, 1925) is suspect because it is grossly pathological (syphilis), and proof is not yet forthcoming that syphilitic gummata cannot leave healed openings resembling trephine openings in the skull. Doubts arise also from certain seeming errors in reporting. For example, Wélfel points out (p. 13) that Turner (1884) may have mistaken the name of the island Uvea (or Uea) in the Loyalty Group for the island with the 474 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 same name near Samoa and thus moved the practice far from its real setting. As for the surgical instruments from Tahiti sent to Topinard in 1875, referred to above, Topinard frankly admitted that he did not believe they were used exclusively for trephining and suggested that they might have been used for scarification, lancing, etc. Thus it is not easy to say whether Heyerdahl is correct when he concludes: We have ample evidence to suggest that the Peruvians brought trepanning and its associates down-wind into the Pacific at an early period when Polynesia was still virgin land. The strongest evidence has survived on both sides of Poly- nesia, but although this latter intervening area has later been overrun by another immigrant stream, some islands ... present sufficient evidence to show that the trepanation bridge formerly spanned the whole water from the coast of Peru to the islands in Melanesia. (P. 665.) Nothing is known about time depth for the practice of skull surgery in the Pacific. The reliable records consist either of eyewitness ac- counts or actual skulls which had been operated upon in recent times. Even these skulls seem to be few in number, totaling, so far as can be judged from the literature, scarcely 100. South America.—F ollowing Squier’s discovery of the first trephined skull in Peru, a long time elapsed before much more became known about skull surgery in South America. The next specimen to receive publicity was from Chaclacayo, near Lima, Peru (Mason, 1885).? Surprisingly, in this case the opening in the forehead was said to have been made after death and it was stated further that all “examples of aboriginal trephining in America were more than probably post mortem” (p. 411). Doubtless this erroneous opinion reflects the con- troversy then in progress regarding certain North American skulls cut post mortem to obtain amulets (Fletcher, 1882; Gillman, 1876, 1885). Not until 1897, when the Smithsonian Institution published the classic monograph by Mufiz and McGee on Peruvian trephining, did the world learn much more about the practice in Peru. Even after this, important contributions to the subject were slow in appearing (Tello, 19138; MacCurdy, 1923; Quevedo, 1943; Weiss, 1949; Graiia et al., 1954). Yet it appears now that more trephined skulls have been found in Peru than in all the rest of the world together. If to this number are added skulls showing other types of surgical intervention, probably the total approaches 1,000. Although Peru doubtless was the surgical center of South America, the practice was restricted largely to the central and southern parts * Originally cataloged as No. 75961 in the Division of Ethnology, U. 8. National Museum, it was subsequently transferred to the Army Medical Museum (now Medical Museum of the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology) where it now bears AFIP No. 287904. STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 475 of that country and to the neighboring part of Bolivia in the region of Titicaca. Within this general area, as in Europe and Melanesia, the surgical specimens have been found concentrated in certain places—for example, around Huarochiri in the Central Highlands,’ at Paracas on the Southern Coast, and around Cuzco in the Southern Highlands. Very likely these concentrations reflect cultural patterns (Weiss, 1953). The oldest skulls from Peru showing artificial openings or areas with the outer table scraped away probably are those from Paracas (ca. fifth century B. C. to fifth century A. D.). However, it is not clear that the Paracas specimens represent a surgical practice for therapeutic purposes. Although Tello states that bone regeneration is present in some cases (Stewart, 1943), in all those seen by the writer the cuts looked fresh. Perhaps, therefore, the trephined skulls of Paracas represent a phase of the locally well-developed head-trophy cult rather than true surgery. Elsewhere in Peru the custom appears to be much later, and even associated with the rise of the Incas. Bolivian, and possibly also Peruvian, Indians continued to operate on living heads into post-Columbian times (Bandelier, 1904). How- ever, very little reliable information has been recorded by eyewitnesses. A few pottery jars ornamented with representations of surgical scenes have been found (Morales Macedo, 1917; Vélez Lopez, 1940), but these add little to our knowledge of the practice. It should be added, also, that on at least two occasions present-day Peruvian surgeons have operated on living heads with primitive implements obtained from ancient sites (personal communication from Sergio A. Quevedo in 1944; Grafia et al., 1954). Since the ancient skulls had already proved that the operation could be accomplished by the use of such tools, it is difficult to understand why these additional demonstrations were undertaken. North America.—Evidence for the practice of skull surgery in the New World outside of Peru has not been summarized recently and hence deserves extended consideration here. Reference was made above to Gillman’s early descriptions of skulls with artificial openings from the State of Michigan in the United States. These cases usually have a small circular opening in the midline near bregma. In 1936 Hinsdale and Greenman showed that the distribution of such skulls includes the regions adjoining the State on the south and east. Al- though it was claimed almost from the beginning (Gillman, 1876) that these openings were made post mortem and were probably in- 2? The collections obtained by Hrdlicka in 1910 and 1912 for the U. S. National Museum and the San Diego Museum, and the collections obtained by Tello before and after 1912 and now in the Peabody Museum (Harvard) and the Museo Nacional d’Antropologia in Lima, respectively, are mainly from this area. 476 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 tended for suspending the skulls, Hinsdale (1924) has claimed that one of them is an example of “real trephining” and that “the edges of the opening show unmistakable evidence of a well-advanced healing process, which could have gone on only during life” (p.13). Hrdli¢ka (1939) agreed with Hinsdale, as might have been expected, since he was one of the first to report a case of trephining from North America (Lumholtz and Hrdlicka, 1897). Indeed, Hrdlitka seems to have seen in many skull perforations, and even in some shallow depressions in the skull vault (Anonymous, 1935), widespread evidence of the prac- tice of skull surgery. These and other cases, totaling 17, that have come to the writer’s attention in the literature, are listed chronologi- cally in table 1.3 Now, obviously, 17 (or 19, when Romero’s other cases are included) is not an impressive number of cases of trephining to have been as- sembled in 60 years from the vast area stretching from Mexico to Alaska and across the United States from coast to coast. One is in- clined to wonder, too, why only two cases have turned up in the South- west among all the hundreds of skulls found there. On this point the writer noted in 1940, in presenting the case from Maryland, listed in table 1 (pl. 3), that— this one is perhaps the most convincing example of [trephining] yet found in the northern continent. Yet as an example of primitive surgery it is singularly isolated among the hundreds of skulls from this site. It would seem unreasonable to expect such a successful end result on a first attempt at cranial surgery, but according to modern pathological knowledge no other diagnosis fits as well. (P. 16.) It is difficult to describe the feeling of dissatisfaction with the evi- dence and arguments which one gains in reading the individual reports and in examining the accompanying illustrations. Some of the cases undoubtedly represent old healed injuries in which there was no surgical intervention; others are fresh openings which, since they could have been made after death, do not prove the existence of sur- gery in the real sense. Only two or three look anything like what is often seen in Peruvian specimens. Twenty years ago the writer reexamined the first three cases from British Columbia listed in table 1. In none of these cases had objec- tive proof of the findings, in the form of photomicrographs, been given. Herewith (pls. 4-8) this deficiency is corrected. Inspection of these plates should convince anyone that, with the exception of the larger opening in the Eburne skull, evidence of healing is lacking or *In a paper read at the reunion of the Mesa Redonda of the Mexican Anthro- pological Society in Oaxaca in September 1957, Javier Romero summarized five cases of trephining from Monte Alban, including one case from the Mixteca and presumably the three cases listed here. When this paper is published, two more cases can be added to those in table 1. STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 477 very doubtful. Histological study is needed here, as well as in some of the other cases, to distinguish true healing from the surface smooth- ing resulting from a cord passing through the opening. From all these considerations the writer is inclined to be skeptical about most of the cases cited being examples of real trephining. AI- though healed openings such as occur in the Eburne and Accokeek skulls look real, their isolation in large skull collections argues strongly in favor of a natural process rather than surgery. Especially signifi- cant is the absence of cases showing bone infection around the opening or, in other words, showing survival for a short time following an operation in life.‘ Africa.—The practice of skull surgery is not known to be represented in the whole of the continent of Africa, except at two points very close to western Europe: (1) Among the Kabyles in the Djebel Aouras (Mount Aurés), in the province of Constantine, in Algeria (Malbot and Verneau, 1897) ; and (2) on the island of Tenerife in the Canaries (Beattie, 1930). In Algeria, where the practice has persisted into modern times, trephined skulls have been found in archeological set- tings antedating Roman times. How much further back in time the custom goes, and whether it is entirely independent of Europe, is not known. In Tenerife the existence of the custom is known from at least 11 trephined specimens of uncertain age and probably over 30 others with bregmatic scars possibly indicating cauterization. Drennan (1937) has tried “to demonstrate that the trepanation cult was also practiced in a primitive form by the Bushman race” in South Africa. However, his examples are not impressive, and look more like healed wounds than surgery. Asia.—In 1897 Zaborowski reported to the Anthropological Society of Paris that the inhabitants of Dagestan, just west of the Caspian Sea, practiced a form of cauterization of the vertex of the head, some- what like the sincipital T, in order to prevent illness. According to Guiard (1930), these people also practiced trephining for all sorts of circumstances as late as the end of the nineteenth century. Whether the practices here connect back with that of the Neolithic period in Europe is unknown. For a long time Dagestan was the only place where skull surgery was known to have existed in Asia. Then in 1936 Starkey and Parry reported the recovery of three trephined skulls from a seventh-century B. C. ossuary at Tell Duweir in Palestine. Amazingly, two of the ‘The writer has a picture of the first female skull from Monte Albin which shows a sinuous excavation surrounding the circular, steep-sided opening. The specimen needs to be examined again to see whether this line represents bone infection following operation. If indeed infection, the practice of skull surgery would have considerable time depth in Mexico—at least to 700-1000 A. D. 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(2) T2AO [ejayred “47 ‘|du10g ynpy LW | 76 Sesueyly Ulojseq 4 8aSO BIOPS -1909301 CIoOUspUa) CI eJUaUT "UIUI 9ST X SET -eouBly] BJOUep UosovI0JI0d “qUy “UUW $Z X 1S 9X 182 Sl op egiedns ey’ ',, é peas0g 201d | -efrvdpyur -ys0q 3 09 W ” “WURIP Uy “UU SST g OOT euoN 4 [801710 A. :punoy “quo yy | “[du00 IN cE a | -xeyy ‘Ugqry oU0TT “pee -10J19d JOU 9[ Gv} JaOUT “@pTA “Uy $4 ‘SUOy “UT PBysepy « ** Alqdojtod poyeay * * *,, é peeae | % .,‘AIA8O,, PoVsUOTA | older ed py tjda0p WOpV W | ‘Ppus[s] 7eIpowy (g pue z ‘std JO) ,, °° “BuTUedo 3u4 ynoqe aoRjins [[Nys 943 WO syIeUl OU" ** SITBA “dso 94} UO Uses oq 0} G18 ‘UvIpD ‘WM Z% pur JUeWINAJsUy 3UT}INO B qynosopun “4d | 7 ‘ssuruedo Z :4UT euUON | Aq spew seqojelog **’,, qoaog ‘Faq | “WIM ZZ X ET 4XA :1BAO | ‘000 Ivd “4 “2 4no “MUI 9% X « °° Buy -Igpun “4d 61 :"4Uy “WieTp Uy “Wd yape 9 BIQuIN[OD -[veq JO sdUepAe sMOoys"”*,, (g pus 2 ‘sjd Jo) euoN | “fosoq Apso, | F 39x ‘]eAd-punoyYy "200 “Jadng *T *[du109 3unoxX Ww “Jag ‘ouing | 480 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 artificial openings had been made in the same rectangular fashion as that in the original Squier specimen (fig. 1). Since there are indica- tions of osteitis about one of these rectangular openings, probably the individual briefly survived his operation. The third case probably represents a healed decompressed fracture. It is noteworthy also that all three Palestine cases were culled from a collection of several hun- dred skulls, which suggests that skull surgery was not practiced very often in this locality. MOTIVES FOR OPERATING A skull which has been operated upon seldom by itself tells why the operation was undertaken. It is owing to this fact that most explana- tions of primitive skull surgery include the word “thaumaturgy”— magic, from the Greek word for wonderworking. Doubtless a large element of mysticism became involved in such operations in the course of time, but whether or not it led to, or grew out of, a therapeutic measure, is debatable. For example, McGee (1897), evidently in- fluenced by the discoveries in Europe and North America of amulets and human skulls cut post mortem, maintained that “trephining began . . . and was performed after death for the purpose of obtain- ing amulets. It ... was gradually extended to living captives for the same vicarious purpose.” (P.72.) From this beginning McGee saw the procedure tied in more and more with “incantations . . . ac- companied by medication or manipulation.” Then, according to this reconstruction of events, whenever the procedure proved beneficial, an otherwise aimless operation tended to grow into empiric surgery. Other writers on this subject, who have not been impressed by the role of amulet collecting, have felt that traumatic and/or pathological indications requiring therapy first induced primitive man to cut into the head. Tello (1913) listed four such indications, foremost of which was fracture of the skull. On the other hand, Ford (1937), speaking for Melanesia, where, as in Peru, warfare resulted in many skull fractures, reconstructs events as follows: The operation was undertaken for the immediate treatment of traumatic cranial injuries, and in certain areas its performance was extended to the treat- ment of severe headache and other ailments, and as a prophylactic measure, in children, against the occurrence of such affections in subsequent life. (P. 477.) Besides cutting through the skull, primitive surgeons in certain areas, as we have seen, produced extensive scars on the skull vault, some of them in the form of a cross (sincipital T). So far as Europe is concerned, the nature of this practice is clear from surviving medieval medical records (MacCurdy, 1905): chemical or thermal cauterization was applied as a counterirritant in cases of dementia and epilepsy. This does not mean that any large bone scar need be STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 481 interpreted as having been caused by cauterization, as Moodie (1921) and Weiss (1955) seem toimply. Any damage to the scalp leading to loss of blood supply to the bone followed by osteitis can end in bone scarring (Stewart, 1956). From these considerations it is understandable that similar appear- ances of perforated and scarred skulls from widely scattered places may hide variations in surgical motivations. Almost certainly the alleviation of pressure on the brain caused by skull fracture was the most frequent reason for the operation in Peru and Melanesia; it may have been the reason less frequently in Europe. Probably in Peru, as in Melanesia, the operation was undertaken for additional reasons, otherwise it is difficult to explain why the individual whose skull is shown on plate 1 would have had his head opened seven times. Just what these reasons were in Peru, whether headaches, epilepsy, or dementia, is not known. Operations on the head to obtain rondels or amulets seem to have been restricted mainly to Europe. These round pieces of skull, often polished and sometimes perforated for suspension, have been found in burials there and sometimes accompanying surgically opened skulls. In these European examples apparently it was important that the rondel include a bit of healed edge from a previous operation, thus assuring to the possessor some quality connected with the operation.° Judging from certain European skulls in which signs of altered growth accompany healed openings, Broca (1876) concluded that the operation often was made in infancy. Perhaps, therefore, the practice was somewhat comparable to that in Melanesia where, according to Ford (1937), women cut openings through the foreheads of some of the children, 3 to 5 years of age, to ward off future trouble from trauma; in other words, the European custom may have been an extension of a surgical procedure from therapy to prophylaxis. The Peruvians also operated on children. The United States Na- tional Museum collection includes the skulls of three children close to 6 years of age and three near 12 years of age. Only two of these, including an incomplete specimen, lack a clear sign of fracture. The Tello collection at Peabody Museum, Harvard University, in- cludes the skulls of 4 children close to 6 years of age and 11 around 12 years of age (another lacks the face and hence the age is uncer- tain). Signs of fracture are evident in seven of these. Plate 9 5In 1899 Thomas Wilson, then curator of prehistoric archeology in the U. S. National Museum, prepared an extensive manuscript on ‘Prehistoric Trepanned Skulls,” which includes summaries of most of the European finds to that date. Wilson had seen many of the original specimens and had even helped recover some of them. This manuscript, which is now in the division of physical anthro- pology, has been of help in preparing the present paper. 482 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 (upper left) shows the skull of a child, whose permanent first molars were just beginning to erupt, in which two trephine openings are visible, but no sign of fracture, unless it be the little crack in the tem- poral squama extending down from the smaller opening. This is an example of how difficult it is sometimes to find the surgical motivation. SURGICAL TECHNIQUES The striking feature about Squier’s Cuzco skull, as mentioned in the beginning, is the rectangular pattern of canoe-shaped cuts (fig. 1). Only three skulls with cuts of this type are known outside of Peru— one from France and two from Palestine. In Peru such skulls have been found mainly in the Central Highlands. By their nature these cuts are deeper at the middle than at either end and hence when they penetrate the skull in a rectangular pattern the piece of bone that is freed is much smaller than the total area involved in the cutting. This means that the primitive surgeon who used this technique had to cut the scalp in such a way as to expose much more of the skull vault than he intended to open. One of the dangers here was that the large area of exposed bone would lose the blood supply normally received through the scalp and that the ischemic bone would become infected. Obviously, then, the ancient surgeons in Peru and elsewhere who operated in this way were using a technically unsound procedure. Just as obviously the technique used in cutting the seven holes in the skull shown in plate 1 must have been efficient ; it enabled the indi- vidual to survive each successive operation with a minimum of post- operative bone scarring. When circular holes were to be made, ap- parently very little more scalp was removed or turned back than was needed for the opening in the bone. Other examples show that the bone was cut and/or scraped in a circular fashion so as to produce a beveled edge. It is not clear how often a button of bone was re- moved or how often the bone simply was scraped away over the whole area of the opening. In general, this technique, with one or other of its variants, was favored wherever trephining was practiced in an- cient times. Trephining by drilling small holes in a circular pattern and then cutting the slender connections between them, as illustrated in plate 2, probably was not practiced outside of Peru and only occasionally in Peru. Failure to use this technique more often may have been due to fear that the tip of the drill would damage the brain. In making their incisions through the scalp and in effecting an opening in the skull, without the use of general anesthetics, primitive surgeons relied on the sharp edges of flaked stones, especially flint and obsidian. In Melanesia the shark’s tooth also was used as a cutting instrument. When metals became available they were made into STUNE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 483 surgical tools, but for a long time these new tools lacked the neces- sary hardness and sharpness. Probably accessory objects of perish- able materials, such as wood, cloth, etc., were used also, but little, if anything, is known about them, except in areas where the practice has persisted. Like the surgeons’ implements of perishable materials, the soft parts covering the prehistoric skulls have disappeared where they have not mummified. On page 470 the writer mentioned his earlier demonstration of the fact that the extent of the openings of the scalp made by ancient Peruvian surgeons prior to opening the skull some- times is still imprinted, so to speak, on the bone (mainly in connection with rectangular trephine openings). This record is due to the fact that in Peru the surgeons often removed the scalp completely over the area where they planned to trephine, and in so doing they made their incisions in an angular pattern so that the opening in the scalp had three to five or more sides (but commonly only four). The im- printing of this event on a skull could come about in several ways: Postoperative bone infection could begin at the margins of the wound where the blood supply was cut off and gradually undermine the exposed outer table; or the infection could clear up and new bone form with a pattern of scarring conforming to the preceding pat- tern of infection; or, in the event the patient died during the opera- tion, the soft parts could mummify, leaving the bone exposed by the surgeon to be discolored differently from that covered by scalp (either darkened by chemical dyes or bleached by sunlight). Plates 9 and 10 illustrate clearly these alternatives (see also figs. 3 and 5 in Stewart, 1956). No longer is it sufficient to look at the trephine openings alone; all the surrounding bone must be inspected for clues as to what happened. For example, plate 9, lower left, shows one of many cases of surgery on the forehead in which the incisions through the scalp were in a diamond-shape pattern with long axis running anteroposteriorly. Probably this shows a knowledge of the tensions in the scalp. In the fairly large number of Peruvian cases where death occurred during or immediately after the trephining, and the soft parts did not mummify, there is, of course, no way of knowing the size of the opening in the scalp. However, accidental cut marks on the bone beyond the limits of the opening sometimes suggest where the scalp incisions were placed. Again, in the fairly large number of cases where bone healing followed trephining without leaving much scar- ring and certainly no angular pattern of scarring, it is assumed that the edge of the scalp opening was near the edge of the opening in the bone, or possibly small scalp flaps were replaced over the opening. Perhaps such a technique was used in Europe in ancient times. In Melanesia the skin flaps were replaced and then stitched (Ford, 1987). 484 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Nothing is known about the postoperative care of the surgical area in prehistoric times. It is sometimes stated that a shell or metal disk was placed over the hole in the skull, but there is no good evidence of this practice. Hrdlicka (1939) illustrated a partly mummified head from the Nasca region of Peru with what he interpreted as a surgical bandage still in place over the rear parts. However, X-rays now show that this head had not been trephined and nothing else about the head itself suggests that this so-called bandage was connected with a surgi- cal procedure. On the other hand, the writer has presented arguments (1956) supporting the possibility that the patterns of osteitis and bone scarring to which he has called attention (see also pls. 9 and 10) were due to chemical irritants used in postoperative treatments. In spite of this, the writer is inclined to favor septic osteitis rather than chemical osteitis as the explanation of these features. In contrast to the paucity of information on postoperative pro- cedures in ancient times, numerous observations made directly on patients have been reported from Melanesia. From the data which Ford (1937) has assembled it seems that in the Gazelle Peninsula “the hole formed at operation was plugged with a piece of native bark cloth.” Here also it is reported that “before the scalp flaps were re- placed the opening in the skull was covered with a piece of the inner bark or inside leaf of the banana palm, which had been held for a short time over the coals of a fire.” In the Loyalty Islands cocoanut shell was used instead of bark. In these islands also “The scalp was stitched with a needle made from the wingbone of a flying fox, and some of their own twine, which is fine and strong.” And finally, after the scalp flaps were replaced, it was the custom in the Duke of York Group (north of New Britain), to bind the head with sun-dried strips from the banana stalk. Ford adds (p. 474) that “the water of the unripe cocoanut was used to wash the wound, and, in some cases, the hands of the operator. This, since sterilization by heat was not under- stood, provided the only relatively bacteria-free fluid available.” This pieced-together picture of postoperative procedures may approximate a custom that was common throughout Melanesia. Ford implies that when the fracture cases were operated on the patients were unconscious. This may have been true of most cases of this sort everywhere. Even in Peru, where the cocoa leaf was chewed for its narcotic effect, it is not certain how far this principle was applied as a part of the surgical procedure. SITES OF OPERATION No part of the skull vault was immune to surgery, although naturally the primitive surgeons did not go very deep under the temporal and occipital muscles. Almost everywhere the left side of the skull seems STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 485 to have been the most common site of operation. This may have been associated with warfare and the delivery of blows to the head by right-handed adversaries. In a series of 112 operations studied by the writer in the Tello collection in the Peabody Museum, 48.2 percent are on, or largely on, the left side, as compared with 29.5 percent on, or largely on, the right side, and 22.8 percent in the midline. The further distribution of these operations is shown in table 2. Accord- ing to these findings, the front of the skull received most attention. Again, this would be an area vulnerable in warfare. TaBLE 2.—Distribution of trephine openings in Peruvian skulls (Tello collection, Peabody Museum, Harvard University) Location Number of cases Percentage Frontal area: POCO ROR OMe AS SEE oe ute TN 26 Crossing right coronal suture_-_____________- 9 Reemrobvor prepa. = 2 2 eo 2 G0 fens see ae 53. 6 Crossing left coronal suture___.__..__._-_-- 12 Extending from frontal to temporal-_--_--_-_-- 1 Parietal area: Bightoparietal bones so5 0520 2h see 3 @rossing sagittal suture. 22 622.2. 2k 15 Hermpariccal DONE 22 he 2d. eee os eee be 18 viespet ease oaie Extending from parietal to temporal -_-_------ 1 Occipital area: Mectoba ones oe ese OMe ae NN 4 Crossing right lambdoid suture_____.___---- 2 Repromotlambda-ca 222s 2 eS Yt Ds A en Aa 13. 4 Crossing left lambdoid suture__._____-_-_-- 1 Extending from occipital to temporal - - --__-- 1 obo) La nen eaten MESURE SI ek ane a ea 112 If the ancient surgeons knew of the danger of hemorrhage from entering the sagittal and transverse venous sinuses, table 2 shows that they were not deterred from cutting through the bone in these areas (see also pl. 1). Neither were they deterred by the danger of infection from operating on the frontal sinuses, although operations at this point are not very common. Moodie (1929) illustrates some cases and there is another in the United States National Museum collection (No. 293795, Cinco Cerros). In the latter a fracture had involved some of the facial bones and the frontal bone above the right orbit. In making a trephine opening above the right orbit probably the frontal sinus was encountered. Be this as it may, before healing finally took place there was extensive scarring of the accessory nasal sinuses from infection. A word should be said about the efforts of the Peruvian surgeons in some cases to follow outlines of fracture. There is a remarkable 486 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 example of this in the Tello collection, Peabody Museum (identified simply by the letter “A,” but probably in the LI. series), consisting of a mummified head which had received a large comminuted fracture on the left side of the occiput. Apparently the surgeon had taken out the loose pieces of bone, leaving an irregular hole 46 mm. long and 31 mm. wide. Then he had followed one of the fracture lines forward to the coronal suture, turning back the soft parts and clean- ing the bone (as evidenced by the still displaced tissues and by scratches on the bone). This was bold surgery. Had the patient lived, his skull would have shown widespread scarring. Piggott (1940, p. 122) says that in Europe “there .. . appears little evidence for any regional predilection.” However, he notes that “The commonest region trepanned seems the parietal, and there is perhaps a tendency for the left side to be preferred” (p. 123). He adds that “there is a curiously high proportion of frontal operations in the Czechoslovak group and it occurs again at Grydej6] in Den- mark” (pp. 122-123). In Melanesia the frontal bone seems to have been the site of elec- tion for the prophylactic operations made in infancy (Ford, 1987). So far as adults are concerned, the distribution of sites may well follow the Peruvian pattern, since in both places most of the skull fractures were received in warfare. OUTCOME OF OPERATION It should be clear from what has been said, as well as from the illustrations given, that trephining was practiced in ancient times, and recently by peoples in a primitive stage of culture, with a con- siderable degree of success. Fairly reliable data on this subject are available for Peru, owing to the large number of specimens that have been assembled from there. For example, by combining the 214 operations seen by the writer in the collections of the U. S. National Museum, the American Museum of Natural History, and the Peabody Museum, 55.6 percent show complete healing, 16.4 percent beginning healing, and 28 percent no healing. Others have reported similar figures (Stewart, 1950). For the Neolithic period of Europe Piggott (1940, p. 122) says simply that— the proportion of survivals from this operation ... is extremely high, as is evidenced by skulls showing the healthy growth of new bone around the edges of the opening, nor is it unusual for one skull to exhibit evidence of two or more operations all with healed edges. Cases of repeated successful operations on the same individual are known also from Melanesia. For this area Ford appears to subscribe to the high estimates of recoveries given by several authors. One figure he mentions is “about 80 percent,” and here emphasis is placed Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart PLATE 1 Skull from Cuzco, Peru, with seven circular healed trephine openings. British Museum (Nat. Hist.) No. 1956.10.10.1. (Photograph courtesy of Kenneth Oakley.) Smithsonian Report, 1957,—Stewart PLATE 2 Head of a Peruvian mummy with a large trephine opening in the left parieto-occipital region made by the drilling technique. The opening is 57 mm. long and 43 mm. wide and thus may be the largest on record made in this way. ‘The scalp has been turned back to expose the opening; it appears to have been cut into three or four flaps by radiating incisions. Musée de Homme No. 79-1—22, Utcumbamba, Piedra Grande. (Photograph courtesy of Henri V. Vallois.) PLATE 3 Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart ‘g10Jaq pales] useq Jou sey uoutIoeds sly, ‘smorie Aq pur ‘7D pure “g “Pp ss01I9] ay Aq 1J2] FY} 0} MOIA dYI UI payNuapr Sutsq suoremp oyy ‘Buruedo sures ay Jo sospa oy1 Jo SMAIA aoIYT, *7YSIY (‘OF6T “I1PMIIG) “PIN, “YooYoooy 1” N FON Arensso $ UOSNS19F "T “LT lV 92k] 94) wolf (OZ96ZE “ON “WN SA) 1M ys B jo peqolred 1ySi prur oy} ul Butuodo podeys-sepnsuelsy paleop] 1a T Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart PLATE 4 Upper: Circular opening in left side of frontal bone of skull XII-B—1555 from Boundary Bay, British Columbia-Washington, described by Smith (1924). Lower: Oval opening (partly broken away) in right parietal of skull XII-B-1556 from the same source. (Photo- graphs courtesy of National Museum of Canada.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart PLATE 5 Upper: View of inside of skull XII-B-1555 from Boundary Bay, British Columbia-Wash- ington, showing broken edge of circular opening. Middle: Photomicrograph of portion of edge of same opening. Note that there is smoothing but not obliteration of the inner bone structure. Lower: Phctomicrograph of portion of outer surface around edge of opening. Note cut marks. (Photograph courtesy of National Museum of Canada.) Smithsonian Report, 1957,—Stewart PLATE 6 Upper: Photomicrograph of portion of edge of oval opening in skull XII-B-1556 from Boundary Bay, British Columbia-Washington. ‘This portion of the opening is located at the upper left of the view in plate 4, lower. Note open diploé and striations on outer table. Lower: Photomicrograph of another part of the edge in the same opening. ‘This portion of the opening is located at the top of the view in plate 4, lower. Note open diploé and striations in triplicate suggestive of rodent tooth marks. (Photograph courtesy of National Museum of Canada.) Smithsonian Report, 1957,—Stewart PLATE 7 Rear view of skull No. 33 from the Eburne shell mound in British Columbia showing two artificial openings described by Kidd (1930). (Photograph courtesy of City Museum of Vancouver.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart PLATE 8 orn Upper: Photomicrograph of a section of the edge of the smaller opening in skull. No. 33 from Eburne, British Columbia. Note cut marks. Lower: Photomicrograph of the outer surface at the right-inferior edge of the larger opening in the same skull. Note that the inner bone structure has been obliterated by the healing process. (Photographs courtesy of City Museum of Vancouver.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart. PLATE 9 Skulls showing evidence of surgical openings through scalp and bone. Upper left: Child (near 6 years). Lines of porosity above and behind the openings mark beginning of osteitis. (Tello coll. No. A 15.) Upper right: Young adult male. Surrounding rectangu- lar area crosses sagittal suture and is bordered with beginning osteitis. (Tello coll. LI] 9.) Lower left: Adult male. Surrounding diamond-shaped area of osteitis has outer table of bone sluffed off. (Tello coll. No. P 5.) Lower right: Adult male. Diamond- shaped area of scarring surrounds healed opening and triangular area edged with be- ginning osteitis surrounds fresh opening. (‘Tello coll. No. Cl 1.) (Photographs courtesy of Peabody Museum, Harvard University.) Smithsonian Report, 1957.—Stewart. PLATE 10 Skulls showing evidence of surgical openings through scalp and bone. Upper left: Adoles- cent male. Rectangular area of discoloration is edged with beginning osteitis. (Tello coll. No. A 7.) Upper right: Adult female. Rectangular area of discoloration is edged with beginning osteitis. (Tello coll. No. Sak. 8.) Lower left: Adult male. Large angular area of bleaching surrounds opening. (Tello coll. No. P 14.) Lower right: Adult male. Diamond-shaped area of scarring surrounds each opening. (Tello coll. No. H 41.) (Photographs courtesy of Peabody Museum, Harvard University.) STONE AGE SKULL SURGERY—STEWART 487 on the fact that the deaths were from the original injuries and not from complications after the operations. This amount of success may well be exaggerated, but it was certainly good enough to perpetuate the custom. CONCLUDING STATEMENT In this review of our present knowledge of Stone Age skull sur- gery many details necessarily have been omitted. Yet enough facts have been presented to show that a great deal has been learned about this subject since Squier returned from Cuzco with the first example of primitive trephining. Indeed, by its bulk this knowledge tends to create the impression that skull surgery was all of primitive sur- gery. That this is not true will be seen by referring to Ackerknecht’s (1947) review of primitive surgery asa whole. Yet the fact remains that more is known about Stone Age man’s operations on the skull than on any other part of the body. Piggott (1940, p. 114) explains this situation as follows: [the] apparent isolation [of trephining] in the prehistory of surgery may be entirely accidental, due to the fact that the skull alone occupies a virtually exoskeletal position in relation to a vital organ, and in consequence any opera- tional approach to the brain must be made through the bone of the skull—an enduring substance in the archaeological record. Our knowledge of early operations on the skull tends also to give the impression that the primitive surgeon was more daring in his approach to the brain than the modern surgeon. This impression is minimized by considerations which again have been nicely stated by Piggott (p. 114) : The trepidation with which we approach the cerebral operation today is conditioned by our realization of the overwhelming importance of the brain in the vertebrate anatomy, a fact but dimly appreciated until comparatively recent times. It was not so long ago that, in both popular and professional regard, the heart was the seat of courage, the spleen of anger, and that the Salient mental characteristics of the individual were located in the various viscera. Small wonder if prehistoric man approached trepanning in the same matter-of-fact way and upon a similar misconception as to the localisation of physiological activities. LITERATURE CITED ACKERKNECHT, ErRwIN, H. 1947. Primitivesurgery. Amer. Anthrop., n.s., vol. 49, pp. 25-45. ANONYMOUS. 1935. Alaska Indians had brain surgeons 2,000 years ago. Sci. News Letter, vol. 28, p. 377. BANDELIER, ADOLPH F’. 1904. Aboriginal trephining in Bolivia. Amer. Anthrop., vol. 6, pp. 440-446. BEATTIE, JOHN. 1930. A note on two skulls from Tenerife. Amer. Journ. Phys. Anthrop., vol. 14, No. 3, pp. 447-449. 451800—58——32 488 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1957 Brooa, PAUL. 1867. Cas singulier de trépanation chex les Incas. Bull. Soc. Anthrop. Paris, 2° sér., vol. 2, pp. 403-408. 1876. Sur la trépanation du crane et les amulettes craniennes 4 l’époque néolithique. VIII Congr. Intern. Anthrop. et Arch. préhist., Buda- pest, p. 101-196. Cosarove, C. B. 1929. A note on a trephined Indian skull from Georgia. Amer. Journ. Phys. Anthrop., vol. 18, pp. 353-357. DRENNAN, M. R. 1937. Some evidence of a trepanation cult in the Bushman race. South African Med. Journ., pp. 183-191. FLETCHER, ROBERT. 1882. On prehistoric trephining and cranial amulets. Contr. North Amer. Ethnol., vol. 5, 32 pp. Forp, EDWARD. 1937. Trephining in Melanesia. Med. Journ. Australia, vol. 2, pp. 471-477. GILLMAN, HENRY. 1876. Certain characteristics pertaining to ancient man in Michigan. Ann. Rep. Smithsonian Inst. for 1875, pp. 234-245. 1885. Further confirmation of the post-mortem character of the cranial perforations from Michigan mounds. Amer. Nat., vol. 19, pp. 1127-1128. GRANA, Francisco; Rocca, EsTeEBAN D.; and GraNa R., LUIs. 1954. Las trepanciones craneanas en el Pert en la epoca prehisp4Anica. 340 pp. Lima. Gurarp, EMILE. 1930. La trépanation cranienne chez les Néolithiques et chez les primitifs modernes. 126 pp.,13 pls. Paris. Hamy, EH. T. See Sanson. HEYERDAHL, THOR. 1952. American Indians in the Pacific. xv + 821 pp. London. HINSDALE, W. B. 1924. An unusual trephined skull from Michigan. Pap. Michigan Acad. Sci., Arts and Letters, vol. 4, pt. 1, pp. 18-14. HINSDALE, W. B., and GREENMAN, EMERSON F. 1936. Perforated Indian crania in Michigan. Oce. Contr. Mus. Anthrop., Univ. Michigan, No. 5, 15 pp., 5 pls. HepiicKa, A. 1939. Trepanation among prehistoric people, especially in America. Ciba Symposia, vol. 1, pp. 170-177, 200. Kipp, G. E. 1930. * os ct vn é at ats | Ey nee Seed AR a i ‘ F : F ies er, a: i ae pare is y F hy A ty Gk Rid ee i. 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