Disease in Plants

Soil not a dead matrix—Organic materials—The living organisms of the soil—Their activities—Their numbers and importance. Abandonment of the notion that chemical analysis can explain the problem.

It is customary to regard the soil, between the particles of which the root-hairs of plants are distributed, as if it were merely a dead matrix of smaller or larger pieces of rock, such as sand, gravel, stones, etc., and organic remains, such as bits of wood, leaves, bones, etc., with water and air in their interstices. As matter of fact, however, soil is a much more complex body than was suspected until comparatively recent times.

It is, of course, beyond the scope of this book to go into the different varieties of soils, their structure or arrangement, and the chemical nature of their constituent rocks and the débris mingled with the latter. For the same reason I must pass over the curious properties of soils in relation to the solutions they yield to water in contact, the manner in which they retain some of these solutions and allow others to pass easily, and the remarkable double decompositions which go on in them. Moreover, I must assume as known the chief physical properties of ordinary soils with respect to the phenomena of capillarity, absorption of heat, action of frost, and so forth.

But all ideas as to the nature of soil based merely on the study of its chemistry and physics are misleading, and it is in just the establishment of this truth that modern discoveries in Agricultural and Forest Botany have played so important a part.

From the facts that organic débris is found chiefly at the surface of the earth, and that the smallest particles are held in suspension by the water near the surface, it is comprehensible why such organic remains abound in the upper parts of the soil, where the rootlets with their absorbing root-hairs are also found, because they must have oxygen. The rule is, therefore, that an ordinary soil consists of upper strata, rich in organic materials and in oxygen, and a subsoil, poorer in these substances.

Among these organic materials are countless myriads of living beings, especially fungi and bacteria, which require oxygen and organic materials for their subsistence, and it depends on the open or close, moderately moist or damp, warm or cold nature of the soil, and on some obviously connected factors, how far down these aërobic organisms can thrive. As we go deeper down they become fewer and fewer, and gradually disappear, and (neglecting certain anaërobic bacteria of putrefaction) they are rarely found in marked abundance more than a few inches below the surface soil.

These aërobic fungi and bacteria are the great agents of continued fertility of a soil, and it is they which, living and multiplying in the moist and well-aerated warm interstices of a rich open soil, carry out the useful destruction of organic matter, breaking it up into mineral and gaseous bodies, which are then dissolved in the water bathing the root-hairs or escape into the atmosphere. In this work of destruction they are aided by the oxygen of the air and the solar heat: their own fermentative action is also accompanied by a marked rise of temperature, and the carbon-dioxide and other products of their activity all go to complicate the chemical changes going on in the soil around the roots.

Duclaux has calculated that Aspergillus niger, a common mould fungus, can break down organic substances, such as carbohydrates, at such a rate that a metre cube of the fungus would decompose more than 3000 kilogr. of starch in a year, and this may serve as an example giving some idea of the possibilities in soil.

Analyses of waters containing large quantities of organic matter, as they enter such open soils as those referred to, compared with the drainage water after passing through the upper strata, show that the carbonaceous and nitrogenous materials are broken down to more or less completely oxidised simpler compounds, and that the following chief changes result. The ammonia and some other nitrogenous bodies remain behind in the soil, as also do the phosphoric acid and much of the potash; whereas large quantities of nitric and nitrous acids, together with much sulphuric acid, chlorides, and calcium salts pass away in the drainage. These facts are obviously highly important in agriculture.

Experiments on sewage farms have shown also that the upper soil retains most of the bacteria of the sewage. Koch found at Osmont, near Berlin, that whereas the different sewage waters contained numbers so enormous that each cubic centimeter probably held 38,000,000 germs, the different drainage waters held only 87,000 per c.cm.; and the whole process of water-filtration through sandy soils depends on these well-known facts.

Recent experiments in connection with soil-filtration, however, bring out the further facts that the oxidations which organic matters undergo in the soil—and without which they are useless to the higher plants—are enormously enfeebled if the upper layers of soil are sterilised, so as to deprive them of the myriads of aërobic bacteria, fungi and yeasts which they normally contain, and there can no longer be any doubt as to the importance of the biology of the soil in connection with the preparation of materials suitable for absorption in solution by the root-hairs of agricultural and other plants.

The researches of the last ten years have brought to light a long list of forms, comprising yeasts, such as Hansen's Saccharomyces apiculatus, fungi and bacteria which live and grow in the soil, finding their water and food supplies in the interstices, and under conditions which we now know to be very diverse. They are usually more numerous, in species and individuals, in cultivated farm and garden soils than in woods, prairies, and untilled lands; but the geological nature of the strata, the closeness and otherwise of the soil, its damp or dry character and its average temperature (which depends on many things besides latitude or altitude) and other factors co-operate to rule their distribution and numbers. The fact that cultivated land is so well supplied with manures, air, etc., is of great importance in relation to their relative abundance there, and it is extremely probable that the use of artificial manures lessens their numbers considerably as compared with land on which stable and other animal manures are employed.

A list of the soil-bacteria which have been isolated and more or less carefully cultivated and examined would comprise about fifty species; but it is certain that, as at present classified and named, many more species are to be discovered in any ordinary soil.

The fungi are apparently even more numerous than the bacteria, and we may rest satisfied for the present with the general statement that the life-actions of the myriads of individuals of these organisms in the soil completely alter the question of soil-water as understood by the last generation of agriculturalists.

But there is another aspect of this question of soil-organisms which has grown in importance of late to such an extent that we are more than ever justified in regarding the biology of soil as far more vital to the interests of the plant than its physical or chemical properties. With many of the fungi in the soil the roots of plants have to compete—just as plant competes with plant—for water, salts, and other food-materials. The toadstools which are so conspicuous in fields and forests spring from mycelia which ramify in the ground, and are busily breaking down the remains of other organisms, and just such fungi are known to store up relatively large quantities of salts of potassium and phosphorus—the very salts which are so valuable to crops and occur so sparingly in most soils, but which the extensively spread fungus mycelia can gradually accumulate. Some of these fungi, moreover, are more active in their antagonism, and actually attack and pierce the roots as destructive parasites, but I pass these by for the present, as they form the subject for further consideration when we come to the diseases of plants.

It is obvious that the competition of fungi with root-hairs for mineral salts, oxygen, etc., may be at times acute, and it is extremely probable that cases of so-called sterility of soil, where a particular soil is found unsuitable for a crop, may sometimes be due to this over-competition.

The researches of recent years, however, and especially those of Frank, Winogradsky, Hellriegel, and Stahl, have brought to light a series of relationships between certain of these soil-organisms and the higher plants which place the matter of soil-biology in quite new lights.

On the one hand it has been discovered that groups of bacteria are the active agents in bringing about the destruction of organic nitrogenous matter with the formation of ammonia, in oxidising this ammonia to nitrous and to nitric acids, which combine with bases in the soil to form the corresponding salts; while, on the other hand, other forms can decompose the nitrates and reduce them to nitrites, or set free ammonia or even nitrogen from them. Moreover, there are certain species which can fix the free nitrogen of the atmosphere, and start the cycle of up-building of this inert element into the complex higher compounds we term organic. It is impossible to over-estimate the importance of these processes of nitrification and denitrification going on in the soil about the root-hairs of the higher plants.

But, in addition to this circulation of nitrogen in the soil, it turns out that the life-actions of bacteria, and not mere chemical decompositions, are largely responsible for the circulation of carbon, of iron, of sulphur and other elements formed from the decomposition—also by bacterial and fungal agency—of animal and vegetable remains in the soil.

Even more startling are the biological relations in the soil between the absorbing roots of the higher plants and some of these bacteria and fungi, for it has now been established beyond all doubt that certain fungi enter the living roots and there flourish not as mere destructive parasites, but as messmates not only tolerated by the plant, but even indispensable to its welfare. It is probable that nearly half the plants of our fields, moors, and forests entertain such fungi in their root-tissues. The curious, and long-known nodules on the roots of leguminous plants—peas, beans, clover, etc.—are filled with bacteria which enable these plants to avail themselves of the free nitrogen of the air, and so enrich the soil with nitrogenous substances.

The roots of most forest trees, orchids, and plants of the moorlands, meadows and marshes are similarly occupied by fungi, which in some way convey salts—probably especially phosphates and potassium compounds—to the plant in return for the small tax of organic carbon-compounds it exacts from the latter. In some cases at any rate, as Bernard has lately shown, the very existence of the plant depends on its seedling roots obtaining this advantageous attachment and co-operation (symbiosis) of the fungus immediately on germination.

These remarks must suffice to illustrate this part of my subject, and to emphasise the statement that the question whether a given plant can be grown in a given soil, is by no means one of simply the physical and chemical constitution of the latter. The plant will have to run the gauntlet of a long series of vicissitudes brought about by the presence or absence, relative proportions and vigour, and specific nature of the organisms in the soil at its roots, and it is easy to see that many cases of disease may be due to the absence of advantageous bacteria or fungi, or to circumstances which disfavour their life, as well as to the predominance of competing organisms.

It will now be evident that the old points of view must be abandoned, and with them, especially, the widely prevalent notion that chemical analyses of the plant and soil can explain the real problems of agriculture.

It was of course an enormous advance in the science when, thanks to the splendid labours of the chemists, at the end of the last century and the beginning of this, we obtained that preliminary knowledge of the constitution of the air, and of the composition of the water, acids and salts, etc., which plants require for their food-materials and life-processes. Much was gained by De Saussure's establishment of the fact of oxygen respiration, though we now understand by the term something very different from, and much more complex than, what he understood by it, as, also, much had been gained by the previously acquired knowledge of the gas-exchanges in carbon-assimilation: nor must we forget the services of those who proved, by laborious analyses, continued for long periods, what chemical compounds are found in the tissues of plants, and in the soils at their roots and the atmosphere which surrounded them. We must also remember many other contributions which have been furnished, and are still being furnished by the chemist; and I for one hope that his labours will continue to go hand in hand with those of the physiologist.

But, when all due honour is paid to the scientific chemist, it must still be allowed that his problems are different from the real problems of agriculture. To take one set of instances alone. The chemist can analyse a given soil or a given manure, and can even go a long way towards making them, but his analyses do not tell us what conditions are necessary in order that their ingredients may be presented to the roots so as to be absorbed and become built up into the plant. Chemistry told us that carbon was fixed from the air, but physiological experiments determined how this meant the synthesis of certain definite carbohydrates—this, too, in the face of the powerful authority of the chemist Liebig, who supposed that the vegetable acids were the results of the assimilation of carbon. Wolff, De Saussure, and other chemists have done yeoman service in showing that different plants, growing in the same soil, contain different proportions of mineral substances; but it was by means of water-cultures, and other physiological researches, such as those of Pfeffer on osmotic phenomena and of Schwarz and Molisch on root-hairs, that the puzzling question of selective absorption, by means of the living root-hairs, came into the arena of our knowledge.

In every case—and, as already said, I am not undervaluing the work done—the chemist has left us only on the threshold of the real problem. He has stood outside the factory in which the real work we want to know about is being carried on, and has told us of so many tons of this material being carried in at the gates, and of so many tons of that coming out; he has even burnt down the factory, and all its contents and machinery, and has then told us how many tons of the various materials were there at the time; but this is not what we want, valuable as the information is, and still more will be. What we want, and what we expect to obtain, is more information regarding what is done with the materials in the factory: what machinery they are put into, and how they are put in: what stages they go through, and how the stages follow one another: what wear and tear has to be endured, and how we can step in and stop the working of the machine for our own benefit at the best possible time.

The physiologist proceeds empirically, by experimenting with the living machinery. He recognises the parts and their structure, and tries to find out what they are doing: he knows that the laws of physics and chemistry cannot be traversed, but he sees these laws at work under special and very complex and peculiar conditions. He therefore, as the results of his experiments, sets new questions—or old questions under new conditions, if you like—and undoubtedly wants the help of both chemist and physicist; or, if it is preferred, the chemist and physicist may attack the problems, but they must familiarise themselves with the peculiar mechanism of the organism concerned, and cannot hope to attain success without experimenting with it. I confess it seems to me as reasonable to look upon scientific agriculture as a branch chiefly of chemistry as it would be to look upon horse-breeding or pigeon-rearing from the same point of view; and why the professed chemist's advice is regarded as so comforting and final in the one case and not in the other is one of those mysteries which seem inherent in human nature.

The central point in agriculture is the plant: get the most out of it—the energy-winning machine which alone can keep the animals and everything else connected with the farm going—and all the rest follows. The old agriculture has taken a gloomy view of things, and especially on account of a large variable which it blames for many ills, namely, the season or climate. Perhaps the old agriculture has not sufficiently recognised that Nature grows plants in accordance with the fact that variation is not peculiar to the weather: if the seasons vary, so do fruit and other produce and the plants which yield them; and since man cannot hope to control the one variable, possibly relief will be found in doing more, within his limits, towards controlling others.