Chapter VIII
THE infinite deal of trivial fussiness that has clustered about the botanical name of the Giant Sequoia is, indeed, a grievous misfortune. The tree must regard it all with consummate unconcern. Alone with the past and having a dignity not of earth in its mien it stands as indifferent to agitation that has to do with the petty passions of humanity as the far-away patient stars. Suggestive of no strife save that of emulation, it looks with complacent disdain upon life’s vanities; its strange medley of littleness and greatness, its commingling of folly and wisdom. Yet for all the great Sequoia’s majestic aloofness, its name has become embroiled in endless bickerings and surrounded with technicalities apt to nip any budding enthusiasm for botanical nomenclature.
In order to avoid interminable confusion it is necessary that the plants of the earth be systematically classified and that there be no deviation from the rules governing their classification. Foremost of the rules that have been laid down is that of priority. This dictates that the first name given a new plant in point of time must prevail. If contention or ambiguity arise, priority decides the case, and the first botanical designation bestowed stands for all time, regardless of whether it be appropriate or not. Designations of a subsequent date are entitled to rank as synonyms only. Because of its rigor, this law should admonish botanists to exercise good taste in giving scientific names to hitherto unnamed plants. Another important rule is that the name of the new plant must appear in an accredited publication, otherwise it is technically regarded as unpublished and consequently discarded.
Shortly after the discovery of the Calaveras Grove, the tale of its wonderful Big Trees found its way into print. The Sonora Herald appears to have been the first newspaper to give an account of the Giant Sequoia. This was republished in the Echo du Pacific of San Francisco, appearing later in the London Athenaeum of July 23, 1853. Whitney believes the latter to be the first notice of the tree to appear in Europe.
Naturally, these accounts excited botanists. Specimens of the Big Tree were presented to the California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco early in 1853. Unfortunately, however, the Academy was unable to properly describe the new plant, since it had no references on hand which would enable its botanists to publish a proper scientific description of the mammoth tree. Specimens were subsequently sent East to Torrey and Gray, but again ill fortune attended them and they were lost in crossing the Isthmus of Panama. Meanwhile, William Lobb, an English seed collector, on seeing specimens of the recently discovered vegetable wonder, believed he recognized a species new to science. He secured a sufficient quantity of Sequoia cones, foliage, and wood to characterize the tree and departed for England in the Autumn of 1853. These specimens found their way into the hands of Lindley, who hastily described them in Gardner’s Chronicle of December 24th, of the same year. Thus Lindley, a botanist of no particular eminence, was the first to give a scientific description of the Giant Sequoia, and American botanists lost both the opportunity and honor of naming a very remarkable plant.
Overlooking the close relationship of the Big Tree to the already scientifically described Redwood, Lindley considered it “an entirely new coniferous form ... an evergreen of a most imperial aspect,” which he called Wellingtonia, adding the specific name of Gigantea. The Duke of Wellington had been dead but a year and his greatness had not yet gained the perspective of historical time; hence, Lindley’s designation. “We think,” he wrote, “that no one will differ from us in feeling that the most appropriate name to be proposed for the most gigantic tree which has been revealed to us by modern discovery, is that of the greatest of modern heroes. Wellington stands as high above his contemporaries as the California tree above all the surrounding foresters. Let it, then, bear henceforth the name of Wellingtonia Gigantea.”
In bestowing on an essentially American tree the name of an essentially English hero, Lindley showed execrable taste. He might have foreseen that such an act was almost certain to fire those who felt a consuming contempt for anything British. Promptly the fine rules of botanical nomenclature were thrown overboard, and Americans, eager to make a self-righteous display of their enmity, proceeded on no principles, and with terrible energy of language, to disturb the designation. Gradually the agitation centered upon changing the name Wellingtonia to one bearing reference to Washington. Nor was any evidence brought forward considered too trivial to substantiate the reasons for this change.
Perhaps the most withering rebuke of all was that of Winslow. In the California Farmer of August, 1854, appeared the following: ... “as Washington and his generation declared themselves independent of all English rule and political dictation, so American naturalists must, in this case, express their respectful dissent from all British scientific stamp acts. If the Big Tree be a Taxodium, let it be called now and forever Taxodium Washingtonium.... No name can be more appropriate; and if, in accordance with the views of American botanists, I trust the scientific honor of our country may be vindicated from foreign indelicacy by boldly discarding the name now applied to it, and by affixing to it that of the immortal man whose memory we all love, and honor, and teach our children to adore.”
Even Asa Gray felt entitled to rush into the field. In September of the same year he published, on his own authority, an account stating that the Redwood and the Big Tree did not differ sufficiently to warrant the establishment of a new genus; adding “The so-called Wellingtonia will hereafter bear the name imposed by Dr. Torrey, namely, that of Sequoia Gigantea.” But since there is no documentary evidence to show that Torrey had published this description, the quibble remained unsettled. The English stood at their guns and the storm raged on. Surely, if so venerable a Sequoia as the Grizzly Giant could have been endowed with a consciousness and could have thought about this ostentatious parade of pettiness, it would not have been inspired with that “high and ennobling sense” of the intellectual destiny of the human race.
Happily, the issue was quieted for a time.[6] At a meeting of the Société Botanique de France, held on June 28, 1854, the illustrious French botanist, J. Decaisne, discussed at length the relationship of the Redwood and the Big Tree. He pointed out that though they differed in leaf structure, the former having yew-like leaves in two ranks, the latter small, scaly, cypress-like leaves in regular spirals, the two species belonged to the same genus Sequoia. Therefore, in compliance with the rules of botany, he called the new species Sequoia Gigantea. Other botanists quickly recognized the correctness of his view, and Wellingtonia Gigantea was permitted to fall upon evil days. Nevertheless, it is due to this accident of the generic agreement between the Redwood and the Big Tree that the Giants of the Sierra bear the name of Sequoia instead of that of Wellington.
But this botanical storm had no sooner died down than another developed in its place. Inasmuch as the derivation of the name Sequoia was uncertain, this was sufficient provocation to call forth much diversity of opinion. Again spectacled wise men sought to satisfy their passion for exactness and their propensity to doubt. Guesses fantastic in the extreme were advanced and the subject presents another silly spectacle of pedantry.
According to Jepson, the Redwood was collected by Thaddeus Haneke in 1791. Archibald Menzies, a member of the famous Vancouver Expedition, is reputed to be its second botanical collector. Specimens of his collection came before the notice of Lambert, the able English botanist, who, considering it as of the same genus as the Bald Cypress, published it in 1824 as Taxodium Sempervirens. However, this designation was not allowed to stand, for twenty-three years later the Redwood was recognized as a distinct genus. In the year 1847 the celebrated Austrian, Endlicher, established the genus Sequoia and gave the world the now well-known Sequoia sempervirens.
Unfortunately, Endlicher failed to make a statement concerning the origin of the word Sequoia, leaving its meaning to be inferred. Gordon in his Pinetum stated that it was probably derived from the Latin for “sequence,” alluding to the fact that the Redwood was “a follower or remnant of several extinct colossal species.” Kotch was inclined to hold the name in light estimation, claiming its source to be entirely fanciful. De Candolle, a contemporary with Endlicher, thought it of California origin, probably taken “from some native word and written more or less correctly.” But others have kept their heads better in the matter. Both Hooker and Englemann believed it derived from the Cherokee Indian, Sequoyah. At least, it is edifying to know that Endlicher was an eminent linguist as well as a botanist. It is not improbable, then, that he was acquainted with Sequoyah’s colorful career and named the tree in honor of this aboriginal illiterate, this magnificent savage, who groped in darkness to give his people letters, and found the light.