The Woodlands Orchids, Described and Illustrated

CATTLEYA LABIATA HOUSE

This is the oldest of Cattleyas, for the plant now recognised as Catt. Loddigesii, which was introduced to Europe a few years earlier, passed under the name of Epidendrum. One might call labiata the ‘eponymous hero’ of its tribe, for Lindley christened it in honour of his friend Mr. Cattley, an enthusiastic amateur of Barnet. This was in 1818; from that year until 1889 Cattleya labiata was lost. It seemed easy enough to follow the journeyings of Swainson, who discovered it, and so reach the country where it dwelt; collectors innumerable made the attempt, but never succeeded. Mr. Sander, for instance, sent three at different times, expressly to trace Swainson’s footsteps so far as they are recorded – Oversluys, Smith, and Bestwood; beside four others who skirmished along the track. He assured himself that they had explored every district which Swainson could possibly have visited; but of Cattleya labiata they found no sign. Meanwhile the plants of the first importation died off gradually, and the richest of mortals competed for the few surviving. Ten years ago, when the long search came to an end, very few were the persons in England who owned a specimen. I think I can name most of them – Baron Schröder, Sir Trevor Lawrence, Lord Rothschild, Duke of Marlborough, Lord Home, Lord Howe, Messrs. J. Chamberlain, Statter, R. H. Measures, R. I. Measures, Blandy, Hardy, Coleman, and Smith of the Isle of Wight. One of the examples possessed by Mr. R. H. Measures belonged to the variety Pescatorei, named after General Pescatore, the same leading amateur of early days whose memory is kept green by the sweetest of Odontoglossums, saving crispum. Cattleya labiata Pescatorei was a precious treasure then; ‘none so poor as do it reverence’ in this generation. The plant is still here, pretty enough so far as it goes, slightly distinguished by a silver edging to the petals.

The puzzle of that first consignment has not been explained – we have only eluded it, like Alexander at Gordium. Certainly Swainson did not find his plants in the neighbourhood where they exist at this time. It is conjectured that there were woods close to Rio, now cultivated ground, where it flourished at the beginning of the century. However, in 1889, Cattleya labiata reappeared; oddly enough a collector of insects found it originally, and a collector of insects rediscovered it. The ‘professionals’ were beaten to the last.

And now it has become almost the commonest of orchids; but for the same reason we may be sure that it will grow scarce again in no long time. Not to England only but to France, Belgium, Germany, the United States, such vast quantities have been consigned that to one who knows something of the facts it seems amazing that the limited area could furnish so many. And for one that reaches the market three, perhaps six, die.

I have alluded to the extermination of orchids already. It is a sadly fascinating subject for those who think, and ‘out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ The time is very close when Odontoglossum crispum, most heavenly of created things, will arrive by tens and units instead of myriads – and then will arrive not at all. Already a gentleman who boasts that he has leased the whole district where the ‘Pacho’ form still survives, reckons the number of plants remaining at 60,000 only. Some months ago he issued quaint proposals for a Company (limited) to secure the utmost profit on the collection of these. Business men ‘smiled and put the question by,’ however enthusiastic they might be as orchidists; but I believe that the statement of facts was not altogether inaccurate. It is no longer worth while to send out collectors of Odontoglossum crispum; natives of the country gather such as they find and store them until the opportunity occurs to sell a dozen or so.

I could give other instances; some have been already mentioned. But what is the use? Unless governments interfere, there is no remedy. Some indeed have taken steps. Several years ago the Rajah of Sarawak decreed that no one should collect orchids in his territory, for sale, without a license. The exportation of Dendrobium Macarthiae from Ceylon is forbidden, and the authorities of Capetown have made stringent rules about gathering Disa grandiflora. But I have heard of no other restrictions, and these, commendable as they are, scarcely touch the mischief. But that is enough upon a melancholy subject, with which I have no need to meddle here.

In this house and elsewhere we have some eleven hundred labiatas. No Cattleya is more variable. From white to deep crimson every shade of colour may be found, with endless diversities of combination. Here are a few of the most important.

Imperatrix.– Rosy mauve. Distinguished by a broad fringe of the same colour round the lip, which, inside, shows a fine crimson. Next to it is one, unnamed, which makes a good contrast. Very big and broad; pale. The tube, opening wide, is superbly striped with crimson over a gold ground. The great lip all crimson.

Nobilis.– Big and evenly rosy. The gold in the throat is faint, and the lip, grandly frilled, has no lines.

Measuresiana.– Somewhat pale; at base of the petals the midrib is white. The gamboge stain does not spread beyond the throat, and it fades to white as the crimson lip spreads. Another has a deep golden throat, but the crimson of the lip is only a triangle, dispersing in broad lines upon the margin of mauve.

But here is one, on the contrary, in which the lip is all deepest crimson except a very narrow edging of white. Scarcely a trace of gold is seen; the crimson stretches back all up the throat in heavy lines.

And here again is one of palest rose, in which the lip carries only a single slender touch of crimson.

Sanderae.– A supreme beauty. Sepals almost white, petals somewhat more deeply tinged with mauve. Lip snow-white, saving the ochreous-orange throat and a lovely stain of crimson lake in the midst; with a purple blotch above and mottled lines of the same hue descending from it.

Mrs. R. H. Measures.– Purest white. The broad lower sepals curl downwards, almost encircling the lip, which has a faintly-yellow throat and a tender cloud of purplish crimson on the front, scored with three strong lines of purple.

Macfarlanei.– Crimson purple sepals and petals of the brightest tint; lip crimson-maroon and orange throat striped with brilliant crimson – a superb flower.

Baroness Schröder.– A famous variety. The petals are remarkably wide and graceful in shape, pale mauve of colour. The lip, somewhat paler, tinged with rose, shows in front a bundle of purple lines, as it were, the ends of which diverge from a purplish cloud over the rosy margin.

Princesse de Croix.– All pink except the white edges of the lip unrolling from the tube, and a small purple blur, scored with short heavy lines, which runs far up the throat, leaving a broad pink disc below.

Alba.– Perfectly beautiful. All ivory white, as it seems at a glance, save a faint stain of yellow in the throat; but close scrutiny detects a purple tinge also on the lip.

Archduchess.– The shape is even more graceful than usual. Sepals and very broad leaf-like petals rosy mauve, the yellow of the throat subdued, a fine patch of crimson lake on the labellum, with darker lines, leaving a wide margin of rosy mauve.

Robin Measures.– Rosy. The lip spreads so broad that its disc forms a perfect circle. The yellow of the throat is only a slight stain, and the fine crimson patch on the lip leaves a handsome margin of rose.

Bella.– Distinguished especially by the fine purple frilling of the lip which, like the sepals and petals, is nearly white of ground. A triangle of brightest crimson, sharply defined, issues from the handsome orange throat.

Adelina resembles this, but the crimson of the triangle has a deeper tone and the margin is distinctly mauve.

Princess of Wales.– An enormous flower, of remarkable colouring. Sepals and petals purplish. The usual crimson of the lip deepens almost to plum-colour. The margin, paler, is finely frilled.

Juno.– Somewhat pale. Notable for the breadth of crimson in the lip, which mounts far up the throat, running across it from side to side in a line perfectly straight.

Princess May.– A grand variety; the petals spread like birds’ wings, and the lip opens very wide. On its folds are broad whitish discolorations, against which the deep crimson of the disc seems even richer than usual.

Her Majesty.– A pink giant, as notable for shape as for size. On the broad lip a crimson cloud stands out against a pale margin, finely frilled.

The edging of the central stand in this house should be noticed. It is formed by a single plant of Pothos aurea, which, starting from the end wall, has already encircled the structure twice. Now it is hurrying to make a third turn. Pothos is the neatest of climbers, pushing no side-shoots, growing very fast, and thrusting forth its large leaves at equal intervals. The variety aurea is touched with gold here and there, and to my mind it makes the ideal edging of a stand.

To right in this house is Cattleya Lawrenceana, of which we have probably 150 plants. This again is a species threatened with extinction – indeed the threat is very near fulfilment. It was never common in its native woods. I may quote a few lines from the report of Mr. Seyler who went to collect this, and two other orchids which dwell on the Roraima Mountain, for Mr. Sander; the date is January 19, 1893: —

‘… I collected everything at Roraima except Catt. Lawrenceana, which was utterly rooted out already by other collectors… We hunted all about for Catt. Lawrenceana and got only 1500 or so, it growing only here and there… What I want to point out to you is that Catt. Lawrenceana is very rare in the interior now… If you want to get any Lawrenceana you will have to send yourself, and, as I said to you, the results will be very doubtful.’

The variety Macfarlanei has rosy pink sepals; petals of club shape, bowed, crimson, deepening towards the tips. Labellum long, narrow, all crimson of the darkest shade.

Noteworthy is a plant which we may suppose a natural hybrid of L. purpurata with L. elegans, resembling the latter in size, comparatively small, as in its narrow sepals and petals flushed with rose. The lip is very bright and pretty, with large clear yellow throat, ringed with white; the disc, of lively crimson, has a purple margin finely frilled, and a whitish purple patch in front.

Among miscellaneous examples here is a handsome specimen of Cymbidium Devonianum, and a very remarkable hybrid of Catt. Gaskelliana × Catt. Harrisoniae —Mary Measures; rather ghostly but pleasant to look upon. Its colour of sepal and petal is palest mauve, the tube prettily lined and mottled with pale yellow; labellum, gamboge-yellow in the throat, fading towards the edge, and a pale crimson tip.

A STORY OF BRASSAVOLA DIGBYANA

Brassavola Digbyana is a flower for all tastes – large, stately, beautiful, and supremely curious; I use the familiar name, though it should be Laelia Digbyana. Charming are the great sepals and petals, greenish white, around the snowy lip; but why, the thoughtful ask in vain, does that lip ravel out into a massive fringe, branched and interlacing, near an inch wide? The effect is lovely, but the purpose inscrutable. In Dendrobium Brymerianum we find a puzzle exactly similar. But it does not help us to understand. Countless are the species of Dendrobium, many those of Laelia; but in each case no other shows this peculiarity.

Brassavola Digbyana was first sent to Europe in 1845 by the Governor of British Honduras, who named it in honour of his kinsman, Lord Digby. Once only had the plant been received since that time, so far as I can learn, until last year. But the second cargo, in 1879, ‘went a very long way.’ Messrs. Stevens have rarely been so embarrassed with treasures. The history of that prodigious consignment is worth recording.

It was despatched by Messrs. Brown, Ponder, and Co., of Belize, who dealt in mahogany and logwood – do still, I hope. That trade appears to be rather interesting. The merchant keeps a gang of Caribs, who have been in the employment of the firm all their lives perhaps. They go out at the proper season to find and mark the trees; fell them presently and return whilst the timber is drying; or amuse themselves in the bush, hunting and gathering miscellaneous produce. Then they float the raft down to Belize.

These Caribs are more or less descended from the Indians of Jamaica. Early in the last century the British Government collected the survivors of that hapless race, and planted them out of harm’s way in the Island of St. Vincent, uninhabited at the time. They did not thrive, however, and in 1796 the Government transported them once more to the Island of Roatan, in the Bay of Honduras.

But an extraordinary change had come over the poor creatures. We are to suppose that when landed at St. Vincent their type was mostly if not wholly Indian; when taken away it was to all appearance negro. Probably a slave ship had been wrecked there, and the blacks, escaping, killed all the male Indians, taking the women to wife; such is the theory, but there is no record. A transformation so sudden and complete in such brief time is striking evidence of the African vigour, for in hair, features, complexion, and build the Carib is a negro.

But not in character. He has virtues to which neither red man nor black lay claim – industry, honesty, truthfulness, staunch fidelity to his engagements and readiness to combine. The mahogany cutters have a Guild, which holds itself responsible for the failure of any member to execute work for which he has been paid; it cannot be called a Trade Union, because, so far as I learn, it has no other purpose – except jollification. In brief, the Carib of Honduras is one of the best fellows on earth in his way. He looks down on all about him, negro and Indian and ‘poor white.’ If a stranger suspect him of trickery, he thinks it defence enough to exclaim – ‘Um Carib man, sah!’ And so it is, as a rule.

Messrs. Brown Ponder had lately taken on a new hand – let us call him Sam. This young fellow had been wandering up and down the coast some years, doing any honest work that turned up. Thus he had served in the boat’s crew of M. Sécard, when that gentleman was collecting orchids in Guiana. The experience had taught him that flowers have value, and he returned from his first visit to the bush, after entering the firm’s service, with the announcement of a marvel. We may fancy the report which negro imagination would draw of Brassavola Digbyana. The mysterious fringe did not puzzle Sam at all. It was long enough to serve the purpose of chevaux de frise, to keep off monkeys and birds! M. Sécard used to give him a dollar apiece for things not to be compared with it! In short, here was a fortune for the gathering – and what terms would Mr. Brown offer him?

Mr. Brown offered nothing at all. Residents in Honduras are curiously apathetic about orchids even now. I think it may be said that no collector has visited their country, which is the explanation perhaps. Moreover, Mr. Brown well knew the liveliness of the Carib imagination. Sam had met with only one or two belated flowers, which he displayed. But the shapeless little cluster of withered petals was no evidence of beauty – quite the reverse. Everybody cut his jokes upon it.

It might be supposed that a man would carry his wares to another market under such circumstances. But that is not the Carib way; it would be a breach of loyalty. Good-naturedly Sam told Mr. Brown that he was a fool, with an adjective for emphasis. They were all adjective fools, he assured them daily. But to treat with a rival could not enter his mind.

The gang had returned to the bush when young Mr. Ponder came back from Bluefields. His partner mentioned Sam’s idea as a jest in conversation when several friends were present. One of them recalled how Governor Digby had sent some orchids to Europe ages ago, which sold for a mint of money. Others had heard something of the legend. Ponder, young and enterprising, inclined to think the matter worth notice. He inquired among the oldest inhabitants, Carib and negro. Many recollected the Governor’s speculation, and the orchid also, when pressed. It was as big as a bunch of bananas, blue – no, red – no, yellow; shaped just like a boat, or a bird, or a star, or a monkey climbing a tree, and so forth. But all agreed about the fringe, ‘now you come to mention it.’ Ponder saw they knew nothing beyond the mere fact. But he made up his mind to get some specimens next rainy season, and judge for himself whether a consignment would be likely to pay.

In due time the cutters appeared with their rafts of timber. It was not the moment to broach an unfamiliar subject. Calculations awfully intricate for those honest fellows had to be made intelligible to them once more, and then to be discussed, approved, explained again, and finally accepted or compromised. The Caribs passed all day in argument and in measuring the logs over and over; all night in working sums of arithmetic on fingers and toes. At length the amount due was computed amicably, as usual, and paid. But then, not without embarrassment, the whole gang, ‘gave notice.’

When such an event occurs, under such circumstances, an employer knows the reason. His Caribs have found gold. There is nothing to be said beyond wishing them luck. But Mr. Ponder asked Sam to get him a few of his orchids next rains. Sam declined, somewhat roughly. Mr. Ponder laid the dispute before the Guild, so to call it, which pronounced that Sam must carry out his proposal before leaving the firm’s service.

The dry season was well advanced by this time, and all flowers had withered. Nevertheless Sam jumped into a canoe, swearing, and started up the river with a couple of Indians. In three or four days he returned with a boat-load of orchids, sent them to the warehouse, and vanished. They proved to be a miscellaneous collection, all sorts and sizes; evidently the men had just gathered anything they came across.

Mr. Ponder grew angry. It was an impudent trick, a defiance of himself and the Guild, such as no true Carib would be guilty of. Foreign travel had demoralised Sam. Those honest fellows, his partners, would be not less indignant, if the shameful proceeding could be laid before them. But all had gone up the river – to their gold-field, of course – and no one knew where that might be. Mr. Ponder got more and more warm as he revolved the insult. Business was slack. He decided to follow, and sent out forthwith to engage a crew of Indians; gold-diggers do not mind the intrusion of Indians so much, for when these savages have obtained a very little dust, they withdraw to turn it into drink. And they never chatter. Moreover he had to find the Caribs’ camp, and they are sleuth-hounds.

The search was not so hopeless as it might seem. Carefully reviewing the circumstances, Mr. Ponder felt sure that his Caribs had discovered their placer whilst collecting the felled trees – not before; that is, in the rainy season. Men would not wander far into the bush at that time. Probably, therefore, the scene lay pretty close to one or other of the spots where they had found mahogany. Of those spots he had a minute description.

The reasoning proved to be quite correct, but luck interposed before it had been severely tested. On arrival at one of the stations to be explored – after a week or ten days’ voyaging, as I imagine – he saw a canoe just pushing out from beneath the wooded bank with two of the missing Caribs therein, going to Belize on some errand. Their astonishment was loud, but not angry; they had no quarrel with Mr. Ponder. After a very little hesitation they consented to lead him to the camp, the Indians remaining in their boat.

It was not a long walk, nor uncomfortable. A broad path had been cut to the top of the ridge, for hauling down the trunks, and the rollers had smoothed it like a highway; but not so broad that the great trees on either hand failed to overshadow it. Mr. Ponder questioned his guides laughingly. Was it a real good placer, with nuggets in it? – how much had they pouched, and was the game likely to last? They grinned and patted their waist-scarves, which, as he now remarked, were round and plump as monster sausages.

‘Oh, I know that trick,’ laughed Mr. Ponder. ‘You’ve filled them with maize-flour for your journey.’

They whooped and roared with triumph. ‘Say, Mis’r George, you tell nobody – honour bright? – not nobody?’ One of them turned down the edge of his scarf, with no small effort – for it was twisted very tightly and secured. Presently the contents glimmered into sight – little golden figures, mostly flat, carved or moulded, one to three inches long. ‘Our placer all nuggets, Mis’r George!’

Any child in those seas would have understood. The Caribs had discovered not a washing nor a mine, but a burial-ground of the old Indians, called in those parts a ‘huaco.’ There are men who make it their sole business to look for such treasure-heaps. Since they bear, in general, no outward indication whatsoever at the present time, one would think that the hunt must be desperate; but these men, like other gamblers, have their ‘system.’ Possibly they have noted some rules which guided the antique people in their choice of a cemetery. And if they find one in a lifetime – provided they can keep the secret – that suffices.

Mostly, perhaps, huacos are discovered by accident. So it was in the memorable instance on Chiriqui lagoon, where many thousand people dug for months and many brought away a fortune – for them. And so it was here. The Caribs told their story gleefully. From the crest of the ridge the land sloped gently down towards a stream. When they reached this place to secure the timber, now dry, the rains were very heavy. But Sam and another, heaven-directed, roamed down the slope. A big tree had fallen, and among its roots Sam’s lynx eyes marked a number of the little figures, washed clean, sparkling in the sun-rays. These good fellows have no secrets of the sort among themselves. They dug around, assured themselves that it was indubitably a huaco; then returned, like honest Caribs, to float the trunks down to Belize, and fulfil their contract, before attending to personal interests.

They had cleared a space and built a hut of boughs, a ‘ramada.’ There Mr. Ponder found them assembled, smoking and sleeping after the mid-day meal. Warned by the guide’s cheery shout they welcomed Mis’r George heartily – all but Sam; unanimously they asked, however, what on earth he wanted there, so far from home? Mr. Ponder told his complaint.

The gang resolved itself into a sort of court-martial forthwith, the eldest seating himself upon a stump and the others grouping round. There was a moment’s silence for thought; then the president, gravely:

‘You, Carib Sam, what you say?’

‘Say d – sorry, sah! Mis’r Brown an’ all the Mis’rs make fool of me! Then Mis’r George come – I never see Mis’r George before! He says go to bush an’ pick orchid – a month contract! – a month! But I found gold here, an’ I want pick it up – have no more say! d – sorry!’

Mr. Ponder relented. ‘Why didn’t you explain at the time, Sam? – I’m quite satisfied, Caribs! Sam and I will shake hands and there’s an end of it!’

But the others were not quite satisfied. The president sat shaking his head. ‘When rains come,’ said Sam to him anxiously, ‘I get Mis’r George two canoe-loads, six canoe-loads of orchid, an’ no mistake!’

‘There, men! That’s final! Let’s shake hands round, and wash away all unpleasantness – here’s the wash! – drink it up! Now will you show me your huaco?’

First they showed him the plunder – hundreds of those little images, mostly human, in the rudest style of art, but pure gold; a large proportion alligators, some probably meant for birds, not a few mere lumps. Mr. Ponder calculated rapidly that the whole might represent three thousand pounds for division among ten men. But the Caribs began to fear that their huaco would prove to be a very small one. The yield had been failing in all directions lately. They had prospected round, but hitherto without success. No bones, nor weapons, nor anything but a few jars of pottery had been found. Such is the rule – without exception, I believe – in burial-grounds of this class, without cairn or statues; in fact, it is a mere assumption to declare them burial-grounds at all. Men who dug at Chiriqui told me that nothing whatever besides gold was found in that great area. The statement is not quite exact, but it shows how little turned up.