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STORY OF ODONTOGLOSSUM HARRYANUM

Men supremely great in science have a quality beyond reason, such as we term instinct, enabling them to leap over the slow processes of demonstration, and announce a law or a result unsuspected, which they cannot yet prove. The great Collector Benedict Roezl had this gift. Returning from the memorable expedition in which he discovered the Miltonia commonly called Odontoglossum vexillarium, he assured Mr. Sander that in those parts would be found a true Odontoglossum of unusual colouring. When asked the grounds for his opinion he could only say he ‘smelt it.’ Mr. Sander was not unused to this expression, and he knew by experience that Roezl’s scientific nose might be trusted. It was something in the air, in the ‘lie’ of the country, in the type of vegetation, which guided him, no doubt. Other collectors born and bred have a like sense. Roezl showed his supremacy by the confident prediction that this new species would be darker than any known, and striking in the combination of its tints.

This was in 1875. Ten years later Professor Reichenbach wrote to Mr. Sander of an astounding Odontoglossum he had seen – it may be necessary to tell the unlearned that Professor Reichenbach was the very genius of orchidology. Nothing in the least resembling it had been even rumoured hitherto. And then Reichenbach described Odontoglossum Harryanum. The raptures of that enthusiast were wont to divert admiring friends, expressed with quaint vehemence, but always suggesting that he mocked himself the while. Never had he such a theme as this. Speaking with due thought and sufficient knowledge, I declare that Odontoglossum Harryanum is the most finished result of Nature’s efforts to produce a flower which should startle and impress by its colours alone, without eccentricity of shape or giant size, or peculiarities of structure. Remembering that not all the world has seen this flower, I should give just a hint of the means employed. Fancy, then, eight or ten great blooms, dark chestnut in tone, barred with yellow, striped with mauve; the lip white, broadly edged with a network of bluish purple and intersected by a deep stain of that tint, beyond which is spread a sheet of snow; touch with gold here and there, and you have the ‘scheme of colour.’ Those who knew the great savant can imagine how he raved after giving, with luminous precision, his scientific report of the new orchid.

Reichenbach persuaded himself, by study of the flower, that it must be a native of Mexico. He was wrong for once, but people were so used to regard him as infallible that Mr. Sander did not think of doubting the assertion. Presently, however, it became known that Messrs. Veitch had bought the plants, a dozen or so, from Messrs. Horsman. And then Mr. Sander learned by accident that the latter firm received a small case of orchids from Barranquilla, twelve months before. While pondering this news, Roezl’s unforgotten prophecy flashed into his mind. Barranquilla, in the United States of Columbia, is the port of that district where Odontoglossum vexillarium is found! He had a collector not far away. Within an hour this gentleman, Mr. Kerbach, received a telegram short and imperative: ‘Go Amalfi.’ Not waiting an explanation Kerbach replied ‘Gone!’ – reached Amalfi in due course, and found another telegram containing a hint that sufficed, ‘New Odontoglossum.’

Kerbach began to inquire the same day. It was hardly credible that an orchid of importance could have been overlooked in the neighbourhood of Amalfi, where collectors – French, Belgian, and English – had been busy for years. A hunt there would be very unpromising. Kerbach wandered about, asking questions. Thus at Medellin he made acquaintance with a Bank clerk. It may be noted, by the way, that the inhabitants of that busy and thriving town, the bulk of them, are descendants of Maranos – that is, Jews converted by the processes of the Inquisition. Doubtless there are records which explain why and how many thousands of those people assembled in a remote district of New Granada, but they themselves appear to have lost the tradition; they have lost their ancestral faith also, for there are no more devout Catholics. The religious instincts of the race assert themselves, however, for New Granadans in general are not more fervent than other creoles of South America, while the town of Medellin is an oasis of piety.

The Bank clerk was questioned as usual, though not a likely person to take note of plants. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘there was a customer of ours at the Bank yesterday, swearing like a wild Indian at orchids and everybody connected with them. I should advise you to keep out of his way.’

‘What have the orchids done to him?’ asked Kerbach.

‘I wasn’t listening, but I’ll inquire.’ And presently he brought the explanation. A young French collector had been in those parts some years before. He stayed a while at the planter’s house, and there discovered an orchid which stirred him to enthusiasm. After gathering a quantity he made arrangements with his host for a shipment to follow next season, promising a sum which astonished the native. But this young man was drowned in the Couca. After a while Don Filipe resolved to despatch a few of the weeds on his own account to Europe, and he consigned them to a friend at Barranquilla. But the friend never returned him a farthing. He had handed the case to some one else for shipment, and this some one, he said, could not get his money from England. It is pleasant to hear, however, that Don Filipe had implicit trust in British honesty. He proclaimed his friend a swindler, and doubtless he was right.

All the cash that this good man was out of pocket could not well have exceeded ten dollars, and his time did not count. Perhaps he would have been less furious had the loss been greater. Anyhow he nursed his wrath with Indian stubbornness – for Don Filipe was an Indian, though distinguishable from a white only in character, as are myriads at this day.

Kerbach did not doubt that he had found his Odontoglossum, and gaily started for the hacienda. Some little diplomacy might be needed, and rather more cash than usual; but of course a sane man would come to terms at last. Don Filipe was absent when he arrived – a fortunate chance, perhaps. Meantime Kerbach entertained the ladies, played with the children, and made himself agreeable. The haciendero found him seated at the piano, and applauded with the rest.

But his face changed when they got to business. Kerbach opened with flattering remarks upon the wealth of the country and its prospects. Don Filipe purred with satisfaction. Gradually he worked round to orchids. Don Filipe ceased to purr, and he hastily begged leave to visit the cacao plantation. As they rode through the sheltering woods Kerbach looked about him sharply. It was too late for flowers, but the growth of Odontoglossum Harryanum is very distinct. He espied one plant and recognised it as a new species.

The trouble must be faced, and after dinner Kerbach explained his object, as gently as he could. The planter flamed out at once, dropped his Castilian manners, and vowed he would shoot any man found gathering orchids on his estate. Kerbach withdrew. Next day he visited two other hacienderos of the district. But Don Filipe had preceded him. Less rudely but with equal firmness the landowners forbade him to collect on their property.

A brief explanation is needed. In those parts of South America, where the value of orchids is known to every child, a regular system has been introduced long since. As a rule almost invariable, the woods belong to some one, however far from a settlement. With this personage the collector must negotiate a lease, as it is called, a formal document, stamped and registered, which gives him authority to cut down trees – for the peons will not climb. At the beginning, doubtless, they shrewdly perceived that to fell a stout trunk would pay them infinitely better – since they receive a daily wage – than to strip it, besides the annoyance from insects and the risk from snakes which they elude. At the present time this usage has become fixed.²

Without the assistance of peons, Kerbach could not possibly get plants sufficient to ship. To cut down trees without authority would be a penal offence, certainly detected. He explored the country at a distance and found nothing. It was necessary to come to terms with Don Filipe at any cost or abandon the enterprise. Meantime letters reached Amalfi describing the new Odontoglossum, with a picture showing the foliage. It was that he had found. The treasure hung within reach, and a pig-headed Indian forbade him to grasp it.

In such a difficulty one applies to the Cura. Kerbach paid this gentleman a visit. A tall, stout, good-natured ecclesiastic was he, willing to help a stranger, perhaps, even though unprovided with the dollars which Kerbach offered ‘for the poor,’ if his mediation proved successful. The Cura made the attempt and failed signally. It was useless to try again. The good man begged ten dollars, or five, or one, upon the ground that he had done his best. But Kerbach in despair was not inclined for charity. The Cura sighed, hesitated, tossed off a glass of aguardiente and proposed another way.

‘This is a wicked country, sir,’ he said. ‘Ah! very wicked. And the wickedest people in it have a proverb which I shudder to repeat. But your case is hard. Well, sir, they say (heaven forgive them and me!), “If the saints won’t hear you, take your prayer to the devil.” Horrible, isn’t it?’

‘Horrible!’ said Kerbach. ‘But I don’t know where to find the devil.’

‘Yours is a pious country I have heard, though not Christian. In this wicked land even children could tell you where to seek him. Now, you will give me a trifle for my poor?’ And he held out his hand.

‘But I’m not acquainted with any children. Your reverence must really be more explicit.’

‘Bother!’ exclaimed his reverence, or some Spanish equivalent. ‘Well, you will pay me the fifty dollars promised?’

‘Twenty! When Don Filipe signs the lease.’

‘And all incidental expenses? Then my sacristan will call on you to-morrow. Never talk to me again of your impious projects, sir.’

The sacristan was very business-like. He demanded a dollar to begin with for the Indian who would work the charm, and another dollar for himself to pay for the masses which would expiate his sin. Kerbach asked details, which were given quite frankly. The wizard was a respectable person – attended church, and so forth. The sacristan had talked matters over with him and neither doubted of success. Kerbach must write a letter to Don Filipe’s wife begging her to intercede. The wizard having charmed that document before presenting it, she would be compelled to grant its request. If the planter should still refuse, a curse would be launched against him. And he could not dare resist that.

The man was so serious, he explained himself in such a matter-of-fact tone, that Kerbach, laughing, risked two dollars on the chance. With the letter in his pocket the sacristan departed. Two days later he returned. Don Filipe was willing to negotiate the lease. Kerbach was so delighted that he never thought of asking whether the lady’s gentle influence or the terrors of the curse had persuaded him. Thus Odontoglossum Harryanum was found, to the eternal glory of Roezl.

MASDEVALLIAS

Among Masdevallias we have scarce varieties of Harryana, as Bull’s Blood, Mr. Bull’s punning name for the darkest of all crimsons, and Denisoniana, which keen eyes distinguish from it by a shade of magenta; splendens, pure magenta; versicolor, which has patches of deep crimson on a magenta ground, and a bright yellow ‘eye’; Armeniaca, large, apricot in colour, also with a yellow ‘eye’; Sander’s Scarlet, which speaks for itself.

Bonplandii.– Greenish yellow, with a few purple marks. Tails short and stiff.

Caudata.– Upper sepal light yellow dotted with red; lower purplish rose, marbled with white. A dwarf species, but the yellow tails are two to three inches long.

Abbreviata.– Small, white speckled with purple.

Ignea splendens.– Much larger than the normal form. Fiery red.

Amabilis.– Small, carmine, conspicuous by reason of its ‘tail,’ an inch and a half long.

Chelsoni.– A hybrid of the last-named with Veitchii, orange-yellow, with mauve spots and two ‘tails.’

Veitchii grandiflora, a variety even larger than the common type, seven inches across sometimes; orange-red, suffused with purple.

Polysticta.– One of the lovely little ‘curiosities’ which abound in this genus – palest lilac freckled with purple, and tailed.

Coccinea.– Rosy pink above, glowing scarlet below.

Macrura.– One of the few Masdevallias which do not please my eye, but very rare. Immense, as much as twelve inches long, counting the yellow tails, rough of surface, vaguely brown in colour, with darker spots.

Peristeria.– Greenish yellow, freely speckled with purple; yellow-tailed.

Melanopus.– Small, white, dotted with purple and yellow-tailed.

Wallisii stupenda.– Pale lemon colour splashed with chocolate. There is a curious white excrescence on each side the column, dotted with scarlet.

ONCIDIUMS

Of Oncidiums in this house I note: —

Lamelligerum.– A very grand and noble flower, too rarely seen. It belongs to the stately section of which Oncidium macranthum is the common type. The great dorsal sepal swells out roundly from a stalk half an inch long; the two lower resemble in shape those long-bladed paddles, with scalloped edge, which are used by chiefs in the South Seas; in colour rich brown, with a clear golden margin. The yellow petals also have a stalk, but to give a notion of the large, beautiful, and complex development which they carry at the ends is a hopeless endeavour. I have seen ladies’ work-baskets which faintly resemble it when wide open; made of the softest straw, without end-pieces, only to be closed by tying a ribbon in the centre. But really the case is desperate. I pass on.

Tetracopis.– Another of the same group, even more rare, but not so striking. Large, as they all are. Sepals a lively brown, gold edged; petals bright yellow splashed with brown; lip yellow.

Undulatum.– A third member of this handsome family. Sepals brown, petals white, marbled with yellow and mauve at the base, spotted with purple above, and streaked with yellow. Lip very small, as in all the other cases, but conspicuous by reason of its bright purple tint.

Ornithorhynchum album.– This is one of our oldest and commonest species, discovered by Bonpland, who accompanied Humboldt to Mexico; brought to Europe no long time afterwards. But the pure white variety turned up to astonish the world very few years ago, and the names of those happy mortals who possess a sample would make only a brief if distinguished list.

Loxense seems to have been not uncommon in our fathers’ time, but no plants have arrived from Peru – Loxa is the district – for many years. It makes a long spike with branches, bearing a great number of large flowers; sepals greenish ochre, crossed with blurs of chocolate; petals deep brown, edged and tipped with yellow. Lip large and flowing, as it were, orange-yellow, speckled with red in the throat.

Weltoni.– Classed of late among Miltonias. A singular and fascinating species, difficult to grow and still more difficult to flower. The sepals and petals are very narrow, with edges like a saw, greenish brown, widening out suddenly at the tip, which is yellow. The lip is extraordinary in all respects. It shows a fine broad disc of dusky purple, with a darker bar across the middle; and below this, sharply divided as if by a stroke of the brush, two smaller discs pure white. Upon the whole to be wondered at rather than admired, but more interesting on that account.

STORY OF ONCIDIUM SPLENDIDUM

We all know that to make a thing conspicuous above measure is the most effective way of baffling those who seek it. Wendell Holmes has expounded the natural law of this phenomenon, and Edgar Poe exemplified it in a famous story. I am about to give an instance from the life, as striking as his fiction.

Oncidium splendidum is one of the stateliest orchids we have, and one of the showiest. Its leaves are very large, fleshy and rigid, and the tall flower spike bears a number of pale yellow blooms striped with brown, each three inches across. There is no exaggeration in saving that they would catch the most careless eye as far off as one could see them.

At an uncertain date in the fifties a merchant captain – whose name and that of his ship have never been recovered – brought half a dozen specimens to St. Lazare and gave them to his owner, M. Herman. This gentleman sold the lot to MM. Thibaud and Ketteler, orchid-dealers of Sceaux. They were tempted to divide plants so striking and so new; thus a number of small and weakly pieces were distributed about Europe at a prodigious price. We have the record of the sale of one at Stevens’ Auction Rooms in 1870; it could show but a single leaf, yet somebody paid thirty guineas for the morsel. So ruthlessly were the plants cut up. Even orchids, tenacious of life as they are, will not stand this treatment. In very few years more Oncidium splendidum had vanished.

No one knew where it came from – with a strange carelessness MM. Thibaud and Ketteler had not inquired. M. Herman was dead, and he left no record of the circumstances. The captain could not be traced. Had the name of his ship been preserved, it might have furnished a hint, since the port of sailing would be registered in the Custom House. More than one enterprising dealer made inquiries, but it was too late to recover the trail. Oncidium splendidum took its place for a while among the lost orchids.

But Mr. Sander of St. Albans would not admit defeat. When, after great pains, he had satisfied himself that nothing could be discovered at St. Lazare or at Sceaux, he examined the internal evidence. In the first place, an Oncidium must needs be American, since the genus is not found in the Old World. This species also must dwell in a hot climate; leaves so rigid and fleshy are designed to bear a scorching sun. But the possibilities seemed almost boundless, even thus limited. Patiently and thoughtfully Mr. Sander worked out a process of exhaustion. Mexico might be neglected, for a time at least; those hunting-grounds had been so often explored that some one must surely have come across a flower so conspicuous. So it was with New Grenada. Brazilian Cattleyas have thick, hard leaves, though not to compare with this Oncidium; but they form a single genus which shows the peculiarity among hundreds which do not. Brazil, therefore, might be excluded for the present. The astonishing wealth of Peru in varieties of orchid was not suspected then. After such careful thought as a man of business allows himself when tempted by a speculation which may cost thousands of pounds, Mr. Sander determined that, upon the whole, Central America was the most likely spot; and again, after more balancing of the chances, that Costa Rica was the most likely part of Central America.

After coming to a decision he acted promptly. In 1878 Mr. Oversluys, one of our trustiest and most experienced collectors, was despatched to Costa Rica. More than three years he travelled up and down, and treasures new or old he sent in abundance – Epidendron ciliare, Cattleya Bowringiana, Oncidium cheirophorum, are names that occur at the moment. But as for Oncidium splendidum he had not so much as heard of it. Not a peon could be found in the woods to recognise the sketch which Mr. Sander had given him. Oversluys had never seen the plant himself, I think.

He was driven at length to conclude that if the thing did really exist in 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 José, 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.