Shakespeare's words to the effect that the man who has no music in
himself is fit only for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, might
appropriately be adapted to flowers. Certainly the man or woman who
finds it impossible to love the rose and the violet, the chrysanthemum,
and even the simple little primrose which will be so much abroad
during this month of April, is lamentably lacking in something. So
much is indisputable of flowers in general, and of the subject of this
paper in particular. The rose alone excepted, no plant has inspired
the abiding love shown for the orchid, and, not even excepting the
rose, none has been the object of such enthusiasm. The study of the
orchidaceous family, as some one has said, is a liberal education, and
it was once declared, with all the authority of print, that Mr. Joseph
Chamberlain must be possessed of a fine character because he loves
these extraordinary flowers. If the predilection for orchids is to be
accepted as proof of any such possession, the English race is in no
danger of deterioration.
Many of our readers will have heard of the tulip mania which raged
so fiercely in Holland about the middle of the seventeenth century,
when simply fabulous prices were given for a single bulb. There was
little that was either reasonable or explicable in the desire to secure
the tulip at all costs, but the popularity of the orchid is easily
understood by anyone who cares to go into the subject. We venture to
believe that by the time we have said all we have to say--and how small
a portion that is of what we could say!--those who peruse this paper
will find it somewhat difficult to resist running off to the nearest
nurseryman and asking to be shown over his houses, or to the nearest
bookseller and ordering one of the numerous popular manuals which will
instruct them how to set about becoming orchid growers themselves. We
have often heard the uninitiated wonder what there is to attract in the
orchid, more than in any other beautiful flower. Well, to say nothing
of its exquisite and unique charm as a mere spectacle, Darwin gave many
reasons, and the Darwinian mind, we believe, has actually sought to
show that the orchid is the missing link between animal and vegetable
nature. The student will find lots to support this fascinating theory,
and to induce him to think that if the other missing link--that between
the man and the animal--is discoverable, we shall have completed the
chain of nature starting with man and ending with the garden cabbage.
But all this is another story, with which it is not our province now to
deal.
Orchids have been really popular about twenty-five years. They were
well known in the last century, but they were the possession of
the privileged few, and were regarded as a mere floral curiosity.
One day, however, some sixty years or more ago, the late Duke of
Devonshire chanced to come across an orchid from Demerara, which bore
an extraordinary resemblance to a butterfly. His delight was immense,
and he proceeded forthwith to cultivate the plant, of which a variety
is shown in our illustration of the _Oncidium Kramerianum_. A little
later he purchased a "Moth Orchid," for which he paid 100 guineas; and
to the interest taken in these floral mimics by the ancestor of Lord
Hartington are traceable the developments which have been so remarkable
during the last decade or two.
Almost the first thing that strikes the spectator at an orchid show
for the first time, after he has recovered from a sort of shock at
the overwhelming beauty of the display--a display out-rivalling the
rainbow in its variety and blend of colour--is the quite ludicrous
resemblance of many of the flowers to animals, birds, and insects.
Bees, spiders, grasshoppers, flies, lizards, and toads are quite common
forms of orchid mimicry. Our illustration of _Cycnoches Warscewiczii_
shows a swan, with a curious-looking tuft upon its breast. Another
species is very like a dove as it may be seen hovering for an instant
near the branch of a tree before alighting. One group has a flower in
which a resemblance to the monkey is found; but the most ludicrous
of mimetic vagaries is surely that of the species known popularly as
the "Man Orchid." "Dressed like an acrobat in skin tunic of green,
it swings as if gibbeted, in company with some fifty other little
felons." But the flower is not content to run animate nature close
in outward appearance; it evinces a disposition to rival man in the
manufacture of various kinds of appliances. It takes a hint from the
boot-maker, and produces the "Lady's Slipper"; it provides for the
wants of a young family, and turns out a "Cradle"; it even resolves
itself into a sort of swimming bath, in which the bee sometimes finds
himself involuntarily immersed, and from which he escapes by means of
a side-door arrangement. Well might Darwin say that the orchid family
seemed to have been modelled in the wildest caprice. Proteus himself
was incapable of assuming so many shapes.
[Illustration: CYCNOCHES WARSCEWICZII.]
[Illustration: ONCIDIUM KRAMERIANUM.]
The prevalent notion that these marvels are only for the owners of
heavily-laden pockets dies hard. A pious wish that orchids were less
expensive and could be grown at home is not uncommon. It will be a
revelation to some people to learn that an orchid which shall be a
source of endless amusement and of considerable instruction may be had
for a few shillings. Whether, in short, you have a few odd hundred
pounds or merely a few odd hundred farthings to spare, you may gratify
your love for this particular flower. You cannot expect to walk into,
say, Mr. Bull's establishment in the King's-road, Chelsea, some day
when you are passing, and for the price of a couple of dozen cigars
appropriate the beautiful _Cœlogyne cristata alba_, some idea
of whose virgin purity is conveyed in our illustration. This plant
originally cost Mr. Bull £200. Great as this price is, it is barely
two-thirds of the record; £300 has been exceeded for a single plant.
Mr. Bull possesses a variety of the "Lady's Slipper" for which he paid
that very figure. In 1883 Sir Trevor Lawrence paid 235 guineas for an
orchid, and Baron Schröder paid £165 and £160 respectively for two
plants. Many firms have paid hundreds of pounds for the possession of
a rare species, whilst, of course, one may often hear of a collection
being sold for many thousands. At the same time, Mr. Bull or Messrs.
Veitch, or any well-known cultivator will be happy to place orchids,
which a few years ago were beyond the reach of even a large proportion
of the middle classes, at your disposal for five or six shillings.
[Illustration: CŒLOGYNE CRISTATA ALBA.]
And be it understood, in buying an orchid you can never be quite
sure that you have not secured a veritable treasure. The speculative
element enters into orchid-collection to a degree undreamt of by the
outsider. As the value of the most valuable just purchased by a duke
may disappear in an hour, so that of the most common just purchased by
yourself may be augmented a hundred-fold by an eccentricity. Take an
instance of depreciation recorded by Mr. F. W. Burbidge. A species of
"Lady's Slipper" was imported and the single plant fetched £100 easily.
But the home of the plant was discovered, and in the course of a week
or two nurserymen were selling the same thing for five shillings.
On the other hand, Pescatore's _Odontoglot_, we are told, had been
imported for years, and plants might be picked up for a few shillings
each, when "quite unexpectedly a lovely form heavily barred with purple
appeared, and, had it been sold by auction when first it flowered,
it would have brought from £50 to £100." Before it bloomed the plant
would, in common with others of the same species, have been readily
disposed of for a trifle.
A friend of Mr. Burbidge's chanced to buy cheap a number of
plants which were "hanging fire." "They were shrivelled plants of
_Odontoglossums_ in paper bags, and they took a good deal of skill
and attention to bring them into vigour and health again. But when
they bloomed some of them turned out very distinct, and an offer of
£500 made for the lot as they stood, after the first five or six had
bloomed, was not accepted." The most interesting piece of luck of this
sort, however, which we have come across is related by Mr. Frederick
Boyle. A Mr. Spicer, a tea planter in Sylhet, knowing his mother
in England was fond of orchids, sent her some plants. They were an
ordinary "Lady's Slipper" variety. Mrs. Spicer brought them to flower,
and noticed certain curious characteristics. She consulted an expert,
with the result that he paid her seventy guineas down and carried off
the plant. "For years," says Mr. Boyle, "this lovely species was a
prize for dukes and millionaires," and its introduction was due to
a son's desire to gratify his mother's tastes by sending her a few
everyday orchids!
The mention of this discovery brings us to the more tragic side of
orchid collecting. Mr. Sander, the famous orchid grower of St. Albans,
despatched a representative to try to find the particular species which
had proved so profitable to Mrs. Spicer. After many fruitless efforts,
"Mr. Forsterman got on the track, but in the very moment of triumph a
tiger barred the way, his coolies bolted, and nothing would persuade
them to go further. Mr. Forsterman was no _shikari_, but he felt
himself called upon to uphold the cause of science and the honour of
England at this juncture. In great agitation he went for that feline,
and, in short, its skin and its story were conspicuous attractions of
his cottage in the after years."
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM HUMEANUM.]
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM CERVANTESII DECORUM.]
The perils which men face in the search for orchids are as great as
those encountered by the prospector for precious stones and metal, or
by the missionary who goes forth into the wild corners of the earth
to preach God's Word. We know of one man who, by pluck and diplomacy,
has managed to pass unscathed among the cannibals of New Guinea. When
he first arrived, he was honoured by a careful overhauling on the
part of the natives, who ultimately declared that he was too thin to
eat. He has since made himself more or less at home with them, though
he has only succeeded in winning their esteem by sitting down to the
same dish and partaking of its contents, whatever they might be, and
in compelling their respect by placing a few inches of cold steel at
his side, and giving them an occasional object-lesson in the wonders
of the revolver. He carries his life in his hands, and all for the
sake of the chance of finding an orchid with some feature possessed
by none other. The collector who would make his mark must be prepared
for hazardous marches, for hanging like a sailor by his eyebrows over
mighty precipices, or for wading for days in swamps. He must have
self-reliance, resource, patience, knowledge, and endurance.
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM CRISPUM.]
The orchid has not only its heroes, it has its martyrs as well. Any
great grower will give one the names of a dozen men who have sacrificed
all in their efforts to add to the list of species. Collectors have
been lost in Panama, Rio Hacha, Ecuador, Sierra Leone, Orinoco, and
probably other places. "I wonder," said a friend to Mr. Burbidge,
"if orchid amateurs ever give a thought as to the real price their
orchids cost," and he proceeded to enumerate the names of such men as
Bruchmueller, Zahn, Hutton, Klaboch, Endres, Chesterton, and Freeman,
who have died in the interests of the orchid lover. "On the roll of
martyrs to orchidology," says Mr. Boyle, with enthusiasm, "Mr. Pearce
stands high. To him we owe, among many fine things, the hybrid Begonias
which are becoming such favourites for bedding and other purposes....
It was his great luck and great honour to find _Masdevallia Veitchii_,
so long, so often, so laboriously searched for from that day to
this, but never even heard of. To collect another shipment of this
glorious orchid, Mr. Pearce sailed for Peru in the service, I think,
of Mr. Bull. Unhappily--for us as well as for himself--he was
detained at Panama. Somewhere in those parts there is a magnificent
_Cypripedium_.[A] The poor fellow could not resist this temptation.
They told him at Panama that no white man had returned from the spot,
but he went on. The Indians brought him back some days or weeks later,
without the prize; and he died on arrival."
Even when the precious plant is secured, and danger to life and limb
is past, the difficulties to be overcome are enormous. To bring a
million sterling in gold from Paris or New York under special and
vigilant guard, is a process almost simple when compared with the
jealous care which has to be expended on the transportation of
orchids. It sometimes happens that on opening the cases on arrival in
England, a valuable collection is found to have rotted _en route_,
and the importer realises that hundreds of pounds have been spent and
lives risked, to secure worthless roots! The orchid importer needs a
stout heart and unlimited enterprise, and some of us may well wonder
how he manages to make the business pay at all when we think of the
ambassadors he employs in nearly every clime, of the funds which he has
occasionally to place at their disposal, and of the fact that one loss
may involve a sum equal to a fair annual income. On the other hand, if
he is the lucky possessor of a variety of value, the plant creates the
greatest enthusiasm in orchid circles, and is consequently a source of
immense profit.
We have in these pages taken a rapid glance at the more popular, it may
even be said the more romantic, side of the work of orchid collection.
Enough has been said, we hope, to show why the study of orchidology
is a liberal education. What a wealth of natural history of the most
fascinating kind it opens up! Nothing more striking is recorded in
nature than the manner in which the bee fertilises the orchid, to give
the least adequate account of which would involve another half-dozen
pages of this magazine. The majority of us probably would be surprised
to learn that but few orchids grow in the ground. They are found often
high up on the branches of some monarch of the primeval forest, and
the proverbial needle in the bundle of hay might be discovered half
a dozen times over whilst the collector is searching for a single
plant. Others appear, however, quite low down. The tree-growing orchid
is an epiphyte. That is to say, though it lives on the tree it makes
the branch a resting-place only. It gets its nourishment from the
atmosphere and not the tree, as does the mistletoe for instance. One
orchid, a _Diacrium_, actually grows on rocks within reach of the spray
from the salt sea waves.
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM CIRROSUM.]
To follow in the footsteps of the collector is to acquire a
considerable knowledge of the countries of the earth. Orchids luxuriate
in warm and humid places, thousands of feet above the level of the sea.
They have outdistanced the Anglo-Saxon in the number of lands they
have colonised. You may find them in Africa, in North, Central, and
South America, in Australia and New Zealand, in Asia, in Madagascar,
in Europe--everywhere except in very cold climates. One day the orchid
hunter may be on the high road of civilisation, pursuing his quest like
an ordinary tourist; another he will have plunged into regions dark as
darkest Africa, as far removed from modern conditions as the dwarfs
of Stanley's limitless forest. In the search for a single orchid he
comes across many varieties of the human race, and on a thousand points
connected with modes of life, of governments, of the relations of
places one to another, far and near, he is better informed than many an
arm-chair specialist.
[Footnote A: Lady's Slipper.]
_A Thing that Glistened._
+By Frank R. Stockton.+
In the fall of 1888 the steam-ship _Sunda_, from Southampton, was
running along the southern coast of Long Island, not many hours from
port, when she was passed by one of the great British liners, outward
bound. The tide was high, and the course of both vessels was nearer the
coast than is usual, that of the _Sunda_ being inside of the other.
As the two steamers passed each other there was a great waving of hats
and handkerchiefs. Suddenly there was a scream from the _Sunda_. It
came from Signora Rochita, the _prima donna_ of an opera troupe which
was coming to America in that ship.
"I have lost my bracelet!" she cried in Italian, and then, turning to
the passengers, she repeated the cry in very good English.
The situation was instantly comprehended by everyone. It was late
in the afternoon; the captain had given a grand dinner to the
passengers, at which the _prima donna_ had appeared in all her glories
of ornamentation, and the greatest of these glories--a magnificent
diamond bracelet--was gone from the arm with which she had been
enthusiastically waving her lace handkerchief.
The second officer, who was standing near, dashed into the captain's
office, and quickly reappeared with chart and instruments, and made
a rapid calculation of the position of the vessel at the time of the
accident, making due allowance for the few minutes that had passed
since the first cry of the signora. After consultation with the captain
and re-calculations of the distance from land and some other points, he
announced to the weeping signora that her bracelet lay under a little
black spot he made on the chart, and that if she chose to send a diver
for it she might get it, for the depth of water at that place was not
great.
By profession I am a diver, and the next day I was engaged to search
for the diamond bracelet of Signora Rochita. I had a copy of the chart,
and having hired a small schooner, with several men who had been my
assistants before, and taking with me all the necessary accoutrements
and appliances, I set out for the spot indicated, and by afternoon we
were anchored, we believed, at it or very near it.
I lost no time in descending. I wore, of course, the usual diver's
suit, but I took with me no tools nor any of the implements used
by divers when examining wrecks; but I carried in my right hand a
brilliant electric lamp, connected with a powerful battery on the
schooner. I held this by an insulated handle, in which there were two
little knobs, by which I could light or extinguish it.
[Illustration: "WAVING HER LACE HANDKERCHIEF."]
The bottom was hard and smooth, and lighting my lamp, I began to look
about me. If I approached the bracelet I ought to be able to see it
sparkle, but after wandering over considerable space, I saw no sparkles
nor anything like a bracelet. Suddenly, however, I saw something which
greatly interested me. It was a hole in the bottom of the ocean, almost
circular, and at the least ten feet in diameter. I was surprised that
I had not noticed it before, for it lay not far from the stern of our
vessel.
Standing near the rocky edge of the aperture, I held out my lamp and
looked down. Not far below I saw the glimmering of what seemed to be
the bottom of this subterranean well. I was seized with a desire to
explore this great hole running down under the ordinary bottom of the
sea. I signalled to be lowered, and although my comrades were much
surprised at such an order, they obeyed, and down I went into the well.
The sides of this seemed rocky and almost perpendicular, but after
descending about fifteen feet, they receded on every side, and I found
myself going down into a wide cavern, the floor of which I touched in a
very short time.
Holding up my lamp, and looking about me, I found myself in a sea cave
of some thirty feet in diameter, with a domelike roof, in which, a
little to one side of the centre, was the lower opening of the well. I
became very much excited; this was just the sort of place into which a
bracelet or anything else of value might be expected to have the bad
luck to drop. I walked about and gazed everywhere, but I found nothing
but rocks and water.
I was about to signal to be drawn up, when above me I saw what appeared
to be a flash of darkness, coming down through the well. With a rush
and a swirl it entered the cavern, and in a moment I recognised the
fact that a great fish was swooping around and about me. Its movements
were so rapid and irregular, now circling along the outer edge of the
floor of the cavern, then mounting above me, until its back seemed to
scrape the roof, that I could not form a correct idea of the size of
the creature. It seemed to me to be at least twenty feet long. I stood
almost stupefied, keeping my eyes as far as possible fixed upon the
swiftly moving monster.
Sometimes he came quite near me, when I shuddered in every fibre, and
then he shot away, but ever gliding with powerful undulations of his
body and tail, around, about, and above me. I did not dare to signal
to be drawn up, for fear that the terrible creature would enter the
well-hole with me. Then he would probably touch me, perhaps crush me
against the wall, but my mind was capable of forming no plans; I only
hoped the fish would ascend and disappear by the way he came.
[Illustration: "I STOOD STUPEFIED."]
My mind was not in its strongest condition, being much upset by a great
trouble, and I was so frightened that I really did not know what I
ought to do, but I had sense enough left to feel sure that the fish
had been attracted into the cavern by my lamp. Obviously the right
thing to do was to extinguish it, but the very thought of this nearly
drove me into a frenzy. I could not endure to be left alone with the
shark in darkness and water. It was an insane idea, but I felt that,
whatever happened, I must keep my eyes upon him.
Now the great fish began to swoop nearer and nearer to me, and then
suddenly changing its tactics, it receded to the most distant wall of
the cavern, where, with its head toward me, it remained for the first
time motionless. But this did not continue long. Gently turning over
on its side, it opened its great mouth, and in an instant, with a
rush, it came directly at me. My light shone full into its vast mouth,
glistening with teeth, there was a violent jerk which nearly threw me
off my feet, and all was blackness. The shark had swallowed my lamp! By
rare good fortune he did not take my hand also.
Now I frantically tugged at my signal rope. Without my lamp, I had no
thought but a desire to be pulled out of the water, no matter what
happened. In a few minutes I sat divested of my diving suit, and almost
insensible upon the deck of the schooner. As soon as I was able to talk
I told my astonished comrades what had happened, and while we were
discussing this strange occurrence, one of them, looking over the side,
saw, slowly rising to the surface, the body of a dead shark.
[Illustration: "IT WAS A PINT BOTTLE."]
"By George!" he cried, "here is the beast. He has been killed by the
current from the battery." We all crowded to the rail, and looked down
upon the monster. He was about ten feet long, and it was plain that he
had died for making himself the connection between the poles of the
battery.
"Well," said the captain, presently, "I suppose you are not going down
again?"
"Not I," I replied; "I give up this job."
Then suddenly I cried, "Come, boys, all of you, make fast to that
shark, and get him on board; I want him."
Some of the men laughed, but my manner was so earnest, that in a moment
they all set about to help me. A small boat was lowered, lines were
made fast to the dead fish, and, with block and tackle, we hauled him
on deck. I then got a butcher's knife from the cabin, and began to cut
him open.
"Look here, Tom!" exclaimed the captain, "that's nonsense. Your lamp's
all smashed to pieces, and if you get it out it will never be any good
to you."
"I don't care for the lamp," I answered, working away energetically,
"but an idea has struck me. It's plain that this creature had a fancy
for shining things. If he swallowed a lamp, there is no reason why he
should not have swallowed anything else that glistened."
"Oh-o!" cried the captain, "you think he swallowed the bracelet, do
you?"
And instantly everybody crowded more closely about me.
I got out the lamp--its wires were severed as smoothly as if they had
been cut with shears; then I worked on. Suddenly there was a cry from
every man. Something glimmered in the dark interior of the fish. I
grasped it and drew it out. It was not a bracelet, but a pint bottle,
which glimmered like a glow-worm. With the bottle in my hand I sat
upon the deck and gazed at it. I shook it; it shone brighter. A bit of
oiled silk was tied tightly over the cork, and it was plain to see that
it was partly filled with a light coloured oil, into which a bit of
phosphorus had been dropped, which on being agitated filled the bottle
with a dim light.
But there was something more in the bottle than phosphorus and oil.
I saw a tin tube corked at each end; the exposed parts of the corks
spreading enough to prevent the tin from striking the glass. We all
knew that this was one of those bottles containing a communication of
some sort; which are often thrown into the sea, and float about until
they are picked up. The addition of the oil and phosphorus was intended
to make it visible by night as well as by day, and this was plainly the
reason why it had been swallowed by a light loving shark.
I poured out the oil and extracted the tube. Wiping it carefully I
drew out the corks, and then from the little tin cylinder I pulled a
half-sheet of note-paper, rolled up tightly. I unrolled it, and read
these words:--
"Before I jump overboard, I want to let people know that I killed John
Polhemus. So I have fixed up this bottle. I hope it may be picked up in
time to keep Jim Barker from being hung. I did think of leaving it on
the steamer, but I might change my mind about jumping overboard, and I
guess this is the best way. The clothes I wore, and the hatchet I did
it with, are under the wood shed back of Polhemus' house."
+Henry Ramsey.+
I sprang to my feet with a yell. Jim Barker was my brother, now lying
in prison under sentence of death for the murder of Polhemus. All the
circumstantial evidence, and there was no other, had been against him.
The note was dated eight months back. Oh! cruel fool of a murderer. The
shark was thrown overboard, and we made best speed to port, and, before
the end of the afternoon I had put Ramsey's note into the hands of the
lawyer who had charge of my brother's case.
Fortunately, he was able to identify the handwriting and signature of
Ramsey, a man who had been suspected of the crime, but against whom
no evidence could be found. The lawyer was almost as excited as I was
by the contents of this note, and early the next morning we started
together for the house of the Polhemus' family. There under the wood
shed we found, carefully buried, a blood-stained shirt and vest and the
hatchet.
My impulse was to fly to my brother, but this my lawyer forbade. He
would take charge of the affair, and no false hopes must be excited,
but he confidently assured me that my brother was as good as free.
Returning to the city I thought I might as well make my report to
Signora Rochita.
The lady was at home and saw me. She showed the most intense interest
in what I told her, and insisted upon every detail of my experiences.
As I spoke of the shark and the subterranean cave she nearly fainted
from excitement, and her maid had to bring the smelling salts. When I
had finished she looked at me steadily for a moment, and then said:
"I have something to tell you, but I hardly know how to say it. I never
lost my bracelet. I intended to wear it at the captain's dinner; but
when I went to put it on I found the clasp was broken, and, as I was
late, I hurried to the table without the bracelet, and thought of it no
more until, when we were all waving and cheering, I glanced at my wrist
and found it was not there. Then, utterly forgetting that I had not put
it on, I thought it had gone into the sea. It was only this morning,
that, opening what I supposed was the empty box, I saw it. Here it is."