The Woodlands Orchids, Described and Illustrated

A sunken way had been dug from the edge of the surf to a long low building a hundred yards back; within it lay the prau doubtless, ready to be launched. Micholitz skirted this channel. He noticed a curious group of persons sitting apart – an old man, two women, a boy, and a girl. The elders were squatting motionless upon the sand, so bowed that the long wool drooping hid their faces; the children lay with their heads in the women’s laps. None looked up; in passing he observed that these latter were bound.

The boat-house – so to call it – spanning the channel, was a hundred feet long, built of palm thatch, with substantial posts at due distance. As he walked along it, Micholitz became aware of an unpleasant smell. It was not strong. But in turning the further corner he marked a great purple stain upon the sand. Flies clustered thick there. It was blood. And then, upon the wall of thatch above, and the corner post, he traced the stain streaming broadly down. He looked to the other angle. The horrid mark was there also. They could not see him from the beach. Easily he parted the crackling palm leaves, and thrust in his head. At a few feet distance rose the lofty stern-post, carved and painted, with two broad shells glistening like eyes in the twilight. No more could he see, dazzled by the glare outside. That passed. He turned to the right hand-and drew back with a cry. A naked corpse, with head hanging on its chest, was bound to the corner post – the same to left.

Poor Micholitz felt sick. He ran from the cursed spot. So glowing was the sunlight round, so sweet and soft the shadow of the near forest – and those awful things in the midst! The old hymn rang in his ears —

Where every prospect pleases
And only man is vile.

He hurried towards the trees.

An outburst of yells and laughter made him turn. The circle had broken up. A swarm of warriors danced towards the boat-house – tore down the walls; in an instant the posts stood naked – with their burdens. Chiefs climbed aboard the prau and mustered, with tossing feathers, brandishing their arms, shouting and singing, on its deck. Ropes were manned. Scores of brawny savages started at a run, whilst the boys howled with delight and tumbled over one another. The great vessel moved, quickened. Then a party rushed upon that little group, trampling it under foot, snatched up the boy and girl, and sped with them towards the sea. The old man and women lay where they were tossed: there was no help for them in earth or heaven. The prau glided quicker and quicker amidst a roaring tumult. As it neared the sea, those small victims, tossed aloft from either side, fell across its course. Micholitz looked no more.

‘Let me attend to my business, for God’s sake!’ he kept repeating.

But when he reached the trees his business was done. Those horrors had so disconcerted him that for an instant he saw long green stems of orchid perched upon the boughs without regarding them. But here was one from the top of which depended a cluster of rosy garlands, four or five, bearing a dozen, or twenty, or thirty great flowers, all open; and there a cluster snow-white – a crimson one beyond, darkening almost to purple. Dendrobium Schröderianum was rediscovered!

Of Mitcholitz’s emotion it is enough to tell that it drove all else from his mind, or almost. When the interpreter summoned him he sat down and hobnobbed with those murderers and ate their dubious viands. The triumph was startling, so speedy and complete; but so much the heavier were his responsibilities. When, with a chilling shock, he recalled distinctly the dread spectacle, he said again:

‘Let me attend to my business! I can’t help it!’

All went well. So soon as the chiefs understood that this eccentric white man fancied their weeds, they joyously offered them – at a price. The time of year was excellent – early in the dry season. Next day Micholitz returned aboard and the Captain brought his ship round to the bay. But he would not listen to the story. ‘I told you they was rum chaps, didn’t I? Well, you see I told you true.’ In three days, so plentiful was the supply, Micholitz had gathered as many as he thought judicious, and heaped them on deck. They could be dried while the vessel was waiting for cargo elsewhere, and he longed to get away from that ill-omened spot.

Still luck attended him. The Captain ‘filled up’ quickly, and sailed, as by agreement, for a Dutch port, where the orchids would be shipped for England. He arrived in the evening, the ship lay alongside the wharf; next day his precious cases would be transferred to the steamer. In great content Micholitz went to sleep; so did everybody else, the watch included. Towards morning the harbour police raised a cry of ‘Fire!’ It must have been smouldering for hours. Not a plant could poor Micholitz save!

On arrival, he had telegraphed his success, and joy reigned at St. Albans all day. Foresight and enterprise were justly rewarded for once. What a coup – what a sensation! Let us not speculate upon the language used when a second dispatch came in the morning.

‘Ship burnt! What do? – Micholitz.’

The reply was emphatic: ‘Go back – Sander.’

‘Too late – rainy season.’

‘Go back!’

And Micholitz went. His protest, had he insisted upon it, was unanswerable. Hard enough it would be to return among those anti-human wretches when the delights of home had been so near. But there was no chance of regaining the bay – a vessel might not sail thither for months or years. The work must be begun again – the search renewed. And in the rainy season, too!

But the good fellow did not even hesitate. Forthwith he inquired for a ship trading with the island. There was none, and he had no time to wait, for the rain grew heavier daily. A mail steamer was leaving for the nearest settlement. Trusting to the ‘courtesy of nations,’ Micholitz claimed a passage as a shipwrecked man. It was flatly refused, but at length the Dutch officials yielded to his indignant appeal so far as to make a deduction of 30 per cent. ‘Well,’ he wrote to St. Albans, ‘there is no doubt these are the meanest people on earth.’ The Captain of the Costa Rica whaling ship agrees with him.

I have no space for the adventures of this second journey now. The Dendrobe was found once more, which is not at all surprising when its habitat had been discovered. At this spot, however, it was growing, not on trees, but on rocks of limestone – most epiphytal orchids love to cling on that rough and porous surface. Especially was it abundant in the graveyard of the clan, a stony waste where for generations they had left their dead – not unmourned, perhaps – beneath the sky. The plants grew and flowered among bones innumerable. To suggest the removal of them under such circumstances was a nervous duty. But in the graveyard they were not only most plentiful, but by far most vigorous. It had to be done, and with all precautions, after displaying a sample of his ‘trade,’ looking-glasses and knives and beads, and so forth, Micholitz did it.

A clamour of indignation broke out. It was swelling into passion when he produced a roll of brass wire; at that spectacle it suddenly calmed down. After debate among themselves the warriors stipulated that two of their most sacred idols should travel with the plants, and be treated with all honour on the way. They would not assist in collecting, but after the distribution of brass wire they helped to pack the cases.

Thus it happened that one of the Dendrobes sold at ‘Protheroe’s’ on October 16, 1891, was attached to a human skull. As for the idols, they were bought by the Hon. Walter Rothschild, and we are free to hope that they are treated with reverence, as per agreement.

STORY OF DENDROBIUM LOWII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh! And can I get Dyaks?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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