its rose and pink-purple blossoms. The spike, often a foot high, bears
from two to fifteen beautiful and slightly fragrant flowers. The
origin of the generic name, _Limodorum_, comes from the Greek, meaning
“a meadow gift.” These flowers, according to Mr. Coleman, are called
Grass-Pinks in Michigan, while Thoreau also called them by the same name
in Massachusetts.[28] The labellum seems hinged at the insertion, and
is bearded with yellow and purple hairs. There is seldom more than one
freshly blown blossom on the stalk at a time, and thus the plant remains
attractive for some days. Beginning at the lowermost bud, each one takes
its turn in unfolding, the spike slowly lengthening while the buds
constantly increase in size and color.
One interesting peculiarity of this species is that it remains as Nature
originally intended all species of orchids,—with the labellum as the
_upper_ petal, instead of the lower, as seen in all other native species.
It will be observed in species of the Orchid Family that a twist of the
seed-pod has taken place: if not a complete revolution, at least half
a turn. The labellum is, therefore, directed forward on the lower or
inferior side, as in the species of Cypripedium, where it appears in the
position of a shoe or moccasin, instead of holding itself above like a
dome, as originally intended by Nature. Darwin says of this: “An enormous
amount of extinction must have swept away a multitude of intermediate
forms, and has left this single genus, now widely distributed, as
a record of a former and more simple state of the great Orchidean
Order.”[29]
The ovary of the Grass-Pink is straight, and the labellum so hinged that
it falls down like an arch above, bearded with delicate hairs. The column
bearing the anther, containing four soft pollen-masses, curves slightly
at the end, producing a hollow wherein lies the pollinia. The stigmatic
surface lies still farther toward the centre of the column. An insect
sipping nectar from these flowers, safely enters without distributing
the adhesive pollinia, since the anthers containing the cells are so
hinged that not until he turns to leave the heart of the flower does he
swing open the lid of the cup containing the powdery gold, which fastens
to the velvet of his coat beneath his body. The next flower of this
species, therefore, becomes fertilized properly, and in turn unlocks
her treasure-store as the insect backs off the keel of the pollen mass.
Professor Meehan writes that this plant “rarely fails to produce perfect
seed-vessels. Yet it is seldom that plants which depend on insects for
their supply of pollen, as these are supposed to do, and which are not
fertilized by their own pollen, produce seeds from every flower.”[30]
[Illustration: =The Grass-Pink.= (_Limodorum tuberosum._)
This is a strange, beautiful orchid with a straight seed-pod (ovary),
which causes the labellum to remain on the upper side of the inner whorl,
instead of the lower side by torsion as in nearly all other orchids.]
It is said that the twisted ovary seen in orchids came about through
necessity in fertilization. This has caused, as Darwin says, “the
labellum to assume the position of a lower petal, so that insects can
easily visit the flower; but from slow changes in the form or position of
the petals, or from new sorts of insects visiting the flowers, it might
be advantageous to the plant that the labellum should resume its normal
position on the _upper_ side of the flower.”[31] In the present position
of the labellum of Cypripedium we observe the convenient resting-place
for the bee as it alights and descends to the interior, where are stored
the nectar and attractive colors. The insect must be persevering indeed
to win the soul of the orchids, since Nature has constructed their
organs with such care and modifications. The hidden hinge to the cups of
pollen—as instanced in the flowers of the Grass-Pink—demonstrates that
even the finest hairs and tissues in these plants have their meaning and
their values.
Self-fertilization seems impossible to the Rose-colored Pogonia, which
bears but one flower. The plants must inter-cross. An interesting account
of the fertilization of this orchid is given at length by Dr. Samuel
H. Scudder,[32] in the _Proceedings_ of the Boston Society of Natural
History.
VIII
A Colony of Ram’s-Heads in Witch Hollow
The solemn wood had spread
Shadows around my head,—
“Curtains they are,” I said,
“Hung dim and still about the house of prayer”;
Softly among the limbs,
Turning the leaves of hymns,
I heard the winds, and asked if God were there.
No voice replied, but while I listening stood,
Sweet peace made holy hushes through the wood.
ALICE CARY, _The Sure Witness_.
It was often a temptation during my search for wild strawberries, to
saunter through the swampy meadows on the northern slopes of Mount Œta,
where nesting bobolinks were busy about their homes. Their happy notes
are the first to awaken one in the morning, and almost the last heard
at twilight, about the edges of the road and the orchard, where they
come in a very business-like way to search for food, crying the while,
“Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, spink, spank, spink; chee, chee, chee!”
As twilight deepens and the moon comes up from behind the grim form of
the Dome, the mournful notes of a distant chorus of whippoorwills begin,
echoing on until far into the early morning. The other noon I was
startled to hear a baby whippoorwill practising his melancholy tale on
the hillside above the house, where no doubt his mother had lost him the
night before. He had “stayed out all night,” and knew no better than to
sing in the daytime. I suppose his mother had not yet taught him when
and how to sing, for he could only lisp now, saying “’Tis-so-still!
’Tis-so-still!” It sounded very odd at noon, although it was dark and
rainy. I searched through the daisied meadow for him, and found that he
was a full-sized bird,—too large to be lisping such baby notes, though
not old enough to find the way to the twilight woods alone. Perhaps he
was backward in his singing lessons, and his mother had punished him
by leaving him to practise all day, when other birds of the night were
drowsing under the shelter of old logs in the deep wood. So he sang on
and on, at intervals, all the afternoon in the rain, out on the grassy
hilltop.
I found a bobolink’s nest low in the swamp meadow, near where there were
many busy “Roberts of Lincoln.” Their rich, energetic, gladsome song was
very contagious, and brightened many an hour when I was housed, or sat on
the porch, watching the storms come up in the north and west.
[Illustration: =The Perry Elm, Marking the Site of Fort Massachusetts,
on the Harrison’s Flats, North Adams, Massachusetts, Showing Saddleback
Mountain in the Distance.=]
Mount Œta is one of the foothills of the Dome, lying just west of the
Domelet. The Hoosac glides around its “dug-away” base, passing through
the narrowest portion of the valley near the Massachusetts State Line.
This pass is often called the “Golden Gate,” likened to the Pass of
Thermopylæ, among the mountains of ancient Greece. Indeed, the warring
history of this valley may be comparable with that of the plains of
Marathon and the mountains of Hellas. Through the Hoosac Pass, during
the French and Indian Wars, have marched the French cadets and cunning
Indians, led by General Rigaud de Vaudreuil, to storm and capture
Fort Massachusetts near the base of Greylock’s Brotherhood. Here they
fought, sixty to one. These encounters were but forerunners of the
Bennington rebellion among the Green Mountain Boys, and the conflicts at
Ticonderoga, which led to one of the world’s great battles, fought among
the hills and vales of Saratoga.
The summit of Mount Œta is crowned with luxuriant farms, with flowing
fields of grain and grasses. Miniature hills and vales between, with
little streams leading down the slopes, perfect an ideal pastoral dream.
There is none of the boldness in the scene from this height, as observed
from Mount Greylock, Mount Anthony, or the Majestic Dome.
Very often the highest summits, especially those of the Dome and the
Greylock group, are draped with rosy-tinged clouds and lowering veils of
mist at the sunrise hour. One of the rarest visions seen from our modern
Mount Œta occurs about six o’clock in the morning, frequently during the
months of June and July, when the whole valley of the Hoosac appears
filled with a perfect sea of billowy fog, the distant blue mountain peaks
rising above. With the golden lights of dawn falling upon this ocean of
beauty, one can trace twenty miles of fairy-sea, as the foaming fog
follows the serpentine windings of the Hoosac from its source under
Greylock, ever broadening toward the plains of Hoosac Falls and the hills
of Saratoga. Before ten o’clock the mist usually dissolves, or rises as
the sun burns forth.
In all my wanderings, I had kept an eye out for the leaves and
seed-capsules of the Ram’s-Head Moccasin-Flower (_Cypripedium
arietinum_), and had revisited the Amidon Woods, where Lorenna found the
first specimen for me, but without discovering any new plants. On Sunday,
the second day of July, a friend and myself drove to Pownal Centre.
We returned by the Gulf, or “Witch-Hollow” path,—a cross-town road
seldom travelled, although shaded and pleasant. Here the sounds of the
winds, breathing and reverberating through the narrow vales, then dying
mournfully in the distance, intimidated the early settlers, who, being
superstitious, attributed the sounds to the witches so prevalent in the
history of New England. To-day there are no more dreadful sounds in these
glens than the hoots of owls and the piping of frogs in the Chalk Pond
pools.
We were nearing the pond region. Just west of the road there is a
beautiful, ever-bubbling spring, known far and wide to tourists
sauntering to Mann Mountain beyond. From this I wished to get a draught
of delicious water for my friend, so I hitched the old horse to a tree
by the roadside. Somehow this morning I lost my bearings, and entered
the wrong ravine. I had supposed that I could find the spring in the
dark; but I penetrated the thicket a little north of the right place,
by the slab-bridge where, in rainy seasons, the water drains from the
hills. Hunting around, however, to learn where the spring lay, I stumbled
straight upon a little company of Ram’s-Head Lady’s Slippers. In my
pleasure and excitement, I exclaimed, “Here are Ram’s-Heads!” frightening
my friend so that she ran clear out of the thicket. She soon returned,
however, when assured that there was no danger, and admired the rare
little flock with me. There were only a dozen plants in the group, none
of course in blossom; but several bore plump seed-capsules, proving that
they had bloomed early in the season. I determined to return to this nook
another day.
The next morning I started off cross-lots, over the hills afoot, to my
sylvan shades, carrying my usual basket and kit of tools, with an added
two-quart pail, which I promised to fill with raspberries. These berries
were plentiful, I had observed, through the John-Fallow sheep pastures.
Here I found a spring trickling from the shelving slate rocks, and this
guided me through a meandering network of swamps, all the way to Cold
Spring, in Witch Hollow below.
Major frisked about among the fields, and we had a happy time sliding
down the dry and slippery pasture slopes. There, at the foot of the
hill, we entered a deep, dark woodland,—just Major and I, who are
faithful, congenial comrades. My constant hound is ever ready to follow
my footsteps, and if he chances to lose me, I soon hear his yelp on my
track. Dear old Major! I value you more than I tell you by these gentle
strokes,—you, whose searching instincts would find me out wherever I
might be, and whose keen scent of danger is my constant protection!
Everything was still in the hollow to-day, save for the croaking of the
bull-frogs and the buzzing of flies and humming of bees, echoing from
the pools and numerous flowers of Solomon’s Seal along the edges of the
swamp. It was noon when I reached my colony of Ram’s-Heads, and I was
glad to be sheltered in these cool glades this sweltering July day. I
took note near what species of trees my rare Cypripediums grew, and found
that they were rooted in loose leaf mould, from long decayed heaps of
pine branches and tree-tops, left by the woodman when the forest was
first hewn from these slopes. Here, also, stood crumbling stumps, and
prostrate trunks lay at full length, decaying in the marl and peat. Among
this mouldering soil was a pile of four-foot white birchwood—near some of
the best plants of Ram’s-Head, three of which bore maturing seed-pods.
Directly through the group, a wood-path wound around the hill from Cold
Spring toward the north, worn by the small wild animals of the forest.
[Illustration: =The Small Round-Leaved Orchis.= (_Habenaria Hookeriana._)
This species is closely related to the Large Round-Leaved Orchis
(_Habenaria orbiculata_) and _Habenaria oblongifolia_, with which it
grows in company.]
Just east of the plants I had found on Sunday, I discovered at least
fifty more, withdrawn to themselves, in aristocratic exclusiveness. I
lifted three of the oldest and largest plants, two of which bore large
seed-pods, taking them up carefully and with plenty of soil, so as not
to disturb the fibrous roots. The layer of leaf mould was loosely strewn,
and not so deep here as I had expected to find it. Scarcely three inches
beneath the surface, I came to a bright, whitish gravel. The spot was
situated on a sloping hillside, which seemed to surround a hollow among
the hills, where a glacial lake had formerly slept. It is called to-day
“Chalk Pond,” the water being whitish at times in the streams flowing
from the heart of the region. The soil was rich with unfathomable depths
of peat and marl in the lake bed below. Peat is formed by decaying moss,
ferns, and vegetable matter in general, while the marl, which lends a
chalky appearance to the water and gravel, comes from the crumbling and
decayed shells abounding in the soil. This loam seems to be valuable, and
the pond bed is now well drained for the purpose of selling the substance
as a fertilizer for lawns.
White birch, chestnut, pines, and nearer the pond meadow below, beautiful
elms towered skyward. From this corner I searched the hillsides to the
north, along the path. At the feet of some chestnut saplings, I found
the Small Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria Hookeriana_). The plant was
young, and apparently had not put forth blossoms this summer. They appear
in early June in this region. Leaving the plant to study another year,
I sought the southern hillside, and came suddenly upon a sight which I
shall not soon forget. Before me stood the Great Round-Leaved Orchis
(_Habenaria orbiculata_), with its two huge, round, flat-lying leaves of
a soft emerald green, about eight inches long by seven wide. It bore a
tall, bracted spike of greenish-white flowers,—strange, fantastic shapes,
trimmed with spurs and hoods and capes. This spike of flowers rose
straight up from between the two round basal leaves. It was about two
feet high originally, but had been broken, doubtless by the hailstorms
of June. The common names of the Round-Leaved Orchises hereabout are
“Shin-plaster” and “Heal-all,” since they are applied to bruised shins,
and are used as plasters for weak lungs. Thoreau, in _Maine Woods_, gives
even larger dimensions of the Great Green Orchis found by him in the
vicinity of Mud Pond, Moosehead and Chamberlain Carries, Maine,—where he
reported it very common in July.
I sat for some time admiring this weird plant; when finding that it
had sown seed the former season, I decided to transport it to a garden
of civilization, to see if it would take kindly to cultivation. Then I
turned westward, following the sluggish yet sparkling stream down from
Cold Spring. At times the stream was almost hidden by moss, through which
it crept slowly.
This brook enters a large, open, meadow marsh,—the ancient lake bed
of which I have spoken before,—the Chalk Pond hollow. Since it is
now drained, it appears to be a promising soil in which to seek the
Purple-Fringed Habenarias in the proper season. I found the leaves of
a plant which I believe to have been that of one of the Purple-Fringed
Orchises, but from its producing no flowers this season I was not able
to designate it. Here, also, small ferns and luxuriant brakes were
sheltered amid the low sumach bushes and willows. Wild grape-vines
entwined the trunks of trees, reaching far into the tops of the high
elms. One immense elm had been blown over by some northeast hurricane,
which had quite recently swept through this hollow. The upturned roots of
this ruined tree had apparently grown about a deeply buried fellow in the
peat and marl, for they still retained the impression of the buried trunk
about which they had clung. In the mud and water from which the tree had
been torn, lay in its deep grave this log, bare of its outer bark, but
still sound and round. It was now well water-soaked, after having been so
long sealed from the air and light beneath the earth. How many centuries
it had been buried there, no one can guess. The now apparently aged elm
upon the surface had torn up several feet of earth as it fell. Forest
after forest had thus fallen, a new one rising over it, eventually to
give place to another, and itself to form a strata of mould, enriching
the soil of these bogs which yield so many floral treasures.
I did not remain in this meadow long, as it proved still too damp to walk
through grasses and sedges without water-tight boots. Coming out of this
place at the foot of the little ravine below the colony of Ram’s-Heads, I
ran upon numerous oblong, waxen, green leaves, which at first reminded me
of the similar leaves of the Pink Moccasin-Flower (_Cypripedium acaule_).
But on closer search for their seed-capsules, I found the fresh bracted
processes of a spike containing several ovaries instead of one, as in the
Moccasin-Flower. Evidently this plant was not a species of Cypripedium;
and although the scape was broken, enough of the alternating process of
twisting ovaries remained to assure me that I had found a colony of the
early and Showy Orchis (_Orchis spectabilis_), which is one of the first
species of orchids to bloom in New England. Indeed, it is said to open
the orchid season as early as May 19th, and is found with the Wake-Robins
and Arbutus, when the woods are otherwise bare and brown. I secured three
of the finest plants.
My basket was now laden with choice species, including those of the
Ram’s-Head, the Showy Orchis, and two species of Habenaria, a sister
genus of _Orchis spectabilis_. The locality had proven a treasure-ground
to me, for here were both the Great and the Small Round-Leaved Orchis
(_Habenaria orbiculata_ and _Habenaria Hookeriana_); while the Tall Green
Orchis (_Habenaria hyperborea_) dwells in the deeper bogs along the
stream.
The leaves of the Purple-Fringed Orchis (_Habenaria grandiflora_) are
hidden in the borders of the open meadow. I found a few plants of that
very rare orchid called Adder’s-Mouth (_Achroanthes unifolia_) seldom
if ever before collected in this town. The plants are so small and
inconspicuous that one may search long without seeing them. Two stood
among the select company of Ram’s-Heads, while others grew along a damp,
silent brook bed that had ceased to flow,—a ravine formed during spring
freshets and melting snows.
[Illustration: =The Showy Orchis.= (_Orchis spectabilis._)
Showing the plant nearly natural size. This species is closely allied
with the Early Spring Orchis (_Orchis mascula_) of England. It is the
most highly organized of our native orchids.]
This pigmy of the Orchid Family—with its pale and odorless flower and
its unassuming habit of concealing itself in the darkest recesses of our
forests and swamps—grows plentifully in its native haunts to the north.
I had searched long and closely for the last month, hoping to find
the Large Purple-Fringed Orchis. Thoreau says: “It is remarkable that
this, one of the fairest of all our flowers, should also be one of the
rarest—for the most part not seen at all.... The village belle never sees
this more delicate belle of the swamp.... A beauty reared in the shade of
a convent, who has never strayed beyond the convent bell. Only the skunk
or the owl, or other inhabitant of the swamp, beholds it.”[33]
The Yellow-Fringed Orchis follows later, blooming through August and
September,—the blossoming season of the flaming Cardinal-Flower, whose
brilliant coloring brightens the dark shades along streams in moist
woods. The Yellow-Fringed Habenarias are found growing with the Pitcher
Plant, and often fill the sphagnous swamps with a glowing mass of
orange-flamed torches. Gray considered them among our handsomest species
of Habenaria. They are abundant in swamps about New Haven, Connecticut,
while the White-Fringed Orchises seek the coast-lines of Massachusetts,
although also found sparingly in the highlands.
Species of Habenaria are called False Orchises, while species of Orchis
are known as True Orchises. These species are members of sister genera,
but all belong to the Orchid Family. There are but three True Orchises
found on the continent north of Mexico, while not less than forty-four
species of Habenaria are reported for the same area.
The genus of True Orchises comprises eighty species, distributed
throughout the temperate zone of the world; while of Habenaria there
are about five hundred species. _Orchis spectabilis_ and _Orchis
rotundifolia_ are found in Vermont. The latter is the rarer, and limited
in its range from northern New England to Greenland. The _Orchis
spectabilis_ ranges from Ontario southward to Georgia. The third species,
_Orchis aristata_, is endemic to the wooded regions of Alaska.
Our common Showy Orchis resembles the Early Spring Orchis (_Orchis
mascula_) of England, which Darwin never tired of praising. The high
organism distinguishes species of this genus as True Orchises. The
origin of this distinction lies in the complex structure of the organs
of fertilization. The stigmatic lobes, or female organs, and the anther
containing the pollinia or male substance in fertilizing, are enclosed
in this genus in a pouch or hooded fold above and within the anterior
portion of the orifice of the spur. In False Orchises, the stigma and
anther are naked, and their glands are exposed. They are also known
as Naked Gland Orchises. The more complex the structure, the more
highly organized becomes the species. _Orchis spectabilis_ displays a
marvellous intelligence in its mechanism for inviting fertilization and
cross-fertilization. The enclosure of the glands within the hooded pouch
protects the pollinia from rains or improper insects.
The moth finds a resting-place on the petaled platform, while he pushes
his tongue and head into the depths of the dainty spur attached to
the flower anteriorly. In doing this he forces his forehead against
the viscid lobes of the stigma, situated in the back, opposite to the
entrance of the spur. In pushing, as he must, to reach the nectar in
the twisting spur, he ruptures the interior membrane of the rostellum
above the orifice containing the pollinia. Each mass of this fertilizing
substance in this species contains viscid disks or handles, fastened
with elastic hair-like caudicles attached to the pollinia. When the
insect ruptures the cellular tissues of the anther, these disks shoot
out of their sockets, and fasten firmly to his head. As he flies away,
he possesses one or two pollinia, unique in their completeness. In
visiting the next spike of the Showy Orchis, he repeats the insertion
of his tongue and forehead in the spur of the nectary. The golden horn
of pollinum thus rubs against the viscid surface of the stigma, and
fertilization and cross-fertilization are brought about. The insect
thus accomplishes all that Nature has designed for the future of the
species, even if only a small portion of the pollinum is absorbed by the
attractive surface of the stigma. One mass fastened to the head of a moth
would, in this manner, fertilize several flowers.