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STORY OF DENDROBIUM LOWII

The authorities assert that Dendrobium Lowii was introduced to Europe by Sir Hugh Low in 1861. My friend has so many titles to honour, in this and other forms of public service, that he will not feel the loss of one. The statement is not absolutely correct. An unnamed species, which must have been Dendrobium Lowii, flowered in the collection of Mr. H. Vicars, at Heath House, near Chelmsford, in 1845. I do not propose to describe the plant whereby hangs my tale; suffice it that this is a pale yellow Dendrobe, peculiarly charming, very delicate, and still rare. We do not hear of Mr. Vicars’ specimen again. He obtained it, with others, from Fraser, Cumming, and Co., of Singapore, probably in 1842. It was brought to them from Borneo by Captain Baker, commanding the ship Orient Pioneer.

When lying at Singapore Captain Baker heard of the coal seams just discovered at Kiangi, on the Brunei river, which made such a stir in the City a few months afterwards. It seemed to him that his owners would like a report upon them. And he sailed thither.

I picture the man as big and rough – fat he was certainly; one of those sailors, careful enough aboard ship, who think it necessary to take a ‘drop’ at every halt when making holiday.

Pirates were no tradition in that era. They swarmed among the islands, and the younger chiefs were not proof against temptation when they fell in with an European ship that seemed to be in difficulties. Doubtless Captain Baker kept all his wits about him on a perilous voyage beyond the track of commerce then. But he reached the Bay of Brunei safely, ascended the river in a well-armed boat, and visited the coalfields at Kiangi. A few Chinamen were working there. Baker had shrewdness enough to see that immense capital would be required, that the Sultan would give endless trouble, and that the coal, when won, might prove to be dubious in quality. We may hope, therefore, that his owners kept out of the ‘rush’ which followed, and were duly grateful.

His business was finished. Messrs. Fraser and Cumming, indeed, had asked him to collect a few of the ‘air-plants’ which began to make such a stir in England, but that would not detain him. They grew so thick on every tree that a boatload could be gathered in dropping down the river. He had instructions to choose those upon the highest branches, where, as was thought, the best species are found; but it made no difference, for a sailor could walk up those trees hung with creepers as easily as up the shrouds! So Captain Baker looked out for a place to land among the mangroves, expecting to fulfil his commission in an hour at most. A place was found presently, the boat turned to shore, and he directed a couple of sailors to climb. They were more than willing, under a promise of grog. I may venture to drop the abstract form of narrative here, and put the breath of life into it.

Baker had engaged a Malay as interpreter for the voyage; by good luck he was a native of Brunei. This man stared and laughed a little to himself on hearing the order. As the sailors began to mount, he said:

‘Tuan Cap’n! Say ’m fellows looky sharp on snakes.’

The men paused suddenly, looking down, but Baker swore very loud and very often to the effect that he’d eat every snake within miles, and that Tuzzadeen was the son of a sea-cook. So the climbers went up, but gingerly. Tuzzadeen sat grinning. They had not mounted high, luckily, for on a sudden one gave a screech, and both crashed down, the second dropping in sheer fright. But he who uttered that yell had good cause for it, evidently. He danced and twisted, threw himself down and bounded to his feet, roaring with pain. His eyes showed the white in a circle all round, and his brows, strained upward, almost touched the hair. All leapt out, splashing through the shallow water, pale with alarm – seized their writhing comrade, and stripped him. Tuzzadeen examined his body; presently the convulsions grew fainter, and he struggled in a more intelligent sort of way, though still roaring.

‘Him bit by fire-ant, I say, Tuan Cap’n,’ observed Tuzzadeen.

‘Well! Here’s a blasphemous fuss about an unmentionable little ant! D’you call yourself a gore-stained British seaman, Forster? Just let’s hear you do it, you unfit-for-repetition lubber, so as we may have a right-down blank laugh.’

Forster collected his wits and answered earnestly, ‘It was an ant maybe. But I tell you, Cap’n Baker, there ain’t no difference betwixt that ant and a red-hot iron devil. Oh law! I’ll be good from this day. I know how the bad uns fare now.’

‘That’s a blessed resolution anyhow,’ said Baker. ‘But it didn’t last above a minute, you see. Come, show yourself a man, and shin up them shrouds again.’

‘No, Cap’n Baker,’ he answered slowly and impressively, ‘not if you was to put the Queen’s crown on top of the tree and fix a keg of rum half-way up.’

Then they found that the other man had hurt himself badly in falling. Baker was stubborn. But promises and taunts failed to move one of them, and he was too fat to climb himself.

‘Confound it, Tuz,’ said he discontentedly, as they pulled into the stream. ‘Other men have got these things. How did they do it?’

‘Them get Dyaks – naked chaps what see ants and snakes.’

‘Oh! And can I get Dyaks?’

‘You pay, Tuan Cap’n, I find plenty naked chaps.’

In the evening all was settled. Tuzzadeen knew the chief of a Sibuyou Dyak village on a hill just above the bay; they would scarcely lose sight of the ship. No preparations were necessary. He himself would go ahead when they approached a village, and the Dyaks would be pleased to see them.

At dawn next day Baker started, with Tuzzadeen and four armed sailors. They crossed the broad white beach, studded with big rocks, moss-grown, weather-stained, clothed with creepers and plumed with fern; through a grove of cocoanut palms, scaring a band of children – Malay, but clad only in a heart-shaped badge of silver dangling at their waists – and entered the forest. There was a well-worn path. In a hilly district like this Dyaks are content to walk upon the ground; elsewhere they lay tree-trunks, end to end, on crossed posts, and trot along, raised above the level of the bush.

It is likely that this was the first time Captain Baker had entered a tropic forest. A very few steps from the busy go-downs of Singapore would have taken him into one peculiarly charming; but tigers lay in wait all round the town – so at least it was believed, not without probability. A few daring souls already dwelt at Tanglin; but they left business early, looked to their arms before setting out, and never dreamed of quitting the bungalow when safe home once more.

Anyhow, the good man was struck with the beauty of that jungle. Scarcely a flower did he see, or a butterfly, or any living thing save ants and wasps. Vast trees arching above the path shut out every sun-ray in that early hour. But all beneath them was a garden such as he had never conceived. The dews had not yet dried up. They outlined every thread in the great webs stretching from bush to bush, edged the feathers of bamboo with white, hung on the tip of every leaf. And the leaves were endless in variety. Like a green wall they stood on either hand – so closely were they pressed together along the track, which gave them some faint breath of air and glimmer of sunshine at noonday. Living things were heard, too, though unseen. The wah-wahs called ‘jug-jug’ in a long gurgling cadence, like water pouring from a bottle. Boughs clashed in sudden tumult, and dimly one caught a glimpse of monkeys flying through the air in alarm. A crow upon the top of some dead tree uttered its clanging call, slow and sonorous like strokes upon a bell. In short, Baker was much pleased and interested. Often he came to a halt, and at every halt he served out rum.

It was a walk of some miles, very steep at the last. Near the village they crossed a ravine, dry at this season; so deep it was that the bridge which spanned it hung far above the tops of lofty trees growing on an island in the midst.

The bridge was actually the greatest wonder seen as yet on this delightful excursion. Huge bamboos, lashed end to end, were suspended over the abyss by rattans beyond counting, fixed in the trees at either side. Not only wonderful but most elegant it was, for the rattans had been disposed symmetrically. But Baker, though a seaman from his youth up, surveyed it with dismay. Boards a foot wide at the utmost had been laid across the bamboo. There was a hand-rail on each side, but so slight that he perceived it could not be meant for a support. Moreover, Tuzzadeen warned him earnestly, before leading the way, that he must not grasp the hand-rail – it must be touched only, to assist the balance.

Then the Malay went across. At a yard out the bridge began to shiver, and when he reached the middle, which dipped many feet, it was swinging to and fro like a pendulum. If Baker had not drunk just enough to make him reckless he would have turned back. A couple of the men refused. That was another prick of the spur. He followed Tuzzadeen, with his heart in his mouth, and arrived safely. Guess how deep was the refresher after that.

Tuzzadeen pushed on, and returned presently with an invitation from the chief – the Orang kaya, as his title goes. I can fancy Baker’s astonishment when he came in sight of the village. It was one house, perhaps three hundred feet long, raised thirty feet in the air on posts. They climbed a notched log to the entrance, where the chief was waiting with his councillors. He had sent for young men, readily spared at this season, and meantime he asked the Tuan to rest.

Baker perceived that the house was open from end to end in front and on his left hand as he entered; on the right, however, stretched a wooden party wall, with many doors. He rightly concluded that the open space was common and each family occupied one chamber. Hundreds of people crowded round, especially children.

Then he lunched, the chief looking on, and in due time a score of stalwart young Dyaks arrived. After resting he started again with them.

What with drink and interest Baker was now jovially excited. In passing through the house he noticed a door festooned with greenery. A noise of howling came through it. He asked Tuzzadeen what this meant. Tuzzadeen, Malay and Moslem, was much amused.

‘Baby born!’ he laughed. ‘Father go to bed; mother feed him with rice and salt.’

‘Feed the father?’ Baker cried.

‘Yes. Them naked chaps say father’s child, not mother’s. Women cry over him. You hear?’

‘Lord ’a mercy, I must see this!’ And before Tuzzadeen could interfere he opened the door.

Wild uproar broke out on the instant, men shouted, women screamed and wailed – in a solid mass they rushed from the spot. Tuzzadeen caught Baker and ran him back up the passage, the sailors following. They fled for their lives, slid down the notched log and along the path, pursued by terrific clamour – but not by human beings apparently. Perceiving this, Tuzzadeen stopped.

‘I go back,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Them kill us in jungle when them like. I make trade. You pay?’

‘Anything – anything!’ cried Baker. ‘We haven’t even our guns!’

So the Malay went back to negotiate, but they ran on – came to the awful bridge, Baker foremost. He reached the middle. One of the sailors behind would wait no longer – advanced and both fell headlong down. The sailor was killed instantly; Baker, in the middle of the bridge, dropped among the branches of a tree.

There he lay, bruised, half conscious, until Tuzzadeen’s shouts roused him, and he answered faintly.

‘Hold on!’ cried the Malay. ‘We come good time, Tuan Cap’n! Before dark!’ Six hours to wait at least!

Baker began to stir – found he had no limbs broken, and thought of descending. His movements were quickened by the onslaught of innumerable ants, not a venomous species happily. But in climbing down he remarked that the tree-top was loaded with orchids, which he tore off and dropped; long before nightfall he met the search-party, toiling up the ravine from its opening on the shore.

Next day Tuzzadeen returned to bury the dead man and bring away the orchids; among them was Mr. Vicars’ Dendrobium Lowii.

The Dyak practice referred to – of putting the father to bed when a child is born – prevails, or has prevailed, from China to Peru. It lingers even in Corsica and the Basque Provinces of Europe. Those who would know more may consult an Encyclopaedia, under the heading ‘Couvade.’ The house is ‘taboo’ – called ‘pamali’ in Borneo – for eight days. Hence the commotion.

CALANTHE HOUSE

For my own part I rank Calanthes among the most charming of flowers, and in the abstract most people agree with me perhaps. Yet they are contemned – the natural species – by all professed orchidists; and even hybrids mostly will be found in holes and corners, where no one is invited to pause and look at them. There are grand exceptions certainly. In Baron Schröder’s wondrous collection, the hybrid Calanthes hold a most honourable place. I have seen them in bloom there filling a big house, more like flowering shrubs than orchids – a blaze and a mass of colour almost startling. But these are unique, raised with the utmost care from the largest and rarest and most brilliant varieties which money unlimited could discover. The species used for hybridising were, as I understand, Cal. vestita oculata gigantea with Cal. Regnieri, Sanderiana, and igneo-oculata – but picked examples, as has been said.

Here we have, among others, Sandhurstiana, offspring of Limatodes rosea × Cal. vest. rubro-oculata. The individual flowers are large, and a spike may bear as many as forty; brightest crimson, with a large yellow ‘eye’ upon the lip. No mortal contemns this.

Bella (Veitchii × Turneri). – Sepals white, petals daintily flushed; lip somewhat more deeply flushed, with a white patch upon the disc, and in this a broad spot of the deepest but liveliest crimson.

Veitchii of course; but also the pure white form of Veitchii, which is by no means a matter of course.

William Murray (vest. rubro-oculata × Williamsii). – A hybrid notably robust, which is always a recommendation. White sepals and petals, a crimson patch on the lip, darkest at the throat.

Florence (bella × Veitchii). – Flowers large, of a deep rose, with purplish rose markings.

Clive.– The parentage of this hybrid is lost. Petals lively carmine, sepals paler. Throat yellow, lip white at base with carmine disc.

Victoria Regina (Veitchii × rosea). – The large flowers are all tender rose, saving a touch of sulphurous yellow at base of the lip.

Phaio-calanthe Arnoldiae is a bi-generic hybrid (C. Regnieri × Phajus grandifolius). – Sepals and petals yellow; lip rose-pink.

Here also I may mention some interesting Phajus hybrids: —

Phoebe (Sanderianus × Humblotii). – Sepals and petals light fawn-colour with a pinkish tone; lip crimson, veined with yellow.

Owenianus (bicolor Oweniae × Humblotti). – Sepals and petals milk-white, tinged with purplish brown. Lip like crimson velvet, orange at the base.

Ashworthianus (Mannii × maculatus). – Sepals and petals deep yellow, touched with ochre, lip similarly coloured, marked with heavy radiating lines of chocolate.

Cooksoni (Wallichii × tuberculosus). – The sepals and petals are those of Wallichii – buff tinged with reddish purple, china-white at back; the lip is that of tuberculosus – side-lobes yellow, spotted with crimson; disc white, with purple spots.

Marthae (Blumei × tuberculosus). – Sepals and petals pale buff. The large lip white, touched with pale rose, and thickly covered with golden-brown spots.

Very notable is the Zygo-colax hybrid, Leopardinus (Zygopetalum maxillare × Colax jugosus), of which we give an illustration.

Here is also the Zygopetalum hybrid, Perrenoudii (intermedium × Guatieri). – Sepals and petals green, heavily blurred with brown. Lip violet, deepening to purple.

Against the back wall of this house stands a little grove of Thunias Bensoniae and Marshalliana; the former magenta and purple, and the latter white with yellow throat, profusely striped with orange red. The wondrous intricacy of design so notable in the colouring of orchids is nowhere more conspicuous than in Thunia Marshalliana.

The Cymbidium House

Our ‘specimen’ Cymbidiums, that is, the large plants, are scattered up and down in other houses; for singly they are ornaments, and together their great bulk and long leaves would occupy too much space. Here are only small examples, or small species, planted out upon a bed of tufa amidst ferns and moss and begonias, Cyrtodeira Chontalensis, and the pretty ‘African violet,’ St. Paulii ionantha.

Cymbidiums are not showy, as the term applies to Cattleyas and Dendrobes. Their colour, if not white, is brown or yellow, with red-brown markings. We hear indeed of wonders to be introduced some day – of a gigantic species, all golden, which dwells in secluded valleys of the Himalayas, and another, bright scarlet, in Madagascar. In fact, this was collected again and again by M. Humblot and shipped to Europe; but every piece died before arrival. At length M. Humblot carried some home himself, and a few survived. Sir Trevor Lawrence bought two, I believe, but they died before flowering. So did all the rest.

But if the Cymbidiums of our experience make no display of brilliant colour, assuredly they have other virtues. When eburneum thrusts up its rigid spikes, in winter or earliest spring, crowned with great ivory blooms, the air is loaded with their perfume. I have seen a plant of Lowianum with more than twenty garlands arching out from its thicket of leaves, each bearing fifteen to twenty-five three-inch flowers, yellow or greenish, with a heavy bar of copper-red across the lip. And they grow fast. It is said that at Alnwick the Duke of Northumberland has specimens of unknown age filling boxes four feet square; each must be a garden in itself when the flowers open. And they last three months when circumstances are favourable. Sometimes also – but too rarely – the greenish yellow of Lowianum is changed to bright soft green. Nobody then could say that the colouring is not attractive.

We have here most of the recognised species – Cymbidiums are not much given to ‘sporting’: Devonianum, buff, freckled with dull crimson – lip purplish, with a dark spot on either side; Sinensis, small, brown and yellow, scented; Hookeri, greenish, dotted and blotched with purple; Traceyanum, greenish, striped with red-brown, lip white, similarly dotted, and the famous Baron Schröder variety thereof, which arrived in the very first consignment, but never since; pendulum, dusky olive, lip whitish, reddish at the sides and tip; and so on.

The only hybrids of Cymbidium known to me are eburneo-Lowianum and its converse, Lowiano-eburneum. The former is creamy yellow, with the V-shaped blotch of its father on the lip; the latter pure white, with the same blotch more sharply defined – which is to say, that Lowiano-eburneum is much the better of the two. Both are represented here.

Against the glass, right and left all round, are Coelogynes of sorts.

We have another house devoted mainly to Cymbidium, in which they have been planted out for some years, with results worth noting. I am convinced that in a future day amateurs who put the well-being of their orchids above all else – above money in especial! – will discard pots entirely. Every species perhaps – every one that I have observed, at least – grows more strongly when placed in a niche, of size appropriate, on a block of tufa. There are objections, of course – quite fatal for those who have not abundance of labour at command; for the compost very quickly turns sour under such conditions if not watered with great care and judgment. Moreover, what suits the plant suits also the insects which feed upon it. And if there be rats in the neighbourhood they soon discover that there is snug lying against the pipes, behind the wall of stone. Anxious mothers find it the ideal spot for a nursery. I cannot learn, however, that they do any wanton damage, beyond nipping off a few old leaves to make their beds, which is no serious injury. I have rats in my own cool house. Many years ago, on their first arrival probably, an Odontoglossum bulb was eaten up. Doubtless that was an experiment which did not prove satisfactory, for it has never been repeated. However, rats and insects can be kept down, if not exterminated.

The Cymbidiums here were rough pieces, odds and ends, consigned to this house to live or die. Now they are grand plants, in the way to become ‘specimens,’ set among ferns and creepers on a lofty wall of tufa, the base of which is clothed with Tradescantia and Ficus repens. In front and on one side are banks of tufa planted with Masdevallias, Lycastes, Laelia harpophylla, and so forth.