enough. Unfortunately it led him, after a while, into a jicara-grove.
This tree, which supplies the calabash used throughout Central America,
has some very odd peculiarities. Its leaves grow by fours, making a cross,
and on that account, doubtless, the Indians esteem it sacred; their pagan
forefathers reverenced the cross. The trunks spring at equal distances, as
if planted by rule, but such is their natural habit; I have the strongest
impression that Mr. Belt found a cause for this eccentricity, but the
passage I cannot discover. Thirdly, jicara-trees always stand in a
low-lying savannah, across which they are marshalled in lines and 'spaced'
like soldiers on parade in open order--at least, I never saw them in
another situation. Such spots are damp, and the herbage grows strong; thus
the half-wild cattle are drawn thither, and before the wet season comes to
an end they have trampled the whole surface, obliterating all signs of a
path, if one there be, and confounding the confusion by making tracks
innumerable through the jungle round.
Upon such a waste Roezl entered, and he paused forthwith to deliberate.
The compass would not help him much, for if it told the direction of the
village, the Indian trail which led thither might open to right or left
anywhere on the far side of the grove. Travellers in those wilds must
follow the beaten course.
At length he took bearings, so as to go straight at least, and rode on.
Presently an Indian lad came out from the forest behind him, but stopped
at sight of the tall stranger. Roezl shouted--he spoke every patois of
Spanish America with equal fluency. The boy advanced at length. He could
only talk his native Quiche, but Roezl made out that he was going to the
village--sent him ahead, and followed rejoicing. So he crossed the
jicara-ground.
But in the forest beyond, it was not easy to keep up with an Indian boy
trotting his fastest. In a few minutes the guide had vanished and Roezl
hurried along after him. Suddenly a ragged rascal sprang out from the
bushes ahead with levelled gun. Roezl glanced back. Two others barred his
retreat.
Not unfamiliar with such incidents, he laughed and offered his
purse--never well filled. Good humour and wit had carried him through
several adventures of the kind without grave annoyance; once in Mexico,
when he had not one silver coin to ransom himself, a party of bandits kept
him twenty-four hours simply to enjoy his drolleries, and dismissed him
with ten dollars--which was a godsend, said Roezl. But these fellows only
spoke Quiche, and they were sullen dogs.
The purse did not satisfy them by any means. They made their prisoner
dismount and enter the forest, marching behind him. The camp was close by,
and here Roezl found his guide, hitched to a tree by the neck. The brigand
officer and some of the men talked Spanish, and they appreciated Roezl's
'chaff,' treating him with boisterous familiarity; but they would not hear
of letting him go until the Captain's arrival. He sat upon the ground,
exchanging jokes with the ruffians, drinking their aguardiente and smoking
their best cigars, like a jovial comrade.
Meantime the Indian members of the band were out of the fun, and they
attended to business. What they wanted of the lad Roezl did not
understand, but when he persisted in refusing they beat him savagely. At
length it went so far that Roezl could not bear to hear the poor fellow's
cries. Putting the matter humorously, he begged the lieutenant to
interfere, and that worthy commanded the Indians to desist.
After an hour or so the Captain appeared, and Roezl's case was put before
him; at the same moment, however, the scouts brought in a priest. He had
resisted probably, for they had bound and beaten him. Such treatment was
novel, doubtless. It had taken all spirit out of the holy man, who walked
as humbly as could be till he set eyes on the Captain. Then his courage
returned. They were old acquaintances, evidently, and the Padre claimed
satisfaction. He did not get it; but the Captain set him free, with
apologies. The boy proved to be his servant, and he also was released.
Roezl asserted a claim to equal consideration as defender of that youth,
and at length it was ungraciously allowed. Remembering, however, that his
precious orchids would soon arrive and fall into the brigands' hands, to
be smashed in spite probably, he ransomed them by a bill drawn on himself
at the capital. Then he rode on to overtake the priest, who was Cura of
the village which he sought.
Not prepossessing at all was that ecclesiastic. None of the bandits had a
more stupid expression or one less amiable. But Roezl found presently that
he had some reason for ill-humour. Six cocks had he taken to a grand match
at Tetonicapan the day before--three his own, three belonging to
parishioners; and every one was killed! The boy had been sent in advance
to break the news.
Cock-fighting is the single amusement of that population, besides drink,
of course, and the single interest of its ministers--most of them, at
least. This padre could talk of nothing else. It was not a subject that
amused Roezl, but he knew something of that as of all else that pertains
to life in those countries. The dullest of mortals could not help
gathering information about cocks and their ways in a lifetime of travel
up and down Spanish America; the most observant, such as this, must needs
collect a vast deal of experience. But Roezl was not interested in his
companion.
Not, that is, until he reached the village. The Cura had invited him to
his house--so to call an adobe building of two rooms, without upper floor.
It stood beside the church, hardly less primitive. Roezl glanced at the
roof of this structure in passing. It has been mentioned that the Indians
have a pleasant custom of removing any orchid they find, notable for size
or beauty, to set on the church roof or on trees around it. In the course
of his long wanderings Roezl had bought or begged several fine plants from
a padre, but only when the man was specially reckless or specially
influential with his parishioners. The practice dates from heathen times,
and the Indians object to any desecration of their offerings.
It was with curiosity rather than hope, therefore, that Roezl scrutinised
the airy garden. There were handsome specimens of Cattleya--Skinneri most
frequent, of course--Lycaste, Oncidium, and Masdevallia. They had done
blooming mostly, but a belated flower showed here and there. In one big
clump he saw something white--looked more closely--paused. The plant was
Cattleya Skinneri certainly. How should a white flower be there?
All other collectors, perhaps, at that time, would have passed on, taking
it for granted that some weed had rooted itself amid the clump. But for
many years Roezl had been preaching that all Cattleyas of red or violent
tint, so to class them roughly, must make albino 'sports.' I believe he
had not one instance to cite in proof of his theory, which is a
commonplace now. A wondrous instinct guided him--the same which predicted
that an Odontoglossum of extraordinary character would be found in a
province he had never entered, where, years afterwards, the striking
Odont. Harryanum was discovered. Men talked of Roezl's odd fancy with
respect, but very few heeded it.
He tried various points of view, but nowhere could the flower be seen
distinctly. After grumbling and fuming a while the Cura left him, and
presently he followed. That reverend person was an object of interest now.
At the first opportunity Roezl mentioned that he was seeking a white Flor
de San Sebastian, as they name Cattleya Skinneri, for which he would pay
a good sum, and asked if there were any in the neighbourhood.
The Cura replied at once, 'You won't get one here. Many years ago my
people found one in the forest, but they never saw another before or
since.'
'What did they do with it?' Roezl asked breathlessly.
'Fixed it on the church, of course.'
The man was stupid, but in those parts an idiot can see any opening for
trade. To suppose that a cock-fighting Guatemalan priest could have
scruples about stripping his church would be grotesque. If he did not
snatch at the chance to make money, when told that the stranger would pay
for his whim, it must be because the removal of that plant would be so
hazardous that he did not even think of it. Roezl dropped the subject.
They ate--more especially, they drank. The leading men of the village came
in to hear the sad story of the cock-fight. Not one word on any other
topic was spoken until they withdrew to bed. But Roezl was not bored after
a while. So soon as he grasped the situation, his quick wits began
speculating and contriving means to tempt the Padre. And as he listened to
the artless if not innocent discourse of these rustics, gradually a notion
formed itself.
The issue of the great match had been a disaster all round. In the first
place, there was an antique feud with the victors. Secondly, their cocks
had been defeated so often that for two years past they had lain low,
saving their money to buy champion birds at the capital. And this was the
result! In the assurance of triumph they had staked all they could raise
upon the issue. That money was lost, and the cocks besides. Utter rout and
bankruptcy! No wonder the priest sent his boy ahead to break the awful
news.
Despairingly they speculated on the causes of their bad luck from year to
year, and it was in listening to this discussion that Roezl perceived a
gleam of hope. The mules arrived with his orchids, and started again in
the morning; but he stayed behind. The Cura was more than willing to
explain the local system of feeding, keeping, training, and in general of
managing cocks. Roezl went into it thoroughly without comment; but when
the leading parishioners assembled at night, as usual, he lifted up his
voice.
'My friends,' said he, 'you are always beaten because you do not
understand the tricks of these wily townsmen. What you should import from
Guatemala is not champion cocks, but a good cock-master, up to date. I'm
afraid he would sell you indeed, but there is no other way.'
They looked at one another astounded, but the Cura broke out, 'Rubbish!
What do we do wrong?'
'Only a fool gives away valuable secrets. If you want my information you
must pay for it. But I will tell you one thing. You keep your cocks tied
up in a cupboard'--I am giving the sense of his observations--'by
themselves, where they get spiritless and bored. You have been to
Tetonicapan. Is that how they do there? In every house you see the cocks
tied in a corner of the living room, where people come and go, often
bringing their own birds with them. Hens enter too sometimes. So they are
always lively and eager. This you have seen! Is it not so?'
'It is,' they muttered with thoughtful brows.
'Well, I make you a present of that hint. If you want any more valuable,
you must pay.' And he withdrew.
Weighty was the consultation doubtless. Presently they went in search of
him, the whole body, and asked his terms.
'You shall not buy on speculation,' said Roezl. 'Is there a village in the
neighbourhood where they treat their cocks as you do, and could you make a
match for next Sunday? Yes? Well, then, you shall tie up your birds in a
public room, follow my directions in feeding, and so forth. If you
conquer, you shall pay me; if not, not.'
'What shall we pay?' asked the Cura.
'Your reverence and all these caballeros shall swear on the altar to give
me the white Flor de San Sebastian which grows on the church roof.'
The end is foreseen. Roezl carried off his White Cattleya and sold it to
Mr. George Hardy of Manchester for 280 guineas.
THE PHALAENOPSIS HOUSE
Phalaenopsis are noted for whimsicality. They flourish in holes and
corners where no experienced gardener would put them, and they flatly
refuse to live under all the conditions most approved by science. Most
persons who grow them have such adventures to tell, their own or reported.
Sir Trevor Lawrence mentioned at the Orchid Conference that he once built
a Phalaenopsis house at the cost of L600; after a few months' trial he
restored his plants to their old unsatisfactory quarters and turned this
beautiful building to another purpose. The authorities at Kew tell the
same story with rueful merriment. In both cases, the situation, the plan,
every detail, had been carefully and maturely weighed, with intimate
knowledge of the eccentricities to be dealt with and profound respect for
them. Upon the other hand, I could name a 'grower' of the highest standing
who used to keep his Phalaenopsis in a ramshackle old greenhouse belonging
to a rough market-gardener of the neighbourhood--perhaps does still. How
he came to learn that they would thrive there as if under a blessed spell
I have forgotten. But once I paid the market-gardener a visit and there,
with my own eyes, beheld them flourishing under conditions such that I do
not expect a plain statement of the facts to be believed. In the midst of
the rusty old ruin was a stand with walls of brick; above this wires had
been fixed along the roof. The big plants hung lowest. Upon the edges of
their baskets smaller plants were poised, and so they stood, one above
another, like a child's house of cards--I am afraid to say how high. A
labouring man stood first at one end, then at the other, and cheerfully
plied the syringe. They were not taken down nor touched from month to
month.
Seeing and hearing all this, I cried--but the reader can imagine what I
cried.
'Well,' replied the market-gardener, 'I don't understand your orchids. But
I shouldn't ha' thought they was looking poorly.'
Poorly! Under these remarkable circumstances some scores of Phalaenopsis
were thriving as I never saw them elsewhere.
In this house they do very well, growing and flowering freely, giving no
trouble by mysterious ailments. We have most of the large
species--amabilis, Stuartiana, Schilleriana, Sanderiana, etc. No
description of these is required. Hybrids of Phalaenopsis are few as yet.
Here is Hebe, the product of rosea x Sanderiana, rosy white of sepal and
petal, bright pink of lip, yellow at the base.
On the left is a 'rockery' of tufa, planted with the hybrid Anthuriums
which Messrs. Sander have been producing so industriously of late years.
To my mind, an infant could make flowers as good as Anthuriums, if
equipped with a sufficient quantity of sealing-wax, red and pink and
white. Their form is clumsy, and grace they have none. But when they
recognise a fashion, the wise cease to protest. Anthuriums are the
fashion.
Since that is so, and many worthy persons will be interested, I name the
hybrids here.
Of the Andreeanum type, raised by crossing its various
forms:--_Lawrenciae_, pure white; _Goliath_, blood-red; _Salmoniae_,
flesh-colour; _Lady Godiva_, white faintly tinged with flesh-colour;
_Albanense_, deep red, spadix vermilion--this was one of the twelve 'new
plants' which won the First Prize at the International Exhibition 1892.
Of the Rothschildianum type:--_Saumon_, salmon-colour; _niveum_, very
large, whitish, with orange-red markings; _aurantiacum_, coloured like the
yolk of egg; _The Queen_, evenly marked in red, orange, and white.
Overhead hang small plants of Phalaenopsis and Dendrobium; on a shelf
above the Anthuriums, against the glass, two large specimens of the noble
Cyp. bellatulum album--which with a despairing effort I have tried to
sketch elsewhere--and no less than 380 plants of Cyp. Godefroyae, and its
variety, Cyp. leucochilum, both white, heavily spotted with brownish
purple.
THE VANDA HOUSE
lies beyond. Only the tall species are here, for such gems as V.
Kimballiana and Amesiana would be lost among these giants. But there is
little to say about our Vandas beyond a general commendation of their fine
stature and glossy leaves. It is not a genus which we study, and the
plants belong to ordinary species--the best of their class, however. For
the benefit of experts I may mention, among specimens of Vanda suavis, the
Dalkeith variety, Rollison's, Veitch's, Wingate, and Manchester; among
Vanda tricolor, planilabris--grandest of all--Dalkeith, aurea, Pattison's,
insignis, Rohaniana.
But _Miss Joaquim_ must be mentioned (V. teres x V. Hookeriana), sepals
and petals of a pretty rose colour, lip orange; a flower charming in
itself, but still more notable as the product of a young lady's
enthusiasm. Miss Agnes Joaquim is the daughter of a Consul at Singapore,
residing at Mount Narcis in the vicinity.
STORY OF VANDA SANDERIANA
There are those who pronounce Vanda Sanderiana the stateliest of all
orchids. To compare such numberless and varied forms of beauty is rather
childish. But it will be allowed that a first view of those enormous
flowers, ten or more upon a stalk--lilac above, pale cinnamon below,
covered with a network of crimson lines--is a memorable sensation for the
elect.
We may fancy the emotions of Mr. Roebelin on seeing it--the earliest of
articulate mortals so favoured. His amazement and delight were not alloyed
by anticipation, for no rumour of the marvel had gone forth. Roebelin was
travelling 'on spec' for once. In 1879 Mr. Sander learned that the
Philippine Government was about to establish a mail service from Manila to
Mindanao. Often had he surveyed that great island longingly, from his
arm-chair at St. Albans, assured that treasures must await the botanist
there. But although the Spaniards had long held settlements upon the
coast, and, of course, claimed sovereignty over the whole, there had
hitherto been no regular means of communication with a port whence
steamers sailed for Europe. A collector would be at the mercy of chance
for transmitting his spoil, after spending assuredly a thousand pounds. It
was out of the question. But the establishment of a line of steamers to
Manila transformed the situation. Forthwith Roebelin was despatched, to
find what he could.
He landed, of course, at the capital, Mindanao; and the Spaniards--civil,
military, even ecclesiastic--received him cordially. Any visitor was no
less than a phenomenon to them. It is a gay and pleasant little town, for
these people, having neither means nor opportunity, as a rule, to revisit
Europe, make their home in the East. And Roebelin found plenty of good
things round the glorious bay of Illana. But he learned with surprise that
the Spaniards did not even profess to have authority beyond a narrow strip
here and there upon the coast. The interior is occupied by savages,
numerous and warlike, Papuan by race, or crossed with the Philippine
Malay. Though they are not systematically hostile to white men, Roebelin
saw no chance of exploring the country.
Then he heard of a 'red Phalaenopsis,' on the north coast, a legendary
wonder, which must have its own chronicle by and by. Seduced especially by
this report, Roebelin sailed in a native craft to Surigao, a small but
very thriving settlement, which ranks next to the capital. People there
were well acquainted with Phalaenopsis, but they knew nothing of a red
one; some of them, however, talked in vague ecstasy of an orchid with
flowers as big as a dinner-plate to be found on the banks of Lake
Magindanao, a vast sheet of water in the middle of the island. They did
not agree about the shape, or colour, or anything else relating to it; but
such a plant must be well worth collecting anyhow. It was not dangerous to
ascend the river, under due precautions, nor to land at certain points of
the lake. Such points are inhabited by the Subano tribe, who live in
hourly peril from their neighbours the Bagabos, against whom they beg
Spanish protection. Accordingly white men are received with enthusiasm.
The expedition, therefore, would be comparatively safe, if a guide and
interpreter could be found. And here Roebelin was lucky. A small trader
who had debts to collect among the Subanos offered his sampan, with its
crew, on reasonable terms, and proposed to go himself. He was the son of a
Chinaman from Singapore, by a native wife, and spoke intelligible English.
The crew also had mostly some Chinese blood, and Roebelin gathered that
they were partners of Sam Choon, his dragoman, in a very small way. The
number of Celestials and half-breeds of that stock in Mindanao had already
struck him, in comparison with Manila. Presently he learned the reason.
The energetic and tenacious Chinaman is hated by all classes of
Spaniards--by the clergy because he will not be converted, by the
merchants because he intercepts their trade, by the military because he
will not endure unlimited oppression, and by the public at large because
he is hard-working, thrifty, and successful. He is dangerous, too, when
roused by ill-treatment beyond the common, and his secret societies
provide machinery for insurrection at a day's notice. But in Mindanao the
Chinaman is indispensable. White traders could not live without his
assistance. They do not love him the better, but they protect him so far
as they may from the priests and the military.
I have no adventures to tell on the journey upwards. It lasted a good many
days. Roebelin secured few plants, for this part is inhabited by Bagabos,
or some race of their kidney, and Sam Choon would not land in the forest.
At length they reached Lake Magindanao; the day was fine, and they pushed
across. But presently small round clouds began to mount over the blue
hills. Thicker and thicker they rose. A pleasant wind swelled the surface
of the lake, but those clouds far above moved continually faster. Roebelin
called attention to them. But the Chinaman is the least weatherwise of
mortals. Always intent on his own business or pleasure--the constitution
of mind which gives him such immense advantage above all other men in the
struggle for existence--he does not notice his surroundings much. Briefly,
a tremendous squall caught them in sight of port--one of those sudden
outbursts which make fresh-water sailing so perilous in the Tropics. The
wind swooped down like a hurricane from every quarter at once, as it
seemed. For a moment the lake lay still, hissing, beaten down by the blow;
then it rose in solid bulk like waves of the ocean. In a very few minutes
the squall passed on; but it had swamped the sampan. They were so near the
land, however, that the Subanos, hastening to the rescue, met them half
way in the surf, escorted them to shore, laughing and hallooing, and
returned to dive for the cargo. It was mostly recovered in time.
These people do not build houses in the water, like so many of their kin.
They prefer the safety of high trees; it is not by any means so effectual,
but such, they would say, was the custom of their ancestors. At this
village the houses were perched not less than fifty feet in air, standing
on a solid platform. But if the inhabitants are thus secured against
attack, on the other hand--each family living by itself up aloft--an enemy
on the ground would be free to conduct his operations at leisure. So the
unmarried men and a proportion of the warriors occupy a stout building
raised only so far above the soil as to keep out reptiles. Here also the
chief sits by day, and public business is done. The visitors were taken
thither.
When Roebelin had dried his clothes the afternoon was too far advanced for
exploration. The crew of the prau chattered and disputed at the top of
their shrill voices as case after case was brought in, dripping, and
examined. But Sam Choon found time in the midst of his anxieties to warn
Roebelin against quitting the cleared area. 'Bagabos come just now, they
say,' he shouted. But the noise and the fuss and the smell were past
bearing. Roebelin took his arms and strolled out till supper was ready.