under such circumstances. But that is not the Carib way; it would be a
breach of loyalty. Good-naturedly Sam told Mr. Brown that he was a fool,
with an adjective for emphasis. They were all adjective fools, he assured
them daily. But to treat with a rival could not enter his mind.
The gang had returned to the bush when young Mr. Ponder came back from
Bluefields. His partner mentioned Sam's idea as a jest in conversation
when several friends were present. One of them recalled how Governor Digby
had sent some orchids to Europe ages ago, which sold for a mint of money.
Others had heard something of the legend. Ponder, young and enterprising,
inclined to think the matter worth notice. He inquired among the oldest
inhabitants, Carib and negro. Many recollected the Governor's speculation,
and the orchid also, when pressed. It was as big as a bunch of bananas,
blue--no, red--no, yellow; shaped just like a boat, or a bird, or a star,
or a monkey climbing a tree, and so forth. But all agreed about the
fringe, 'now you come to mention it.' Ponder saw they knew nothing beyond
the mere fact. But he made up his mind to get some specimens next rainy
season, and judge for himself whether a consignment would be likely to
pay.
In due time the cutters appeared with their rafts of timber. It was not
the moment to broach an unfamiliar subject. Calculations awfully intricate
for those honest fellows had to be made intelligible to them once more,
and then to be discussed, approved, explained again, and finally accepted
or compromised. The Caribs passed all day in argument and in measuring the
logs over and over; all night in working sums of arithmetic on fingers and
toes. At length the amount due was computed amicably, as usual, and paid.
But then, not without embarrassment, the whole gang, 'gave notice.'
When such an event occurs, under such circumstances, an employer knows the
reason. His Caribs have found gold. There is nothing to be said beyond
wishing them luck. But Mr. Ponder asked Sam to get him a few of his
orchids next rains. Sam declined, somewhat roughly. Mr. Ponder laid the
dispute before the Guild, so to call it, which pronounced that Sam must
carry out his proposal before leaving the firm's service.
The dry season was well advanced by this time, and all flowers had
withered. Nevertheless Sam jumped into a canoe, swearing, and started up
the river with a couple of Indians. In three or four days he returned with
a boat-load of orchids, sent them to the warehouse, and vanished. They
proved to be a miscellaneous collection, all sorts and sizes; evidently
the men had just gathered anything they came across.
Mr. Ponder grew angry. It was an impudent trick, a defiance of himself and
the Guild, such as no true Carib would be guilty of. Foreign travel had
demoralised Sam. Those honest fellows, his partners, would be not less
indignant, if the shameful proceeding could be laid before them. But all
had gone up the river--to their gold-field, of course--and no one knew
where that might be. Mr. Ponder got more and more warm as he revolved the
insult. Business was slack. He decided to follow, and sent out forthwith
to engage a crew of Indians; gold-diggers do not mind the intrusion of
Indians so much, for when these savages have obtained a very little dust,
they withdraw to turn it into drink. And they never chatter. Moreover he
had to find the Caribs' camp, and they are sleuth-hounds.
The search was not so hopeless as it might seem. Carefully reviewing the
circumstances, Mr. Ponder felt sure that his Caribs had discovered their
placer whilst collecting the felled trees--not before; that is, in the
rainy season. Men would not wander far into the bush at that time.
Probably, therefore, the scene lay pretty close to one or other of the
spots where they had found mahogany. Of those spots he had a minute
description.
The reasoning proved to be quite correct, but luck interposed before it
had been severely tested. On arrival at one of the stations to be
explored--after a week or ten days' voyaging, as I imagine--he saw a canoe
just pushing out from beneath the wooded bank with two of the missing
Caribs therein, going to Belize on some errand. Their astonishment was
loud, but not angry; they had no quarrel with Mr. Ponder. After a very
little hesitation they consented to lead him to the camp, the Indians
remaining in their boat.
It was not a long walk, nor uncomfortable. A broad path had been cut to
the top of the ridge, for hauling down the trunks, and the rollers had
smoothed it like a highway; but not so broad that the great trees on
either hand failed to overshadow it. Mr. Ponder questioned his guides
laughingly. Was it a real good placer, with nuggets in it?--how much had
they pouched, and was the game likely to last? They grinned and patted
their waist-scarves, which, as he now remarked, were round and plump as
monster sausages.
'Oh, I know that trick,' laughed Mr. Ponder. 'You've filled them with
maize-flour for your journey.'
They whooped and roared with triumph. 'Say, Mis'r George, you tell
nobody--honour bright?-not nobody?' One of them turned down the edge of
his scarf, with no small effort--for it was twisted very tightly and
secured. Presently the contents glimmered into sight--little golden
figures, mostly flat, carved or moulded, one to three inches long. 'Our
placer all nuggets, Mis'r George!'
Any child in those seas would have understood. The Caribs had discovered
not a washing nor a mine, but a burial-ground of the old Indians, called
in those parts a 'huaco.' There are men who make it their sole business to
look for such treasure-heaps. Since they bear, in general, no outward
indication whatsoever at the present time, one would think that the hunt
must be desperate; but these men, like other gamblers, have their
'system.' Possibly they have noted some rules which guided the antique
people in their choice of a cemetery. And if they find one in a
lifetime--provided they can keep the secret--that suffices.
Mostly, perhaps, huacos are discovered by accident. So it was in the
memorable instance on Chiriqui lagoon, where many thousand people dug for
months and many brought away a fortune--for them. And so it was here. The
Caribs told their story gleefully. From the crest of the ridge the land
sloped gently down towards a stream. When they reached this place to
secure the timber, now dry, the rains were very heavy. But Sam and
another, heaven-directed, roamed down the slope. A big tree had fallen,
and among its roots Sam's lynx eyes marked a number of the little figures,
washed clean, sparkling in the sun-rays. These good fellows have no
secrets of the sort among themselves. They dug around, assured themselves
that it was indubitably a huaco; then returned, like honest Caribs, to
float the trunks down to Belize, and fulfil their contract, before
attending to personal interests.
They had cleared a space and built a hut of boughs, a 'ramada.' There Mr.
Ponder found them assembled, smoking and sleeping after the mid-day meal.
Warned by the guide's cheery shout they welcomed Mis'r George
heartily--all but Sam; unanimously they asked, however, what on earth he
wanted there, so far from home? Mr. Ponder told his complaint.
The gang resolved itself into a sort of court-martial forthwith, the
eldest seating himself upon a stump and the others grouping round. There
was a moment's silence for thought; then the president, gravely:
'You, Carib Sam, what you say?'
'Say d---- sorry, sah! Mis'r Brown an' all the Mis'rs make fool of me!
Then Mis'r George come--I never see Mis'r George before! He says go to
bush an' pick orchid--a month contract!--a month! But I found gold here,
an' I want pick it up--have no more say! d---- sorry!'
Mr. Ponder relented. 'Why didn't you explain at the time, Sam?--I'm quite
satisfied, Caribs! Sam and I will shake hands and there's an end of it!'
But the others were not quite satisfied. The president sat shaking his
head. 'When rains come,' said Sam to him anxiously, 'I get Mis'r George
two canoe-loads, six canoe-loads of orchid, an' no mistake!'
'There, men! That's final! Let's shake hands round, and wash away all
unpleasantness--here's the wash!--drink it up! Now will you show me your
huaco?'
First they showed him the plunder--hundreds of those little images, mostly
human, in the rudest style of art, but pure gold; a large proportion
alligators, some probably meant for birds, not a few mere lumps. Mr.
Ponder calculated rapidly that the whole might represent three thousand
pounds for division among ten men. But the Caribs began to fear that their
huaco would prove to be a very small one. The yield had been failing in
all directions lately. They had prospected round, but hitherto without
success. No bones, nor weapons, nor anything but a few jars of pottery had
been found. Such is the rule--without exception, I believe--in
burial-grounds of this class, without cairn or statues; in fact, it is a
mere assumption to declare them burial-grounds at all. Men who dug at
Chiriqui told me that nothing whatever besides gold was found in that
great area. The statement is not quite exact, but it shows how little
turned up.
The forebodings of the Caribs were sadly verified. Mr. Ponder started back
in the afternoon and they followed within a week--'made men' if they had
wit enough to keep their booty, but not so rich as they had hoped.
Next rains Sam loyally performed his promise. And thus it happened that
Messrs. Stevens were overwhelmed with Brassavola Digbyana once upon a
time.
LYCASTES, SOBRALIAS, AND ANGOULOAS
occupy different compartments in one house. The first will not detain us.
All the species which orchidists, in a lordly way, term common are
represented here--of course, by their best varieties. I can fancy the
wonder and delight of a stranger entering when the Lycastes Skinneri alba
and virginalis are in bloom, remembering my own emotion at the spectacle
elsewhere. Not many of the genus appeal to the aesthetic, and Skinneri in
especial lacks grace. But unsymmetrical form and abrupt rigidity of growth
are forgotten when those great flowers, so pure, so divinely white, burst
upon the eye. Charming also are the pale varieties of Skinneri, such as
_Lady Roberts_, a dainty rose, the petals only just dark enough to show up
the labellum almost white; and _Phyllis_ of somewhat deeper rose. Its
velvety lip has a crimson margin well displayed by a small white patch
upon the disc.
Leucantha, dainty green with white petals, is charming; a pan of aromatica
with fifty or sixty delicate golden blooms makes a pretty show. But these
things do not call for special notice.
There are varieties, however, of course, as the famous Lycaste plana
_Measuresiana_, coppery, shining, with pure white petals, crimson spotted,
and small white lip; plana _lassioglossa_, olive green of sepal and petal,
with a bright rusty stain at the base; lip white, with conspicuous white
spots.
_Fulvescens._--Large and spreading. Sepals and petals reddish orange, lip
clear brightest orange, so lightly poised that it quivers at a breath. It
has as many as forty flowers from one bulb sometimes.
_Denningiana._--Very large. Sepals and petals whitish green, lip brown.
_Mooreana._--An extraordinary variety of L. Locusta, which itself is
extraordinary enough. Reichenbach described Locusta in his lively way:
'Green sepals, green petals, green lip, green callus, green ovary, green
bract, green sheath, green peduncle, green bulbs, green leaves--just as
green as a green grasshopper or the dress of some Viennese ladies.'
Mooreana is larger, and the heavy fringe of the lip has a faint yellow
shade.
SOBRALIAS
It may be granted that all classes of orchid are not equally beautiful,
but to compare one with another in this point of view is futile. Each has
its own charm which individual taste may prefer, and to set Cattleyas, for
instance, above Odontoglots is only to demonstrate that for some persons
size and brilliancy of hue are more attractive than grace and purity. But
in any competition of the sort Sobralias must rank high. They are all
large, they have every fascination which colour can give, and the delicate
crumpling of the lip, characteristic of this genus alone, is one of
Nature's subtlest devices. Gardeners also approve them, for they need less
attention perhaps than any others, and they grow fast. The sagacious
reader will begin to ask by this time what are the disadvantages to set
against all these merits? There is only one, but for too many amateurs it
is fatal--the glorious flowers last scarcely two days. Certainly a spike
will carry four or five, or even six, which open one after another. But
then all is over till next year. And the plants are big, occupying much
room. Therefore Sobralias are not favoured by the wise, when space is
limited.
[Illustration: LYCASTE SKINNERI VAR. R. H. MEASURES.]
All are American, growing among the rocks and in the scanty soil of
mountain districts. One reads of species so tall that a man on horseback
must raise his arm to pick the flowers. This may be an exaggeration, but
we have Sobralia macrantha gigas here six feet high, and Hookerae even
topping it. Upon the other hand, that marvel, Kienastiana, has a very
modest stature. Nearly all the species known are here--it is not a large
genus: Lindeni, Hookerae, Lowii, macrantha and macrantha alba,
xantholeuca, and Kienastiana, which has its story.
_Measuresiana_ is uncommon; white, an immense flower. The vast lip,
circular, daintily crumpled, is palest pink, with a deep yellow throat,
round which the pink darkens to pale crimson. _Sanderae_ also is white,
faintly tinged with yellow.
In these days, however, it is the hybrids which interest us, and there are
two of surpassing merit.
_Amesiana_ (xantholeuca x Wilsonii).--Palest rosy lilac, somewhat more
rosy in the centre--the crumpled pink lip is as round and as big as a
crown piece. The cavity of the throat, orange, changes to gamboge as it
widens; encircling this is a stain of tawny crimson. Lip rose, shaded with
reddish brown.
_Veitchii_ (macrantha x xantholeuca).--White, with a pretty orange throat.
Round the edges of the lip, deliciously frilled and crumpled, is a broad
band of purplish pink.
Here and there in this house, as room can be made, stand many fine plants
of Laelia elegans. Beyond is a second compartment devoted to Lycastes and
Selenepeds, the name granted, for distinction's sake, to Transatlantic
forms of Cypripedium; in the gardener's point of view, however, there is
no difference between them, and such of these plants as call for notice,
in my very narrow space, are described among the Cypripeds.
One rarity, however, I must not overlook--Miltonia Binottii, assumed to be
a natural hybrid of M. candida and M. Regnellii; sepals and petals creamy
yellow, tinged with lilac at the base and barred with cinnamon brown; lip
pale rosy purple.
ANGULOAS
Nature has thought fit to produce many clumsy plants, and the
well-balanced mind raises no objection so long as they remain in their
proper place. A pumpkin is not a thing of grace, but then nobody calls on
us to admire it. There is little to choose between an Anguloa and a
pumpkin in the way of beauty; yet a multitude of people, not less sane to
all appearance than their neighbours, invite one to mark and linger over
its charms. This always seems very strange to me. I remember a painting of
Adam in Paradise, exhibited by an Academician famous in his day--less
perhaps for talent than for the popular belief that he wrote certain
wailing letters signed 'A British Matron,' which the _Times_ published
occasionally. Adam was sitting on a flowery bank. The good Academician had
all the Asiatic realm of botany before him, wherein to choose blooms
appropriate for Paradise; he spurned them all, crossed the Atlantic,
surveyed the treasures of the New World, and from the lovely host
selected--Anguloa Clowesii! Upon a bed of these Adam sat--of these alone;
nothing else was worthy of a place beside them. Evidently Anguloas have a
fascination. But my soul is blind to it. We have all the species here.
STORY OF SOBRALIA KIENASTIANA
There are startling flowers of divers sort. Some astonish by mere size, as
Rafflesia Arnoldii, which is a yard across and weighs fifteen to twenty
pounds, or Amorphophallus Titanum, eight feet high and fifteen inches
thick. The stench of these is not less impressive than their bulk; an
artist who insisted upon sketching the latter at Kew fainted over her
work. But many of the giants are beautiful, as the Aristolochias, like a
bag of silk cretonne with mouth of velvet, wherein a lady might stow her
equipment for an informal dance--shoes, gloves, fan, handkerchief, scarf,
and, if need be, a bouquet; Bomarias, the Peruvian wonder, trailing a
scarlet tassel three feet long and thick in proportion. Others are
surprising without qualification, like Nepenthes, which dangle a water jug
at the tip of every leaf. But among orchids alone you see flowers of
familiar shape and ordinary class, which startle you by the mere
perfection of their beauty. One of these is Sobralia Kienastiana. My first
sight of it at the Temple Show is not to be forgotten. I had been
thrilling and raving over a specimen of Cattleya intermedia Parthenia,
'chaste as ice and pure as snow,' when, turning to Baron Schroeder's
exhibit, I beheld this glory of Nature. It has all the advantage of
'setting' denied to so many among the loveliest of its fellows. That
divine Parthenia must be regarded alone. It has no charm of environment.
But the Sobralia is a thicket, green and strong and pleasant to the eye,
crowned with the flowers of Paradise, snow-white, several inches broad,
but tender and dainty as the lily of the valley. Though open to the
widest, and exquisitely frilled, their petals are crumpled; you might
think fairies had been gauffering them and left the work incomplete,
surprised by dawn. Baron Schroeder and Mr. Wilson of Westbrook, Sheffield,
had the only plants in England then; M. Kienast-Zolly, Consul at Zurich,
the only plant known elsewhere--a piece cut off when he sold the bulk.
That such a marvel had a legend I did not doubt. It is, in fact, an albino
of the common Sobralia macrantha; in speaking of it, by the way, to
scientific persons, or in referring to books, the word 'macrantha' must be
introduced. The family is Central American, and examples reach this
country especially from Mexico. A variety so rare and so charming would be
found in some hardly known spot. But orchids do not live in the desert. It
would be strange if Indians had not noticed such a wonder, and if they
noticed, assuredly they would prize it. They would not allow the plant to
be removed under ordinary conditions; if a price were accepted it would be
very high, but more probably no sum would tempt them. Therefore did I
conclude at sight that Sobralia Kienastiana had its legend. And I traced
without difficulty the outline which I have filled up.
M. Kienast-Zolly dwelt many years at Orizaba in Mexico, where he collected
orchids with enthusiasm for his own delight. An Indian servant gave
zealous help, partly, doubtless, for love of the flowers, but partly also
for love of the master whose 'bread he had eaten' from childhood--and
still eats, I believe. This man, Pablo, ceaselessly inquired for rarities
among his own people, made journeys, bargained, bought, and by times, they
say--but stole is not the proper word to use when an object has no owner
nor intrinsic value. Pablo had a younger brother, a priest, in the
neighbourhood of Tehuacan. They had not met since his ordination, until,
once on a time, M. Kienast-Zolly visited those parts, and Pablo took the
opportunity to spend a day and night at the Indian village, Nidiri, where
his brother was priest. This ecclesiastic was an earnest man. He found no
satisfaction in compounding the heathen practices of his flock for money,
as do his fellows. His legitimate dues sufficed him--I daresay they
reached ten pounds a year. He found a melancholy diversion in writing
plaintive memorials to the Bishop. Week by week the good man raised his
moan. He could not see very deep. It did not occur to him that the
Christian faith itself, as the Indians understand it, is but a form of
heathendom. The doings of which he complained were acts of positive
worship towards the old idols. He demanded an investigation, special
magistrates; in brief, the re-establishment of the Inquisition. The Bishop
had long ceased to acknowledge these dolorous reports; doubtless they
contained nothing new to him.
Out of the fulness of his heart a man speaketh, and after discussing
family affairs, the Cura broached his spiritual sorrows. Pablo had not
been trained at a seminary, and religious questions did not interest him.
As a townsman, also, he had picked up some liberal ideas, and when the
brother talked of converting his flock from their evil ways by force, he
observed that opinions are free in Mexico nowadays. Then the Cura grew
warm. Opinions? Rising hurriedly, he produced horrid little figures of
clay or wood, actual idols, found and confiscated, not without opposition.
When Pablo did not seem much impressed by these things--not unfamiliar,
probably--he hinted suspicions more awful. There was a spot somewhere in
the hills, frequented at certain seasons by these wretches, where they
performed sacrifice. Blood was shed, and the Cura had reason to think--he
dropped his voice, and bent across the little table to whisper awfully in
his brother's ear.
'Why,' said Pablo, 'if you can prove that, the Government will interfere
fast enough. It's murder!'
'I am not quite certain. But give me authority to arrest the Cacique--the
head-man of the village--and some others! They held one of their impious
festivals only last week. I met them returning just after dawn, crowned
with flowers, all the men intoxicated. Oh no, it wasn't a mere drinking
bout. The Cacique and that vile Manuele--whom I believe to be the
priest--carried nosegays of the accursed flower the demons give them. I
know it! They used formerly--the sons of perdition!--to bring it to my
church and offer it upon the holy altar. And I--Heaven pardon
me!--rejoiced in its beauty. With prayers and thanksgivings I laid the
Devil's Flower before the Blessed Mother. I did not know! It will not be
counted against me for a sin, brother?' So he went on, bemoaning his
unconscious offence.
Pablo woke up instantly. What did the Cacique do with his nosegay since he
was not allowed to deposit it on the altar? What sort of flower was it?
All this seemed trivial to the agitated Cura. With difficulty he was
brought to the statement that it resembled the Flor de San Lorenzo, but
snow-white. Then Pablo showed much concern. These shocking practices must
be made to cease; but first they must have evidence. That mysterious spot
on the hills? Did his brother know where it was? No, he had only pieced
together hints and fragmentary observations. They suggested a certain
neighbourhood. It had never occurred to him to look for it. If his
conjectures were sound, the place was desert. Indians always choose a
barren unpeopled site for their ancestral worship, as Pablo knew.
He considered. There was a certain risk, for the priests might dwell by
their idols. But most even of these look upon their Christian rival with
reverence. He asked his brother how he was regarded? Indignantly the
latter confessed that all these wicked folk treated him with the utmost
deference. He had denounced them again and again from the altar,
threatened to excommunicate the whole community--but the Bishop promptly
crushed that idea. They listened in respectful silence, and went their own
way. Pablo came to a resolve. He proposed that they should start before
daylight and search for the accursed place. The Cura was startled, but he
assented with passionate zeal; of his stuff, unenterprising,
unimaginative, with room for one idea only, martyrs are made. Martyrdom he
half expected, and he was ready. Whilst Pablo snored in his hammock, the
good man prayed all through the night.