THE FOREST
The Teesta Valley in its lowest part is only 700 feet above sea-level.
It is deep and confined and saturated with perpetual moisture.
Hardly a breath of wind stirs, and all plant life is forced as in a
hothouse. The trees do not, indeed, grow as high as the Big Trees of
California or the eucalyptus in Australia, but some of these in the
Teesta Valley are 200 feet in height with buttressed trunks between
40 and 50 feet in girth, and give the same impression of stateliness
and calm composure. With incredible effort and incessant struggle
they have attained their present proud position, and the traveller
most willingly accords them the tribute that is their due.
Grand tropical oaks nearly 50 feet in girth also occur, screw-pines
50 feet in height with immense crowns of grassy leaves 4 feet long,
palms of many kinds, rattan-canes, bamboos, plantains, and tall
grasses such as only grow in dense, hot jungles. Gigantic climbers
tackle the loftiest trees. One allied to the gourd bears immense
yellowish-white pendulous blossoms; another bears curious
pitcher-shaped flowers. Vines, peppers, and pothos interlace with the palms
and plantains in impenetrable jungle. Orchids clothe the trees.
Everywhere and always we hear the whirr and hum of insect life,
sometimes soft and soothing, sometimes harsh and strident. And
floating about wherever we look are butterflies innumerable, many
dull and unpretentious, but some of a brilliancy of colour that makes
us gasp with pleasure.
We may be pouring with perspiration, pestered by flies and
mosquitoes, and in constant dread of leeches. But we forget all such
annoyances in the joy of these wonders of the tropics, whether they
be trees or orchids, ferns or butterflies. And to see one of these
gorgeous insects alight in front of us, slowly raise and lower his
wings and turn himself about almost as if he were showing himself
off for our especial pleasure, compensates us for every worry his
fellows in the insect world may cause us.
As might be expected, in the steamy, dripping atmosphere ferns are
a predominating feature in the vegetation. Not less than two hundred
different kinds are found. The most noticeable are the tree ferns, of
which alone there are eight species. Their average height is about 20
feet, but plants of 40 and 50 feet are not uncommon. And with their
tall trunks and crown of immense graceful fronds they form a
striking feature in the forest, and in the moister valleys where they
attain their full luxuriance they may be seen in extensive groves as
well as in little groups. Four kinds of maidenhair, always light and
graceful and attractive, are found; and of ferns common to Europe,
_Osmunda regalis,_ the Royal fern of Europe, and the European
moonwort and alder's-tongue ferns. Then there is a fern which
attains to gigantic proportions, especially in the cool forests, where
its massive fronds grow to more than 5 yards in length and 3 in
breadth, with a spread over all, measuring from tip to tip of opposite
fronds, of 8 yards. One handsome climbing fern clothes the trunks of
tall trees; another which climbs on grasses and the smaller shrubs is
common; and another forms almost impenetrable thickets 15 or 20
feet high. Of the kinds which grow on rocks and trees the most
delicately beautiful are the filmy ferns, of which there are eight
kinds. The Irish filmy is the largest, covering the face of large rocks
under dense shade, its fronds growing to over a foot in length. Many
polypodiums and aspleniums grow gracefully on the rocks and trees
during the rainy season. One especially elegant polypodium growing
on the ground has fronds about 6 or 7 feet long, and sometimes as
much as 20 feet, and of proportionate width. Another conspicuous
fern is the bird's-nest fern with its large, massive fronds growing
under shade on rocks and stems of trees.
Unless we are fern experts it is impossible for us to identify each
among so many species. But, at any rate, we gather an impression of
elegance and grace, often of airy lightness, and of wonderful variety
of size and form.
* * *
From the ferns we look to the rest of the forest, and after the first
bewilderment at the profusion and variety of vegetation we try to
fasten on to a few individuals or types which we can identify as
having seen elsewhere in some other part of India or in some
palm-house in England. We are in the still, steamy atmosphere of a
hot-house, and we are conscious that all round us, growing in luxuriant
abundance, are rare and beautiful plants of which a single specimen
would be treasured and treated with every fostering care in England.
But we sigh to be able to recognise these treasures and make contact
between home and this exceptionally favoured region--favoured,
that is to say, as regards plant life. From among the giant trees, the
bamboos, the palms, the climbers, the shrubs, the flowers, the
orchids, we look out anxiously for friends--or at least for
acquaintances whom we hope may develop into friends as we meet
them again and again on our journeys through the forest.
Of the flowers, the orchids are naturally the first to attract us. They
shine out as real gems in the greenery around them. The eye jumps
to them at once. Here seems to be something as nearly perfect in
colour, form, and texture as it could possibly be. If the orchid is
white it is of the purest whiteness, and shines chaste and unsullied
amidst its dull surroundings. If it is purple, or pale yellow, or
golden-yellow, or rose, or violet, or white, the colour has always a
depth and purity which is deeply satisfying. And it seems to be
because the waxy texture of these orchids is such a perfect medium
for the display of colour that orchids are so exceptionally beautiful.
The texture is of the very consistency best adapted for revealing the
beauty of colour. And when we pluck a spray of these choice
treasures from the forest branch and hold it in the sunlight, we feel
we are seeing colour almost in perfection.
The colour and texture are beautiful enough in themselves. But an
added attraction in these orchids is their form--the curvature of their
sepals and petals, and the wonderful little pitchers and cups and lips
and tongues which an orchid exhibits. And the form is no mere
geometrical pattern of lines and curves. It is obviously an ingenious
contrivance devised for some special purpose. That purpose we now
know to be the attraction of insects, who in sucking the orchid's
honey will unconsciously carry on their wings or backs the flower's
pollen to fertilise another orchid. Though whether the insect in the
long centuries by probing at the orchid has forced it to adapt itself to
it, or whether the flower has forced the insect to adapt itself to the
flower, or whether--as seems most likely--a process of mutual
adaptation has been going on century by century, and the flower and
insect have been gradually adapting themselves to one another, is
still a matter of discussion among naturalists.
We cannot gather an orchid of any kind without marvelling at its
intricate construction. And when we are looking at the orchid in its
natural surroundings in the forest itself and see the enormous
numbers and the immense variety, in size and form and habits, of
the insects around the orchid, and think how the orchid has to select
its own particular species of insect and cater for that, and the insect
among all the flowers has to select the particular species of orchid;
and how the insect, whether butterfly or bee or moth or gnat or ant,
or any other of the numerous kinds of insect, and the orchid have to
adapt themselves to each other--we see how marvellous the mutual
adaptation of flower to insect and insect to flower must have been.
We see how the particular species of orchid must have chosen the
particular species of bee, and the particular species of bee that
particular species of orchid, and the bee and orchid set themselves to
adapt themselves to one another, the orchid using all the devices of
colour, scent, sweetness of honey, to attract the insect, and gradually
shaping itself so that the insect can better reach the honey, and the
insect lengthening its proboscis and otherwise adapting itself so that
it can better secure what it wants. And we see how perfectly--how
nearly perfectly--the flower is designed for its purpose.
But what is perhaps most remarkable of all about an orchid is that
this marvel of colour and form and of texture of fabric unfolds itself
from within a most ungainly, unsightly, unlikely-looking tuber.
From shapeless, colourless tubers, which attach themselves to trunks
and branches of trees and cling on to rocks, there emerge these
peerless aristocrats of the flower-world, finished, polished,
immaculate, and reigning supreme through sheer distinction and
excellence at every point--and also because theirs is clearly no
ephemeral convolvulus-like beauty which will fade and vanish away
in a twinkling, but is a beauty intensely matured, strong and deep
and firm.
* * *
Of the 450 species of orchids found in the Sikkim Forest, many are
very rare. But fortunately the rarest are not the most beautiful in
colour and form. Some very beautiful orchids are also very common.
The most common are the dendrobiums, of which there are about
forty species. The finest and best known is the _Dendrobium
nobile._ It grows in the lower hills and valleys up to 5,000 feet, and
also in the plains. The flowers vary both in size and shade of colour;
but in Sikkim the sepals and petals are always purple, shading off
into white at the base. The tip has a central blotch of very deep
purple surrounded by a broad margin of pale yellow or white. This
orchid is now very common in English hot-houses, so here is one
point of contact with the tropical forest.
The _D. densiflorum_ is equally common and grows in much the
same region. It flowers in a dense cluster on a stalk somewhat after
the fashion of a hyacinth. The sepals and petals of this beautiful
species are of a pale yellow, while the lip is of a rich orange. One of
the most charming of the Sikkim dendrobiums has the smell of
violets, and the sepals and petals are white-tipped with violet, the
stem being sometimes 2 1/2 feet long. Another noteworthy
dendrobium is the _D. pierardi,_ whose prevailing colour is a
beautiful rose or pale purple.
After the dendrobiums the coelogyne are the most worth noting. The
_ Coelogyne cristata_ is common at elevations of from 5,000 to
8,000 feet, and flowers during March and April. It has numerous
large flowers, which are pure white throughout, with the exception
of the lamellae of the lip, which are yellow. It may be seen in flower
in March in the orchid-house at Kew. In the forest it grows in such
profusion as to make the trunk of a dead tree look as if it were
covered with snow.
The _C. humilis_ is known as the Himalayan crocus. It grows like a
crocus from a pseudo-bulb at elevations from 7,000 to 8,500 feet,
and flowers during February and March. The flowers are white and
from 2 to 2 1/2 inches in diameter. The lip is speckled with purple
towards the edge.
Not so common but larger and handsomer than the dendrobiums are
the cymbidiums, of which there are sixteen different species, usually
with long grassy leaves and many-flowered drooping racemes with
large handsome flowers. A very sweet-scented species is the
_Cymbidium eburneum,_ which is common between elevations of
1,000 to 3,000 feet, and flowers during March and April. The
prevailing colour of the flowers is an ivory white, but the ridge on
the lip is a brilliant yellow. This also may be seen at Kew in March.
These are some of the commonest orchids and all now grow in
England, so that we can begin to get a footing in the forest and not
feel that it is so completely strange to us. And as we ascend higher
we shall find many more friends among the flowers. And to guide us
among the trees and flowers we fortunately have Sir Joseph Hooker,
who in his "Himalayan Journals" has described this botanist's
paradise in loving detail, so we cannot do better than follow him.
Amid the many plants he mentions we can only select a few, but
these few will at least help to give us some conception of the whole
and show the range of variation as we ascend.
As we proceed higher up the valley to an altitude of about 4,000 feet,
European trees and plants begin to be intermingled with the tropical
vegetation. Hornbeams appear, and birch, willow, alder, and walnut
grow side by side with wild plantains, palms, and gigantic bamboos.
Brambles, speedwells, forget-me-nots, and nettles grow mixed with
figs, balsams, peppers, and huge climbing vines. The wild English
strawberry is found on the ground, while above tropical orchids like
the dendrobiums cover the trunks of the oaks. The bracken and the
club-moss of our British moors grow associated with tree-ferns. And
English grow alongside Himalayan mosses.
The valley itself continues of the same character--deep with its steep
sides clothed in forest and the path scrambling over spurs, making
wide detours up side valleys, or scraping along the sides of cliffs
which stand perpendicularly over the raging river below. Only here
and there are clearings in the forest where Lepchas or Nepalese have
built themselves a few wooden houses and roughly cultivated the
land. Otherwise we are under the same green mantle of forest which
extends everywhere over the mountains; and though we are now
piercing straight through the main axis of the Himalaya, we seldom
catch even a glimpse of the snowy heights which must be so near.
But the vegetation is distinctly changing in character as we
ascend--the most tropical trees and plants gradually disappearing, and more
and more flowers of the temperate zone coming into evidence. And
as we pierce farther into the mountains the climate becomes sensibly
drier and the forest lighter. There is still a heavy enough rainfall to
satisfy any ordinary plant or human being. But there is not the same
deluge that descends upon the outer ridges. So the forest is not so
dense. Frequently in its place social grasses clothe the
mountain-sides; and yellow violets, primulas, anemones, delphiniums,
currants, and saxifrages remind us of regions more akin to our own.
Now, too, we have reached the habitat of the rhododendrons, which
are so peculiarly a glory of Sikkim, and it is worth while to pause
and take special note of them. Out of the thirty species which are
found in Sikkim, all the most beautiful have been introduced
--chiefly by Sir Joseph Hooker--into England, and are grown in many
parks and gardens as well as at Kew. So English people can form
some idea of what the flowering trees of the Sikkim Forest are like.
But they must multiply by many times the few specimens they see in
an English park or hot-house, and must realise that as cowslips are
in a grassy meadow, so are these rhododendron trees in the Sikkim
Forest. Red, mauve, white, or yellow, they grow as great flowers
among the green giants of the forest and brighten it with colour. The
separate blossoms of a rhododendron tree cannot compare in beauty
with the individual orchid. There is in them neither the deep richness
of colour nor wonder of form nor sense of deeply matured
excellence. The claim of the rhododendron to favour is rather in the
collective quantity and mass of flowers so that by sheer weight of
numbers it can produce its effect of colour. In some of the upper
valleys the mountain slopes are clothed in a deep green mantle
glowing with bells of scarlet, white, or yellow.
Perhaps the most splendid of these rhododendrons is
_Rhododendron grande_ or _argenteum,_ which grows to a height
of from 30 to 40 feet, and has waxy bell-shaped flowers of a
yellowish-white suffused with pink, 2 to 3 inches long and about the
same across. The scarlet _R. arboreum,_ so general in the Himalaya,
is common in Sikkim and furnishes brilliant patches of colour in the
forest. And a magnificent species is _R. Auchlandii_ or
_Griffithianum,_ which has large white flowers tinged with pink, of
a firm fleshy texture and with a mouth 5 inches across. It has been
called the queen of all flowering shrubs. It grows well in Cornwall,
and among the hybrids from it is the famous Pink Pearl.
_R. Falconeri,_ a white-flowered species, is eminently characteristic
of the genus in habit, place of growth and locality, never occurring
below 10,000 feet. In foliage it is incomparably the finest. It throws
out one or two trunks clean and smooth, 30 feet or so high, the
branches terminated by immense leaves, deep green above edged
with yellow and ruby red-brown below. The creamy white flowers
are shaded with lilac and are slightly scented. They are produced in
tightly-packed clusters 9 to 15 inches across and twenty or more in
numbers.
A peculiar (in that it is of all the species the only one that is
epiphytal) but much the largest flowered species is the _R.
Dalhousiae._ It grows, like the orchids, among ferns and moss upon
the trunks of, large trees, especially oaks and magnolias, and attains
a height of 6 to 8 feet. The flowers are three to seven in a head, and
are 3 1/2 to 5 inches long and as much across the mouth, white with
an occasional tinge of rose and very fragrant. In size, colour, and
fragrance of the blossoms this is the noblest of the genus. It grows
out-of-doors in Cornwall and in the greenhouse in other parts of
England as a scraggy bush 10 to 12 feet high. _R. barbatum_ is a
tree from 40 to 60 feet high, producing flowers of a rich scarlet or
blood-colour, and sometimes puce or rich pink. It is one of the most
beautiful of the Himalayan rhododendrons, and is now very
common in England, growing freely out-of-doors. Another truly
superb plant is _R. Maddeni,_ with very handsome pure white
flowers 3 1/2 to 4 inches long and as much across the mouth. This is
now a special favourite in England. It grows in large bushes in the
open in Cornwall and is very sweet-scented. _R. virgatum_ is a
beautiful delicately white-flowered shrub. And _R. campylo-carpum_
displays masses of exquisite pale yellow bells of rarest delicacy.
Besides rhododendrons, ash, walnut, and maple become more
abundant as we ascend, and at 9,000 feet larch appears, and there are
woods of a spruce resembling the Norwegian spruce in general
appearance. Among the plants are wood-sorrel, bramble, nut, spiraea,
and various other South European and North American genera.
The climate is no longer stifling and the leeches have disappeared.
We miss many beauties of the tropical forest. But, with the
vegetation more and more resembling what we are accustomed to in
Europe, we are feeling more at home. The path winds through cool
and pleasant woods, following the varying contour of the
mountain-sides. We are no longer oppressed by the strangeness of the life
around us. At almost every turn we come across something new yet
not wholly unfamiliar. And standing out especially in our memory
of this region will be the sight of a gigantic lily rearing itself ten feet
high in the forest, and as pure in its perfect whiteness as if it had
been grown in a garden. It is the _Lilium giganteum,_ and it has
fourteen flowers on a single stalk and each 4 1/2 inches long and the
same across.
We still love most of all the white violets we have as children picked
in an English wood, and even this great white lily will never
supplant them in our affections. But the sight of that glorious plant
rising proudly from amidst the greenery of its forest setting will be
for us more than any picture. And its being "wild" has the same
fascination for us that a flower that is "wild," and not garden grown,
has for a child. In a florist's shop we may see lilies even more
beautiful than this, but the enjoyment we get from seeing the florist's
production bears no comparison whatever with the enjoyment we
get from seeing this lily in a distant Himalayan forest where not so
many white men ever go. We often have experiences which
perceptibly age us. But this is one of those experiences which most
certainly make us younger. We are once again children finding
flowers in a wood.
As we proceed upward the valley opens out, the mountains recede
and are less steep. They are also less wooded, their slopes become
more covered with grass, and the river, no longer a raging torrent,
now meanders in a broad bed. The great peaks are somewhere close
by, but we do not see the highest, and for the Himalaya the scenery
is somewhat tame. But the number of herbaceous plants is great. A
complete record of them would include most of the common genera
of Europe and North America. Among them are purple, yellow, pink,
and white primulas, golden potentillas, gentians of deepest azure,
delicate anemones, speedwells, fritillaries, oxalis, balsams, and
ranunculus. One special treasure of this part is a great red rose
_(Rosa macrophylla),_ one of the most beautiful of Himalayan
plants whose single blossoms are as large as the palm of the hand.
With these plants from the temperate zone are mixed the far outliers
of the tropical genera--orchids, begonias, and others--whose ascent
to these high regions has been favoured by the great summer heat
and moisture.
We are now in the region of the primulas for which (besides its
orchids and rhododendrons) Sikkim is famous. Sikkim may indeed
be called the headquarters of the Indian primroses, and many species
are found there which appear to occur nowhere else. There are from
thirty to forty species, the majority growing at altitudes from 12,000
to 15,000 feet, two or three only being found below 10,000 feet, and
two or three as high as 16,000 to 17,000 feet. The best known is the
_ Primula sikkimensis,_ which grows well in England and resembles
a gigantic cowslip. It thrills us to see it growing in golden masses in
the high valleys in wet boggy places--though the precise colour may
be better described as lemon-yellow rather than gold.
The prevailing colour of the primulas is purple, but white, yellow,
blue, and pink are also found. The _P. denticulata_ has purple to
bright sapphire blue flowers, and great stretches of country are
almost blue with the lovely heads of this primrose. Miles of country
can be seen literally covered with _P. obtusifolia,_ which has purple
flowers and a strong metallic smell. _P. Kingii_ is a lovely plant
with flowers of such a dark claret colour that they are almost black.
And perhaps the most striking primula is _P. Elwesiana,_ with large
solitary deflexed purple flowers.
Poppies also are a feature of the Sikkim vegetation. Near the huts
the people cultivate a majestic species near _Menconopsis
simplicifolia,_ but it grows in dense clusters 2 or 3 feet high. The
flowers vary in diameter from 5 to 7 inches, and are an intensely
vivid blue on opening, though they change before fading into purple.
_M. simplicifolia_ itself is also found at altitudes from 12,000 to
15,000 feet--a clear light blue species of special beauty, growing
as a single flower on a single stem, and now to be seen at
both Edinburgh and Kew. Another beautiful poppy is the _M.
nepalensis,_ which grows in the central dampest regions of Sikkim
at elevations of 10,000 to 11,000 feet and resembles a miniature
hollyhock, the flowers being of a pale golden or sulphur-yellow, 2 or
3 inches in diameter and several on a stalk.
As Tangu is approached the valley expands into broad grassy flats,
and here at about 13,000 feet the vegetation rapidly diminishes in
stature and abundance, and the change in species is very great. Larch,
maple, cherry, and spiraea disappear, leaving willows, juniper,
stunted birch, silver fir, mountain ash berberries, currant,
honeysuckle, azalea, and many rhododendrons. The turfy ground is
covered with gentians, potentillas, geraniums, and purple and yellow
meconopsis, delphiniums, orchids, saxifrage, campanulas,
ranunculus, anemones, primulas (including the magnificent
_Primula Sikkimensis),_ and three or four species of ferns. The
country being now so much more open, the valley bottom and the
mountain-sides glow with purples and yellows of various shades.
Not even here, nor indeed anywhere in the Himalaya, do we see that
mass and glow of colour we find in California, where wide sheets of
meadow-land are ablaze with the purple of the lupins and the gold of
the Californian poppy. But for the number of varieties of plants
these upper valleys of the Teesta River can scarcely be excelled. As
we ascend the mountain-sides above Tangu we find them covered
with plants of numerous different kinds, and even at about 14,000
feet Hooker gathered over two hundred plants.
But now we are nearing the limit of plant life. At 17,000 feet the
vegetation has ceased to be alpine and has become arctic, and the
plants nearest the snow-line are minute primulas, saxifrages,
gentians, grasses, sedges, some tufted wormwood, and a dwarf
rhododendron, the most alpine of wooded plants.
At the summit of the Donkia Pass Hooker found one flowering plant,
the _Arenaria rupifragia._ The fescue _(Festuca ovina),_ a little fern
_(Woodsia),_ and a saussurea ascend very near the summit. A
pink-coloured woolly saussurea and _Delphinium glaciale_ are two of the
most lofty plants, and are commonly found from 17,500 feet to
18,000 feet. Besides some barren mosses several lichens grow on
the top, as _Cladonia vermicularis,_ the yellow _Lecidea
geographica_ and the orange _L. miniata._
At 18,300 feet Hooker found on one stone only a fine Scottish lichen,
a species of gyrophora, the "tripe de roche" of Arctic voyagers and
the food of the Canadian hunters. It is also abundant in the Scotch
Alps.
On the summit of Bhomtso, 18,590 feet, the only plants were the
lichens _Lecidea miniata_ (or _Parmalia miniata)_ mentioned
above, and borrera. The first-named minute lichen is the most arctic,
antarctic, alpine, and universally diffused in the world, and often
occurs so abundantly as to colour the rocks an orange red.
* * *
The entire range of plant life, from the truly tropical to the hardiest
arctic, is now complete. As we look back from the limit of perpetual
snow we see the whole great procession in a glance. We have come
across no African, nor South American, nor Australian plants, so we
have not seen anything like the _whole_ of plant life. But the range
from the tropic to the arctic has been complete and continuous. In no
other region could we in so short a space as a hundred miles--the
distance from Bath to London--see the entire range so fully
represented.
And actually _seeing_ how vast is the range and variety of plant life
is a very different thing from knowing that it exists; seeing the
flowers in the flesh is altogether different from only reading
descriptions of them; and seeing them in masses and in their natural
surroundings affects us quite differently from seeing only a few in a
garden or in a hot-house. Here on the spot we feel close in touch
with Nature's own heart. We see Nature's productions springing up
fresh and new straight from the very fountain source. We have the
joy of being able to stretch out a hand and pick a flower direct from
its own surroundings, and to fondle it, examine it all round, admire
its colour, form, and texture, compare its beauty with the beauty of
other flowers and settle wherein its special beauty lies. We shall
never be able to give to even the most exquisite orchid or the most
perfect lily the same affection that we give to the primroses and
violets of our native land. But we may be sure that our
Naturalist-Artist, when he gathers together in his mind the impressions
which have been made upon him by his passage through the tropical forests
to the alpine uplands and thence to the limit of perpetual snow, will
find that his sense of the variety of beauty to be found in trees and
leaves, in ferns and flowers, has immeasurably expanded. He will
have acquired a firmer grasp of plant life as a whole. He will have a
truer measure of the beauty in it. And irresistibly, but most willingly,
he will have been more closely drawn to Nature's heart.