COOL ORCHIDS.
This is a subject which would interest every cultured reader, I believe,
every householder at least, if he could be brought to understand that it
lies well within the range of his practical concerns. But the public has
still to be persuaded. It seems strange to the expert that delusions
should prevail when orchids are so common and so much talked of; but I
know by experience that the majority of people, even among those who
love their garden, regard them as fantastic and mysterious creations,
designed, to all seeming, for the greater glory of pedants and
millionaires. I try to do my little part, as occasion serves, in
correcting this popular error, and spreading a knowledge of the facts.
It is no less than a duty. If every human being should do what he can to
promote the general happiness, it would be downright wicked to leave
one's fellow-men under the influence of hallucinations that debar them
from the most charming of quiet pleasures. I suspect also that the
misapprehension of the public is largely due to the conduct of experts
in the past. It was a rule with growers formerly, avowed among
themselves, to keep their little secrets. When Mr. B.S. Williams
published the first edition of his excellent book forty years ago, he
fluttered his colleagues sadly. The plain truth is that no class of
plant can be cultivated so easily, as none are so certain to repay the
trouble, as the Cool Orchids.
Nearly all the genera of this enormous family have species which grow in
a temperate climate, if not in the temperate zone. At this moment, in
fact, I recall but two exceptions, Vanda and Phalœnopsis. Many more
there are, of course—half a dozen have occurred to me while I wrote the
last six words—but in the small space at command I must cling to
generalities. We have at least a hundred genera which will flourish
anywhere if the frost be excluded; and as for species, a list of two
thousand would not exhaust them probably. But a reasonable man may
content himself with the great classes of Odontoglossum, Oncidium,
Cypripedium, and Lycaste; among the varieties of these, which no one has
ventured to calculate perhaps, he may spend a happy existence. They have
every charm—foliage always green, a graceful habit, flowers that rank
among the master works of Nature. The poor man who succeeds with them
in his modest "bit of glass" has no cause to envy Dives his flaunting
Cattleyas and "fox-brush" Aerides. I should like to publish it in
capitals—that nine in ten of those suburban householders who read this
book may grow the loveliest of orchids if they can find courage to try.
Odontoglossums stand first, of course—I know not where to begin the
list of their supreme merits. It will seem perhaps a striking advantage
to many that they burst into flower at any time, as they chance to
ripen. I think that the very perfection of culture is discounted
somewhat in this instance. The gardener who keeps his plants at the ne
plus ultra stage brings them all into bloom within the space of a few
weeks. Thus in the great collections there is such a show during April,
May, and June as the Gardens of Paradise could not excel, and hardly a
spike in the cool houses for the rest of the year. At a large
establishment this signifies nothing; when the Odontoglossums go off
other things "come on" with equal regularity. But the amateur, with his
limited assortment, misses every bloom. He has no need for anxiety with
this genus. It is their instinct to flower in spring, of course, but
they are not pedantic about it in the least. Some tiny detail overlooked
here and there, absolutely unimportant to health, will retard
florescence. It might very well happen that the owner of a dozen pots
had one blooming every month successively. And that would mean two
spikes open, for, with care, most Odontoglossums last above four weeks.
Another virtue, shared by others of the cool class in some degree, is
their habit of growing in winter. They take no "rest;" all the year
round their young bulbs are swelling, graceful foliage lengthening,
roots pushing, until the spike demands a concentration of all their
energy. But winter is the most important time. I think any man will see
the peculiar blessing of this arrangement. It gives interest to the long
dull days, when other plant life is at a standstill. It furnishes
material for cheering meditations on a Sunday morning—is that a trifle?
And at this season the pursuit is joy unmixed. We feel no anxious
questionings, as we go about our daily business, whether the placens
uxor forgot to remind Mary, when she went out, to pull the blinds down;
whether Mary followed the instructions if given; whether those
confounded patent ventilators have snapped to again. Green fly does not
harass us. One syringing a day, and one watering per week suffice. Truly
these are not grave things, but the issue at stake is precious: we
enjoy the boon of relief proportionately.
Very few of those who grow Odontoglossums know much about the "Trade,"
or care, seemingly. It is a curious subject, however. The genus is
American exclusively. It ranges over the continent from the northern
frontier of Mexico to the southern frontier of Peru, excepting, to speak
roughly, the empire of Brazil. This limitation is odd. It cannot be due
to temperature simply, for, upon the one hand, we receive Sophronitis, a
very cool genus, from Brazil, and several of the coolest Cattleyas; upon
the other, Odontoglossum Roezlii, a very hot species, and O.
vexillarium, most decidedly warm, flourish up to the boundary. Why
these should not step across, even if their mountain sisters refuse
companionship with the Sophronitis, is a puzzle. Elsewhere, however,
they abound. Collectors distinctly foresee the time when all the
districts they have "worked" up to this will be exhausted. But South
America contains a prodigious number of square miles, and a day's march
from the track carries one into terra incognita. Still, the end will
come. The English demand has stripped whole provinces, and now all the
civilized world is entering into competition. We are sadly assured that
Odontoglossums carried off will not be replaced for centuries. Most
other genera of orchid propagate so freely that wholesale depredations
are made good in very few years. For reasons beyond our comprehension as
yet, the Odontoglossum stands in different case. No one in England has
raised a plant from seed—that we may venture to say definitely. Mr.
Cookson and Mr. Veitch, perhaps others also, have obtained living germs,
but they died incontinently. Frenchmen, aided by the climate, have been
rather more successful. MM. Bleu and Moreau have both flowered seedling
Odontoglots. M. Jacob, who takes charge of M. Edmund de Rothschild's
orchids at Armainvilliers, has a considerable number of young plants.
The reluctance of Odontoglots to propagate is regarded as strange; it
supplies a constant theme for discussion among orchidologists. But I
think that if we look more closely it appears consistent with other
facts known. For among importations of every genus but this—and
Cypripedium—a plant bearing its seed-capsules is frequently discovered;
but I cannot hear of such an incident in the case of Odontoglossums.
They have been arriving in scores of thousands, year by year, for half a
century almost, and scarcely anyone recollects observing a seed-capsule.
This shows how rarely they fertilize in their native home. When that
event happens, the Odontoglossum is yet more prolific than most, and the
germs, of course, are not so delicate under their natural conditions.
But the moral to be drawn is that a country once stripped will not be
reclothed.
I interpolate here a profound observation of Mr. Roezl. That wonderful
man remarked that Odontoglossums grow upon branches thirty feet above
the ground. It is rare to find them at thirty-five feet, rarer at
twenty-five; at greater and less heights they do not exist. Here,
doubtless, we have the secret of their reluctance to fertilize; but I
will offer no comments, because the more one reflects the more puzzling
it becomes. Evidently the seed must be carried above and must fall below
that limit, under circumstances which, to our apprehension, seem just as
favourable as those at the altitude of thirty feet. But they do not
germinate. Upon the other hand, Odontoglossums show no such daintiness
of growth in our houses. They flourish at any height, if the general
conditions be suitable. Mr. Roezl discovered a secret nevertheless, and
in good time we shall learn further.
To the Royal Horticultural Society of England belongs the honour of
first importing orchids methodically and scientifically. Messrs. Weir
and Fortune, I believe, were their earliest employés. Another was
Theodor Hartweg, who discovered Odontoglossum crispum Alexandræ in
1842; but he sent home only dried specimens. From these Lindley
described and classed the plant, aided by the sketch of a Spanish or
Peruvian artist, Tagala. A very curious mistake Lindley fell into on
either point. The scientific error does not concern us, but he
represented the colouring of the flower as yellow with a purple centre.
So Tagala painted it, and his drawing survives. It is an odd little
story. He certainly had Hartweg's bloom before him, and that certainly
was white. But then again yellow Alexandræs have been found since that
day. To the Horticultural Society we are indebted, not alone for the
discovery of this wonder, but also for its introduction. John Weir was
travelling for them when he sent living specimens in 1862. It is not
surprising that botanists thought it new after what has been said. As
such Mr. Bateman named it after the young Princess of Wales—a choice
most appropriate in every way.
Odontoglossum Crispum Alexandrae.
Flower reduced to One Fourth
Flower Stem to One Sixth
Then a few wealthy amateurs took up the business of importation, such as
the Duke of Devonshire. But "the Trade" came to see presently that there
was money in this new fashion, and imported so vigorously that the
Society found its exertions needless. Messrs. Rollisson of Tooting,
Messrs. Veitch of Chelsea, and Messrs. Low of Clapton distinguished
themselves from the outset. Of these three firms one is extinct; the
second has taken up, and made its own, the fascinating study of
hybridization among orchids; the third still perseveres. Twenty years
ago, nearly all the great nurserymen in London used to send out their
travellers; but they have mostly dropped the practice. Correspondents
forward a shipment from time to time. The expenses of the collector are
heavy, even if he draw no more than his due—and the temptation to make
up a fancy bill cannot be resisted by some weak mortals. Then, grave
losses are always probable—in the case of South American importations,
certain. It has happened not once but a hundred times that the toil of
months, the dangers, the sufferings, and the hard money expended go to
absolute waste. Twenty or thirty thousand plants or more an honest man
collects, brings down from the mountains or the forests, packs
carefully, and ships. The freight alone may reach from three to eight
hundred pounds—I have personally known instances when it exceeded five
hundred. The cases arrive in England—and not a living thing therein! A
steamship company may reduce its charge under such circumstances, but
again and again it will happen that the speculator stands out of a
thousand pounds clean when his boxes are opened. He may hope to recover
it on the next cargo, but that is still a question of luck. No wonder
that men whose business is not confined to orchids withdrew from the
risks of importation, returning to roses and lilies and daffodowndillies
with a new enthusiasm.
There is another point also, which has varying force with different
characters. The loss of life among those men who "go out collecting" has
been greater proportionately, than in any class of which I have heard.
In former times, at least, they were chosen haphazard, among intelligent
and trustworthy employés of the firm. Trustworthiness was a grand point,
for reasons hinted. The honest youth, not very strong perhaps in an
English climate, went bravely forth into the unhealthiest parts of
unhealthy lands, where food is very scarce, and very, very rough; where
he was wet through day after day, for weeks at a time; where "the
fever," of varied sort, comes as regularly as Sunday; where from month
to month he found no one with whom to exchange a word. I could make out
a startling list of the martyrs of orchidology. Among Mr. Sander's
collectors alone, Falkenberg perished at Panama, Klaboch in Mexico,
Endres at Rio Hacha, Wallis in Ecuador, Schroeder in Sierra Leone,
Arnold on the Orinoco, Digance in Brazil, Brown in Madagascar. Sir
Trevor Lawrence mentions a case where the zealous explorer "waded for a
fortnight up to his middle in mud," searching for a plant he had heard
of. I have not identified this instance of devotion, but we know of
rarities which would demand perseverance and sufferings almost equal to
secure them. If employers could find the heart to tempt a
fellow-creature into such risks, the chances are that it would prove bad
business. For to discover a new or valuable orchid is only the first
step in a commercial enterprise. It remains to secure the "article," to
bring it safely into a realm that may be called civilized, to pack it
and superintend its transport through the sweltering lowland to a
shipping place. If the collector sicken after finding his prize, these
cares are neglected more or less; if he die, all comes to a full stop.
Thus it happens that the importing business has been given up by one
firm after another.
Odontoglossums, as I said, belong to America—to the mountainous parts
of the continent in general. Though it would be wildly rash to pronounce
which is the loveliest of orchids, no man with eyes would dispute that
O. crispum Alexandræ is the queen of this genus. She has her home in
the States of Colombia, and those who seek her make Bogota their
headquarters. If the collector wants the broad-petalled variety, he goes
about ten days to the southward before commencing operations; if the
narrow-petalled, about two days to the north—on mule-back of course.
His first care on arrival in the neighbourhood—which is unexplored
ground, if such he can discover—is to hire a wood; that is, a track of
mountain clothed more or less with timber. I have tried to procure one
of these "leases," which must be odd documents; but orchid-farming is a
close and secret business. The arrangement concluded in legal form, he
hires natives, twenty or fifty or a hundred, as circumstances advise,
and sends them to cut down trees, building meantime a wooden stage of
sufficient length to bear the plunder expected. This is used for
cleaning and drying the plants brought in. Afterwards, if he be prudent,
he follows his lumber-men, to see that their indolence does not shirk
the big trunks—which give extra trouble naturally, though they yield
the best and largest return. It is a terribly wasteful process. If we
estimate that a good tree has been felled for every three scraps of
Odontoglossum which are now established in Europe, that will be no
exaggeration. And for many years past they have been arriving by
hundreds of thousands annually! But there is no alternative. An European
cannot explore that green wilderness overhead; if he could, his
accumulations would be so slow and costly as to raise the proceeds to an
impossible figure. The natives will not climb, and they would tear the
plants to bits. Timber has no value in those parts as yet, but the day
approaches when Government must interfere. The average yield of
Odontoglossum crispum per tree is certainly not more than five large
and small together. Once upon a time Mr. Kerbach recovered fifty-three
at one felling, and the incident has grown into a legend; two or three
is the usual number. Upon the other hand, fifty or sixty of O.
gloriosum, comparatively worthless, are often secured. The cutters
receive a fixed price of sixpence for each orchid, without reference to
species or quality.
When his concession is exhausted, the traveller overhauls the produce
carefully, throwing away those damaged pieces which would ferment in the
long, hot journey home, and spoil the others. When all are clean and
dry, he fixes them with copper wire on sticks, which are nailed across
boxes for transport. Long experience has laid down rules for each
detail of this process. The sticks, for example, are one inch in
diameter, fitting into boxes two feet three inches wide, two feet deep,
neither more nor less. Then the long file of mules sets out for Bogota,
perhaps ten days' march, each animal carrying two boxes—a burden
ridiculously light, but on such tracks it is dimension which has to be
considered. On arrival at Bogota, the cases are unpacked and examined
for the last time, restowed, and consigned to the muleteers again. In
six days they reach Honda, on the Magdalena River, where, until lately,
they were embarked on rafts for a voyage of fourteen days to Savanilla.
At the present time, an American company has established a service of
flat-bottomed steamers which cover the distance in seven days, thus
reducing the risks of the journey by one-half. But they are still
terrible. Not a breath of wind stirs the air at that season, for the
collector cannot choose his time. The boxes are piled on deck; even the
pitiless sunshine is not so deadly as the stewing heat below. He has a
store of blankets to cover them, on which he lays a thatch of
palm-leaves, and all day long he souses the pile with water; but too
well the poor fellow knows that mischief is busy down below. Another
anxiety possesses him too. It may very well be that on arrival at
Savanilla he has to wait days in that sweltering atmosphere for the
Royal Mail steamer. And when it comes in, his troubles do not cease, for
the stowage of the precious cargo is vastly important. On deck it will
almost certainly be injured by salt water. In the hold it will ferment.
Amidships it is apt to be baked by the engine fire. Whilst writing I
learn that Mr. Sander has lost two hundred and sixty-seven cases by this
latter mishap, as is supposed. So utterly hopeless is their condition,
that he will not go to the expense of overhauling them; they lie at
Southampton, and to anybody who will take them away all parties
concerned will be grateful. The expense of making this shipment a reader
may judge from the hints given. The Royal Mail Company's charge for
freight from Manzanilla is 750l. I could give an incident of the same
class yet more startling with reference to Phalœnopsis. It is proper to
add that the most enterprising of Assurance Companies do not yet see
their way to accept any kind of risks in the orchid trade; importers
must bear all the burden. To me it seems surprising that the plants can
be sold so cheap, all things considered. Many persons think and hope
that prices will fall, and that may probably happen with regard to some
genera. But the shrewdest of those very shrewd men who conduct the
business all look for a rise.
Od. Harryanum always reminds me—in such an odd association of ideas
as everyone has experienced—of a thunderstorm. The contrast of its
intense brown blotches with the azure throat and the broad, snowy lip,
affect me somehow with admiring oppression. Very absurd; but on est
fait comme ça, as Nana excused herself. To call this most striking
flower "Harryanum" is grotesque. The public is not interested in those
circumstances which give the name significance for a few, and if there
be any flower which demands an expressive title, it is this, in my
judgment. Possibly it was some Indian report which had slipped his
recollection that led Roezl to predict the discovery of a new
Odontoglot, unlike any other, in the very district where Od. Harryanum
was found after his death, though the story is quoted as an example of
that instinct which guides the heaven-born collector. The first plants
came unannounced in a small box sent by Señor Pantocha, of Colombia, to
Messrs. Horsman in 1885, and they were flowered next year by Messrs.
Veitch. The dullest who sees it can now imagine the excitement when this
marvel was displayed, coming from an unknown habitat. Roezl's prediction occurred to many of his acquaintance, I have heard; but Mr.
Sander had a living faith in his old friend's sagacity. Forthwith he
despatched a collector to the spot which Roezl had named—but not
visited—and found the treasure. The legends of orchidology will be
gathered one day, perhaps; and if the editor be competent, his volume
should be almost as interesting to the public as to the cognoscenti.
I have been speaking hitherto of Colombian Odontoglossums, which are
reckoned among the hardiest of their class. Along with them, in the same
temperature, grow the cool Masdevallias, which probably are the most
difficult of all to transport. There was once a grand consignment of
Masdevallia Schlimii, which Mr. Roezl despatched on his own account.
It contained twenty-seven thousand plants of this species, representing
at that time a fortune. Mr. Roezl was the luckiest and most experienced
of collectors, and he took special pains with this unique shipment.
Among twenty-seven thousand two bits survived when the cases were
opened; the agent hurried them off to Stevens's auction-rooms, and sold
them forthwith at forty guineas each. But I must stick to
Odontoglossums. Speculative as is the business of importing the northern
species, to gather those of Peru and Ecuador is almost desperate. The
roads of Colombia are good, the population civilized, conveniences
abound, if we compare that region with the orchid-bearing territories of
the south. There is a fortune to be secured by anyone who will bring to
market a lot of O. nœveum in fair condition. Its habitat is
perfectly well known. I am not aware that it has a delicate
constitution; but no collector is so rash or so enthusiastic as to try
that adventure again, now that its perils are understood; and no
employer is so reckless as to urge him. The true variety of O. Hallii
stands in much the same case. To obtain it the explorer must march in
the bed of a torrent and on the face of a precipice alternately for an
uncertain period of time, with a river to cross about every day. And he
has to bring back his loaded mules, or Indians, over the same pathless
waste. The Roraima Mountain begins to be regarded as quite easy travel
for the orchid-hunter nowadays. If I mention that the canoe-work on this
route demands thirty-two portages, thirty-two loadings and unloadings of
the cargo, the reader can judge what a "difficult road" must be.
Ascending the Roraima, Mr. Dressel, collecting for Mr. Sander, lost his
herbarium in the Essequibo River. Savants alone are able to estimate the
awful nature of the crisis when a comrade looses his grip of that
treasure. For them it is needless to add that everything else went to
the bottom.
One is tempted to linger among the Odontoglots, though time is pressing.
In no class of orchids are natural hybrids so mysterious and frequent.
Sometimes one can detect the parentage; in such cases, doubtless, the
crossing occurred but a few generations back: as a rule, however, such
plants are the result of breeding in and in from age to age, causing all
manner of delightful complications. How many can trace the lineage of
Mr. Bull's Od. delectabile—ivory white, tinged with rose, strikingly
blotched with red and showing a golden labellum? or Mr. Sander's Od.
Alberti-Edwardi, which has a broad soft margin of gold about its
stately petals? Another is rosy white, closely splashed with pale
purple, and dotted round the edge with spots of the same tint so thickly
placed that they resemble a fringe. Such marvels turn up in an
importation without the slightest warning—no peculiarity betrays them
until the flowers open; when the lucky purchaser discovers that a plant
for which he gave perhaps a shilling is worth an indefinite number of
guineas.
Lycaste also is a genus peculiar to America, such a favourite among
those who know its merits that the species L. Skinneri is called the
"Drawing-Room Flower." Professor Reichenbach observes in his superb
volume that many people utterly ignorant of orchids grow this plant in
their miscellaneous collection. I speak of it without prejudice, for to
my mind the bloom is stiff, heavy, and poor in colour. But there are
tremendous exceptions. In the first place, Lycaste Skinneri alba, the
pure white variety, beggars all description. Its great flower seems to
be sculptured in the snowiest of transparent marble. That stolid
pretentious air which offends one—offends me, at least—in the coloured
examples, becomes virginal dignity in this case. Then, of the normal
type there are more than a hundred variations recognized, some with lips
as deep in tone, and as smooth in texture, as velvet, of all shades from
maroon to brightest crimson. It will be understood that I allude to the
common forms in depreciating this species. How vast is the difference
between them, their commercial value shows. Plants of the same size and
the same species range from 3s. 6d. to 35 guineas, or more
indefinitely.
Lycastes are found in the woods, of Guatemala especially, and I have
heard no such adventures in the gathering of them as attend
Odontoglossums. Easily obtained, easily transported, and remarkably easy
to grow, of course they are cheap. A man must really "give his mind to
it" to kill a Lycaste. This counts for much, no doubt, in the popularity
of the genus, but it has plenty of other virtues. L. Skinneri opens in
the depth of winter, and all the rest, I think, in the dull months.
Then, they are profuse of bloom, throwing up half a dozen spikes, or, in
some species, a dozen, from a single bulb, and the flowers last a
prodigious time. Their extraordinary thickness in every part enables
them to withstand bad air and changes of temperature, so that ladies
keep them on a drawing-room table, night and day, for months, without
change perceptible. Mr. Williams names an instance where a L.
Skinneri, bought in full bloom on February 2, was kept in a
sitting-room till May 18, when the purchaser took it back, still
handsome. I have heard cases more surprising. Of species somewhat less
common there is L. aromatica, a little gem, which throws up an
indefinite number of short spikes, each crowned with a greenish yellow
triangular sort of cup, deliciously scented. I am acquainted with no
flower that excites such enthusiasm among ladies who fancy Messrs.
Liberty's style of toilette; sad experience tells me that ten
commandments or twenty will not restrain them from appropriating it. L.
cruenta is almost as tempting. As for L. leucanthe, an exquisite
combination of pale green and snow white, it ranks with L. Skinneri
alba as a thing too beautiful for words. This species has not been long
introduced, and at the moment it is dear proportionately. There is yet
another virtue of the Lycaste which appeals to the expert. It lends
itself readily to hybridization. This most fascinating pursuit attracts
few amateurs as yet, and the professionals have little time or
inclination for experiments. They naturally prefer to make such crosses
as are almost certain to pay. Thus it comes about that the hybridization
of Lycastes has been attempted but recently, and none of the seedlings,
so far as I can learn, have flowered. They have been obtained, however,
in abundance, not only from direct crossing, but also from alliance with
Zygopetalum, Anguloa, and Maxillaria.
The genus Cypripedium, Lady's Slipper, is perhaps more widely scattered
over the globe than any other class of plant; I, at least, am acquainted
with none that approaches it. From China to Peru—nay, beyond, from
Archangel to Torres Straits,—but it is wise to avoid these semi-poetic
descriptions. In brief, if we except Africa and the temperate parts of
Australia, there is no large tract of country in the world that does not
produce Cypripediums; and few authorities doubt that a larger
acquaintance with those realms will bring them under the rule. We have a
species in England, C. calceolus, by no means insignificant; it can be
purchased from the dealers, but it is almost extinct in this country
now. America furnishes a variety of species; which ought to be hardy.
They will bear a frost below zero, but our winter damp is intolerable.
Mr. Godseff tells me that he has seen C. spectabile growing like any
water-weed in the bogs of New Jersey, where it is frozen hard, roots and
all, for several months of the year; but very few survive the season in
this country, even if protected. Those fine specimens so common at our
spring shows are imported in the dry state. From the United States also
we get the charming C. candidum, C. parviflorum, C. pubescens, and
many more less important. Canada and Siberia furnish C. guttatum, C.
macranthum, and others. I saw in Russia, and brought home, a
magnificent species, tall and stately, bearing a great golden flower,
which is not known "in the trade;" but they all rotted gradually.
Therefore I do not recommend these fine outdoor varieties, which the
inexperienced are apt to think so easy. At the same cost others may be
bought, which, coming from the highlands of hot countries, are used to a
moderate damp in winter.
Foremost of these, perhaps the oldest of cool orchids in cultivation, is
C. insigne, from Nepal. Everyone knows its original type, which has
grown so common that I remarked a healthy pot at a window-garden
exhibition some years ago in Westminster. One may say that this, the
early and familiar form, has no value at present, so many fine varieties
have been introduced. A reader may form a notion of the difference when
I state that a small plant of exceptional merit sold for thirty guineas
a short time ago—it was C. insigne, but glorified. This ranks among
the fascinations of orchid culture. You may buy a lot of some common
kind, imported, at a price representing coppers for each individual, and
among them may appear, when they come to bloom, an eccentricity which
sells for a hundred pounds or more. The experienced collector has a
volume of such legends. There is another side to the question, truly,
but it does not personally interest the class which I address. To make a
choice among numberless stories of this sort, we may take the instance
of C. Spicerianum.
It turned up among a quantity of Cypripedium insigne in the
greenhouse of Mrs. Spicer, a lady residing at Twickenham. Astonished at
the appearance of this swan among her ducks, she asked Mr. Veitch to
look at it. He was delighted to pay seventy guineas down for such a
prize. Cypripediums propagate easily, no more examples came into the
market, and for some years this lovely species was a treasure for dukes
and millionaires. It was no secret that the precious novelty came from
Mrs. Spicer's greenhouse; but to call on a strange lady and demand how
she became possessed of a certain plant is not a course of action that
commends itself to respectable business men. The circumstances gave no
clue. Messrs. Spicer were and are large manufacturers of paper; there is
no visible connection betwixt paper and Indian orchids. By discreet
inquiries, however, it was ascertained that one of the lady's sons had a
tea-plantation in Assam. No more was needed. By the next mail Mr.
Forstermann started for that vague destination, and in process of time
reached Mr. Spicer's bungalow. There he asked for "a job." None could be
found for him; but tea-planters are hospitable, and the stranger was
invited to stop a day or two. But he could not lead the conversation
towards orchids—perhaps because his efforts were too clever, perhaps
because his host took no interest in the subject. One day, however, Mr.
Spicer's manager invited him to go shooting, and casually remarked "we
shall pass the spot where I found those orchids they're making such a
fuss about at home." Be sure Mr. Forstermann was alert that morning!
Thus put upon the track, he discovered quantities of it, bade the
tea-planter adieu, and went to work; but in the very moment of triumph a
tiger barred the way, his coolies bolted, and nothing would persuade
them to go further. Mr. Forstermann was no shikari, but he felt himself
called upon to uphold the cause of science and the honour of England at
this juncture. In great agitation he went for that feline, and, in
short, its skin still adorns Mrs. Sander's drawing-room. Thus it
happened that on a certain Thursday a small pot of C. Spicerianum was
sold, as usual, for sixty guineas at Stevens's; on the Thursday
following all the world could buy fine plants at a guinea.
Cypripedium is the favourite orchid of the day. It has every advantage,
except, to my perverse mind—brilliancy of colour. None show a whole
tone; even the lovely C. niveum is not pure white. My views, however,
find no backing. At all other points the genus deserves to be a
favourite. In the first place, it is the most interesting of all orchids
to science. Then its endless variations of form, its astonishing
oddities, its wide range of hues, its easy culture, its readiness to
hybridize and to ripen seed, the certainty, by comparison, of rearing
the proceeds, each of these merits appeals to one or other of
orchid-growers. Many of the species which come from torrid lands,
indeed, are troublesome, but with such we are not concerned. The cool
varieties will do well anywhere, provided they receive water enough in
summer, and not too little in winter. I do not speak of the American and
Siberian classes, which are nearly hopeless for the amateur, nor of the
Hong-Kong Cypripedium purpuratum, a very puzzling example.
On the roll of martyrs to orchidology, Mr. Pearce stands high. To him we
owe, among many fine things, the hybrid Begonias which are becoming such
favourites for bedding and other purposes. He discovered the three
original types, parents of the innumerable "garden flowers" now on
sale—Begonia Pearcii, B. Veitchii, and B. Boliviensis. It was his
great luck, and great honour, to find Masdevallia Veitchii—so long,
so often, so laboriously searched for from that day to this, but never
even heard of. To collect another shipment of that glorious orchid, Mr.
Pearce sailed for Peru, in the service, I think, of Mr. Bull.
Unhappily—for us all as well as for himself—he was detained at Panama.
Somewhere in those parts there is a magnificent Cypripedium with which
we are acquainted only by the dried inflorescence, named planifolium.
The poor fellow could not resist this temptation. They told him at
Panama that no white man had returned from the spot, but he went on. The
Indians brought him back, some days or weeks later, without the prize;
and he died on arrival.
Oncidiums also are a product of the New World exclusively; in fact, of
the four classes most useful to amateurs, three belong wholly to
America, and the fourth in great part. I resist the temptation to
include Masdevallia, because that genus is not so perfectly easy as the
rest; but if it be added, nine-tenths, assuredly, of the plants in our
cool house come from the West. Among the special merits of the Oncidium
is its colour. I have heard thoughtless persons complain that they are
"all yellow;" which, as a statement of fact, is near enough to the
truth, for about three-fourths may be so described roughly. But this
dispensation is another proof of Nature's kindly regard for the
interests of our science. A clear, strong, golden yellow is the colour
that would have been wanting in our cool houses had not the Oncidium
supplied it. Shades of lemon and buff are frequent among Odontoglossums,
but, in a rough, general way of speaking, they have a white ground.
Masdevallias give us scarlet and orange and purple; Lycastes, green and
dull yellow; Sophronitis, crimson; Mesospinidium, rose, and so forth.
Blue must not be looked for. Even counting the new Utricularia for an
orchid, as most people do, there are, I think, but five species that
will live among us at present, in all the prodigious family, showing
this colour; and every one of them is very "hot." Thus it appears that
the Oncidium fills a gap—and how gloriously! There is no such pure gold
in the scheme of the universe as it displays under fifty shapes
wondrously varied. Thus—Oncidium macranthum! one is continually
tempted to exclaim, as one or other glory of the orchid world recurs to
mind, that it is the supreme triumph of floral beauty. I have sinned
thus, and I know it. Therefore, let the reader seek an opportunity to
behold O. macranthum, and judge for himself. But it seems to me that
Nature gives us a hint. As though proudly conscious what a marvel it
will unfold, this superb flower often demands nine months to perfect
itself. Dr. Wallace told me of an instance in his collection where
eighteen months elapsed from the appearance of the spike until the
opening of the first bloom. But it lasts a time proportionate.
Oncidium macranthum.
Reduced to One Sixth
Nature forestalled the dreams of æsthetic colourists when she designed
Oncidium macranthum. Thus, and not otherwise, would the thoughtful of
them arrange a "harmony" in gold and bronze; but Nature, with
characteristic indifference to the fancies of mankind, hid her
chef-d'œuvre in the wilds of Ecuador. Hardly less striking,
however, though perhaps less beautiful, are its sisters of the
"small-lipped" species—Onc. serratum, O. superbiens, and O.
sculptum. This last is rarely seen. As with others of its class, the
spike grows very long, twelve feet perhaps, if it were allowed to
stretch. The flowers are small comparatively, clear bronze-brown, highly
polished, so closely and daintily frilled round the edges that a fairy
goffering-iron could not give more regular effects, and outlined by a
narrow band of gold. Onc. serratum has a much larger bloom, but less
compact, rather fly-away indeed, its sepals widening gracefully from a
narrow neck. Excessively curious is the disposition of the petals, which
close their tips to form a circle of brown and gold around the column.
The purpose of this extraordinary arrangement—unique among orchids, I
believe—will be discovered one day, for purpose there is, no doubt; to
judge by analogy, it may be supposed that the insect upon which Onc.
serratum depends for fertilization likes to stand upon this ring while
thrusting its proboscis into the nectary. The fourth of these fine
species, Onc. superbiens, ranks among the grandest of flowers—knowing
its own value, it rarely consents to "oblige;" the dusky green sepals
are margined with yellow, petals white, clouded with pale purple, lip
very small, of course, purple, surmounted by a great golden crest.
Most strange and curious is Onc. fuscatum, of which the shape defies
description. Seen from the back, it shows a floriated cross of equal
limbs; but in front the nethermost is hidden by a spreading lip, very
large proportionately. The prevailing tint is a dun-purple, but each arm
has a broad white tip. Dun-purple, also, is the centre of the labellum,
edged with a distinct band of lighter hue, which again, towards the
margin, becomes white. These changes of tone are not gradual, but as
clear as a brush could make them. Botanists must long to dissect this
extraordinary flower, but the opportunity seldom occurs. It is
desperately puzzling to understand how nature has packed away the
component parts of its inflorescence, so as to resolve them into four
narrow arms and a labellum. But the colouring of this plant is not
always dull. In the small Botanic Garden at Florence, by Santa Maria
Maggiore, I remarked with astonishment an Onc. fuscatum, of which the
lip was scarlet-crimson and the other tints bright to match. That
collection is admirably grown, but orchids are still scarce in Italy.
The Society did not know what a prize it had secured by chance.
The genus Oncidium has, perhaps, more examples of a startling
combination in hues than any other—but one must speak thoughtfully and
cautiously upon such points.
I have not to deal with culture, but one hint may be given. Gardeners
who have a miscellaneous collection to look after, often set themselves
against an experiment in orchid-growing because these plants suffer
terribly from green-fly and other pests, and will not bear "smoking." To
keep them clean and healthy by washing demands labour for which they
have no time. This is a very reasonable objection. But though the smoke
of tobacco is actual ruination, no plant whatever suffers from the steam
thereof. An ingenious Frenchman has invented and patented in England lately a machine called the Thanatophore, which I confidently
recommend. It can be obtained from Messrs. B.S. Williams, of Upper
Holloway. The Thanatophore destroys every insect within reach of its
vapour, excepting, curiously enough, scaly-bug, which, however, does not
persecute cool orchids much. The machine may be obtained in different
sizes through any good ironmonger.
To sum up: these plants ask nothing in return for the measureless
enjoyment they give but light, shade from the summer sun, protection
from the winter frost, moisture—and brains.
I am allowed to print a letter which bears upon several points to which
I have alluded. It is not cheerful reading for the enthusiast. He will
be apt to cry, "Would that the difficulties and perils were infinitely
graver—so grave that the collecting grounds might have a rest for
twenty years!"
January 19th, 1893.
Dear Sir,
I have received your two letters asking for Cattleya Lawrenceana,
Pancratium Guianense, and Catasetum pileatum. Kindly excuse my
answering your letters only to-day. But I have been away in the
interior, and on my return was sick, besides other business taking up my
time; I was unable to write until to-day. Now let me give you some
information concerning orchid-collecting in this colony. Six or seven
years ago, just when the gold industry was starting, very few people
ever ventured in the far interior. Boats, river-hands, and Indians could
be hired at ridiculously low prices, and travelling and bartering paid;
wages for Indians being about a shilling per day, and all found; the
same for river-hands. Captains and boatswains to pilot the boat through
the rapids up and down for sixty-four cents a day. To-day you have got
to pay sixty-four to eighty cents per day for Indians and river-hands.
Captains and boatswains, $2 the former, and $1:50 the latter per day,
and then you often cannot get them. Boat-hire used to be $8 to $10 for a
big boat for three to four months; to-day $5, $6, and $7 per day, and
all through the rapid development of the gold industry. As you can
calculate twenty-five days' river travel to get within reach of the
Savannah lands, you can reckon what the expenses must be, and then again
about five to seven days coming down the river, and a couple of days to
lay over. Then you must count two trips like this, one to bring you up,
and one to bring you down three months after, when you return with your
collection. Besides this, you run the risk of losing your boat in the
rapids either way, which happens not very unfrequently either going or
coming; and we have not only to record the loss of several boats with
goods, etc., every month, but generally to record the loss of life; only
two cases happening last month, in one case seven, in the other twelve
men losing their lives. Besides, river-hands and blacks will not go
further than the boats can travel, and nothing will induce them to go
among the Indians, being afraid of getting poisoned by Inds.
(Kaiserimas) or strangled. So you have to rely utterly on Indians, which
you often cannot get, as the district of Roraima is very poorly
inhabited, and most of the Indians died by smallpox and measles breaking
out among them four years ago, and those that survived left the
district, and you will find whole districts nearly uninhabited. About
five years ago I went up with Mr. Osmers to Roraima, but he broke down
before we reached the Savannah. He lay there for a week, and I gave him
up; he recovered, however, and dragged himself into the Savannah near
Roraima, about three days distant from it, where I left him. Here we
found and made a splendid collection of about 3000 first-class plants of
different kinds.
While I was going up to Roraima, he stayed in the Savannah, still too
sick to go further. At Roraima I collected everything except Catt.
Lawrenceana, which was utterly rooted out already by former collectors.
On my return to Osmers' camp, I found him more dead than alive, thrown
down by a new attack of sickness; but not alone that, I also found him
abandoned by most of our Indians, who had fled on account of the Kanaima
having killed three of their number. So Mr. Osmers—who got soon
better—and I, made up our baskets with plants, and made everything
ready. Our Indians returning partly, I sent him ahead with as many loads
as we could carry, I staying behind with the rest of baskets of plants.
Had all our Indians come back, we would have been all right, but this
not being the case I had to stay until the Indians returned and fetched
me off. After this we got back all right. This was before the sickness
broke out among the Indians.
Last year I went up with Mr. Kromer, who met me going up-river while I
was coming down. So I joined him. We got up all right to the river's
head, but here our troubles began, as we got only about eight Indians to
go on with us who had worked in the gold-diggings, and no others could
be had, the district being abandoned. We had to pay them half a dollar
a day to carry loads. So we pushed on, carrying part of our loads,
leaving the rest of our cargo behind, until we reached the Savannah,
when we had to send them back several times to get the balance of our
goods. From the time we reached the Savannah we were starving, more or
less, as we could procure only very little provisions. We hunted all
about for Catt. Lawrenceana, and got only about 1500 or so, it growing
only here and there. At Roraima we did not hunt at all, as the district
is utterly rubbed out by the Indians. We were about fourteen days at
Roraima and got plenty of Utricularia Campbelliana, U. Humboldtii,
and U. montana. Also Zygopetalum, Cyp. Lindleyanum, Oncidium
nigratum (only fifty—very rare now), Cypripedium Schomburgkianum,
Zygopetalum Burkeii, and in fact, all that is to be found on and about
Roraima, except the Cattleya Lawrenceana. Also plenty others, as
Sobralia, Liliastrum, etc. So our collection was not a very great one;
we had the hardest trouble now through the want of Indians to carry the
loads. Besides this, the rainy weather set in and our loads suffered
badly for all the care we took of them. Besides, the Indians got
disagreeable, having to go back several times to bring the remaining
baskets. Nevertheless, we got down as far as the Curubing mountains. Up
to this time we were more or less always starving. Arrived at the
Curubing mountains, procured a scant supply of provisions, but lost
nearly all of them in a small creek, and what was saved was spoiling
under our eyes, it being then that the rainy season had fully started,
drenching us from morning to night. It took us nine days to get our
loads over the mountain, where our boat was to reach us to take us down
river. And we were for two and a half days entirely without food.
Besides the plants being damaged by stress of weather, the Indians had
opened the baskets and thrown partly the loads away, not being able to
carry the heavy soaked-through baskets over the mountains, so making us
lose the best of our plants.
Arrived at our landing we had to wait for our boat, which arrived a week
later in consequence of the river being high, and, of course, short of
provisions. Still, we got away with what we had of our loads until we
reached the first gold places kept by a friend of mine, who supplied us
with food. Thereafter we started for town. Halfway, at Kapuri falls (one
of the most dangerous), we swamped down over a rock, and so we lost some
of our things; still saved all our plants, though they lay for a few
hours under water with the boat. After this we reached town in safety.
So after coming home we found, on packing up, that we had only about 900
plants, that is, Cattleya Lawrenceana, of which about one-third good,
one-third medium, and one-third poor quality. This trip took us about
three and a half months, and cost over 2500 dollars. Besides, I having
poisoned my leg on a rotten stump which I run up in my foot, lay for
four months suffering terrible pain.
You will, of course, see from this that orchid-hunting is no pleasure,
as you of course know, but what I want to point out to you is that
Cattleya Lawrenceana is very rare in the interior now.
The river expenses fearfully high, in fact, unreasonably high, on
account of the gold-digging. Labourers getting 64 c. to $1.00 per day,
and all found. No Indians to be got, and those that you can get at
ridiculous prices, and getting them, too, by working on places where
they build and thatch houses and clear the ground from underbush, and as
huntsmen for gold-diggers. Even if Mr. Kromer had succeeded to get 3000
or 4000 fine Cattleya Lawrenceana, it would have been of no value to
us, as we could not have got anybody to carry them to the river where a
boat could reach. Besides this, I also must tell you that there is a
license to be paid out here if you want to collect orchids, amounting
to $100, which Mr. Kromer had to pay, and also an export tax duty of 2
cents per piece. So that orchid collecting is made a very expensive
affair. Besides its success being very doubtful, even if a man is very
well acquainted with Indian life and has visited the Savannah reaches
year after year. We spent something over $2500 to $2900, including Mr.
Kromer's and Steigfer's passage out, on our last expedition.
If you want to get any Lawrenceana, you will have to send yourself,
and as I said before, the results will be very doubtful. As far as I
myself am concerned, I am interested besides my baking business, in the
gold-diggings, and shall go up to the Savannah in a few months. I can
give you first-class references if you should be willing to send an
expedition, and we could come to some arrangement; at least, you would
save the expenses of the passage of one of your collectors. I may say
that I am quite conversant with the way of packing orchids and handling
them as well for travel as shipment.
Kindly excuse, therefore, my lengthy letter and its bad writing. And if
you should be inclined to go in for an expedition, just send me a list
of what you require, and I will tell you whether the plants are found
along the route of travel and in the Savannah visited; as, for
instance, Catt. superba does not grow at all in the district where
Catt. Lawrenceana is to be found, but far further south.
Before closing, I beg you to let me know the prices of about twenty-five
of the best of and prettiest South American orchids, which I want for my
own collection, as Catt. Medellii, Catt. Trianæ, Odontoglossum
crispum, Miltonia vexillaria, Catt. labiata, &c.
I shall await your answer as soon as possible, and send you a list by
last mail of what is to be got in this colony.
We also found on our last visit something new—a very large bulbed
Oncidium, or may be Catasetum, on the top of Roraima, where we spent a
night, but got only two specimens, one of which got lost, and the other
one I left in the hands of Mr. Rodway, but so we tried our best. It
decayed, having been too seriously damaged to revive and flower, and so
enable us to see what it was, it not being in flower when found.
Awaiting your kind reply,
Yours truly,
Seyler.
P.S.—If you should send out one of your collectors, or require any
information, I shall be glad to give it.
One of the most experienced collectors, M. Oversluys, writes from the
Rio de Yanayacca, January, 1893:—
"Here it is absolutely necessary that one goes himself into the woods
ahead of the peons, who are quite cowards to enter the woods; and not
altogether without reason, for the larger part of them get sick here,
and it is very hard to enter—nearly impenetrable and full of insects,
which make fresh-coming people to get cracked and mad. I have from the
wrist down not a place to put in a shilling piece which is not a wound,
through the very small red spider and other insects. Also my people are
the same. Of the five men I took out, two have got fever already, and
one ran back. To-morrow I expect other peons, but not a single one from
Mengobamba. It is a trouble to get men who will come into the woods, and
I cannot have more than eight or ten to work with, because when I should
not be continually behind them or ahead they do nothing. It is not a
question of money to do good here, but merely luck and the way one
treats people. The peons come out less for their salaries than for good
and plenty of food, which is very difficult to find in these scarce
times....
"The plants are here one by one, and we have got but one tree with three
plants. They are on the highest and biggest trees, and these must be
cut down with axes. Below are all shrubs, full of climbers and lianas
about a finger thick. Every step must be cut to advance, and the ground
cleared below the high trees in order to spy the branches. It is a very
difficult job. Nature has well protected this Cattleya.... Nobody can
like this kind of work."
The poor man ends abruptly, "I will write when I can—the mosquitos
don't leave me a moment."
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