said.
Wedderburn felt a little hurt at her dislike to the plant. But that did
not prevent his talking to her about orchids generally, and this orchid in
particular, whenever he felt inclined.
"There are such queer things about orchids," he said one day; "such
possibilities of surprises. You know, Darwin studied their fertilisation,
and showed that the whole structure of an ordinary orchid flower was
contrived in order that moths might carry the pollen from plant to plant.
Well, it seems that there are lots of orchids known the flower of which
cannot possibly be used for fertilisation in that way. Some of the
Cypripediums, for instance; there are no insects known that can possibly
fertilise them, and some of them have never been found with seed."
"But how do they form new plants?"
"By runners and tubers, and that kind of outgrowth. That is easily
explained. The puzzle is, what are the flowers for?
"Very likely," he added, "_my_ orchid may be something extraordinary
in that way. If so I shall study it. I have often thought of making
researches as Darwin did. But hitherto I have not found the time, or
something else has happened to prevent it. The leaves are beginning to
unfold now. I do wish you would come and see them!"
But she said that the orchid-house was so hot it gave her the headache.
She had seen the plant once again, and the aerial rootlets, which were now
some of them more than a foot long, had unfortunately reminded her of
tentacles reaching out after something; and they got into her dreams,
growing after her with incredible rapidity. So that she had settled to her
entire satisfaction that she would not see that plant again, and
Wedderburn had to admire its leaves alone. They were of the ordinary broad
form, and a deep glossy green, with splashes and dots of deep red towards
the base He knew of no other leaves quite like them. The plant was placed
on a low bench near the thermometer, and close by was a simple arrangement
by which a tap dripped on the hot-water pipes and kept the air steamy. And
he spent his afternoons now with some regularity meditating on the
approaching flowering of this strange plant.
And at last the great thing happened. Directly he entered the little glass
house he knew that the spike had burst out, although his great
_Paloeonophis Lowii_ hid the corner where his new darling stood.
There was a new odour in the air, a rich, intensely sweet scent, that
overpowered every other in that crowded, steaming little greenhouse.
Directly he noticed this he hurried down to the strange orchid. And,
behold! the trailing green spikes bore now three great splashes of
blossom, from which this overpowering sweetness proceeded. He stopped
before them in an ecstasy of admiration.
The flowers were white, with streaks of golden orange upon the petals; the
heavy labellum was coiled into an intricate projection, and a wonderful
bluish purple mingled there with the gold. He could see at once that the
genus was altogether a new one. And the insufferable scent! How hot the
place was! The blossoms swam before his eyes.
He would see if the temperature was right. He made a step towards the
thermometer. Suddenly everything appeared unsteady. The bricks on the
floor were dancing up and down. Then the white blossoms, the green leaves
behind them, the whole greenhouse, seemed to sweep sideways, and then in a
curve upward.
* * * * *
At half-past four his cousin made the tea, according to their invariable
custom. But Wedderburn did not come in for his tea.
"He is worshipping that horrid orchid," she told herself, and waited ten
minutes. "His watch must have stopped. I will go and call him."
She went straight to the hothouse, and, opening the door, called his name.
There was no reply. She noticed that the air was very close, and loaded
with an intense perfume. Then she saw something lying on the bricks
between the hot-water pipes.
For a minute, perhaps, she stood motionless.
He was lying, face upward, at the foot of the strange orchid. The
tentacle-like aerial rootlets no longer swayed freely in the air, but were
crowded together, a tangle of grey ropes, and stretched tight, with their
ends closely applied to his chin and neck and hands.
She did not understand. Then she saw from under one of the exultant
tentacles upon his cheek there trickled a little thread of blood.
With an inarticulate cry she ran towards him, and tried to pull him away
from the leech-like suckers. She snapped two of these tentacles, and their
sap dripped red.
Then the overpowering scent of the blossom began to make her head reel.
How they clung to him! She tore at the tough ropes, and he and the white
inflorescence swam about her. She felt she was fainting, knew she must
not. She left him and hastily opened the nearest door, and, after she had
panted for a moment in the fresh air, she had a brilliant inspiration. She
caught up a flower-pot and smashed in the windows at the end of the
greenhouse. Then she re-entered. She tugged now with renewed strength at
Wedderburn's motionless body, and brought the strange orchid crashing to
the floor. It still clung with the grimmest tenacity to its victim. In a
frenzy, she lugged it and him into the open air.
Then she thought of tearing through the sucker rootlets one by one, and in
another minute she had released him and was dragging him away from the
horror.
He was white and bleeding from a dozen circular patches.
The odd-job man was coming up the garden, amazed at the smashing of glass,
and saw her emerge, hauling the inanimate body with red-stained hands. For
a moment he thought impossible things.
"Bring some water!" she cried, and her voice dispelled his fancies. When,
with unnatural alacrity, he returned with the water, he found her weeping
with excitement, and with Wedderburn's head upon her knee, wiping the
blood from his face.
"What's the matter?" said Wedderburn, opening his eyes feebly, and closing
them again at once.
"Go and tell Annie to come out here to me, and then go for Dr. Haddon at
once," she said to the odd-job man so soon as he brought the water; and
added, seeing he hesitated, "I will tell you all about it when you come
back."
Presently Wedderburn opened his eyes again, and, seeing that he was
troubled by the puzzle of his position, she explained to him, "You fainted
in the hothouse."
"And the orchid?"
"I will see to that," she said.
Wedderburn had lost a good deal of blood, but beyond that he had suffered
no very great injury. They gave him brandy mixed with some pink extract of
meat, and carried him upstairs to bed. His housekeeper told her incredible
story in fragments to Dr. Haddon. "Come to the orchid-house and see," she
said.
The cold outer air was blowing in through the open door, and the sickly
perfume was almost dispelled. Most of the torn aerial rootlets lay already
withered amidst a number of dark stains upon the bricks. The stem of the
inflorescence was broken by the fall of the plant, and the flowers were
growing limp and brown at the edges of the petals. The doctor stooped
towards it, then saw that one of the aerial rootlets still stirred feebly,
and hesitated.
The next morning the strange orchid still lay there, black now and
putrescent. The door banged intermittently in the morning breeze, and all
the array of Wedderburn's orchids was shrivelled and prostrate. But
Wedderburn himself was bright and garrulous upstairs in the glory of his
strange adventure.
V.
IN THE AVU OBSERVATORY.
The observatory at Avu, in Borneo, stands on the spur of the mountain. To
the north rises the old crater, black at night against the unfathomable
blue of the sky. From the little circular building, with its mushroom
dome, the slopes plunge steeply downward into the black mysteries of the
tropical forest beneath. The little house in which the observer and his
assistant live is about fifty yards from the observatory, and beyond this
are the huts of their native attendants.
Thaddy, the chief observer, was down with a slight fever. His assistant,
Woodhouse, paused for a moment in silent contemplation of the tropical
night before commencing his solitary vigil. The night was very still. Now
and then voices and laughter came from the native huts, or the cry of some
strange animal was heard from the midst of the mystery of the forest.
Nocturnal insects appeared in ghostly fashion out of the darkness, and
fluttered round his light. He thought, perhaps, of all the possibilities
of discovery that still lay in the black tangle beneath him; for to the
naturalist the virgin forests of Borneo are still a wonderland full of
strange questions and half-suspected discoveries. Woodhouse carried a
small lantern in his hand, and its yellow glow contrasted vividly with the
infinite series of tints between lavender-blue and black in which the
landscape was painted. His hands and face were smeared with ointment
against the attacks of the mosquitoes.
Even in these days of celestial photography, work done in a purely
temporary erection, and with only the most primitive appliances in
addition to the telescope, still involves a very large amount of cramped
and motionless watching. He sighed as he thought of the physical fatigues
before him, stretched himself, and entered the observatory.
The reader is probably familiar with the structure of an ordinary
astronomical observatory. The building is usually cylindrical in shape,
with a very light hemispherical roof capable of being turned round from
the interior. The telescope is supported upon a stone pillar in the
centre, and a clockwork arrangement compensates for the earth's rotation,
and allows a star once found to be continuously observed. Besides this,
there is a compact tracery of wheels and screws about its point of
support, by which the astronomer adjusts it. There is, of course, a slit
in the movable roof which follows the eye of the telescope in its survey
of the heavens. The observer sits or lies on a sloping wooden arrangement,
which he can wheel to any part of the observatory as the position of the
telescope may require. Within it is advisable to have things as dark as
possible, in order to enhance the brilliance of the stars observed.
The lantern flared as Woodhouse entered his circular den, and the general
darkness fled into black shadows behind the big machine, from which it
presently seemed to creep back over the whole place again as the light
waned. The slit was a profound transparent blue, in which six stars shone
with tropical brilliance, and their light lay, a pallid gleam, along the
black tube of the instrument. Woodhouse shifted the roof, and then
proceeding to the telescope, turned first one wheel and then another, the
great cylinder slowly swinging into a new position. Then he glanced
through the finder, the little companion telescope, moved the roof a
little more, made some further adjustments, and set the clockwork in
motion. He took off his jacket, for the night was very hot, and pushed
into position the uncomfortable seat to which he was condemned for the
next four hours. Then with a sigh he resigned himself to his watch upon
the mysteries of space.
There was no sound now in the observatory, and the lantern waned steadily.
Outside there was the occasional cry of some animal in alarm or pain, or
calling to its mate, and the intermittent sounds of the Malay and Dyak
servants. Presently one of the men began a queer chanting song, in which
the others joined at intervals. After this it would seem that they turned
in for the night, for no further sound came from their direction, and the
whispering stillness became more and more profound.
The clockwork ticked steadily. The shrill hum of a mosquito explored the
place and grew shriller in indignation at Woodhouse's ointment. Then the
lantern went out and all the observatory was black.
Woodhouse shifted his position presently, when the slow movement of the
telescope had carried it beyond the limits of his comfort.
He was watching a little group of stars in the Milky Way, in one of which
his chief had seen or fancied a remarkable colour variability. It was not
a part of the regular work for which the establishment existed, and for
that reason perhaps Woodhouse was deeply interested. He must have
forgotten things terrestrial. All his attention was concentrated upon the
great blue circle of the telescope field--a circle powdered, so it seemed,
with an innumerable multitude of stars, and all luminous against the
blackness of its setting. As he watched he seemed to himself to become
incorporeal, as if he too were floating in the ether of space. Infinitely
remote was the faint red spot he was observing.
Suddenly the stars were blotted out. A flash of blackness passed, and they
were visible again.
"Queer," said Woodhouse. "Must have been a bird."
The thing happened again, and immediately after the great tube shivered as
though it had been struck. Then the dome of the observatory resounded with
a series of thundering blows. The stars seemed to sweep aside as the
telescope--which had been unclamped--swung round and away from the slit in
the roof.
"Great Scott!" cried Woodhouse. "What's this?"
Some huge vague black shape, with a flapping something like a wing, seemed
to be struggling in the aperture of the roof. In another moment the slit
was clear again, and the luminous haze of the Milky Way shone warm and
bright.
The interior of the roof was perfectly black, and only a scraping sound
marked the whereabouts of the unknown creature.
Woodhouse had scrambled from the seat to his feet. He was trembling
violently and in a perspiration with the suddenness of the occurrence. Was
the thing, whatever it was, inside or out? It was big, whatever else it
might be. Something shot across the skylight, and the telescope swayed. He
started violently and put his arm up. It was in the observatory, then,
with him. It was clinging to the roof apparently. What the devil was it?
Could it see him?
He stood for perhaps a minute in a state of stupefaction. The beast,
whatever it was, clawed at the interior of the dome, and then something
flapped almost into his face, and he saw the momentary gleam of starlight
on a skin like oiled leather. His water-bottle was knocked off his little
table with a smash.
The sense of some strange bird-creature hovering a few yards from his face
in the darkness was indescribably unpleasant to Woodhouse. As his thought
returned he concluded that it must be some night-bird or large bat. At any
risk he would see what it was, and pulling a match from his pocket, he
tried to strike it on the telescope seat. There was a smoking streak of
phosphorescent light, the match flared for a moment, and he saw a vast
wing sweeping towards him, a gleam of grey-brown fur, and then he was
struck in the face and the match knocked out of his hand. The blow was
aimed at his temple, and a claw tore sideways down to his cheek. He reeled
and fell, and he heard the extinguished lantern smash. Another blow
followed as he fell. He was partly stunned, he felt his own warm blood
stream out upon his face. Instinctively he felt his eyes had been struck
at, and, turning over on his face to save them, tried to crawl under the
protection of the telescope.
He was struck again upon the back, and he heard his jacket rip, and then
the thing hit the roof of the observatory. He edged as far as he could
between the wooden seat and the eyepiece of the instrument, and turned his
body round so that it was chiefly his feet that were exposed. With these
he could at least kick. He was still in a mystified state. The strange
beast banged about in the darkness, and presently clung to the telescope,
making it sway and the gear rattle. Once it flapped near him, and he
kicked out madly and felt a soft body with his feet. He was horribly
scared now. It must be a big thing to swing the telescope like that. He
saw for a moment the outline of a head black against the starlight, with
sharply-pointed upstanding ears and a crest between them. It seemed to him
to be as big as a mastiff's. Then he began to bawl out as loudly as he
could for help.
At that the thing came down upon him again. As it did so his hand touched
something beside him on the floor. He kicked out, and the next moment his
ankle was gripped and held by a row of keen teeth. He yelled again, and
tried to free his leg by kicking with the other. Then he realised he had
the broken water-bottle at his hand, and, snatching it, he struggled into
a sitting posture, and feeling in the darkness towards his foot, gripped a
velvety ear, like the ear of a big cat. He had seized the water-bottle by
its neck and brought it down with a shivering crash upon the head of the
strange beast. He repeated the blow, and then stabbed and jabbed with the
jagged end of it, in the darkness, where he judged the face might be.
The small teeth relaxed their hold, and at once Woodhouse pulled his leg
free and kicked hard. He felt the sickening feel of fur and bone giving
under his boot. There was a tearing bite at his arm, and he struck over it
at the face, as he judged, and hit damp fur.
There was a pause; then he heard the sound of claws; and the dragging of a
heavy body away from him over the observatory floor. Then there was
silence, broken only by his own sobbing breathing, and a sound like
licking. Everything was black except the parallelogram of the blue
skylight with the luminous dust of stars, against which the end of the
telescope now appeared in silhouette. He waited, as it seemed, an
interminable time.
Was the thing coming on again? He felt in his trouser-pocket for some
matches, and found one remaining. He tried to strike this, but the floor
was wet, and it spat and went out. He cursed. He could not see where the
door was situated. In his struggle he had quite lost his bearings. The
strange beast, disturbed by the splutter of the match, began to move
again. "Time!" called Woodhouse, with a sudden gleam of mirth, but the
thing was not coming at him again. He must have hurt it, he thought, with
the broken bottle. He felt a dull pain in his ankle. Probably he was
bleeding there. He wondered if it would support him if he tried to stand
up. The night outside was very still. There was no sound of any one
moving. The sleepy fools had not heard those wings battering upon the
dome, nor his shouts. It was no good wasting strength in shouting. The
monster flapped its wings and startled him into a defensive attitude. He
hit his elbow against the seat, and it fell over with a crash. He cursed
this, and then he cursed the darkness.
Suddenly the oblong patch of starlight seemed to sway to and fro. Was he
going to faint? It would never do to faint. He clenched his fists and set
his teeth to hold himself together. Where had the door got to? It occurred
to him he could get his bearings by the stars visible through the
skylight. The patch of stars he saw was in Sagittarius and south-eastward;
the door was north--or was it north by west? He tried to think. If he
could get the door open he might retreat. It might be the thing was
wounded. The suspense was beastly. "Look here!" he said, "if you don't
come on, I shall come at you."
Then the thing began clambering up the side of the observatory, and he saw
its black outline gradually blot out the skylight. Was it in retreat? He
forgot about the door, and watched as the dome shifted and creaked.
Somehow he did not feel very frightened or excited now. He felt a curious
sinking sensation inside him. The sharply-defined patch of light, with the
black form moving across it, seemed to be growing smaller and smaller.
That was curious. He began to feel very thirsty, and yet he did not feel
inclined to get anything to drink. He seemed to be sliding down a long
funnel.
He felt a burning sensation in his throat, and then he perceived it was
broad daylight, and that one of the Dyak servants was looking at him with
a curious expression. Then there was the top of Thaddy's face upside down.
Funny fellow, Thaddy, to go about like that! Then he grasped the situation
better, and perceived that his head was on Thaddy's knee, and Thaddy was
giving him brandy. And then he saw the eyepiece of the telescope with a
lot of red smears on it. He began to remember.
"You've made this observatory in a pretty mess," said Thaddy.
The Dyak boy was beating up an egg in brandy. Woodhouse took this and sat
up. He felt a sharp twinge of pain. His ankle was tied up, so were his
arm and the side of his face. The smashed glass, red-stained, lay about
the floor, the telescope seat was overturned, and by the opposite wall was
a dark pool. The door was open, and he saw the grey summit of the mountain
against a brilliant background of blue sky.
"Pah!" said Woodhouse. "Who's been killing calves here? Take me out of
it."
Then he remembered the Thing, and the fight he had had with it.
"What _was_ it?" he said to Thaddy--"the Thing I fought with?".
"_You_ know that best," said Thaddy. "But, anyhow, don't worry
yourself now about it. Have some more to drink."
Thaddy, however, was curious enough, and it was a hard struggle between
duty and inclination to keep Woodhouse quiet until he was decently put
away in bed, and had slept upon the copious dose of meat extract Thaddy
considered advisable. They then talked it over together.
"It was," said Woodhouse, "more like a big bat than anything else in the
world. It had sharp, short ears, and soft fur, and its wings were
leathery. Its teeth were little but devilish sharp, and its jaw could not
have been very strong or else it would have bitten through my ankle."
"It has pretty nearly," said Thaddy.
"It seemed to me to hit out with its claws pretty freely. That is about as
much as I know about the beast. Our conversation was intimate, so to
speak, and yet not confidential."
"The Dyak chaps talk about a Big Colugo, a Klang-utang--whatever that may
be. It does not often attack man, but I suppose you made it nervous. They
say there is a Big Colugo and a Little Colugo, and a something else that
sounds like gobble. They all fly about at night. For my own part, I know
there are flying foxes and flying lemurs about here, but they are none of
them very big beasts."
"There are more things in heaven and earth," said Woodhouse--and Thaddy
groaned at the quotation--"and more particularly in the forests of Borneo,
than are dreamt of in our philosophies. On the whole, if the Borneo fauna
is going to disgorge any more of its novelties upon me, I should prefer
that it did so when I was not occupied in the observatory at night and
alone."
VI.
AEPYORNIS ISLAND.
The man with the scarred face leant over the table and looked at my
bundle.
"Orchids?" he asked.
"A few," I said.
"Cypripediums," he said.
"Chiefly," said I.
"Anything new? I thought not. _I_ did these islands twenty-five--
twenty-seven years ago. If you find anything new here--well, it's brand
new. I didn't leave much."
"I'm not a collector," said I.
"I was young then," he went on. "Lord! how I used to fly round." He seemed
to take my measure. "I was in the East Indies two years, and in Brazil
seven. Then I went to Madagascar."
"I know a few explorers by name," I said, anticipating a yarn. "Whom did
you collect for?"
"Dawson's. I wonder if you've heard the name of Butcher ever?"
"Butcher--Butcher?" The name seemed vaguely present in my memory;
then I recalled _Butcher_ v. _Dawson_. "Why!" said I, "you are the
man who sued them for four years' salary--got cast away on a desert
island..."
"Your servant," said the man with the scar, bowing. "Funny case, wasn't
it? Here was me, making a little fortune on that island, doing nothing
for it neither, and them quite unable to give me notice. It often used
to amuse me thinking over it while I was there. I did calculations of
it--big--all over the blessed atoll in ornamental figuring."
"How did it happen?" said I. "I don't rightly remember the case."
"Well... You've heard of the AEpyornis?"
"Rather. Andrews was telling me of a new species he was working on only a
month or so ago. Just before I sailed. They've got a thigh bone, it seems,
nearly a yard long. Monster the thing must have been!"
"I believe you," said the man with the scar. "It _was_ a monster.
Sindbad's roc was just a legend of 'em. But when did they find these
bones?"
"Three or four years ago--'91, I fancy. Why?"