back and hid. He could hear his comrade's shouts above the uproar for a
moment--then there was a pause, and the interpreter's voice reached him
faintly. Wilson still crept away. He heard only a confused clamour for
some minutes, but then a burst of vengeful triumph made the forest ring.
It needed no explanation. Leboeuf was overpowered. The noise grew
fainter--they were dragging him away--and ceased.
For hours Wilson lay in an agony of fear. That Leboeuf was killed he did
not doubt; but how could he himself escape, alone in the forest, ignorant
of the roads, many weeks journey from the coast? A more cruel fate would
probably be his. It might be hoped that Leboeuf's tortures had been
short.
He did not dare push deeper into the wood; his single chance lay in
creeping round the village after dark, and possibly rejoining his
servants, if they still lived. If not, he might recover the road at least.
But man could not be in more desperate straits.
Remaining thus in the vicinity, towards dusk he heard a whistle far off.
The frenzy of his relief is not to be described--it was the rallying
signal of the party. But suppose the enemy used this device to ensnare
him? It might be! And yet--there was the hope. At worst they would give
him a speedy death. He answered. Gradually the searchers drew near. They
were his own men, led by the interpreter.
Wilson could not speak French, but he grasped that the natives would not
harm him. Leboeuf?--It was almost a comfort that he could not understand
precisely. The interpreter's pantomime suggested an awful fate. Leboeuf
stood at bay with his gun, and the chiefs held him in parley while men
crept through the brushwood. They threw a lasso from behind, and dragged
him down. He was borne to the square, and after dread ceremonies which
Wilson shuddered to comprehend, laid upon the altar.
In a maze of horror and anxiety he entered the village. It was not yet
dark. But of all the multitude swarming there some hours before not a soul
was visible. They had not left; every house resounded with the hum of many
voices--low, and, as it seemed to Wilson, praying. The square also was
deserted; upon the high stone altar he saw a shapeless mass from which
small wreaths of smoke still curled.
That was the fate of poor Leboeuf. The same night Wilson was seized by
fever. He struggled on, but died within a few hours' march of Tamatave.
LAELIA PURPURATA
The next house is given up to L. purpurata with some L. grandis tenebrosa
intermixed. Not much can be said of the latter species. Its extraordinary
colour is best described as madder-brown, but here we have a variety of
which the ends of the sepal and petal are yellowish. The broad lip, dull
purple, has a madder-brown cloud at its throat, whence lines of the same
hue proceed to the edges all round. The value of L. tenebrosa for
hybridising needs no demonstration--it introduces a colour unique, of
which not a trace can be found elsewhere. But as for the flower itself, I
protest that it is downright ugly. This is _a propos_ of nothing at all.
_Liberavi animam meam._
It is always difficult to realise that an orchid of the grand class is a
weed. All our conventional notions of a flower revolt against the
proposition. I have remarked that it seems specially absurd to an
ingenuous friend, if one recall the fact while he contemplates Laelia
purpurata. That majestic thing, so perfect in colour and shape, so
delicately finished--a weed! So it is, nevertheless, as lightly regarded
by Nature or by man in its native home as groundsel is by us. The Indians
of Central America love their forest flowers passionately. So do those in
the north of the Southern Continent. But I never heard that the Indians of
Brazil showed a sign of such intelligence. The most glorious Cattleyas to
them are what a primrose was to Peter Bell.
The obvious, unquestionable truth that Laelia purpurata is nothing but a
weed has suggested some unorthodox thoughts, as I considered it,
'pottering about' my houses. This is not the place to set them down at
length. But we have reached a less important part of the collection; I may
chatter for a moment.
All things are grandest in the hot zone, from mountains to plagues.
Excepting the Mississippi and the Yang-tse-Kiang, all the mightiest rivers
even are there. We have no elephants, nor lions, nor anacondas; no tapong
trees three hundred feet high, nor ceibas almost as tall; no butterflies
ten inches across, no storms that lay a province waste and kill fifty
thousand mortals. Further, all things that are most beautiful dwell within
the Tropics--tigers, giraffes, palm-trees, fish, snakes, insects, flowers.
Further still, the most intelligent of beasts are there--apes and monkeys.
It may well be doubted whether man, the animal, is an exception. In this
very country of Brazil, Wallace found among the Indians 'a development of
the chest such as never exists, I believe, in the best-formed European.'
No race of the Temperate Zone approaches the Kroomen in muscular force,
and negroes generally are superior. The strength of the Borneo Dyaks I
myself have noted with amazement. Black Papuans are giants, and the brown
variety excel any white race in vigour. The exception is that most
interesting Negrito strain, represented by a few thousands here and there
from Ceylon to the Philippines. But even they, so small and wretched, have
marvellous strength.
Thus all natural things rise to their highest level in the hot zones--I
have to put the case very roughly, for this is a monstrous digression.
Does it not seem to follow that man should rise to his highest level
there? The aborigines are savages mostly and ever have been; no people of
whom we have record has become civilised unless by an impulse from
without, and none could reach the bulk of these. But India shows that the
brain, as the form, of man may develop to perfection under the hottest
sky. Therefore, to end this brief excursus, I conclude that as the
tropical weed Laelia purpurata is more majestic and more beautiful than
our weeds, so will tropic man some day rise to a height of majesty
unattainable in our zone.
But the reader has had enough of it--and so have I; for to crowd a volume
of facts and arguments into a paragraph is irritating labour. Let us get
back to business. Here are some of our finest varieties of L. purpurata.
_Marginata._--White of sepal and petal. It takes its name from the white
margin surrounding the crimson purple lip. Very striking also is a large
white triangle upon the disc, charmingly netted over with crimson.
_Archduchess_ is faintly rosy. The lobes, closely folded, are deepest
purple-crimson, over an orange throat. On either side the dark central
line of the labellum is a pale blur.
_Macfarlanei._--Sepals and petals very narrow, of a clear rose tint, with
darker lines. A patch almost white in the front of the dark crimson lip.
_Lowiana._--Petals rose, sepals paler. The tube is not large, but it, and
also the labellum, could not be darker if still to be classed as crimson.
Even the yellow of the throat is obscured, but there is a lighter blotch
at the tip.
_Tenebrosa._--The name is due apparently to branching lines of deep maroon
which intersect the crimson lip. Petals and sepals are white, and there is
a white patch on the labellum.
THE DENDROBIUM HOUSE
is the last in this series, where we see the usual varieties in
perfection; there are pseudo-bulbs of Wardianum more than 4 feet long. At
the present day, however, orchidists will not look at 'usual varieties' of
Dendrobium with patience--nobile, cupreum, fimbriatum, thyrsiflorum, etc.
etc. etc. They are exquisitely lovely, of course. Examine them as often as
you will, new marvels of beauty appear. The fact is that most experts
never do examine these common things; they look about for varieties. Such
blase souls can be accommodated, if needful. Here are specimens of _nobile
album_, all white save the deep crimson blotch and a faint yellowish tinge
upon the lip; _nobile virginale_, which has lost even this trace of
colour; _nobile murrhinianum_, very rare, understood to be a hybrid with
Wardianum, snow white, the tips of sepal, petal and lip purple, and a
great purple blotch in the throat; _nobile Cooksoni_, no hybrid, but a
sport, in which the ordinary colouring of the lip is repeated in the
petals; _nobile Ruckerianum_, very large, the deep blotch on the lip
bordered with white; _nobile splendens grandiflorum_, an enlarged and
intensified form of the type.
Of hybrids I may name _Leechianum_ (nobile x aureum), white, sepals,
petals, and lip tipped with rosy purple, the great blotch on the disc
crimson with a golden tinge. _Ainsworthii_, of the same parentage and very
similar, but the blotch is wine-colour. _Schneiderianum_ (Findleyanum x
aureum), bearing white sepals, petals and lip tipped with rosy purple,
throat orange, similarly striped.
Here are several 'specimens' of Epidendrum radicans, a tangle of fresh
green roots and young shoots of green still more fresh and tender,
pleasant to look upon even though not flowering; but verdant pillars set
with tongues of flame at the right season. And an interesting hybrid of
it, _Epidendrum x radico-vitellinum_ (radicans x vitellinum),--brightest
orange, the lip almost scarlet, with three yellow keels upon the disc;
very pretty and effective.
Besides, we have here a Spathoglottis hybrid, _aureo-Veillardii_, _Wigan's
var._ (Kimballiana x Veillardii),--most charming of all the charming
family. Golden--the sepals tinged, and the petals thickly dotted with
crimson; lip crimson and yellow.
STORY OF DENDROBIUM SCHROeDERIANUM
Many who care nothing for our pleasant science recall the chatter and
bustle which greeted the reappearance of Dendrobium Schroederianum in 1891.
For they spread far beyond the 'horticultural circles.' Every newspaper in
the realm gave some sort of a report, and a multitude of my confreres were
summoned to spin out a column, from such stores of ingenuity as they could
find, upon a plant which grew on human skulls and travelled under charge
of tutelary idols. The scene at 'Protheroe's' was a renewal of the good
old time when every season brought its noble plant, and every plant
brought out its noble price--in short, a sensation.
The variety of Dendrobium phalaenopsis hereafter to bear Baron Schroeder's
name was sent to Kew by Forbes about 1857. This single plant remained a
special trophy of the Royal Gardens for many years. It throve and
multiplied. In course of time Sir Joseph Hooker was able to give a small
piece, in exchange for other varieties, to Mr. Day, of Tottenham, to Baron
Schroeder, and to Messrs. Veitch. The latter sold their specimen to Baron
Schroeder; Mr. Day's collection was dispersed, and the same greatest of
amateurs bought his fragment. Thus all three plants known to exist in
private hands came into Baron Schroeder's possession, and the variety took
his name.
This state of things lasted ten years. Mr. Sander then resolved to wait no
longer upon chance. He studied the route of Forbes's travels, consulted
the authorities at Kew, and, with their aid, came to a conclusion. In 1890
my friend Mr. Micholitz went out to seek Dendrobium Schroederianum in its
native wilds.
The man of sense who finds a treasure does not proclaim the spot till he
has filled his pockets, nor even, if it may be, till he has cleared out
the hoard. It is universally understood that Micholitz discovered the
object of his quest in New Guinea. If that error encouraged the
exploration of a most interesting island, as I hear, it has done a public
service. And the explorers have not wasted their time. They did not fall
in with Dendrobium Schroederianum, because it was not there; but they
secured other valuable things. Very shortly now the true habitat will be
declared. Meantime I must only say that it is one of the wildest of those
many 'Summer Isles of Eden' which stud the Australasian Sea.
Micholitz arrived in a trading-vessel, the captain of which was trusted by
the natives. Under that protection the chiefs allowed him to explore,
agreeing to furnish men and canoes--for a consideration, naturally. Their
power did not stretch beyond a few miles of coast; the neighbours on each
side were unfriendly, or at least distrusted; and bitterly hostile tribes
lay beyond--hostile, that is, to the people among whom Micholitz landed.
All alike are head-hunters, and all charge one another with
cannibalism--but falsely in every case, I understand.
The field was narrow, therefore, and uncommonly perilous, for the
best-intentioned of these islanders cannot always resist the impulse to
crown their trophies with a white man's head--as the Captain assured
Micholitz day by day with an earnestness which became oppressive after a
while. But he was very lucky--or rather the probabilities had been studied
so thoughtfully before any step was taken that he sailed to the very
island. I do not mean that it is wonderful to find an orchid on the first
day's search when once its habitat is known. Dendrobiums cover a great
tract of land. It is the nicety of calculation ten thousand miles away
which should be admired.
There were no plants, however, just around the little port. After some
days spent in making arrangements, Micholitz received an intimation that
the chiefs were going to a feast and he might accompany them; there is no
lack of interpreters on that coast, whence so many poor wretches are
enticed to English or French colonies--some of whom return nowadays. The
Captain could not go. In refusing he looked at Micholitz with a quizzical,
hesitating air, as though inclined to make a revelation.
'Is there any danger?' Micholitz asked.
'Oh no! not a bit!--not a bit of danger! I answer for that. You'll be
amused, I daresay. They're rum chaps.'
The chance of making a trip beyond the narrow friendly area in safety was
welcome, and at daylight he started with the chiefs. It was but a few
hours' paddling--to the next bay. The feast was given, as is usual, to
celebrate the launch of a war-prau. In martial panoply the guests
embarked, paint and feathers, spears and clubs. They were met by their
hosts in the same guise upon the beach. After ceremonies probably--but I
have no description--all squatted down in a circle, and a personage,
assumed to be the priest, howled for a while. Then the warriors began to
dance, two by two. It was very wearisome, and besides, very hot. Micholitz
asked at length whether he might leave. The interpreter said there was no
objection. He walked towards the forest, which stood some distance back,
even as a wall, skirting the snowy beach. The grey huts of the village
glimmered among palms and fruit-trees on one hand.
A sunken way had been dug from the edge of the surf to a long low building
a hundred yards back; within it lay the prau doubtless, ready to be
launched. Micholitz skirted this channel. He noticed a curious group of
persons sitting apart--an old man, two women, a boy, and a girl. The
elders were squatting motionless upon the sand, so bowed that the long
wool drooping hid their faces; the children lay with their heads in the
women's laps. None looked up; in passing he observed that these latter
were bound.
The boat-house--so to call it--spanning the channel, was a hundred feet
long, built of palm thatch, with substantial posts at due distance. As he
walked along it, Micholitz became aware of an unpleasant smell. It was not
strong. But in turning the further corner he marked a great purple stain
upon the sand. Flies clustered thick there. It was blood. And then, upon
the wall of thatch above, and the corner post, he traced the stain
streaming broadly down. He looked to the other angle. The horrid mark was
there also. They could not see him from the beach. Easily he parted the
crackling palm leaves, and thrust in his head. At a few feet distance rose
the lofty stern-post, carved and painted, with two broad shells glistening
like eyes in the twilight. No more could he see, dazzled by the glare
outside. That passed. He turned to the right hand-and drew back with a
cry. A naked corpse, with head hanging on its chest, was bound to the
corner post--the same to left.
Poor Micholitz felt sick. He ran from the cursed spot. So glowing was the
sunlight round, so sweet and soft the shadow of the near forest--and those
awful things in the midst! The old hymn rang in his ears--
Where every prospect pleases
And only man is vile.
He hurried towards the trees.
An outburst of yells and laughter made him turn. The circle had broken
up. A swarm of warriors danced towards the boat-house--tore down the
walls; in an instant the posts stood naked--with their burdens. Chiefs
climbed aboard the prau and mustered, with tossing feathers, brandishing
their arms, shouting and singing, on its deck. Ropes were manned. Scores
of brawny savages started at a run, whilst the boys howled with delight
and tumbled over one another. The great vessel moved, quickened. Then a
party rushed upon that little group, trampling it under foot, snatched up
the boy and girl, and sped with them towards the sea. The old man and
women lay where they were tossed: there was no help for them in earth or
heaven. The prau glided quicker and quicker amidst a roaring tumult. As it
neared the sea, those small victims, tossed aloft from either side, fell
across its course. Micholitz looked no more.
'Let me attend to my business, for God's sake!' he kept repeating.
But when he reached the trees his business was done. Those horrors had so
disconcerted him that for an instant he saw long green stems of orchid
perched upon the boughs without regarding them. But here was one from the
top of which depended a cluster of rosy garlands, four or five, bearing a
dozen, or twenty, or thirty great flowers, all open; and there a cluster
snow-white--a crimson one beyond, darkening almost to purple. Dendrobium
Schroederianum was rediscovered!
Of Mitcholitz's emotion it is enough to tell that it drove all else from
his mind, or almost. When the interpreter summoned him he sat down and
hobnobbed with those murderers and ate their dubious viands. The triumph
was startling, so speedy and complete; but so much the heavier were his
responsibilities. When, with a chilling shock, he recalled distinctly the
dread spectacle, he said again:
'Let me attend to my business! _I_ can't help it!'
All went well. So soon as the chiefs understood that this eccentric white
man fancied their weeds, they joyously offered them--at a price. The time
of year was excellent--early in the dry season. Next day Micholitz
returned aboard and the Captain brought his ship round to the bay. But he
would not listen to the story. 'I told you they was rum chaps, didn't I?
Well, you see I told you true.' In three days, so plentiful was the
supply, Micholitz had gathered as many as he thought judicious, and heaped
them on deck. They could be dried while the vessel was waiting for cargo
elsewhere, and he longed to get away from that ill-omened spot.
Still luck attended him. The Captain 'filled up' quickly, and sailed, as
by agreement, for a Dutch port, where the orchids would be shipped for
England. He arrived in the evening, the ship lay alongside the wharf; next
day his precious cases would be transferred to the steamer. In great
content Micholitz went to sleep; so did everybody else, the watch
included. Towards morning the harbour police raised a cry of 'Fire!' It
must have been smouldering for hours. Not a plant could poor Micholitz
save!
On arrival, he had telegraphed his success, and joy reigned at St. Albans
all day. Foresight and enterprise were justly rewarded for once. What a
coup--what a sensation! Let us not speculate upon the language used when a
second dispatch came in the morning.
'Ship burnt! What do?--Micholitz.'
The reply was emphatic: 'Go back--Sander.'
'Too late--rainy season.'
'Go back!'
And Micholitz went. His protest, had he insisted upon it, was
unanswerable. Hard enough it would be to return among those anti-human
wretches when the delights of home had been so near. But there was no
chance of regaining the bay--a vessel might not sail thither for months or
years. The work must be begun again--the search renewed. And in the rainy
season, too!
But the good fellow did not even hesitate. Forthwith he inquired for a
ship trading with the island. There was none, and he had no time to wait,
for the rain grew heavier daily. A mail steamer was leaving for the
nearest settlement. Trusting to the 'courtesy of nations,' Micholitz
claimed a passage as a shipwrecked man. It was flatly refused, but at
length the Dutch officials yielded to his indignant appeal so far as to
make a deduction of 30 per cent. 'Well,' he wrote to St. Albans, 'there is
no doubt these are the meanest people on earth.' The Captain of the _Costa
Rica_ whaling ship agrees with him.
I have no space for the adventures of this second journey now. The
Dendrobe was found once more, which is not at all surprising when its
habitat had been discovered. At this spot, however, it was growing, not on
trees, but on rocks of limestone--most epiphytal orchids love to cling on
that rough and porous surface. Especially was it abundant in the graveyard
of the clan, a stony waste where for generations they had left their
dead--not unmourned, perhaps--beneath the sky. The plants grew and
flowered among bones innumerable. To suggest the removal of them under
such circumstances was a nervous duty. But in the graveyard they were not
only most plentiful, but by far most vigorous. It had to be done, and with
all precautions, after displaying a sample of his 'trade,' looking-glasses
and knives and beads, and so forth, Micholitz did it.
A clamour of indignation broke out. It was swelling into passion when he
produced a roll of brass wire; at that spectacle it suddenly calmed down.
After debate among themselves the warriors stipulated that two of their
most sacred idols should travel with the plants, and be treated with all
honour on the way. They would not assist in collecting, but after the
distribution of brass wire they helped to pack the cases.
Thus it happened that one of the Dendrobes sold at 'Protheroe's' on
October 16, 1891, was attached to a human skull. As for the idols, they
were bought by the Hon. Walter Rothschild, and we are free to hope that
they are treated with reverence, as per agreement.
STORY OF DENDROBIUM LOWII
The authorities assert that Dendrobium Lowii was introduced to Europe by
Sir Hugh Low in 1861. My friend has so many titles to honour, in this and
other forms of public service, that he will not feel the loss of one. The
statement is not absolutely correct. An unnamed species, which must have
been Dendrobium Lowii, flowered in the collection of Mr. H. Vicars, at
Heath House, near Chelmsford, in 1845. I do not propose to describe the
plant whereby hangs my tale; suffice it that this is a pale yellow
Dendrobe, peculiarly charming, very delicate, and still rare. We do not
hear of Mr. Vicars' specimen again. He obtained it, with others, from
Fraser, Cumming, and Co., of Singapore, probably in 1842. It was brought
to them from Borneo by Captain Baker, commanding the ship _Orient
Pioneer_.
When lying at Singapore Captain Baker heard of the coal seams just
discovered at Kiangi, on the Brunei river, which made such a stir in the
City a few months afterwards. It seemed to him that his owners would like
a report upon them. And he sailed thither.
I picture the man as big and rough--fat he was certainly; one of those
sailors, careful enough aboard ship, who think it necessary to take a
'drop' at every halt when making holiday.
Pirates were no tradition in that era. They swarmed among the islands, and
the younger chiefs were not proof against temptation when they fell in
with an European ship that seemed to be in difficulties. Doubtless Captain
Baker kept all his wits about him on a perilous voyage beyond the track of
commerce then. But he reached the Bay of Brunei safely, ascended the river
in a well-armed boat, and visited the coalfields at Kiangi. A few Chinamen
were working there. Baker had shrewdness enough to see that immense
capital would be required, that the Sultan would give endless trouble, and
that the coal, when won, might prove to be dubious in quality. We may
hope, therefore, that his owners kept out of the 'rush' which followed,
and were duly grateful.