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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.2
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.
[2] See a
letter
About Orchids
About Orchids, 1893
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