use the entrance--of which those idols were the gate-posts, as it may be
said. Oversluys, reassured, had drawn close enough now to see them creep
up to the wall. Suddenly there was a roar! A multitude of figures leapt up
the other side of the wall, yelling!
That was 'Boot and Saddle' for Oversluys. Off he set full gallop, for the
risk of a broken neck is not worth counting when vengeful Indians are on
one's trail. But though all the village must have heard him thudding past,
no one pursued. Very extraordinary, but the whole incident was mysterious.
After fifteen years' experience the collector--a shrewd man at the
beginning--knew Indians well, but he could never explain this adventure.
Sometimes he thought it might have been a trick from beginning to end,
devised by Don Hilario to get the Cura into a scrape. I have no suggestion
to offer, but the little story seems worth note as an illustration of
manners.
Oversluys had good reason to remember it. Uncomfortably enough he waited
for dawn in the dank wood, holding his mule by the bridle, not daring to
advance. As soon as the path could be faintly traced he started, and
happily found the corral where his mules and servants had been left. The
cattle were streaming out already, bulls in advance. They blocked the
gateway, and with the utmost promptitude Oversluys withdrew into the bush.
Making his way to the fence he shouted for his mozos--in vain; climbed
over with no small difficulty and entered the shed. His mules were safe
enough but both mozos had vanished, having found or made friends in the
neighbourhood. And all his precious Cattleyas, left defenceless, had been
munched or trampled flat by the cattle! He never ceased to mourn that
loss.
A STORY OF CATTLEYA MOSSIAE
Since orchids never die, unless by accident, and never cease to grow,
there is no limit to the bulk they may attain. Mishap alone cuts their
lives short--commonly the fall or the burning of the tree to which they
cling. Mr. Burbidge secured one, a Grammatophyllum, 'as big as a
Pickford's van,' which a corvee of Dyaks could not lift. Some old
collections even in Europe show prodigious monsters; in especial, I am
told, that of the Duke of Northumberland at Alnwick. Mr. Astor has two
Peristeria elata at Cliveden of which the bulbs are as large as an ostrich
egg, and the flower stems rise to a height of nine feet! The most striking
instance of the sort I myself have observed, if not quite the biggest, was
a Cattleya Mossiae sent home by Mr. Arnold. It enclosed two great branches
of a tree, rising from the fork below which it was sawn off--a bristling
mass four feet thick and five feet high; two feet more must be added if we
reckon the leaves. As for the number of flower-scapes it bore last season,
to count them would have been the work of hours; roughly I estimated a
thousand, bearing not less than three blooms, each six inches across.
Fancy cannot rise to the conception of that gorgeous display. I doubt not
that the forest would be scented for a hundred yards round.
Such giant Cattleyas are very rare in the 'wild state.' An orchid, though
immortal, is subject to so many accidents that only species of very quick
growth attain great age; these are less exposed to the perils of youth,
naturally. From time to time, however, an Indian removes some plant which
strikes him for its beauty or its size, and starts it afresh on a tree not
too tall--and therefore young--in view of his hut. Thus it takes a new
lease of life and grows indefinitely. I have not heard that 'white' peons
are so aesthetic.
This Cattleya Mossiae had been rescued by an Indian. Mr. Arnold first saw
it on his memorable search for Masdevallia Tovarensis. I must tell that
episode to begin with.
More than thirty years ago a German resident at Tovar sent a white
Masdevallia to a friend in England. There were very few species of the
genus, few plants indeed, under cultivation at that time, and all scarlet.
The novelty made a vast sensation. For a good many years the owner kept
dividing his single specimen, and putting fragments on the market, where
they fetched a very long price. Under such circumstances a man is not
inclined to tell where his treasure comes from. At an earlier date this
gentleman had published the secret so far as the name 'Tovar' went. But
there are several places so called in Spanish America, and importers
hesitated. At length Mr. Sander made up his mind. He sent Mr. Arnold to
Tovar in New Grenada.
Masdevallias are reckoned among the most difficult of orchids to import.
From their home in cool uplands they must be transported through some of
the hottest regions on the globe, and they have no pseudo-bulbs to sustain
them; a leaf and a root, one may say, compose each tiny plant.
Mr. Arnold, therefore, was provided with some sacks of Sphagnum moss in
which to stow his finds. These sacks he registered among his personal
baggage. At Waterloo, however, the station-master demurred. Moss, said he,
must travel by goods train. Arnold had not allowed himself time to spare.
The Royal mail steamer would leave within an hour of his arrival at
Southampton; to go without his moss was useless; and a pig-headed official
refused to pass it! Mr. Arnold does not profess to be meek. He
remonstrated with so much energy that the station-master fled the scene.
There was just time enough to load up the article in dispute and jump into
a carriage, helped by a friendly stranger.
The stranger had showed his friendliness before that. Standing at the open
door, he supported Arnold's cause with singular warmth and vociferation.
The latter was grateful, of course, and when he learned that his ally was
a fellow-passenger to Caracas he expressed the hope that they might share
a cabin. There was no difficulty about that. In short, they chummed.
This young man announced himself as Mr. Thompson, a traveller in the
hardware line, but he showed an intelligent curiosity about things in
general--about orchids, for instance, when he learned that such was
Arnold's business. Would it be possible for an ignoramus to make a few
pounds that way?--how should he set about it?--which is the class of
article most in demand just now, and where is it found? Before the voyage
ended, that traveller in the hardware line knew as much about Masdevallia
Tovarensis as Arnold could tell him. He bade goodbye aboard ship, for
pressing business obliged him to start up country forthwith.
Late in the afternoon Arnold, who was to stay some days at Caracas, met
his agent on the Plaza. 'By the bye,' said that gentleman, 'are you aware
that Mr. Blank started this morning in the direction of Tovar?'
Now Mr. Blank was a man of substance who began orchid-growing as an
amateur, but of late had turned professional.
'Bless me!' cried Arnold, 'is he here?'
The agent stared. 'Why, as I understood, he travelled in the same ship
with you.'
Arnold seized him by the wrist, while in his mind's eye he reviewed all
the passengers; they were not many. The only one who could possibly be Mr.
Blank was--Mr. Thompson!
'Get me a horse, sir!' he sputtered. 'Which way has the villain gone? And
a guide--with another horse! I'll pay anything! I'll go with you to hire
them! Come along!' Ten minutes afterwards he was on the track, full
gallop, stopping only at the hotel to get his pistol.
At a roadside posada, fifteen miles beyond, Mr. Blank was supping in
peace. The door opened. Arnold stalked in. He was in that mood of
intensest passion when a man's actions are stiff though he trembles--all
his muscles rigid with the effort of self-restraint.
Quietly he barred the door and quietly he sat down opposite to Mr. Blank,
putting his revolver on the board.
'Get your pistol, sir,' said he, scarcely above a whisper, 'we're going to
settle this business.' But Mr. Blank, after a frenzied stare, had
withdrawn beneath the table. Arnold hauled him out by the legs, demanding
instant combat.
But this was not the man to fight. He preferred to sign a confession and a
promise, guaranteed by most impressive oaths, not to revisit those parts
for six months. Then Arnold started him back, supperless, in the dark.
It may be added that the gentleman whom I have named Mr. Blank lost his
life in 1892, when seeking the habitat of Dendrobium Schroederianum, under
circumstances not wholly dissimilar. As in this case he sought to reap
where he had not sown. But peace be with him!
Without more adventures Arnold found Masdevallia Tovarensis. Of the first
consignment he despatched, forty thousand arrived in good health. This
quest completed in shorter time than had been allowed, he looked for
another 'job.' One is only embarrassed by the choice in that region. Upon
the whole it seemed most judicious to collect Cattleya Mossiae. And Arnold
set off for the hunting-grounds.
On this journey he saw the monster I have described. It grew beside the
dwelling of an Indian--not properly to be termed a 'hut,' nor a 'house.'
The man was a coffee-planter in a very small way. Nothing that Arnold
could offer tempted him in the least. His grandfather 'planted' the
Cattleya, and from that day it had been a privilege of the family to
decorate one portion of the neighbouring church with its flowers when a
certain great feast came round. Arnold tried to interest the daughter--a
very pretty girl: the Indian type there is distinctly handsome. Then he
tried her lover, who seemed willing to exert his influence for the
consideration of a real English gun. Arnold could not spare his own; he
had no other, and the young Indian would not accept promises. So the
matter fell through.
Three years afterwards Arnold was commissioned to seek Cattleya Mossiae
again. Not forgetting the giant, he thought it worth while to take a 'real
English gun' with him, though doubtless the maiden was a wife long since,
and her husband might ask for a more useful present. In due course he
reached the spot--a small Indian village in the mountains, some fifteen
miles from Caracas. The Cattleya was still there, perched aloft, as big as
a hogshead. Arnold's first glance was given to it; then he looked at the
owner's hospitable dwelling. It also was still there, but changed. Tidy it
had never been, but now it was ruinous. None of the village huts could be
seen, standing as they did each in its 'compound'--a bower of palm and
plantains, fruit-trees, above all, flowers. Afterwards he perceived that
they had all been lately rebuilt.
The old Indian survived, but it was not from him that Arnold learned the
story. The Cura told it. There had been a pronunciamiento somewhere in the
country, and the Government sent small bodies of troops--pressgangs, in
fact--to enlist 'volunteers.' One of these came to the village. The
officer in command, a good-looking young man, took up his abode in the
Indian's house and presently made it his headquarters, whence to direct
the man-hunts. Upon that pretext he stayed several weeks, to the delight
of the villagers, who were spared.
But one evening there was an outbreak. The lover rushed along the street,
dripping with blood--the officer, his sword drawn, pursuing. He ran into
his hut and snatched a gun from the wall. But it was too late; the other
cut him down. The day's field work was over--all the Indians had returned.
They seized their machetes, yelling vengeance, and attacked the officer.
But his soldiers also were close by. They ran up, firing as they ran. Some
villagers were killed, more wounded; the place was sacked. Next morning
early the detachment moved off. When the fugitives returning counted their
loss, the pretty daughter of old Jose was missing. The dead lay where they
fell, and she was not among them.
The Cura, an amiable veteran, did not doubt that she had been carried off
by force; was not this girl the most devout and dutiful in the parish? He
saddled his mule forthwith and rode into Caracas. The officer had
delivered his report, which may be easily imagined. Governments in Spanish
America at this day resent any kind of interference from the clergy. Had a
layman complained, doubtless there would have been an inquiry; in
Venezuela, as elsewhere, maidens are not to be carried off by young
aristocrats and no word said. But the authorities simply called on the
accused for an explanation, accepted his statement that the girl followed
him of her free-will, and recommended him to marry her. This he did, as
Arnold ascertained. As for the rest--_quien sabe_?
These sad events account for the old Indian's behaviour. Arnold found him
at home, and with him a young man not to be recognised at first, who
proved to be the lover. The muscles of his neck had been severed, causing
him to hold his head awry, and a slash had partially disabled his right
arm. Arnold was told abruptly that he could not lodge there, and he
withdrew. But on a sudden the lover whispered eagerly. They called him
back.
'Will you buy the Cattleya?' asked old Jose.
'How much?'
'Fifty dollars and a good gun.'
'It's a bargain.'
He paid there and then, nor quitted the spot, though very hungry, until
his followers had sawn through the branch and lowered its burden to the
ground. Carrying his spoil in triumph, suspended on a pole, Arnold sought
the Cura's house. There he heard the tale I have unfolded.
Not until evening did the Padre chance to see the giant Cattleya. He was
vexed, naturally, since his church lost its accustomed due. But when
Arnold told what he had paid for it, the good man was deeply moved. 'Holy
Virgin and all saints!' he cried, 'there will be murder!' And he set off
running to the Indian's house. It was empty. Jose and the lover had been
seen on the road to Caracas hours before--with the gun.
I am sorry that I cannot finish the story; too often we miss the denoument
in romances of actual life. But the Cura felt no doubt. It may be
to-night, or next year, or ten years hence, he said, but the captain is
doomed. Our Indians never forget nor forgive, nor fail when at length
they strike.
The murder was not announced whilst Arnold remained in the country. But
all whom he questioned gave the same forecast. Unless the Indians were
seized or died they would surely have vengeance.
[Illustration: CATTLEYA SCHRODERAE VAR. MISS MARY MEASURES.]
CYPRIPEDIUM INSIGNE
Here is a house full of Cypripedium insigne; nothing else therein save a
row of big Cymbidiums in vases down the middle, Odontoglossum citrosmum
and Cattleya citrina hanging on wires overhead. Every one knows this
commonest of Cypripeds, though many may be unacquainted with the name.
Once I looked into a show of window-gardening in the precincts of
Westminster Abbey, and among the poor plants there, treasures of the
poorest, I found a Cypripedium insigne--very healthy and well-grown too.
But when I called the judges' attention, they politely refused to believe
me, though none of them could say what the mysterious vegetable was--not
the least curious detail of the incident. The flower cannot be called
beautiful, but undeniably it is quaint, and the honest unsophisticated
public loves it. Moreover the bloom appears in November, lasting till
Christmas, if kept quite cool. The species was introduced from Sylhet so
long ago as 1820, but it flourishes in many districts on the southern
slope of the Himalayas. New habitats are constantly discovered.
There are 505 plants in this house, and if individual flowers be not
striking commonly--that is, flowers of the normal type--the spectacle is
as pretty as curious when hundreds are open at once, apple-green, speckled
with brown and tipped with white. But to my taste, as a 'grower,' the
sight is pleasant at all seasons, for the green and glossy leaves
encircle each pot so closely that they form a bank of foliage without a
gap all round. But besides this house we have one much larger elsewhere,
containing no less than 2500 examples of the same species. If no two
flowers of an orchid on the same plant be absolutely similar, as experts
declare--and I have often proved the rule--one may fancy the sum of
variation among three thousand. Individually, however, it is so minute in
the bulk of Cypripedium insigne that a careless observer sees no
difference among a hundred blooms. I note some of the prominent
exceptions.
_Clarissimum._--Large, all white, except a greenish tinge at base of the
dorsal, and the broad yellow shield of the column.
_Laura Kimball_, on the other hand, is all ochreous yellow, save the
handsome white crown of the dorsal and a narrow white margin descending
from it.
_Statterianum_ is much like this, but spotted in the usual way.
_Bohnhoffianum_ has a dorsal of curious shape. The crest rises sharply
between square shoulders which fold over, displaying the reverse. It has
no spots, but at the base is a chestnut blotch, changing to vivid green,
which again vanishes abruptly, leaving a broad white margin. Vivid green
also are the petals, with brown lines; the slipper paler. This example is
unique.
_Macfarlanei_ is all yellowish green, with a white crest.
_Amesiae._--The dorsal has a broad white outline and a drooping crest. To
white succeeds a brilliant green, and to that, in the middle, bright
chestnut. Chestnut lines also, and dots, mount upward. The green petals
are similarly lined, and the slipper is greenish, tinged with chestnut.
_Longisepalum_ is flesh-colour, with a greenish tinge and pink spots on
the very long dorsal. The pink spots change to lines upon the petals.
Slipper ruddy green.
_Dimmockianum._--The broad and handsome dorsal is green, with white
margin. A red stain at the base is continued in lines of spots upwards.
The petals are scored with the same colour.
_Measuresiae._--Big, with a grand dorsal, pale grass-green below, broadly
whitening as it swells. Petals the same green, with a dark midrib and
fainter lines. Slipper yellow.
_Rona_ is an example of the common type in its utmost perfection--large,
symmetrical, its green tinge the liveliest possible, its white both snowy
and broad, and its spots so vigorously imprinted that they rise above the
surface like splashes of solid chocolate.
_Majesticum_ is another of the same class, but distinguished by the
enormous size of its dorsal.
_Dorothy._--Dorsal greenish yellow, with faint spots of chestnut and a
broad white margin. Petals and slipper the same greenish-yellow tone.
_R. H. Measures._--For size as for colour this variety is astonishing. Its
gigantic dorsal is white, prettily stained at base with pale green, in
which are enormous red spots, irregularly set. Petals tawny greenish, with
lines and dots of red. The slipper matches.
_Harefield Hall_ variety resembles this, but smaller. The great spots of
the dorsal are more crimson, the petals and slipper a darker hue.
_Frederico._--Within a broad white outline the dorsal is all yellow,
heavily spotted and splashed with chestnut. The reddish tawny petals are
lined and spotted with chestnut, and the tawny slipper shows a chestnut
network.
_Corrugatum._--The name refers to a peculiarity unique and inexplicable.
The slipper, so smooth in every other case, has a strong breastbone, so to
say, and five projecting ribs on either side, arching round diagonally
from the back--pale brown on a darker ground. The dorsal is all yellow,
spotted with brown, but the crest overhangs, showing its white underside.
_Drewett's variety._--Dorsal white, with a green base and huge blotches of
red-brown; greenish petals lined with the same; ruddy greenish slipper.
_Eximium._--A natural hybrid doubtless, though we cannot guess what its
other parent may be; it came among a lot of the ordinary form. Very small.
The funny little dorsal is yellow, spotted throughout with red. The small
petals have a crimson tinge, much darker in the upper length. Slipper dull
crimson; the yellow shield of the column is very conspicuous on that
ground.
_Hector._--The dorsal is pale grass-green, with a white crest and margin
and large chestnut spots; petals and slipper reddish ochre.
_Punctatum_ is a title very commonly bestowed when the usual spots run
together, making small blotches, arranged in lines; often the petals have
a white margin, more or less broad, which shows them off.
Here also I should mention the famous Cyp. ins. Sanderae, though, as a
matter of fact, it is lodged elsewhere. The story of this wonderful orchid
has often been told, but not every one has heard it. I may be allowed to
quote my own version, published in _About Orchids--a Chat_ (Chapman and
Hall, 1893). 'Among a great number of Cypripedium insigne received at St.
Albans, and "established" there, Mr. Sander noted one presently of which
the flower-stalk was yellow instead of brown, as is usual. Sharp eyes are
a valuable item of the orchid-growers' stock-in-trade, for the smallest
peculiarity among such "sportive" objects should not be neglected.
Carefully he put the yellow-stalk aside. In due course the flower opened
and proved to be all golden. Mr. Sander cut his plant in two, sold half
for seventy-five guineas at Protheroe's auction rooms, and the other half
to Mr. R. H. Measures. One of the purchasers divided his plant and sold
two bits at a hundred guineas each. Another piece was bought back by Mr.
Sander, who wanted it for hybridising, at two hundred and fifty guineas.'
Not less than forty exist perhaps at the present time, for as soon as a
morsel proves big enough to be divided, divided it is. Here we have two
fine plants and a healthy young fragment.
[Illustration: CYPRIPEDIUM INSIGNE, VAR. SANDERAE.]
To describe the flower is an ungrateful task. Tints so exquisitely soft
are not to be defined in words; it is pleasanter to sum them up in the
phrase 'all golden,' as I did formerly, when there was no need for
precision. But here I must be specific, and in truth Cypripedium insigne
Sanderae is not to be so described. The dorsal, beautifully waved, has a
broad white margin and a cloud of the tenderest grass-green in the midst,
covered with a soft green network. There are a few tiniest specks of brown
on either side the midrib. The petals might be termed palest primrose, but
when compared with the pure yellow slipper a pretty tinge of green
declares itself. A marvel of daintiness and purity.
In this house hang Catt. citrina, Odont. citrosmum, and Laelia
Jongheana--five rows. Of the first, so charming but so common, it is
enough to say that the owner of this collection has contrived to secure
the very biggest examples, in their native growth, that a sane imagination
could conceive--so big that I should not have credited a report of their
dimensions. The ordinary form of citrosmum also demands no comment, and I
deal with the interesting Laelia Jongheana elsewhere. But we have a number
of citrosmum roseum, which has white sepals and petals and a pink lip; of
citrosmum album, all purest white, save the yellow crest; and of the
cream-coloured variety, which to my mind is loveliest of all. Sir Trevor
Lawrence collects these at every opportunity, and I remember the charming
display he made once at the Temple Show, when their long pendulous
garlands formed the backing to his stand.
STORY OF CATTLEYA SKINNERI ALBA
The annals of botany are full of incident and adventure, especially that
branch which deals with orchids. All manner of odd references and
associations one finds there. I myself, having studied the subject, was
not much surprised to meet with a tale of orchids and cock-fighting
lately; but others may like to hear how such an odd connection arose.
The name of the orchid was Cattleya Skinneri alba, one of the rarest and
most beautiful we have; the name of the hero, Benedict Roezl, greatest of
all collectors. This experience gives some notion of his ready wit, cool
daring, and resource. But I could tell some even more characteristic.
It is necessary to say that Cattleya Skinneri _tout court_--a charming
rosy flower--was discovered by Mr. Skinner long before this date--in 1836;
but no white Cattleya had yet been heard of.
It was in 1870. Roezl had made a very successful foray in the
neighbourhood of Tetonicapan, Guatemala, and with a long train of mules he
was descending towards the coast. His head mozo could be trusted; the
perils of the road--streams, mud, precipices, and brigands--had been left
behind; Roezl, rejoicing in the consciousness of good work well done,
pushed on by himself towards the village where they were to spend the
night.