Part 41

'So in November last year some hundreds or thousands of a remarkable orchid were offered at Protheroe's under the title "L. pumila (?)." Nearly all the leading amateurs and growers bought, I think, but at a very cheap rate. Half a crown apiece would be a liberal average for plants over which millionaires would have battled had they known. But, after all, the luck of the purchasers was not unqualified. Many who read this will feel a dreary satisfaction in learning that if their plants have perished or dwindled, plenty of others are in like case. Further experience shows that they were gathered at the wrong time; of course they reached Europe at the wrong time. And nearly every one put them into heat, which was a final error. L. Jongheana is quite a cool species. Through these accumulated misfortunes only two out of the multitude have flowered up to this, so far as I can hear. The dullest of mortals can feel something of the delicious anxiety of those gentlemen who watched the great bloom swelling from day to day when it began to show its tints, and they proved to be quite unlike those of L. pumila. At length it opened, and L. Jongheana was recovered.

'What sort of a thing is it, after all? For an unlearned description, I should say that the flowers--two, three, or even five in number--are from four to five inches across--sepals, petals, and curl of lip bright amethyst, yellow throat, white centre; the crisped and frilled margin all round suffused with purple. It was discovered in 1855 by Libon, who died soon after, carrying his secret with him. He was sent out by M. de Jonghe, of Brussels--hence the name.'

Up to the present time only one of the plants here has flowered--and it opened pure white, saving a yellow stain on the lip. This was not altogether a surprise, for a close examination of the faded blooms convinced M. Forget that some of them must have been white, whatever the species might be. And he marked them accordingly. That a collector of such experience should prove to be right was not astonishing, as I say, but remarkably pleasant.

At the end of the house is a pretty verdant nook where Cypripedium insigne is planted out upon banks of tufa among Adiantums and overshadowing palms.

STORY OF BULBOPHYLLUM BARBIGERUM

This species is so rare in Europe that I must give a word of description. The genus contains the largest and perhaps the smallest of orchids--B. Beccarii, whose stem is six inches in diameter, carrying leaves two feet long, and B. pygmaeum of New Zealand. They are all fly-catchers, I think, equipped with apparatus to trap their prey, as droll commonly in the working as ingenious in the design. Barbigerum has pseudo-bulbs less than an inch high, and its flowers are proportionate. But charm and size are no way akin. Fascination dwells in the lip, which, hanging upon the slenderest possible connection, lengthens out to the semblance of a brush. Thus exquisitely poised it rocks without ceasing, and its long, silky, purple-brown hairs wave softly but steadily all day long, as if on the back of a moving insect. Pretty though it be, all declare it uncanny.

The species was introduced from Sierra Leone by Messrs. Loddiges, so long ago as 1835. I have not come upon any reference to a public sensation. Assuredly, however, the orchidists of the day were struck, and it is probable that Messrs. Loddiges sold the wonder at a high price if in bloom. Some people in Sierra Leone forwarded consignments. But an orchid so small and delicate needs careful handling. None of them reached Europe alive, I dare say.

It appears, however, that Bulbophyllum barbigerum is common throughout those regions. The example at Kew, which diverts so many good folks year by year, came from Lagos, near a thousand miles east and south of Sierra Leone. And the story I have to tell places it at Whydah, between the two.

A young man named Boville went thither as clerk in the English factory, soon after 1835. We have not to ask what was his line of commerce. I have no information, but it must be feared, though perhaps we do him wrong, that one branch of it at least was the slave trade. Boville had heard of Messrs. Loddiges' success. Residents at Whydah do not commonly explore the bush, but he was young and enterprising. On his first stroll he discovered the Bulbophyllum, and to his innocence it seemed the promise of a fortune. Real good things must be kept quiet. The treasure was plentiful enough to cause 'a glut' forthwith if many speculators engaged. Luckily he had a Kroo boy in attendance, not a native. To him Boville assumed an air of mystery, said he was going to make fetich, and 'something happen' to any one who spoke of his proceedings--'make fetich' and 'something happen' are among the first local expressions which a man learns in West Africa. The Kroo boy grinned, because that is his way of acknowledging any communication whatsoever, and snapped his fingers in sign of willing obedience. So Boville gathered a dozen plants, and hoped to have a stock before 'the ship' arrived. There were no steamers then, and at Whydah, a very unimportant station for lawful trade, English vessels only called once in three months. Slavers did not ship orchids.

It was Boville's employment henceforth to collect the Bulbophyllum whenever he had a few hours to spare. He hung his spoils on the lattice work which surrounds a bedroom in those parts, between roof and wall, designed for ventilation--hiding them with clothes and things. It is proper to add that the 'English Fort' was already deserted, and the 'Factory' a mere name. The agent, his superior officer, was not at all likely to visit a clerk's quarters. This good man belonged to a class very frequent then upon 'the coast.' He had not returned to England, nor wished to do so, since coming out. At a glance he recognised that this was his real native land, and without difficulty he made himself a fellow-countryman of the negroes, living like a caboceer, amidst an undeterminate number of wives, slaves, and children. Very shocking; but it may be pointed out that such men as this established our colonies or seats of trade in Africa. They had virtues, perhaps, but their vices were more useful. The moral system of the present day would not have answered then. An agent secured his position by marrying a daughter of every chief who might be troublesome. He had no Maxim guns.

Mr. Blank knew every feeling and superstition of the negroes,--that is the point of my reference to his character. And one evening he entered the room just as Boville was hanging up his latest acquisitions, some of which were in flower. Whatever Mr. Blank's business, it fled from his mind on beholding the orchids.

'Good God!' he cried. 'What--what--you are no better than a dead man! I won't protect you--I can't! Good God! What possessed you?'

'I don't understand,' said Boville.

'No, you don't understand! They send me out the most infernal idiots'--and then Mr. Blank fell to swearing.

Boville saw the case was grave somehow. 'Are they poisonous?' he asked.

'Poisonous be--etc. etc. That's the Endua--the holiest of plants! You'll wish they were poisonous before long! What a lot! You didn't get 'em all to-day?'

'I can destroy them. Only Georgius Rex the Krooman has been into the bush with me.'

'You fool! D'you think you can hide this from the fetich? Put--put 'em in a sack, and tumble 'em into the river after dark! Oh Lord, here's an awful business!'

Moving about the room restlessly as he talked, whilst Boville thrust the orchids into a bag, the agent opened a door which gave upon a platform called the verandah--in fact, the roof of the store. It overlooked the street. In an instant he ran back.

'It's all up' he cried. 'Oh Lord! Here's the Vokhimen!'

Boville had heard this name, which belongs to an official of the Vo-dun, the fetich priesthood, whose duty it is to summon offenders. He went to see. The street was in an uproar. Two men clothed in black and white, with faces chalked, were beating Vo-drums furiously--but such din is too usual for notice. They stood at the door of a house--habitations in Whydah are not properly described as huts. All the neighbours surged round vociferous. Presently emerged a grotesque figure, rather clothed than adorned with strings of human teeth and bones, and little wooden idols painted red. His black and white cap had lappets with red snakes sewn thereon; the breast of his tunic bore a large red cross, the sacred symbol of Dahomey. He came forth with a leap, and danced along with ridiculous gestures to the next house, flourishing the iron bar which marks his office. The bones and images rattled like castanets. The drummers followed. Through the next doorway the Vokhimen sprang, and disappeared.

'He isn't after me, thank God!' cried Boville.

'He is, you fool! It's their way to hunt about like that when they well know where to find the victim. No, it's too late to hide the cursed things now. God help you, Boville! I can do nothing.' And Mr. Blank hurried out.

'Go to the Hun-to at least, sir--and to Mr. Martinez! Don't leave me helpless to these devils!'

'I'll do all I can for you, but it's worse than useless my stopping here.'

Perhaps it is necessary to observe that the Europeans in Whydah had long been subject to the King of Dahomey, ruled by a Viceroy. Each nationality had its official chief, called Hun-to by the English, and the Portuguese representative enjoyed particular consideration. Nevertheless, the Viceroy was their absolute master, and he obeyed the fetich men.

It is so easy to conceive poor Boville's bewilderment and despair that I shall not dwell upon the situation. With feverish haste he concealed his orchids. Mr. Blank reappeared, with a rope fringed with strips of palm leaf, dry and crackling. This he threw round Boville's neck.

'They daren't hurt you with that on!' he cried. 'Only the head priest can remove it! Go down! I've set drink on the table! Good-bye!'