him to collect a few of the 'air-plants' which began to make such a stir
in England, but that would not detain him. They grew so thick on every
tree that a boatload could be gathered in dropping down the river. He had
instructions to choose those upon the highest branches, where, as was
thought, the best species are found; but it made no difference, for a
sailor could walk up those trees hung with creepers as easily as up the
shrouds! So Captain Baker looked out for a place to land among the
mangroves, expecting to fulfil his commission in an hour at most. A place
was found presently, the boat turned to shore, and he directed a couple of
sailors to climb. They were more than willing, under a promise of grog. I
may venture to drop the abstract form of narrative here, and put the
breath of life into it.
Baker had engaged a Malay as interpreter for the voyage; by good luck he
was a native of Brunei. This man stared and laughed a little to himself on
hearing the order. As the sailors began to mount, he said:
'Tuan Cap'n! Say 'm fellows looky sharp on snakes.'
The men paused suddenly, looking down, but Baker swore very loud and very
often to the effect that he'd eat every snake within miles, and that
Tuzzadeen was the son of a sea-cook. So the climbers went up, but
gingerly. Tuzzadeen sat grinning. They had not mounted high, luckily, for
on a sudden one gave a screech, and both crashed down, the second dropping
in sheer fright. But he who uttered that yell had good cause for it,
evidently. He danced and twisted, threw himself down and bounded to his
feet, roaring with pain. His eyes showed the white in a circle all round,
and his brows, strained upward, almost touched the hair. All leapt out,
splashing through the shallow water, pale with alarm--seized their
writhing comrade, and stripped him. Tuzzadeen examined his body; presently
the convulsions grew fainter, and he struggled in a more intelligent sort
of way, though still roaring.
'Him bit by fire-ant, I say, Tuan Cap'n,' observed Tuzzadeen.
'Well! Here's a blasphemous fuss about an unmentionable little ant! D'you
call yourself a gore-stained British seaman, Forster? Just let's hear you
do it, you unfit-for-repetition lubber, so as we may have a right-down
blank laugh.'
Forster collected his wits and answered earnestly, 'It was an ant maybe.
But I tell you, Cap'n Baker, there ain't no difference betwixt that ant
and a red-hot iron devil. Oh law! I'll be good from this day. I know how
the bad uns fare now.'
'That's a blessed resolution anyhow,' said Baker. 'But it didn't last
above a minute, you see. Come, show yourself a man, and shin up them
shrouds again.'
'No, Cap'n Baker,' he answered slowly and impressively, 'not if you was to
put the Queen's crown on top of the tree and fix a keg of rum half-way
up.'
Then they found that the other man had hurt himself badly in falling.
Baker was stubborn. But promises and taunts failed to move one of them,
and he was too fat to climb himself.
'Confound it, Tuz,' said he discontentedly, as they pulled into the
stream. 'Other men have got these things. How did they do it?'
'Them get Dyaks--naked chaps what see ants and snakes.'
'Oh! And can I get Dyaks?'
'You pay, Tuan Cap'n, I find plenty naked chaps.'
In the evening all was settled. Tuzzadeen knew the chief of a Sibuyou Dyak
village on a hill just above the bay; they would scarcely lose sight of
the ship. No preparations were necessary. He himself would go ahead when
they approached a village, and the Dyaks would be pleased to see them.
At dawn next day Baker started, with Tuzzadeen and four armed sailors.
They crossed the broad white beach, studded with big rocks, moss-grown,
weather-stained, clothed with creepers and plumed with fern; through a
grove of cocoanut palms, scaring a band of children--Malay, but clad only
in a heart-shaped badge of silver dangling at their waists--and entered
the forest. There was a well-worn path. In a hilly district like this
Dyaks are content to walk upon the ground; elsewhere they lay tree-trunks,
end to end, on crossed posts, and trot along, raised above the level of
the bush.
It is likely that this was the first time Captain Baker had entered a
tropic forest. A very few steps from the busy go-downs of Singapore would
have taken him into one peculiarly charming; but tigers lay in wait all
round the town--so at least it was believed, not without probability. A
few daring souls already dwelt at Tanglin; but they left business early,
looked to their arms before setting out, and never dreamed of quitting
the bungalow when safe home once more.
Anyhow, the good man was struck with the beauty of that jungle. Scarcely a
flower did he see, or a butterfly, or any living thing save ants and
wasps. Vast trees arching above the path shut out every sun-ray in that
early hour. But all beneath them was a garden such as he had never
conceived. The dews had not yet dried up. They outlined every thread in
the great webs stretching from bush to bush, edged the feathers of bamboo
with white, hung on the tip of every leaf. And the leaves were endless in
variety. Like a green wall they stood on either hand--so closely were they
pressed together along the track, which gave them some faint breath of air
and glimmer of sunshine at noonday. Living things were heard, too, though
unseen. The wah-wahs called 'jug-jug' in a long gurgling cadence, like
water pouring from a bottle. Boughs clashed in sudden tumult, and dimly
one caught a glimpse of monkeys flying through the air in alarm. A crow
upon the top of some dead tree uttered its clanging call, slow and
sonorous like strokes upon a bell. In short, Baker was much pleased and
interested. Often he came to a halt, and at every halt he served out rum.
It was a walk of some miles, very steep at the last. Near the village they
crossed a ravine, dry at this season; so deep it was that the bridge which
spanned it hung far above the tops of lofty trees growing on an island in
the midst.
The bridge was actually the greatest wonder seen as yet on this delightful
excursion. Huge bamboos, lashed end to end, were suspended over the abyss
by rattans beyond counting, fixed in the trees at either side. Not only
wonderful but most elegant it was, for the rattans had been disposed
symmetrically. But Baker, though a seaman from his youth up, surveyed it
with dismay. Boards a foot wide at the utmost had been laid across the
bamboo. There was a hand-rail on each side, but so slight that he
perceived it could not be meant for a support. Moreover, Tuzzadeen warned
him earnestly, before leading the way, that he must not grasp the
hand-rail--it must be touched only, to assist the balance.
Then the Malay went across. At a yard out the bridge began to shiver, and
when he reached the middle, which dipped many feet, it was swinging to and
fro like a pendulum. If Baker had not drunk just enough to make him
reckless he would have turned back. A couple of the men refused. That was
another prick of the spur. He followed Tuzzadeen, with his heart in his
mouth, and arrived safely. Guess how deep was the refresher after that.
Tuzzadeen pushed on, and returned presently with an invitation from the
chief--the Orang kaya, as his title goes. I can fancy Baker's astonishment
when he came in sight of the village. It was one house, perhaps three
hundred feet long, raised thirty feet in the air on posts. They climbed a
notched log to the entrance, where the chief was waiting with his
councillors. He had sent for young men, readily spared at this season, and
meantime he asked the Tuan to rest.
Baker perceived that the house was open from end to end in front and on
his left hand as he entered; on the right, however, stretched a wooden
party wall, with many doors. He rightly concluded that the open space was
common and each family occupied one chamber. Hundreds of people crowded
round, especially children.
Then he lunched, the chief looking on, and in due time a score of stalwart
young Dyaks arrived. After resting he started again with them.
What with drink and interest Baker was now jovially excited. In passing
through the house he noticed a door festooned with greenery. A noise of
howling came through it. He asked Tuzzadeen what this meant. Tuzzadeen,
Malay and Moslem, was much amused.
'Baby born!' he laughed. 'Father go to bed; mother feed him with rice and
salt.'
'Feed the father?' Baker cried.
'Yes. Them naked chaps say father's child, not mother's. Women cry over
him. You hear?'
'Lord 'a mercy, I must see this!' And before Tuzzadeen could interfere he
opened the door.
Wild uproar broke out on the instant, men shouted, women screamed and
wailed--in a solid mass they rushed from the spot. Tuzzadeen caught Baker
and ran him back up the passage, the sailors following. They fled for
their lives, slid down the notched log and along the path, pursued by
terrific clamour--but not by human beings apparently. Perceiving this,
Tuzzadeen stopped.
'I go back,' he said breathlessly. 'Them kill us in jungle when them like.
I make trade. You pay?'
'Anything--anything!' cried Baker. 'We haven't even our guns!'
So the Malay went back to negotiate, but they ran on--came to the awful
bridge, Baker foremost. He reached the middle. One of the sailors behind
would wait no longer--advanced and both fell headlong down. The sailor was
killed instantly; Baker, in the middle of the bridge, dropped among the
branches of a tree.
There he lay, bruised, half conscious, until Tuzzadeen's shouts roused
him, and he answered faintly.
'Hold on!' cried the Malay. 'We come good time, Tuan Cap'n! Before dark!'
Six hours to wait at least!
Baker began to stir--found he had no limbs broken, and thought of
descending. His movements were quickened by the onslaught of innumerable
ants, not a venomous species happily. But in climbing down he remarked
that the tree-top was loaded with orchids, which he tore off and dropped;
long before nightfall he met the search-party, toiling up the ravine from
its opening on the shore.
Next day Tuzzadeen returned to bury the dead man and bring away the
orchids; among them was Mr. Vicars' Dendrobium Lowii.
The Dyak practice referred to--of putting the father to bed when a child
is born--prevails, or has prevailed, from China to Peru. It lingers even
in Corsica and the Basque Provinces of Europe. Those who would know more
may consult an Encyclopaedia, under the heading 'Couvade.' The house is
'taboo'--called 'pamali' in Borneo--for eight days. Hence the commotion.
CALANTHE HOUSE
For my own part I rank Calanthes among the most charming of flowers, and
in the abstract most people agree with me perhaps. Yet they are
contemned--the natural species--by all professed orchidists; and even
hybrids mostly will be found in holes and corners, where no one is invited
to pause and look at them. There are grand exceptions certainly. In Baron
Schroeder's wondrous collection, the hybrid Calanthes hold a most
honourable place. I have seen them in bloom there filling a big house,
more like flowering shrubs than orchids--a blaze and a mass of colour
almost startling. But these are unique, raised with the utmost care from
the largest and rarest and most brilliant varieties which money unlimited
could discover. The species used for hybridising were, as I understand,
Cal. vestita oculata gigantea with Cal. Regnieri, Sanderiana, and
igneo-oculata--but picked examples, as has been said.
Here we have, among others, _Sandhurstiana_, offspring of Limatodes rosea
x Cal. vest. rubro-oculata. The individual flowers are large, and a spike
may bear as many as forty; brightest crimson, with a large yellow 'eye'
upon the lip. No mortal contemns this.
_Bella_ (Veitchii x Turneri).--Sepals white, petals daintily flushed; lip
somewhat more deeply flushed, with a white patch upon the disc, and in
this a broad spot of the deepest but liveliest crimson.
_Veitchii_ of course; but also the pure white form of Veitchii, which is
by no means a matter of course.
_William Murray_ (vest. rubro-oculata x Williamsii).--A hybrid notably
robust, which is always a recommendation. White sepals and petals, a
crimson patch on the lip, darkest at the throat.
_Florence_ (bella x Veitchii).--Flowers large, of a deep rose, with
purplish rose markings.
_Clive._--The parentage of this hybrid is lost. Petals lively carmine,
sepals paler. Throat yellow, lip white at base with carmine disc.
_Victoria Regina_ (Veitchii x rosea).--The large flowers are all tender
rose, saving a touch of sulphurous yellow at base of the lip.
Phaio-calanthe _Arnoldiae_ is a bi-generic hybrid (C. Regnieri x Phajus
grandifolius).--Sepals and petals yellow; lip rose-pink.
Here also I may mention some interesting Phajus hybrids:--
_Phoebe_ (Sanderianus x Humblotii).--Sepals and petals light fawn-colour
with a pinkish tone; lip crimson, veined with yellow.
_Owenianus_ (bicolor Oweniae x Humblotti).--Sepals and petals milk-white,
tinged with purplish brown. Lip like crimson velvet, orange at the base.
_Ashworthianus_ (Mannii x maculatus).--Sepals and petals deep yellow,
touched with ochre, lip similarly coloured, marked with heavy radiating
lines of chocolate.
_Cooksoni_ (Wallichii x tuberculosus).--The sepals and petals are those of
Wallichii--buff tinged with reddish purple, china-white at back; the lip
is that of tuberculosus--side-lobes yellow, spotted with crimson; disc
white, with purple spots.
_Marthae_ (Blumei x tuberculosus).--Sepals and petals pale buff. The
large lip white, touched with pale rose, and thickly covered with
golden-brown spots.
Very notable is the Zygo-colax hybrid, _Leopardinus_ (Zygopetalum
maxillare x Colax jugosus), of which we give an illustration.
Here is also the Zygopetalum hybrid, _Perrenoudii_ (intermedium x
Guatieri).--Sepals and petals green, heavily blurred with brown. Lip
violet, deepening to purple.
Against the back wall of this house stands a little grove of Thunias
Bensoniae and Marshalliana; the former magenta and purple, and the latter
white with yellow throat, profusely striped with orange red. The wondrous
intricacy of design so notable in the colouring of orchids is nowhere more
conspicuous than in Thunia Marshalliana.
THE CYMBIDIUM HOUSE
Our 'specimen' Cymbidiums, that is, the large plants, are scattered up and
down in other houses; for singly they are ornaments, and together their
great bulk and long leaves would occupy too much space. Here are only
small examples, or small species, planted out upon a bed of tufa amidst
ferns and moss and begonias, Cyrtodeira Chontalensis, and the pretty
'African violet,' St. Paulii ionantha.
Cymbidiums are not showy, as the term applies to Cattleyas and Dendrobes.
Their colour, if not white, is brown or yellow, with red-brown markings.
We hear indeed of wonders to be introduced some day--of a gigantic
species, all golden, which dwells in secluded valleys of the Himalayas,
and another, bright scarlet, in Madagascar. In fact, this was collected
again and again by M. Humblot and shipped to Europe; but every piece died
before arrival. At length M. Humblot carried some home himself, and a few
survived. Sir Trevor Lawrence bought two, I believe, but they died before
flowering. So did all the rest.
But if the Cymbidiums of our experience make no display of brilliant
colour, assuredly they have other virtues. When eburneum thrusts up its
rigid spikes, in winter or earliest spring, crowned with great ivory
blooms, the air is loaded with their perfume. I have seen a plant of
Lowianum with more than twenty garlands arching out from its thicket of
leaves, each bearing fifteen to twenty-five three-inch flowers, yellow or
greenish, with a heavy bar of copper-red across the lip. And they grow
fast. It is said that at Alnwick the Duke of Northumberland has specimens
of unknown age filling boxes four feet square; each must be a garden in
itself when the flowers open. And they last three months when
circumstances are favourable. Sometimes also--but too rarely--the greenish
yellow of Lowianum is changed to bright soft green. Nobody then could say
that the colouring is not attractive.
We have here most of the recognised species--Cymbidiums are not much given
to 'sporting': Devonianum, buff, freckled with dull crimson--lip purplish,
with a dark spot on either side; Sinensis, small, brown and yellow,
scented; Hookeri, greenish, dotted and blotched with purple; Traceyanum,
greenish, striped with red-brown, lip white, similarly dotted, and the
famous Baron Schroeder variety thereof, which arrived in the very first
consignment, but never since; pendulum, dusky olive, lip whitish, reddish
at the sides and tip; and so on.
The only hybrids of Cymbidium known to me are eburneo-Lowianum and its
converse, Lowiano-eburneum. The former is creamy yellow, with the V-shaped
blotch of its father on the lip; the latter pure white, with the same
blotch more sharply defined--which is to say, that Lowiano-eburneum is
much the better of the two. Both are represented here.
Against the glass, right and left all round, are Coelogynes of sorts.
We have another house devoted mainly to Cymbidium, in which they have been
planted out for some years, with results worth noting. I am convinced that
in a future day amateurs who put the well-being of their orchids above all
else--above money in especial!--will discard pots entirely. Every species
perhaps--every one that I have observed, at least--grows more strongly
when placed in a niche, of size appropriate, on a block of tufa. There are
objections, of course--quite fatal for those who have not abundance of
labour at command; for the compost very quickly turns sour under such
conditions if not watered with great care and judgment. Moreover, what
suits the plant suits also the insects which feed upon it. And if there be
rats in the neighbourhood they soon discover that there is snug lying
against the pipes, behind the wall of stone. Anxious mothers find it the
ideal spot for a nursery. I cannot learn, however, that they do any wanton
damage, beyond nipping off a few old leaves to make their beds, which is
no serious injury. I have rats in my own cool house. Many years ago, on
their first arrival probably, an Odontoglossum bulb was eaten up.
Doubtless that was an experiment which did not prove satisfactory, for it
has never been repeated. However, rats and insects can be kept down, if
not exterminated.
The Cymbidiums here were rough pieces, odds and ends, consigned to this
house to live or die. Now they are grand plants, in the way to become
'specimens,' set among ferns and creepers on a lofty wall of tufa, the
base of which is clothed with Tradescantia and Ficus repens. In front and
on one side are banks of tufa planted with Masdevallias, Lycastes, Laelia
harpophylla, and so forth.
STORY OF COELOGYNE SPECIOSA
Orchid stories lack one essential quality of romance. They have little of
the 'female interest,' and nothing of love. The defect is beyond remedy, I
fear--collectors are men of business. It is rumoured, indeed, that
personages of vast weight in the City could tell romantic adventures of
their own, if they would. So, perhaps, could my heroes. But neither do
tell willingly. I have asked in vain. However, among my miscellaneous
notes on Orchidology, it is recorded that 'W. C. Williams found Coelogyne
speciosa up the Baram River. Books confine its habitat to Java and
Sumatra.' The Baram is in Borneo. When travelling in that island thirty
years ago I heard a story of Williams' doings, and I think I can recall
the outline. But imagination furnishes the details, of course, aided by
local knowledge.
It may be worth while to tell briefly how this gentleman came to be
wandering in Borneo--in the Sultan's territory also--at a date when Rajah
Brooke had but just begun to establish order in his own little province.
Williams' position or business I never heard. Some Dutch firm sold or
entrusted to him a stock of earthenware jars made in Holland, facsimiles
of those precious objects cherished by the Dyaks. The speculation was much
favoured in that day--it seemed such in easy cut to fortune. But they say
that not a solitary Dyak was ever taken in. The failure was attributed, of
course, to some minute divergence from the pattern. Manufacturers tried
again, still more carefully. They sent jars to be copied in China, whence
the originals came, evidently, at an unknown period. But it was no use;
the Dyaks only looked somewhat more respectfully at these forgeries before
rejecting them. For many years the attempt was made occasionally. Rich
Chinamen tried their skill. But at length everybody got to understand,
though no one is able to explain, that those savages possess some means of
distinguishing a jar of their own from a copy absolutely identical in our
eyes.
Mr. Williams had tried elsewhere without success, I fancy, before visiting
Brunei, the capital. But he had good reason to feel confidence there. The
Malay nobles would buy his jars without question, and compel their Dyak
subjects to accept them at their own price; such was the established means
of collecting subsidies. In fact, the nobles were overjoyed. But the
Sultan heard what was afoot. He possesses several of these mystic objects,
and he makes no inconsiderable portion of his revenue by selling water
drawn from them to sprinkle over the crops, to take as medicine, and so
forth. For his are the finest and holiest of all--beyond price. One speaks
upon occasion, giving him warning when grave troubles impend. Sir Spencer
St. John says he asked the Sultan a few years afterwards 'whether he would
take L2000 for it; he answered he did not think any offer in the world
would tempt him.'
The Brunei monarch was shrewd enough to see that passing off false jars
could not be to his interest. The Pangarans argued in vain. There's no
telling where it would end, he said, if the idolaters once began to feel
suspicious. 'Let your Englishman take his wares among the Kayan dogs. He
may swindle them to his heart's content.' The Kayans were not only
independent but ruthless and conquering foes of Brunei.
There was no other hope of selling the confounded jars. After assuring
himself that the enterprise was not too hazardous, Williams sought a
merchant familiar with the Kayan trade. He chose Nakodah Rahim, a
sanctimonious and unprepossessing individual, but one whose riches made a
guarantee of good faith. This man contracted to transport him and his
goods to Langusan, the nearest town of the Kayans on the Baram, and to
bring him back.
Williams was the first European perhaps to reach that secluded but
charming settlement. The Nakodah prudently anchored in mid-stream and
landed by himself to call on the head chief. When the news spread that a
white man was aboard the craft, swarms of delighted Kayans tumbled
pell-mell into their canoes and raced towards it, yelling, laughing,
splashing one another in joyous excitement. But the great chief Tamawan
put a stop to this unseemly demonstration. Rushing from the Council Hall,
where he and his peers were giving audience to the Nakodah, he commanded
the people to return, each to his own dwelling. Stentor had not a grander
voice. It overpowered even that prodigious din. The mob obeyed. They
swarmed back, and, landing, shinned up the forty-foot poles which are
their stairs, like ants; reappearing a moment afterwards on the verandah,
among the tree-tops. These vast 'houses,' containing perhaps a thousand
inmates, lined each bank of the river, and every soul pressed to the
front, mostly shouting--a wild but pleasant tumult.