Quite the most remarkable feature of an April meeting of the
Entomological Society in 1880 something was the production, by Professor
Parchell, F.Z.S., F.L.S., one of the oldest and most enthusiastic
members of the Society, of a new and remarkable species of _Achraea_
hitherto quite unknown to science. The Professor was radiant and
suffused with happiness. He had long been an ardent collector in
England and Europe; but only recently had he turned his footsteps to the
far-off lands south of the equator. It had been the dream of his life.
And now, having lately resigned his chair at Cambridge, at the age of
sixty, at his first essay in Cape Colony, a region fairly well-known to
entomologists, he had gratified his heart's desire, and discovered a
species.
The new butterfly, which, it appeared, from a paper read by the
Professor, had been found in some numbers, but within a very limited
area--a mere speck of country--was shown in a carefully constructed
case. There were sixteen specimens; and it was settled that the
butterfly was to be known to science as _Achraea Parchelli_, thus
perpetuating the Professor and his discovery to the ages yet unborn.
The one particularity which marked the insect out from among its fellows
was very striking. Upon the upper side of the hind-wings, right in the
centre, there appeared a complete triangular space of silver, evenly
bordered by circular black markings. This peculiarity, which was shared
by male and female alike, was very beautiful and very marked; and the
enthusiastic collectors gathered at the Society's meeting were, as the
box of specimens was passed from hand to hand, all delighted with the
new treasure. As for the Professor himself, never, except perhaps in
that supreme moment when he had discovered within his net this new
wonder, had he experienced such a glow of rapture and of triumph.
Amongst the Fellows of the Society met this evening sat Horace Maybold,
a good-looking young man of six-and-twenty, who, having some private
means, and an unquenchable thirst for the collection of butterflies,
spent most of his time in going to and fro upon the earth in search of
rare specie, Horace had travelled in many lands, and had made a good
many discoveries well-known to his brethren; and quite recently he had
turned his attention to the _Achraeinae_, the very family in which
Professor Parchell had made his mark. The new butterfly interested him
a good deal. Naturally he at once burned to possess it in his own
collection, and, after the meeting broke up, he approached the Professor
and sounded him on the subject. In his paper read to the Society that
gentleman had rather vaguely, described the habitat of the new species
as "in the Eastern Province of Cape Colony, in a small and compact area
within fifty miles of the east bank of the Sunday's River." But it
appeared very quickly that the Professor for the present was unwilling
to part with any of his specimens--even for an adequate consideration--
or to impart the exact locality in which the species was to be found.
Horace had rather reckoned upon this, but he was none the less a little
chagrined at the old gentleman's closeness.
"No, my dear sir," had replied the Professor to his inquiries, "I can't
part with any of my specimens, except to the Natural History Museum, to
which I intend to present a pair. As for the precise habitat, I
intend--ahem!--for the present to reserve that secret to myself. It
is a pardonable piece of selfishness--or shall I term it
self-preservation?--you, as a collector, must admit I intend to renew my
acquaintance with the spot towards the beginning of next winter--that is
the summer of the Cape. When I have collected more specimens, I may
publish my secret to the world--hardly before."
Horace looked keenly at the face of the clean, pink and white old
gentleman before him. There was no compromise in the set of the firm
lips, or the blue eyes beaming pleasantly from behind the gold-rimmed
spectacles; and so, with a polite sentence or two on his lips, but with
some vexation at his heart, Horace Maybold turned away and went down to
his club.
During the rest of that summer Horace was pretty much occupied, yet his
memory never relaxed its grip of the Professor and his new butterfly.
He had upon his writing-table the coloured plate from a scientific
magazine, whereon was depicted that rare species; and as he refreshed
his memory with it now and again, he determined more than ever to
possess himself of specimens of the original. As far as possible he
kept a sharp eye on the Professor's movements until the middle of
September, when, happening to return to town from a few days' shooting,
he ran across the old gentleman in Piccadilly.
"Well, Professor," said Horace, genially, "how goes the world with you?
I suppose you will be leaving England for the Cape again presently?"
"Yes," returned the old gentleman, who seemed in excellent spirits; "I
expect to be sailing early in October. I want to have a fortnight or
more in Cape Town at the Museum there. After that I propose proceeding
to my old hunting-ground of last year."
"Where you discovered the new _Achraea_?" interposed Horace.
"Exactly," rejoined the old gentleman.
"I quite envy you, Professor," went on Horace. "I am in two minds about
visiting South Africa myself this winter. The Orange River country
hasn't been half ransacked yet, or Kaffraria either, for that matter. I
haven't settled my plans; but I may have a turn at one or the other."
Now Kaffraria lies not very far to the east of the Professor's own
collecting-ground, that sacred spot which held his great secret yet
inviolate. The old gentleman's face changed perceptibly; a stiffer line
or two appeared about his mouth; he looked with some suspicion into
Horace's eyes, and said, rather shortly: "Ah, well! I am told the
Orange River is an excellent and untried region. But, entomologically,
South Africa upon the whole _is_ poor. My visits there are mainly for
health and change. But I must be getting on; I have much to do.
Good-bye, Mr Maybold--good-bye!"
The Professor passed on down St James's Street, and Horace sauntered
along Piccadilly with a smile upon his face. The old gentleman had
imparted something of his movements. Should he follow them up? Yes; he
must have that _Achraea Parchelli_ somehow. He _would_ follow to the
Eastern Province in November. It might be a trifle like poaching; but,
after all, the world is not a butterfly preserve for the one or two
lucky ones. It lies open to every entomologist. And the old man had
been so confoundedly close and secret. It would serve him right to
discover his sacred treasure and make plain his mystery.
After watching the weekly passenger list in _South Africa_ for some
time; Horace Maybold noted with interest that Professor Parchell had
sailed for Cape Town by a Donald Currie steamer in the first week of
October. That fact ascertained, he at once secured a berth in a deck
cabin of the _Norham Castle_ for the first week in November. The chase
had begun, and already Horace felt a keen and amusing sense of
adventure--adventure in little--springing within him.
After Madeira, when all had found their sea-legs, and the warm weather
and smooth ocean appeared, things became very pleasant. Horace was not
a man who quickly became intimate or much attached to people; but,
almost insensibly, upon this voyage he found himself developing a strong
friendship, almost an intimacy, with two ladies: one, Mrs Stacer, a
pleasant, comely, middle-aged woman, perhaps nearer fifty than forty;
the other, Miss Vanning, young, good-looking, and extremely attractive.
The two ladies, who were connected, if not relations, were travelling to
Port Elizabeth to stay with friends in that part of the colony--where,
exactly, was never quite made clear. Horace found them refined,
well-bred, charming women, having many things in common with him; and
the trio in a day or two's time got on swimmingly together.
By the time the line was reached, the vision of Rose Vanning, with her
fair, wavy brown hair, good grey eyes, fresh complexion, and open, yet
slightly restrained manner, was for ever before the mental ken of Horace
May bold. Here, indeed, he told himself, was the typical English girl
he had so often set before his mind; fresh, tallish, full of health,
alert, vigorous in mind and body, yet a thorough and a perfect woman.
On many a warm tropical evening, as they sat together on deck, while the
big ship drove her way through the oil-like ocean, sending shoals of
flying-fish scudding to right and left of her, the two chatted together,
and day by day their intimacy quickened. It was clear to Horace, and it
began, too, to dawn upon Mrs Stacer, that Rose Vanning found a more
than ordinary pleasure in his presence. By the time they were within a
day of Cape Town, Horace had more than half made up his mind. He had
gently opened the trenches with Mrs Stacer, who had met him almost
half-way, and had obtained permission to call upon them in London--at a
house north of Hyde Park, where they were living. At present they knew
so little of him and his people, that he felt it would be unfair to push
matters further. But he had mentioned Mrs Stacer's invitation to Rose
Vanning.
"I hope, Miss Vanning," he said, "you won't quite have forgotten me when
I come to see you--let me see--about next May. It's a very long way
off, isn't it? And people and things change so quickly in these times."
He looked a little anxiously at the girl as he spoke; what he saw
reassured him a good deal.
"If you haven't forgotten us, Mr Maybold," she said, a pretty flush
rising as she spoke, "I'm quite sure we shall remember and be glad to
see you. We've had such good times together, and I hope you'll come and
see us soon. We shall be home in April at latest, and we shall have, no
doubt, heaps of adventures to compare."
At Cape Town, Horace, after many inquiries, had half settled upon a
journey along the Orange River. He had more than one reason for this.
Perhaps Rose Vanning's influence had sharpened his moral sense; who
knows? At any rate, he had begun to think it was playing it rather low
down upon the Professor, to follow him up and poach his preserves. He
could do the Orange River this season, and wait another year for the
_Achraea Parchelli_; by that time the old gentleman would probably have
had his fill, and would not mind imparting the secret, if properly
approached. And so the Orange River was decided upon, and in three or
four days he was to start.
Upon the following evening, however, something happened to alter these
plans. Half an hour before dinner, as he was sitting on the pleasant
_stoep_ (veranda) of the International Hotel, enjoying a cigarette, a
man whose face he seemed to know came up to him and instantly claimed
acquaintance. "You remember me, surely, Maybold?" he said. "I was at
Marlborough with you--in the same form for three terms."
Of course Horace remembered him; and they sat at dinner together and had
a long yarn far into the night.
The upshot of this meeting was that nothing would satisfy John
Marley--"Johnny," he was always called--but Horace should go round by
sea with him to Port Elizabeth, and stop a few weeks at his farm, some
little way up-country from that place. When he was tired of that, he
could go on by rail from Cradock, and complete his programme on the
Orange River.
"If you want butterflies, my boy," said Johnny in his hearty way, "you
shall have lots at my place--tons of them after the rains; and we'll
have some rattling good shooting as well. You can't be always running
about after `bugs,' you know."
So, next day but one, Horace, little loth, was haled by his friend down
to the docks again, and thence round to Port Elizabeth by steamer. From
Port Elizabeth they proceeded, partly by rail partly by Cape cart and
horses, in a north-easterly direction, until at length, after the best
part of a day's journey through some wild and most beautiful scenery,
they drove up late in the evening to a long, low, comfortable farmhouse,
shaded by a big verandah, where they were met and welcomed by Marley's
wife and three sturdy children. After allowing his friend a day's rest,
to unpack his kit and get out his gunnery and collecting-boxes, Johnny
plunged him into a vortex of sport and hard work. A fortnight had
vanished ere Horace could cry off. He had enjoyed it all immensely; but
he really must get on with the butterflies, especially if he meant to go
north to the Orange River.
Marley pretended to grumble a little at his friend's desertion of
buck-shooting for butterfly-collecting; but he quickly placed at his
disposal a sharp Hottentot boy, Jacobus by name, who knew every nook and
corner of that vast countryside, and, barring a little laziness, natural
to Hottentot blood, proved a perfect treasure to the entomologist. The
weather was perfection. Some fine showers had fallen, vegetation had
suddenly started into life, and the flowers were everywhere ablaze. The
bush was in its glory.
Amid all this regeneration of nature, butterflies and insects were
extremely abundant. Horace had a great time of it, and day after day
added largely to his collection. One morning, flitting about here and
there, he noticed a butterfly that seemed new to him. He quickly had a
specimen within his net, and, to his intense satisfaction, found it as
he had suspected, a new species. It belonged to the genus _Eurema_,
which contains but few species, and somewhat resembled _Eurema
schaeneia_ (Trimen), a handsome dark-brown and yellow butterfly, with
tailed hind-wings. But Horace's new capture was widely different, in
this respect: the whole of the under surface of the wings was suffused
with a strong roseate pink, which mingled here and there with the brown,
sometimes darker, sometimes lighter in its hue.
Here was a thrilling discovery--a discovery which, as Horace laughingly
said to himself, would make old Parchell "sit up" at their Society's
meeting next spring. Horace captured eight more specimens--the
butterfly was not too plentiful--and then made for home in an ecstasy of
delight.
A few days after this memorable event he set off with Jacobus for a
farmhouse thirty miles away, to the owner of which--an English
Afrikander--Marley had given him an introduction. As they passed near
the kloof where the new butterfly had been discovered, which lay about
half-way, Horace off-saddled for an hour, and picked up half a dozen
more specimens of the new _Eurema_. These he placed with the utmost
care in his collecting-box. At noon they saddled up and rode on again.
Towards three o'clock they emerged from the hills upon a shallow, open,
grassy valley, girt about by bush and mountain scenery. This small
valley was ablaze with flowers, and butterflies were very abundant.
Getting Jacobus to lead his horse quietly after him, Horace wandered
hither and thither among the grass and flowers, every now and again
sweeping up some butterfly that took his fancy. Suddenly, as he opened
his net to secure a new capture, he uttered an exclamation of intense
surprise. "By all that's entomological!" he cried, looking up with a
comical expression at the stolid and uninterested Hottentot boy, "I've
done it, I've done it! I've hit upon the old Professor's new
butterfly!"
No man could well be more pleased with himself than Horace Maybold at
that moment. In ten minutes he had within his box seven or eight more
specimens, for the butterfly--the wonderful, the undiscoverable _Achraea
Parchelli_--seemed to be fairly plentiful.
"How far are we off Mr Gunton's place now, Jacobus?" asked Horace.
"Nie, var, nie, Baas," (Not so far, master), replied the boy in his
Dutch _patois_. "'Bout one mile, I tink. See, dar kom another Baas!"
Horace shaded his eyes and looked. About one hundred and fifty yards
off there appeared above the tall grass a curious figure, remarkable for
a huge white helmet, loose light coat, and pink face and blue
spectacles. A green butterfly net was borne upon the figure's shoulder.
Horace knew in a moment whose was that quaint figure. He gave a soft
whistle to himself. It was the Professor.
The old gentleman came straight on, and, presently, seeing, within fifty
yards, strange people before him, walked up. He stood face to face with
Horace Maybold, amazed, aghast, and finally very angry.
"Good-morning, Professor," said that young man. "I'm afraid I've
stumbled by a sheer accident on your hunting-ground. I am staying with
an old schoolfellow thirty miles away, and rode in this direction. I
had no idea you were here."
The Professor was a sight to behold. Red as an enraged turkey-cock,
streaming with perspiration--for it was a hot afternoon--almost
speechless with indignation, he at last blurted into tongue: "So, sir,
this is what you have been doing--stealing a march upon me; following me
up secretly; defrauding me of the prizes of my own labour and research.
I could not have believed it of any member of the Society. The thing is
more than unhandsome. It is monstrous! an utterly monstrous
proceeding!"
Horace attempted to explain matters again. It was useless; he might as
well have argued with a buffalo bull at that moment.
"Mr Maybold," retorted the Professor, "the coincidence of your staying
in the very locality in which my discovery was made, coupled with the
fact that you endeavoured, at the last meeting of the Entomological
Society, to extract from me the habitat of this new species, is quite
too impossible. I have nothing more to say, for the present." And the
irate old gentleman passed on.
Horace felt excessively vexed. Yet he had done no wrong. Perhaps when
the old gentleman had come to his senses he would listen to reason.
Jacobus now led the way to the farmhouse. It lay only a mile away, and
they presently rode up towards the _stoep_. Two ladies were sitting
under the shade of the ample thatched veranda--one was painting, the
other reading. Horace could scarcely believe his eyes as he approached.
These were his two fellow-passengers of the _Norham Castle_, Mrs
Stacer and Rose Vanning, the latter looking, if possible, more charming
than ever. The ladies recognised him in their turn, and rose with a
little flutter. Horace jumped from his horse and shook hands with some
warmth.
"Who on earth," he said, "could have expected to meet you in these
wilds? I _am_ astonished--and delighted," he added, with a glance at
Rose.
Explanations ensued. It seemed that the ladies were the sister and
step-daughter of the Professor, who was a widower. They had been
engaged by him in a mild conspiracy not to reveal his whereabouts, so
fearful was he of his precious butterfly's habitat being made known to
the world; and so, all through the voyage, no mention had been made even
of his name. It was his particular whim and request, and here was the
mystery at an end. The Professor had moved from the farmhouse in which
he had lodged the year before, and had secured quarters in Mr Gunton's
roomy, comfortable ranch, where the ladies had joined him.
Horace, who had inwardly chafed at this unexpected turn, had now to
explain his awkward rencontre with the Professor. To his great relief,
Mrs Stacer and Rose took it much more philosophically than he could
have hoped; indeed, they seemed rather amused than otherwise.
"But," said Horace with a rueful face, "the Professor's in a frantic
rage with me. You don't quite realise that he absolutely discredits my
story, and believes I have been playing the spy all along. And upon the
top of all this I have a letter to Mr Gunton, and must sleep here
somehow for the night. There's no other accommodation within twenty
miles. Why, when the Professor comes back and finds me here, he'll go
out of his mind!"
Here Mrs Stacer, good woman that she was, volunteered to put matters
straight, for the night at all events. She at once saw Mr Gunton, and
explained the _impasse_ to him; and Horace was comfortably installed,
away from the Professor's room, in the farmer's own quarters.
"Leave my brother to me," said Mrs Stacer, as she left Horace. "I
daresay matters will come right."
At ten o'clock Mrs Stacer came to the door. Mr Gunton rose and went
out as she entered. "H'sh!" she said with mock-mystery as she addressed
Horace. "I think," she went on, with a comical little smile, "the
Professor begins to think he has done you an injustice. He is amazed at
our knowing you, and we have attacked him all the evening, and he is
visibly relenting."
"Mrs Stacer," said Horace warmly, "I can't thank you sufficiently.
I've had an inspiration since I saw you. I, too, have discovered, not
far from here, a rather good new butterfly--a species hitherto unknown.
Can't I make amends, by sharing my discovery with the Professor? I've
got specimens here in my box, and there are plenty in a kloof fifteen
miles away."
"Why, of course," answered Mrs Stacer. "It's the very thing. Your new
butterfly will turn the scale I'll go and tell my brother you have a
matter of importance to communicate, and wish to make further
explanations. Wait a moment."
In three minutes she returned. "I think it will be all right," she
whispered. "Go and see him. Straight through the passage you will find
a door open, on the right. I'll wait here."
Horace went forward and came to the half-open door. The Professor, who
had changed his loose, yellow, alpaca coat for a black one of the same
material, sat by a reading-lamp. He wore now his gold-rimmed
spectacles, in lieu of the blue "goggles." He looked clean, and pink,
and comfortable, though a trifle severe--the passion of the afternoon
had vanished from his face. Horace spoke the first word. "I have again
to reiterate Professor, how vexed I am to have disturbed your
collecting-ground. I had not the smallest intention of doing it.
Indeed, my plans lay farther north. It was the pure accident of meeting
my old school-friend, Marley, that led me here. In order to convince
you of my sincere regret, I have here a new butterfly--evidently a
scarce and unknown _Eurema_--which I discovered a few days since, near
here. My discovery is at your service. Here is the butterfly. I trust
you will consider it some slight set-off for the vexation I have
unwittingly given you."
At sight of the butterfly, which Horace took from his box, the
Professor's eyes gleamed with interest. He took the insect, looked at
it very carefully, then returned it.
"Mr Maybold," he said, rising and holding out his hand, "I believe I
did you an injustice this afternoon. I lost my temper, and I regret it.
I understand from my sister and daughter that they are acquainted with
you, and that they were fully aware of your original intention to travel
to the Orange River. Your offer of the new butterfly, which is, as you
observe, a new and rare species, is very handsome, and I cry quits. I
trust I may have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at breakfast, and
accompanying you to the habitat of your very interesting and remarkable
discovery."
Before breakfast next morning there was a very pleasant and even tender
meeting between Horace Maybold and Rose Vanning; and, when Mrs Stacer
joined them, there was a merry laugh over the adventures of yesterday.
After breakfast--they all sat down together, the Professor in his most
genial mood--Horace and the old gentleman at once set off for the kloof
where the new _Eurema_ was discovered. They returned late in the
evening; the Professor had captured a number of specimens, and although
fatigued, was triumphantly happy. Horace stayed a week with them after
this, with the natural result that at the end of that time he and Rose
Vanning were engaged, with the Professor's entire consent. The new
butterfly--which, partly out of compliment to Rose, partly from its own
peculiar colouring, was unanimously christened _Eurema Rosa_--was
exhibited by Horace and the Professor jointly and with great _eclat_ at
an early meeting of the Entomological Society.
Horace and Rose's marriage is a very happy one. And, as they both
laughingly agree--for the old gentleman often reminds them of the fact--
they may thank the Professor's butterfly (the famous _Achraea
Parchelli_) for the lucky chance that first threw them together.