the savages arguing coolly, the Chinamen raving. Sam Choon rushed up,
begging him to act as umpire; and whilst eating his supper Roebelin
learned the question in dispute. Sam Choon, as we know, had debts to
collect in this village, for cloth and European goods, to be paid in
jungle produce--honey, wax, gums, and so forth. The Subanos did not deny
their liability--the natural man is absolutely truthful and honest. Nor
did they assert that they could not pay. Their contention was simply that
the merchandise had been charged at a figure beyond the market rate.
Another Chinaman had paid them a visit, and sold the same wares at a lower
price. They proposed to return Sam Choon's goods unused, and to pay for
anything they could not restore on this reduced scale. It was perfectly
just in the abstract, and the natural man does not conceive any other sort
of justice. Sam Choon could not dispute that his rival's cloth was equally
good; it bore the same trademark, and those keen eyes were as well able to
judge of quality as his own. But the trader everywhere has his own code of
morals. Those articles for which the Subanos were indebted had been
examined, and the price had been discussed, at leisure; an honest man
cannot break his word. Such diverse views were not to be reconciled.
Roebelin took a practical course. He asked whether it could possibly be
worth while to quarrel with these customers for the sake of a very few
dollars? At the lower rate there would be a profit of many hundreds per
cent. But the Chinaman, threatened with a loss in business, is not to be
moved, for a while at least, by demonstrations of prudence.
Meantime the dispute still raged at the Council fire, for the crew also
were interested. Suddenly there was a roar. Several of them rushed across
to Sam Choon and shouted great news. Roebelin understood afterwards. The
caitiff who had undersold them was in the village at that moment! Whilst
they jabbered in high excitement another roar burst out. One of the men,
handling the rival's cloth, found a private mark--the mark of his 'Hoey.'
And it was that to which they all belonged.
The Hoey may be described as a trade guild; but it is much more. Each of
these countless associations is attached to one of the great secret
societies, generally the T'ien T'i Hung, compared with which, for numbers
and power, Freemasonry is but a small concern. By an oath which expressly
names father, son, and brother, the initiated swear to kill any of their
fellows who shall wrong a member of the Hoey. This unspeakable villain who
sold cheap had wronged them all! He must die!
They pressed upon the chief in a body, demanding the traitor. All had arms
and brandished them. Probably the savages would not have surrendered a
guest on any terms; but this demonstration provoked them. In howling
tumult they dispersed, seized their ready weapons, and formed line. The
war-cry was not yet raised, but spears were levelled by furious hands. The
issue depended on any chance movement. Suddenly from a distance came the
blast of a cow-horn--a muffled bellow, but full of threat. The savages
paused, turned, and rushed out, shouting. Roebelin caught a word, familiar
by this time--'Bagabos.' He followed; but Sam Choon seized his arm. 'They
put _ranjows_,' he said breathlessly. 'You cut foot, you die!' And in the
moonlight Roebelin saw boys running hither and thither with an armful of
bamboo spikes sharp as knives at each end, which they drove into the
earth.
Men unacquainted with the plan of this defence can only stand aside when
ranjows are laid down. Roebelin waited with the Chinamen, tame and quiet
enough now. The Subanos had all vanished in the forest, which rose, misty
and still, across the clearing. Hours they watched, expecting each moment
to hear the yell of savage fight. But no sound reached them. At length a
long line of dusky figures emerged, with arms and ornaments sparkling in
the moonlight. It was half the warriors returning.
They still showed sullenness towards the Chinamen; but the chief took
Roebelin by the hand, led him to the foot of a tree upon which stood the
largest house, and smilingly showed him the way up. It was not a pleasant
climb. The ladder, a notched trunk, dripped with dew; it was old and
rotten besides. Roebelin went up gingerly; the chief returned with a torch
to light his steps before he had got half way. But the interior was
comfortable enough--far above the mosquito realm anyhow. Roebelin felt
that an indefinite number of eyes were watching from the darkness as he
made his simple preparations for turning in; but he saw none of them, and
heard only a rustling. 'What a day I've had!' he thought, and fell asleep.
It was a roar and a rush like the crack of doom which woke him; shrieking
and shouting, clang of things that fell, boom of great waves, and thunder
such as mortal never heard dominating all. A multitude of naked bodies
stumbled over him and fell, a struggling, screaming heap. In an instant
they were gone. He started up, but pitched headlong. The floor rolled
elastic as a spring-board. It was black night. Dimly he saw clearer
patches where a flying wretch, tossed against the wall of sticks, had
broken it down. But the dust veiled them like a curtain. Gasping, on hands
and knees, Roebelin sought the doorway. Again and again, even thus, he
fell upon his side. And all the while that thundering din resounded. He
understood now. It was a great earthquake! At length the doorway was
found; holding on cautiously, Roebelin felt for the ladder. It was
gone--broken in the rush.
Of the time that followed I do not speak. There were no more shocks.
Slowly the sky whitened. He turned over the wreck--not a creature was
there, dead or living. Great gaps showed in the floor and in the roof.
Through one of these, against the rosy clouds, he saw a wreath of giant
flowers, lilac and cinnamon, clinging to the tree above. It was Vanda
Sanderiana!
* * * * *
But that plant and the others collected at the same time never reached
Europe. Upon returning to Surigao with his treasures, Roebelin found
little beyond heaps of rubbish on the site. Earthquakes have a home in
Mindanao. But that of 1880 was the most awful on record as yet. Two years
later he returned and brought home the prize.
STORY OF PHALAENOPSIS SANDERIANA
The discovery of Phalaenopsis Sanderiana was an interesting event; nor for
botanists alone. Some thoughtful persons always incline to credit a legend
or an assertion current among savages, so long as it deals with facts
within the limits of their knowledge. Human beings are truthful by
instinct; and if we can assure ourselves that no motive tempts them to
falsehood, it is more likely than not that even an improbable story will
prove correct. The rule applies in all matters of natural history.
Numberless are the reports concerning beasts and birds and reptiles
accepted now which were a mock for generations; numberless, also, one must
add, are the reports too grotesque for discussion. For imagination asserts
itself in the case of animals, and gives a motive, though unconscious, for
the wildest inventions. But it is rarely excited by plants. When a savage
describes some flower he has seen, the statement may be trusted, 'barring
errors'; and they will probably be slight, for his power of observation,
and his memory in matters of this sort, are alike wonderful. A collector
of plants who knows his business encourages the natives to talk; often
enough they give him valuable information. The first hint of Calla
Pentlandii, the yellow Egyptian lily or 'arum,' was furnished by a Zulu
who came from a great distance to visit a relative in the service of
Captain Allison. I may venture to tell secrets which will be common
property soon. A blue Calla and a scarlet have been found--both of them
on report of Kaffirs.
The story of Phalaenopsis Sanderiana is a striking instance. Its allied
species, grandiflora and amabilis, reached Europe in 1836 and 1847
respectively. Their snowy whiteness and graceful habit prepared the world
for a burst of enthusiasm when Phalaenopsis Schilleriana, the earliest of
the coloured species, was brought from the Philippines in 1860. The Duke
of Devonshire paid Messrs. Rollison a hundred guineas for the first plant
that flowered. Such a price was startling then. Reported at Manila, it set
the Spaniards talking and inquiring. Messrs. Rollison had sent an agent to
collect Phalaenopsis there, who presently reported a scarlet species! No
one he could find had seen it, but the natives spoke confidently, and he
hoped to forward a consignment without delay. But years and years passed.
The great firm of Rollison flourished, decayed, and vanished, but that
blessed consignment was never shipped.
Other collectors visited the Philippines. They also reported the wonder,
on hearsay, and every mail brought them reiterated instructions to find
and send it at any cost. Now here, now there, the pursuers hunted it to a
corner; but when they closed, it was elsewhere. Meantime the settled
islands had been explored gradually. Many fine things escaped attention,
as we know at this day; but a flower so conspicuous, so eagerly demanded
and described, could not have been missed. As years went by, the red
Phalaenopsis became a joke. Interest degenerated into mockery.
As a matter of fact, it is very improbable that the plant had ever been in
Manila, or that a white man had beheld it. For it is found only in an
islet to the west of Mindanao, the most southerly of the Philippine group.
Mindanao itself is not yet explored, much less occupied, though the
Spaniards pushed farther and farther inland year by year. Seafaring
Tagalas may have visited that islet, and seen the red Phalaenopsis. When
they heard, at Manila, how an English duke had paid some fabulous amount
for a flower of the same genus, they would naturally mention it. And so
the legend grew.
In 1881, a score of years afterwards, the conquest of Mindanao was so far
advanced that the Spanish mail steamers called there. When Mr. Sander of
St. Albans heard this intelligence he thrilled with hope, as has been
told. Mr. Roebelin had instructions, of course, to inquire for the red
Phalaenopsis; Mr. Sander's experience teaches him that local rumours
should never be disregarded. But the search had been very close and very
long. Perhaps there was not another man in Europe who thought it possible
that the marvel could exist.
Mr. Roebelin is still living, I believe, and he could tell of some lively
adventures on that first visit to Mindanao. Constantly he heard of the red
Phalaenopsis; it was _en l'air_, he wrote, using the expression in two
senses. At the northern settlements they directed him south, at the
eastern, west, and so round the compass. But he had other matters in hand,
and contented himself with inquiries.
I do not learn whether it was accident or information which led him to the
little island Davao on his second visit, in 1883. He may have sailed
thither on chance, for a traveller is absolutely certain of finding new
plants on an untrodden shore in those seas. Anyhow Roebelin knew the quest
was over, the riddle solved triumphantly, before landing.
The half-breed Chinaman, Sam Choon, was personally conducting him on this
occasion also; he found the vessel (a native prau, of course), boatmen,
provisions, and the rest. Everything was at the collector's disposal; but
Sam Choon took a cargo of 'notions' on his own account, to trade when
opportunity arose.
Davao lies, I understand, some sixty miles from Mindanao. Its inhabitants
are Papuan thorough-bred, of the brown variety. Roebelin was deeply struck
with the appearance of the warriors who swarmed to the beach when his
intention of landing was understood. A body of men so tall and stalwart
can scarcely be found elsewhere, and for graceful carriage or activity
they could not be surpassed. A red clout was their only wear, besides
ornaments and weapons. They had the kinkled hair of the race (not wool),
bleached with lime, and dyed yellow. Very strange and pleasing is the
effect of these golden mops, lustrous if not clean, decked with plumes and
fresh flowers. But admiration came afterwards. When Roebelin saw the big
fellows mustering in haste, armed with spears and bows, stoneheaded maces
which the European soldier could scarcely wield, great swords set with
sharks' teeth, and outlandish tools of every sort for smashing and
tearing, he regarded the spectacle from another point of view. They ran
and leapt, brandishing their weapons, halloed and roared and sang, with
Papuan vivacity. The vessel approaching was too small to alarm them.
Laughter predominated in the uproar. But this was no comfort. Men are
cheerful with a feast in view.
Sam Choon, however, kept up his spirits. 'Them chaps make rumpus all
time,' he said. 'We see.' He held up a green bough shipped for the
purpose. It was all laughter now and gesticulation. Every Papuan tore a
branch from the shrubs around and waved it boisterously. 'Them no hurt,'
said Sam Choon. 'Good trade.' The Chinaman was as careful of his person as
one need be, and experienced in the ways of such people. Roebelin took
courage. As they neared the surf, the whole body of islanders rushed
towards them, splashed through the shallows whooping, dived beneath the
wave, and came up at the vessel's side. Ropes were tossed to them, and
they swam back again. But the first yellow head popped up just where
Roebelin was seated. Among the feathers twisted in it, draggled now, he
saw a spray--surely an Aerides! but bluish-red, unlike any species known.
The savage grinned and shouted, whirling the hair like an aureole around
his glistening face, threw one brawny arm into the air, and at a stroke
reached the bows. Another shot up; another. The sea was peopled in an
instant, all grinning and shouting breathlessly, all whirling their golden
locks. Among the flowers with which every head was decked, Roebelin saw
many Phalaenopsis. And most of them were ruddy!
Sam Choon lay to whilst the islanders swam ashore and formed a chain;
then, at a word, they ran up the beach full speed--making a noise, says
Roebelin, which reminded him of the earthquake he had lately felt.
Simultaneously the crew paddled their hardest, also yelling in the shrill
Chinese way. The prau sped like a flash, but half full of water. Beyond
the surf a mob seized and carried it ashore.
Papuans have no acquaintance with ceremony. Paying little attention to
their chiefs, they are not apt to discriminate among strangers. All alike
seized one of these new friends--who brought trade!---slapped him about
the body, and hugged him. Roebelin had been subjected to merciless
shampooing occasionally in Indian hammams; but he never felt the like of
that welcome. It was _massage_ by machinery.
The women had come on the scene now. Though they took no part, they
mingled with the warriors, and showed quite as much assurance as is
becoming. But they are not by any means such fine creatures as the men,
and they do not allow themselves--or they are not allowed--the curious
attraction of yellow hair. Roebelin noticed a few, however, worthy to be
helpmates of those superb animals; one girl in especial, nearly six feet
high, whose figure was a model, face pleasing and expressive, full of
character.
These people live in trees like the Subanos of Mindanao. As soon as his
baggage had been taken to the public hall, Roebelin got out beads, wire,
and Brummagem jewellery. The glimpse of that Aerides and the assurance of
a red Phalaenopsis made him impatient. But even Sam Choon found difficulty
in identifying the chiefs, to whom of course presents must be made before
business can open. However, the point interesting to Roebelin was settled
in an instant. The Phalaenopsis, they said, abounded within a few hundred
yards, and the Aerides was common enough. The white man wanted them for
medicine? He might have as many as he liked--on due payment. To-morrow the
chief would show him, and then a price must be fixed.
He slept in the hall, and at dawn he was more than ready. But early rising
is not a virtue of savages. To explore without permission would be
dangerous. Gradually the village woke to life. Men descended from their
quarters high in air, bathed, made their toilettes, and lounged about,
waiting for breakfast. Girls came down for water and returned, whilst
their mothers tidied the house. Smoke arose. In due time the men mounted,
ate, climbed down, and gathered in the public hall, where Sam Choon was
setting out a sample of his wares. Hours passed. But the chief's door
remained shut. No one passed out or in.
Roebelin saw people glance upwards with a grave air; but they showed no
surprise. He consulted Sam Choon, who had been too busy to notice.
All he said was, ''Spect chief get bad bird! Dam! All up this day!' And he
stopped his preparations.
So it proved to be--a fowl of black plumage had flown across just as the
door was opening. None of the chief's household came down that day. But
after negotiation some of the men led Roebelin to see the Phalaenopsis.
They grew in thousands over a brook close by, clinging to small trees. He
counted twenty-two plants, bearing more than a hundred flowers open, upon
a single trunk. Very curious is one point noticed. The Phalaenopsis always
grows on the northern side of its support, and always turns its flower
spike towards the southern side. It is a very bad species to travel. Of
the multitude which Roebelin gathered, not more than a hundred reached
Europe alive, and every collector since, I believe, has failed utterly.
Very few possessed his knowledge and experience.
That was Phalaenopsis Sanderiana; rather purple than red, but certainly
the flower so long sought. With the superb Aerides--now called A.
Roebelini--he was even less successful; it is only to be seen in a very
few collections of the highest class.
So the legend ends. But there is a funny little sequel. Sam Choon did well
with his 'notions.' After Mr. Roebelin's departure, he returned to Davao
and opened a promising branch of trade. To secure a permanent footing, he
thought it would be judicious to marry a daughter of the chief, and he
proposed for the giant beauty whom Roebelin had noticed on landing. The
father was astonished and amused, but finally indignant. A Chinaman,
however, though thrifty by habit and taste, does not count expense when
pleasure or business urge him, and both combined here. The chief wavered,
and took counsel of his elders. They also were astonished and indignant;
but Sam Choon found means to persuade them. So the young woman received
notice that she was to marry the Chinaman next day. Her remarks are not
chronicled. But there was much excitement among the bachelors and maidens
that evening, and presently a band of stalwart youths entered the hall
where Sam Choon sat with the chief--his father-in-law on the morrow. They
told the latter gravely that they disapproved of the match. Sam Choon
interposed with a statement of the advantages to follow, with equal
gravity. Then they threatened to smash every bone in his carcass. So the
marriage was broken off, but without ill-feeling on either side.
[Illustration: LAELIA, GRANDIS, TENEBROSA. _WALTON GRANGE VARIETY._]
HYBRID CATTLEYAS AND LAELIAS
To right, in the Vanda House, are many hybrids of Cattleya and Laelia; but
we have many more, and it will be convenient to notice them all together
in this place. Some have not flowered yet, and therefore have received no
name; but even of these it is worth while to give the parentage, seeing
that there is no official record of hybridisation as yet. Mr. Rolfe at Kew
tries hard to keep pace with the enterprise of enthusiastic amateurs and
energetic professionals throughout the world. But comparatively few report
to him, and not every one files the _Orchid Review_. Thus it happens that
experiments carried to an issue long ago are continually repeated, in the
expectation of producing a novelty. The experimenter indeed loses nothing
save the credit he hoped to win. But in the scientific point of view time
is wasted and the confusion of names is increased. To contribute in my
small way towards an improvement in this state of things I give a list of
the Cattleya and Laelia hybrids at Woodlands, long though it be, and
uninteresting to the public at large; assured that it will be welcome to
those who study this most fascinating subject.
I may take the hybrids as they stand, with no methodical arrangement.
L.-C. means the product of a Laelia and a Cattleya, or, somewhat loosely,
of a Cattleya and a Laelia. C. x means the product of two Cattleyas; L. x
of two Laelias.
_L.-C. Ancona_ (Catt. Harrisoniae x L. purpurata) represents each parent
almost equally, taking after Catt. Harrisoniae in colour and size of sepal
and petal; in general shape and in the hues of the labellum after L.
purpurata.
_L.-C. Nysa_ (L. crispa x Catt. Warcewiczii).--Pale mauve--the petals have
a sharp touch of crimson at the tips. Labellum all evenly crimson with a
narrow outline of white, gracefully frilled.
_L. x Measuresiana._--A natural hybrid, very rare, assumed to be the
product of L. elegans x L. purpurata. Rosy mauve. From the tube, very
long, the labellum opens squarely, purple, with a clouded throat and dusky
yellow 'eyes.'
_L.-C. Arnoldiana_ (L. purpurata x Catt. labiata). Large, clear mauve.
Petals much attenuated at the ends, which gives them a sort of 'fly-away'
appearance. The fine expanded lip, of carmine crimson, is clouded with a
deeper tint round the orange throat.
_L. x Claptonensis_ (L. elegans x L. Dormaniana).--Small, white with a
rosy flush. The long shovel lip is brilliantly crimson, fading to a white
edge.
_L.-C. amanda._--A natural hybrid of which Catt. intermedia is one parent,
L. Boothiana perhaps the other. Pale pink. The yellow throat and the
bright rosy lip show lines of deep crimson, strongly 'feathered' on either
side.
_L. x Gravesiae_ (L. crispa superba x L. praestans).--Small, rosy white.
The spade-like lip is magenta-crimson, wonderfully smooth and brilliant,
with two little yellow 'eyes' in the throat.
_L.-C. Tiresias_ (Catt. Bowringiana x L. elegans).--The petals are exactly
oval, saving pretty twirls and twists at the edges--soft bright mauve, the
narrow sepals paler. The funnel lip does not open wide, but in colour it
is like the richest and silkiest crimson velvet, almost maroon at the
throat; charmingly frilled and gauffered.
_C. x Portia._--Parents doubtful, but evidently Catt. Bowringiana is one
of them, Catt. labiata perhaps the other. Sepals and petals lively mauve,
the latter darker. The funnel of the lip brightest rose, disc of the
softest tenderest crimson imaginable, deepening against the pale yellowish
throat.
_L.-C. Tresederiana_ (Catt. Loddigesii x L. crispa superba).--Rather
curious than beautiful. The narrow petals and narrower sepals are pallid
violet; the labellum has a faintly yellow throat, and the dull purple disc
of Catt. crispa; not evenly coloured but in strong lines.
_C. x Mantinii nobilior_ (Catt. Bowringiana x Catt. aurea).--Raised by M.
Mantin. Delicious is a proper word for it--neat and graceful in shape,
rosy-crimson in colour. The lip opens widely, exquisitely veined with gold
within. It has a golden tinge on either side the throat, and a margin of
deeper crimson. The whole colouring is indescribably soft and tender.
_C. x Mantinii inversa_ represents the same parentage transposed (Catt.
aurea x Catt. Bowringiana).--Small like its mother, of brightest deepest
rose. The lip, loosely open above, swells to a fine expanse below, of
darker tint. Throat golden, charmingly scored with crimson-brown, like
aurea. The disc shows an arch of dark crimson on a rosy ground. It will be
seen that the influence of Bowringiana strongly predominates.
_C. x Chloris_ (Catt. Bowringiana x Catt. maxima) much resembles the
above. It is less brilliant, however; the lip does not open so freely, and
the arch mentioned, though even darker, is not so effective on a less
lively ground.
_L.-C. Fire Queen._--Parentage not recorded. I have not seen this flower,
nor even an account of it, but it received an Award of Merit, June 6,
1897.
_L.-C. Lady Wigan_ (L. purpurata Russelliana x Catt. Mossiae
aurea).--Dainty pink of sepal and petal. From the pale yellow throat issue
a number of crimson rays which darken to violet purple in the disc.