those parts--poor Oversluys applied a variety of epithets to 'the thing'
now, none expressive of tenderness--it must be on the Atlantic slope or
the steaming lowlands beyond. He had felt himself justified in neglecting
those districts hitherto because there is no port where a large vessel can
lie, and absolutely no trade, save a trifling export of bananas. What
could tempt a French captain to the Atlantic shore of Costa Rica? And the
expedition was as uninviting as well could be. There were no towns nor
even villages--but it must be borne in mind that I speak of twenty years
ago. At that time all the white and coloured population was settled on the
tableland, excepting a few individuals or families who yearly wandered
downwards to squat along the slope. Upon the other hand there were Indian
tribes--Talamancas to the southward, who admitted some vague allegiance to
the Republic on condition that white men did not enter their territory;
and Guatusos or Pranzos to the northward, utter savages. It was their
country, however, to which the wandering folks mentioned betook
themselves, and thither Oversluys must go; for the track they had cut
through the forest was the only one connecting the tableland with the
Atlantic coast.
I have travelled that 'road' myself in the days when peril and discomfort
were welcome for the promise of adventure; but had we known what lay
before us when bidding a joyous adieu to the capital, we should have
meekly returned to the Pacific harbour by coach. Oversluys was a man of
business, and to men of business adventure commonly means embarrassment
and loss of time, if no worse. Varied experiences, all unpleasant, told
him that to seek orchids in a country like that must be a thankless
enterprise, attended by annoyance, privation, and even danger. But he had
undertaken the work. It must be done.
As cheerfully then as such untoward circumstances permitted, Oversluys set
forth from San Jose, and in due time reached the Disengagno. This is a
blockhouse raised by some charitable person on the edge of the tableland;
a very few yards beyond, the path dips suddenly on its course to the
Serebpiqui river, 6000 feet below. The spot is bitterly cold at night, as
I can testify, or seems so, and for this reason the hut was built, as a
shelter for travellers. But they, too lazy to seek wood in the forest at
arm's length, promptly demolished the walls and burned them. Only the roof
remained in a few months, with the posts that upheld it.
A group of ill-looking peons occupied this shed when Oversluys arrived.
They began to pick a quarrel forthwith; in short, he heartily wished
himself elsewhere. It was not yet dusk. Drawing the guide apart Oversluys
questioned him, and learned that there was one single habitation within
reach. The report of it was not promising, but he did not hesitate. As the
little party filed off, one of the peons shouted, 'A good night, _macho_!
We'll wait for you at La Vergen!'--the first halting-place on the descent.
A pleasant beginning!
The shelter they sought lay some miles back. There is plenty of game on
these unpeopled uplands, if a man knows how to find it, and a hunter had
built himself this cabin in the woods. They reached it as darkness was
setting in--a hut as rough as could be, standing on the edge of a small
savannah. At the same moment the owner returned, with a deer tied on the
back of a small but very pretty ox. He might well be surprised, but
hospitality is a thing of course in those parts. Kindness to animals is
not, however--much the contrary--and Oversluys observed with pleasure how
carefully the little ox was treated. Children came running from the hut,
and, after staring in dumb amaze for a while at the strangers, took the
animal and actually groomed it in a rough way.
After supper--of venison steaks--Oversluys alluded to this extraordinary
proceeding. The guide said, 'Our friend Pablo may well take care of his
ox. There's not such another for hunting on the countryside.' And Pablo
grunted acquiescence.
'For hunting?' asked Oversluys.
'Yes. You should see him when he catches sight of deer. Tell the
gentleman, Pablo.'
Upon this theme the hunter was talkative, and he reported such instances
of sagacity that Oversluys--remembering those ruffians who awaited him at
La Vergen--asked whether there was any chance to see the ox at work? Pablo
meant to have another stalk at dawn, with the hope of carrying two deer to
market, and willingly he agreed to take his guest. So they started before
daylight.
It was no long journey to the hunting-ground. These high lands are mostly
savannah, with belts of dense forest between. Oversluys had heard deer
belling incessantly all night. After carefully studying the wind Pablo
chose the direction of the hunt. He had cut tracks to each point of the
compass, and he took that which would bring him to the edge of the first
clearing with the wind in his face.
It was just light enough when they arrived to see half a dozen dark forms
above the misty grass. Forthwith Pablo crept out from the trees, walking
backwards, his left arm round the ox's neck, and his stooped body behind
its shoulder. Thus he could see nothing. It was unnecessary. The ox
marched on, its broadside towards the deer, very softly, but always
zigzagging closer. As the light strengthened, Oversluys watched with
growing pleasure. Very soon the deer noticed this intrusion and ceased
feeding; then the ox dropped its head and grazed. Again and again this
occurred. So long as one deer remained upon the watch it kept its head
down, but when the last recovered confidence, instantly it advanced.
Pablo's old gun could not be trusted beyond fifty yards or so. The deer
became more restless. They drew together--Oversluys saw they would bound
off in a moment. Just then the ox wheeled actively--they flew. But one
rolled over, shot through the chest.
Oversluys was so pleasantly excited that he ran to pat the clever
creature. Then he assisted Pablo to load up the game. It was broad
daylight now. In lifting the body he noticed some large yellow flowers
which it had crushed in falling. They were pretty and curious in shape. He
glanced at the leaves--they were large, polished, and very stiff. A wild
fancy struck him. He compared the drawing. There was no doubt! Scores of
Oncidium splendidum starred the tall grass all around!
I do not try to paint his raptures. A few weeks later many thousand plants
were on their way to Europe. But the point of the story is that Mr.
Oversluys had seen and even admired this flower many a time on the upland
savannahs in riding past. He was looking for orchids, however, and who
could have expected to find an Oncidium buried among herbage in the open
ground?
The ox demands a word. Such trained animals are not uncommon in Central
America. The process of education is very cruel. By constant tapping,
their horns are loosened when young, so that the tortured beast obeys the
slightest pressure. Its movements in walking are thus directed, and when
the horns grow firm again it continues to recognise a touch. But the
degrees of intelligence in brutes are strikingly displayed here. Some
forget the lesson in a twelvemonth. Most are uncertain. A very few, like
Pablo's, understand so well what is required of them that direction is
needless. In that case the hunter can walk backwards, keeping his body
quite concealed. He is almost sure to kill, unless the fault be his own.
LAELIA JONGHEANA
The back wall carries a broad sloping ledge of tufa, where little chips of
Odontoglossum and the rest are planted out to grow until they become large
enough to be potted--no long time, for they gather strength fast in niches
of the porous stone. Along the top, however, are ranged flowering plants
of Odontoglossum grande which make a blaze in their season--three to six
blooms upon a spike, the smallest of them four inches across. Overhead is
a long row of Laelia Jongheana--some three hundred of them here and
elsewhere. It is a species with a history, and I venture to transcribe the
account which I published in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, July 18, 1899.
'A SENSATION FOR THE ELECT.--The general public will hear without emotion
that Laelia Jongheana has been rediscovered. The name is vaguely
suggestive of orchids--things delightful in a show, or indeed elsewhere,
when in bloom, but not exhilarating to read about. Therefore I call the
news a sensation for the elect. At the present moment, I believe, only one
plant of L. Jongheana is established in this country, among Baron
Schroeder's wonders. Though its history is lost this must be a lonely
survivor of those which reached Europe in 1855--a generation and a half
ago. It is not to be alleged that no civilised mortal has beheld the
precious weed in its native forests since that date; but no one has
mentioned the spectacle, and assuredly no one has troubled to gather
plants. Registered long since among the "Lost Orchids," which should bring
a little fortune to the discoverer, native botanists and dealers in all
parts of South America have been looking out. And the collectors! For
forty years past not one of the multitude has left the shores of Europe or
the United States, bound for the Cattleya realm, without special
instructions to watch and pray for L. Jongheana. More and more pressing
grew the exhortations as years went by and prices mounted higher, until of
late they subsided in despair. Yet the flower is almost conspicuous enough
to be a landmark, and it does not hide in the tree-tops either, like so
many.
'Every one who takes interest in orchids will be prepared already to hear
that Messrs. Sander are the men of fate. How many of such spells have they
broken! Without book I recall Oncidium splendidum, of which not a plant
remained in Europe, nor a hint of the country where it grew; the "scarlet
Phalaenopsis" of native legend, never beheld of white man, which, in fact,
proved to be brick-red; Cattleya labiata, the Lost Orchid _par
excellence_, vainly sought from 1818 to 1889. The recovery of Dendrobium
Schroederium was chronicled by every daily paper in London, or almost, with
a leader, when a skull was shown in Protheroe's Rooms with a specimen
clinging to it, and a select group of idols accompanying the shipment.
Less important, but not less interesting, was the reappearance of
Cypripedium Marstersianum at a later date. Verily, we orchidists owe a
debt to the St. Albans firm.
'In these cases success was merited by hard thought, patient inquiry, and
long effort. Working out the problem in his study, Mr. Sander fixed upon a
certain country where the prize would be found, and sent his collector to
the spot. Oversluys searched for Oncidium splendidum during three years,
until he wrote home that it might be in ---- or ----, but it certainly
was not in Costa Rica; yet he found it at last. In this present case,
however, the discovery is due to pure luck; but one may say that a slice
of luck also was well deserved after those laborious triumphs. One of the
St. Albans collectors, M. Forget, was roaming about Brazil lately. The
Government invited him to join a scientific mission setting out to study
the products and resources of Minas Gaeras. It is comparatively little
known. M. Forget was unable to accept the invitation, but he heard enough
about this secluded province to rouse his interest, especially when the
savants reported that no collector had been there. Accordingly, he made an
expedition as soon as possible, and at the very outset discovered an
orchid--not in flower--resembling Laelia pumila in every detail but size.
It was at least twice as big as that small, familiar species, but the
points of similarity were so striking that M. Forget pronounced it a grand
local form of L. pumila. And when the consignment reached St. Albans, even
the wary and thoughtful authorities there endorsed his view! Not without
hesitation. I believe that the name of L. Jongheana was whispered. But
despair had grown to the pitch that no one ventured to speak out. Yet by
drawings and descriptions, anxiously studied for years, all knew perfectly
well that in growth the lost species must be like L. pumila, enlarged. It
is, indeed, strong evidence of the absorbing interest of the search that
when at length it ended, neither M. Forget nor his employers dared to
believe their own eyes.
'So in November last year some hundreds or thousands of a remarkable
orchid were offered at Protheroe's under the title "L. pumila (?)." Nearly
all the leading amateurs and growers bought, I think, but at a very cheap
rate. Half a crown apiece would be a liberal average for plants over which
millionaires would have battled had they known. But, after all, the luck
of the purchasers was not unqualified. Many who read this will feel a
dreary satisfaction in learning that if their plants have perished or
dwindled, plenty of others are in like case. Further experience shows that
they were gathered at the wrong time; of course they reached Europe at the
wrong time. And nearly every one put them into heat, which was a final
error. L. Jongheana is quite a cool species. Through these accumulated
misfortunes only two out of the multitude have flowered up to this, so far
as I can hear. The dullest of mortals can feel something of the delicious
anxiety of those gentlemen who watched the great bloom swelling from day
to day when it began to show its tints, and they proved to be quite unlike
those of L. pumila. At length it opened, and L. Jongheana was recovered.
'What sort of a thing is it, after all? For an unlearned description, I
should say that the flowers--two, three, or even five in number--are from
four to five inches across--sepals, petals, and curl of lip bright
amethyst, yellow throat, white centre; the crisped and frilled margin all
round suffused with purple. It was discovered in 1855 by Libon, who died
soon after, carrying his secret with him. He was sent out by M. de Jonghe,
of Brussels--hence the name.'
Up to the present time only one of the plants here has flowered--and it
opened pure white, saving a yellow stain on the lip. This was not
altogether a surprise, for a close examination of the faded blooms
convinced M. Forget that some of them must have been white, whatever the
species might be. And he marked them accordingly. That a collector of such
experience should prove to be right was not astonishing, as I say, but
remarkably pleasant.
At the end of the house is a pretty verdant nook where Cypripedium insigne
is planted out upon banks of tufa among Adiantums and overshadowing
palms.
STORY OF BULBOPHYLLUM BARBIGERUM
This species is so rare in Europe that I must give a word of description.
The genus contains the largest and perhaps the smallest of orchids--B.
Beccarii, whose stem is six inches in diameter, carrying leaves two feet
long, and B. pygmaeum of New Zealand. They are all fly-catchers, I think,
equipped with apparatus to trap their prey, as droll commonly in the
working as ingenious in the design. Barbigerum has pseudo-bulbs less than
an inch high, and its flowers are proportionate. But charm and size are no
way akin. Fascination dwells in the lip, which, hanging upon the
slenderest possible connection, lengthens out to the semblance of a brush.
Thus exquisitely poised it rocks without ceasing, and its long, silky,
purple-brown hairs wave softly but steadily all day long, as if on the
back of a moving insect. Pretty though it be, all declare it uncanny.
The species was introduced from Sierra Leone by Messrs. Loddiges, so long
ago as 1835. I have not come upon any reference to a public sensation.
Assuredly, however, the orchidists of the day were struck, and it is
probable that Messrs. Loddiges sold the wonder at a high price if in
bloom. Some people in Sierra Leone forwarded consignments. But an orchid
so small and delicate needs careful handling. None of them reached Europe
alive, I dare say.
It appears, however, that Bulbophyllum barbigerum is common throughout
those regions. The example at Kew, which diverts so many good folks year
by year, came from Lagos, near a thousand miles east and south of Sierra
Leone. And the story I have to tell places it at Whydah, between the two.
A young man named Boville went thither as clerk in the English factory,
soon after 1835. We have not to ask what was his line of commerce. I have
no information, but it must be feared, though perhaps we do him wrong,
that one branch of it at least was the slave trade. Boville had heard of
Messrs. Loddiges' success. Residents at Whydah do not commonly explore the
bush, but he was young and enterprising. On his first stroll he discovered
the Bulbophyllum, and to his innocence it seemed the promise of a fortune.
Real good things must be kept quiet. The treasure was plentiful enough to
cause 'a glut' forthwith if many speculators engaged. Luckily he had a
Kroo boy in attendance, not a native. To him Boville assumed an air of
mystery, said he was going to make fetich, and 'something happen' to any
one who spoke of his proceedings--'make fetich' and 'something happen' are
among the first local expressions which a man learns in West Africa. The
Kroo boy grinned, because that is his way of acknowledging any
communication whatsoever, and snapped his fingers in sign of willing
obedience. So Boville gathered a dozen plants, and hoped to have a stock
before 'the ship' arrived. There were no steamers then, and at Whydah, a
very unimportant station for lawful trade, English vessels only called
once in three months. Slavers did not ship orchids.
It was Boville's employment henceforth to collect the Bulbophyllum
whenever he had a few hours to spare. He hung his spoils on the lattice
work which surrounds a bedroom in those parts, between roof and wall,
designed for ventilation--hiding them with clothes and things. It is
proper to add that the 'English Fort' was already deserted, and the
'Factory' a mere name. The agent, his superior officer, was not at all
likely to visit a clerk's quarters. This good man belonged to a class very
frequent then upon 'the coast.' He had not returned to England, nor wished
to do so, since coming out. At a glance he recognised that this was his
real native land, and without difficulty he made himself a
fellow-countryman of the negroes, living like a caboceer, amidst an
undeterminate number of wives, slaves, and children. Very shocking; but it
may be pointed out that such men as this established our colonies or seats
of trade in Africa. They had virtues, perhaps, but their vices were more
useful. The moral system of the present day would not have answered then.
An agent secured his position by marrying a daughter of every chief who
might be troublesome. He had no Maxim guns.
Mr. Blank knew every feeling and superstition of the negroes,--that is the
point of my reference to his character. And one evening he entered the
room just as Boville was hanging up his latest acquisitions, some of which
were in flower. Whatever Mr. Blank's business, it fled from his mind on
beholding the orchids.
'Good God!' he cried. 'What--what--you are no better than a dead man! I
won't protect you--I can't! Good God! What possessed you?'
'I don't understand,' said Boville.
'No, you don't understand! They send me out the most infernal idiots'--and
then Mr. Blank fell to swearing.
Boville saw the case was grave somehow. 'Are they poisonous?' he asked.
'Poisonous be--etc. etc. That's the Endua--the holiest of plants! You'll
wish they were poisonous before long! What a lot! You didn't get 'em all
to-day?'
'I can destroy them. Only Georgius Rex the Krooman has been into the bush
with me.'
'You fool! D'you think you can hide this from the fetich? Put--put 'em in
a sack, and tumble 'em into the river after dark! Oh Lord, here's an awful
business!'
Moving about the room restlessly as he talked, whilst Boville thrust the
orchids into a bag, the agent opened a door which gave upon a platform
called the verandah--in fact, the roof of the store. It overlooked the
street. In an instant he ran back.
'It's all up' he cried. 'Oh Lord! Here's the Vokhimen!'
Boville had heard this name, which belongs to an official of the Vo-dun,
the fetich priesthood, whose duty it is to summon offenders. He went to
see. The street was in an uproar. Two men clothed in black and white, with
faces chalked, were beating Vo-drums furiously--but such din is too usual
for notice. They stood at the door of a house--habitations in Whydah are
not properly described as huts. All the neighbours surged round
vociferous. Presently emerged a grotesque figure, rather clothed than
adorned with strings of human teeth and bones, and little wooden idols
painted red. His black and white cap had lappets with red snakes sewn
thereon; the breast of his tunic bore a large red cross, the sacred symbol
of Dahomey. He came forth with a leap, and danced along with ridiculous
gestures to the next house, flourishing the iron bar which marks his
office. The bones and images rattled like castanets. The drummers
followed. Through the next doorway the Vokhimen sprang, and disappeared.
'He isn't after me, thank God!' cried Boville.
'He is, you fool! It's their way to hunt about like that when they well
know where to find the victim. No, it's too late to hide the cursed things
now. God help you, Boville! I can do nothing.' And Mr. Blank hurried out.
[Illustration: ODONTOGLOSSUM, CORONARIUM.]
'Go to the Hun-to at least, sir--and to Mr. Martinez! Don't leave me
helpless to these devils!'
'I'll do all I can for you, but it's worse than useless my stopping here.'
Perhaps it is necessary to observe that the Europeans in Whydah had long
been subject to the King of Dahomey, ruled by a Viceroy. Each nationality
had its official chief, called Hun-to by the English, and the Portuguese
representative enjoyed particular consideration. Nevertheless, the Viceroy
was their absolute master, and he obeyed the fetich men.
It is so easy to conceive poor Boville's bewilderment and despair that I
shall not dwell upon the situation. With feverish haste he concealed his
orchids. Mr. Blank reappeared, with a rope fringed with strips of palm
leaf, dry and crackling. This he threw round Boville's neck.
'They daren't hurt you with that on!' he cried. 'Only the head priest can
remove it! Go down! I've set drink on the table! Good-bye!'
The poor fellow obeyed, taking a pistol. All the servants were clustered
at the door, wide-eyed, humming with terror and excitement. Presently the
drums sounded nearer and nearer--the throng opened--the Vokhimen danced
through, jibbering, curveting, posturing. He started at sight of the
palm-leaf cord, but passed by, unheeding a glass of rum which Boville
offered, and pranced upstairs. The agent was right. This devil knew where
to look! He thumped about a while overhead, then capered down, with a
bundle of orchids dangling on the iron stick. The glass was not refused
this time. After drinking, the summoner touched Boville with his wand of
office, saying, 'Come! The snake calls you!'
Boville did not understand the formula, but he guessed its meaning. There
was no help. He set forth. The Vokhimen pocketed the rum bottle and
followed, moving gravely enough now.
The mob shouted with astonishment at the appearance of a white criminal,
but when the cause of his arrest was seen--that bundle of the holy
Endua--astonishment changed to rage. Boville owed his life to the Azan,
the fetich cord, at that instant. But the drummers beat furiously, and, as
if in response, a dozen fetich men suddenly appeared, pushing through the
crowd. One side of their heads was shaven bare. They wore garments of
hideous fantasy, charms and horrid objects innumerable, and each a pair of
silver horns upon the forehead. Under this escort Boville marched to the
fetich place.
This was a bare piece of ground, encircled by the low dark dwellings of
the priests, with the sacred wood behind it, and in the midst the Snake
Temple. Often had Boville glanced into the small building, which has no
door, and seen the reptiles swarming inside. He did not feel the loathing
for snakes which is so common--happily, as it proved. But no man could
watch that multitude of restless, twining creatures without horror.
Led to the dreadful doorway, Boville turned, thinking to resist; but they
fell upon him, doubled him up--for the entrance was very low--and thrust
him in bodily. The poor fellow screamed in tumbling full length upon a
platform which occupied the middle. He had seen it alive with snakes,
writhing one over the other.
But none were there. He scrambled to his feet and looked round. The temple
had no windows, but the solid walls of adobe did not meet the roof, and
the level sun-rays of evening poured through the gap. There was nothing to
interrupt the view, save a besom and a basket. But no snake could he see.
A movement above caught his eye. He looked up.