Laelia tenebrosa Catt. gigas Sanderae.

" harpophylla L. elegans Blenheimensis.

" cinnabarina Catt. Skinnerii.

" tenebrosa L.-C. Phoebe.

" " Catt. Mossiae aurea.

" praestans Catt. Lord Rothschild.

" Dayanum Catt. l.a.b.i.ata.

" cinnabarina Catt. Trianae var. Mary Ames.

" purpurata L. grandis.

" " Catt. Schroderae.

" amanda Catt. aurea.

" purpurata Schroderae Catt. Mossiae aurea.

" Lucasiana L. elegans Schilleriana.

" elegans Catt. Mossiae.

" crispa Catt. aurea.

" purpurata Catt. Hardyana.

" " Catt. Mossiae.

" tenebrosa Catt. Warnerii.

" " Catt. Mendelii.

" elegans Catt. gigas.

Beyond the hybrids are twenty plants of white Cattleya intermedia. The owner of our collection was first among mortals, in Europe at least, to behold that marvel of chaste loveliness. Mr. Sander received a plant of intermedia from Brazil, which the collector labelled 'white.' Albino Cattleyas were few then, and Roezl alone perhaps ventured to imagine that every red species had a white sister. So they took little notice of the label at St. Albans. When Mr. Measures paid a visit, it was even shown to him as an example of the reckless statements forwarded by collectors. He, however, in a sporting mood, offered ten guineas, and Mr. Sander gladly accepted, but under a written proviso that he guaranteed nothing at all.

And in due time Cattleya intermedia Parthenia appeared, to astonish and delight the universe. Several other albino forms have turned up since, all of which are represented here, but Parthenia remains the finest--snowy white, with a very long lip, which scarcely expands beyond the tube. That is to say, 'the books' describe it as snowy white. A careful observer will remark the faintest possible tinge of purple in the throat.

We have also a natural hybrid, Catt. Louryana, which the learned dubiously a.s.sign to intermedia alba bicolor; all white saving the lip, which is mauve-pink with darker lines.

Among other albino rarities here is the charming L. praestans alba, pure as snow but for a plum-coloured edging round the upper portion of the lip.

_L. Perrinii alba_--stainless throughout. This exquisite variety also appeared for the first time in our collection.

_L. Perrinii nivea_--not less beautiful a.s.suredly, though it has the imperfection, as an albino, of a pale pink labellum and a yellow throat.

Beyond these rise twenty-five stately plants of Angraec.u.m sesquipedale, which we are learning to call Aeranthus sesquipedalis. There are those who do not value the marvel, though none but the blind surely can fail to admire it. In truth, like other giants, it does not readily lend itself to any useful purpose. I think I could design a wreath of Angraec.u.m sesquipedale which would put jewelled coronets to shame; but for a bouquet or for the dress or for table decoration, it is equally unsuited.

Wherefore the ladies give a glance of wonder at its ten-inch 'tail' and pa.s.s by, calling it, as I have heard with my own ears, a vegetable starfish. At Woodlands happily there are other flowers enough for a 'regiment of women,' as John Knox rudely put it, and they do not grudge the room which these n.o.ble plants occupy.

A LEGEND OF MADAGASCAR

I must not name the leading personage in this sad story. Though twenty-five years have gone by since he met his fate, there are still those who mourn for him. Could it be supposed that my report would come to the knowledge of two among them, old people dwelling modestly in a small French town, I should not publish it. For they have never heard the truth.

Those kindly and thoughtful comrades of Alcide Leboeuf--so to name him--who transmitted the news of his death, described it as an accident.

But the French Consul at Tamatave sent a brief statement privately to the late Mr. Cutter, of Great Russell Street, in whose employ Leboeuf was travelling, that he might warn any future collectors.

M. Leon Humblot has told how he and his brother once entertained six guests at Tamatave; within twelve months he alone survived. So deadly is that climate. Alcide Leboeuf was one of the six, but he perished by the hand of man. The poor fellow was half English by blood, and wholly English by education. His father, I believe, stuffed birds and sold 'curiosities'

at a small shop in the East End. At an early age the boy took to 'collecting' as a business. He travelled for Mr. Cutter in various lands, seeking rare birds and insects, and he did his work well, though subject to fits of hard drinking from time to time.

At the shop in Great Russell Street, after a while, he made acquaintance with that admirable collector Crossley, whose stories of Madagascar fired his imagination. Mr. Cutter was loath to send out a man of such unsteady character. The perils of that awful climate were not so well understood, perhaps, twenty-five years ago, but enough was known to make an employer hesitate. Crossley had been shipwrecked on the coast, had lived years with the natives, learned their language, and learned also to adopt their habits while journeying among them. But Leboeuf would not be daunted. A giant in stature--over seven feet, they say--of strength proportionate, not inexperienced in wild travel but never conscious of ache or pain, he mocked at danger. When Crossley refused to take an untried man into the swamps of Madagascar, he vowed he would go alone. That is, indeed, the most fascinating of all lands to an enthusiast even now, when we are a.s.sured that the Epyornis, the mammoth of birds, is extinct. At that time there was no good reason to doubt the unanimous a.s.sertion of the natives that it still lived. Crossley was so confident that he neglected to buy eggs badly shattered, waiting for perfect specimens. His scruples were 'bad business' for Mr. Cutter, as that gentleman lived to see, but they appeared judicious at the time. Fragments of Epyornis egg, slung on cords, were the vessels generally used in some parts for carrying water--are still perhaps. Besides this, endless marvels were reported, some of which have been secured in these days. Briefly, the young man was determined to go, and Mr. Cutter gave him a commission.

Thus Leboeuf made one of M. Humblot's guests at Tamatave. Another was Mr. Wilson, the only orchid collector there; for M. Humblot did not feel much interest in those plants, I believe, at the time. I have not been able to learn anything about Wilson's antecedents. His diary, upon which this narrative is framed, was lying about at Tamatave for years; we may conclude, perhaps, that the French Consul did not know to whom it should be forwarded--there was no English Consul. Probably Wilson travelled on his own account; certainly none of the great orchid merchants employed him. He was young and inexperienced; glad to attach himself, no doubt, to a big and self-confident old hand like Leboeuf.

Some weeks or months afterwards we find the pair at a large village called Malela, which lies at the foot of Ambohimiangavo, apparently a well-known mountain. Ellis mentions it, I observe, but only by name, as the richest iron district of the Central Provinces. They had had some trouble on the way. Among the hints and instructions which Crossley furnished, one in especial counselled Leboeuf to abstain from shooting in the neighbourhood of houses. Each tribe, he wrote, holds some living creature sacred--it may be a beast or a bird, a reptile, or even an insect. 'These must not be hurt within the territory of such tribe; the natives will readily inform you which they are. But, in addition, each village commonly has its sacred creature, and it will be highly dangerous to shoot until you have identified the object. As you do not speak the language you had very much better make it a rule not to shoot anything on cultivated ground.'

This was not a man to heed fantastic warnings, but he learned prudence before they had gone too far into the wilds. At a short distance from Tamatave, in a field of sugar-cane, Leboeuf saw a beautiful bird, new to him, which had a tuft of feathers on each side the beak--so Wilson described it. He followed and secured the prize. The semi-civilised natives with them paid no attention. But when, an hour later, surrounded by the people of the village, he took out his bird to skin, there was a sudden tumult. The women and children ran away screaming, the men rushed for their weapons. But collectors were not unfamiliar beings, if incomprehensible, so near the port. After some anxious moments, the headmen or priests consented to take a heavy fine, and drove them from the spot.

Their arrival at Malela had been announced, of course, and they found an uproarious welcome. All the people of the neighbourhood were a.s.sembling for a great feast. While their men built a hut of branches outside the fortifications--for no house was unoccupied--they sat beneath the trees in the central s.p.a.ce. Such was the excitement that even white visitors scarcely commanded notice. Chief after chief arrived, sitting crosswise in an ornamented hammock--not lying--his folded arms resting on the bamboo by which it was suspended. A train of spearmen pressed behind him. They marched round the square, displaying their magnificence to the admiration of the crowd, and dismounted at the Prince's door--if that was his t.i.tle--leaving their retainers outside. The mob of spearmen there numbered hundreds, the common folk thousands, arrayed in their glossiest and showiest lambas of silk or cotton. No small proportion of them were beating tom-toms; others played on the native flutes and fiddles; all shouted. The row was deafening. But doubtless it was a brilliant spectacle.

One part of the vast square, however, remained empty. Beneath a fine tree stood three posts firmly planted. They were nine or ten feet high, squared and polished, each branching at the top into four limbs; tree trunks, in fact, chosen for the regularity of their growth. In front was a very large stone, unworked, standing several feet above the ground. The travellers were familiar with these objects now. They recognised the curious idols of the country and their altar. On each side of the overshadowing tree barrels were ranged, one on tap, and another waiting its turn. This also they recognised. However savage the inland population, however ignorant of the white man's arts, all contrived even then to transport puncheons of rum through swamp and jungle for occasions like this. Now and again persons distinguished from the throng by costlier dress and ornaments were escorted to the spot and they drank with ceremonies. Wilson did not like the prospect. His companion had broken loose once before under a similar temptation. But there was no help.

Presently the Chamberlain, so to call him, approached with a number of officers, and invited them to attend the Prince. They found that potentate sitting at the end of a long file of chiefs. The floor of the hall was covered with snowy mats, which set off the beauty of their many-coloured robes. Beside the Prince squatted a pleasant-looking man in pink vest and white lamba. He wore a broad-brimmed hat of silky felt, black, with a band of gold lace, contrasting at every point with the showily-dressed chiefs around. This, they knew, must be the high priest, the Sikidy. The Prince received them courteously, but since their interpreter knew but little French, and less, as it seems, of the language of this tribe, communication was limited to the forms of politeness. Then slaves brought in the feast, setting great iron dishes on the mats all along the row.

Simultaneously the band struck up, and women began singing at the top of their voices.

The heat, the smell, the noise, the excitement of the scene were intoxicating without alcohol. But rum flowed literally in buckets, and palm wine several days old, which is even stronger. Wilson ventured to urge caution after a while, and at length Leboeuf tore himself away. Men came and went all the time, so their departure was unnoticed.

They reached the hut of boughs, now finished. Leboeuf threw himself down and slept; relieved of anxiety, Wilson set off to gather orchids. Malela appears to be a fine hunting-ground for collectors, but he only mentions the fact to explain his imprudence in leaving Leboeuf for some hours.

The latter woke, found himself quite alone--for all the servants were merry-making, of course--and he also started off collecting. Unfortunately he traversed the village. And some of the chiefs took him in a friendly spirit to the barrel under the tree.

Wilson was returning--happy with a load of new orchids maybe--when he heard a shot, followed by a clamour of young voices. Next instant a swarm of children burst from the forest, and ran screaming across the open ground. Wilson had heard that cry before. His blood chilled. If the men of the other village were furious, how would it be with these drunken savages! He hurried to the spot whence the children had emerged.

As their voices died away he became conscious of shouting--an exultant tone. It was Leboeuf. They met in the outskirts of the wood. At sight of Wilson he bawled--

'Hi, young un! got any weeds to sell? Give you tuppence for the lot.

Pretty flowers--all a-blowing and a-growing! Take 'em to the missus! The ladies loves you chaps. I say, what'll old Cutter look like when he sees _that_?' Leboeuf threw down an animal which he carried on his shoulder, and danced round it, shouting and laughing.

It was a small creature, brownish grey, with enormous ears very human in shape, long skeleton hands, and a bushy tail thicker than a lady's boa. By that and the ears Wilson recognised the Madagascar sloth, rarest of all animals then in museums, and very rare still. He had no particular reason to suspect that the natives reverenced it, but a beast so eerie in appearance and habits might well be thought sacred.

He implored Leboeuf to leave it and come away; Leboeuf did not even listen. After dancing and roaring till he was tired he picked up the aye-aye and marched on, talking loud.

Thus they did not hear the noise of a mult.i.tude approaching. But from the edge of the forest they saw it. Chiefs led the van, stumbling and staggering; among the foremost was that personage in snowy lamba and broad black hat--not pleasant-looking now. A mob of spearmen pressed behind. The clearing was a compact ma.s.s of natives, running, wailing, gesticulating--and they still streamed in thousands through the narrow gate. It was like the rush of ants when their nest is disturbed.

The sight paralysed even Leboeuf; Wilson, after an awful glance, ran back and hid. He could hear his comrade's shouts above the uproar for a moment--then there was a pause, and the interpreter's voice reached him faintly. Wilson still crept away. He heard only a confused clamour for some minutes, but then a burst of vengeful triumph made the forest ring.

It needed no explanation. Leboeuf was overpowered. The noise grew fainter--they were dragging him away--and ceased.

For hours Wilson lay in an agony of fear. That Leboeuf was killed he did not doubt; but how could he himself escape, alone in the forest, ignorant of the roads, many weeks journey from the coast? A more cruel fate would probably be his. It might be hoped that Leboeuf's tortures had been short.

He did not dare push deeper into the wood; his single chance lay in creeping round the village after dark, and possibly rejoining his servants, if they still lived. If not, he might recover the road at least.

But man could not be in more desperate straits.

Remaining thus in the vicinity, towards dusk he heard a whistle far off.

The frenzy of his relief is not to be described--it was the rallying signal of the party. But suppose the enemy used this device to ensnare him? It might be! And yet--there was the hope. At worst they would give him a speedy death. He answered. Gradually the searchers drew near. They were his own men, led by the interpreter.

Wilson could not speak French, but he grasped that the natives would not harm him. Leboeuf?--It was almost a comfort that he could not understand precisely. The interpreter's pantomime suggested an awful fate. Leboeuf stood at bay with his gun, and the chiefs held him in parley while men crept through the brushwood. They threw a la.s.so from behind, and dragged him down. He was borne to the square, and after dread ceremonies which Wilson shuddered to comprehend, laid upon the altar.

In a maze of horror and anxiety he entered the village. It was not yet dark. But of all the mult.i.tude swarming there some hours before not a soul was visible. They had not left; every house resounded with the hum of many voices--low, and, as it seemed to Wilson, praying. The square also was deserted; upon the high stone altar he saw a shapeless ma.s.s from which small wreaths of smoke still curled.

That was the fate of poor Leboeuf. The same night Wilson was seized by fever. He struggled on, but died within a few hours' march of Tamatave.