Not till sunset did Smidt feel strong enough to descend the hill; before starting he looked for the 'yellow gleam'--it had vanished, and in place of it was a hole. Bloodstained and tottering he regained the public path.

Diggers returning from their work laughed heartily at the spectacle, but perhaps they meant no harm. Chinamen must not be judged by the laws that apply to other mortals. At least they warned the chief, who sent two stalwart members of the Kunsi to a.s.sist his guest. They also found the situation vastly amusing, but they were kind enough.

The chief had a bottle of skimpin ready. He set a slave to wash Smidt's head, and clothed him in a snowy bajo. No questions did he ask. Smidt told his short story, and begged him to pursue the malefactor.

'No good, sir,' said the chief. 'I policeman here--I know. Where you think Ahtan?'

'In the jungle, I suppose, making for Kuching with the great nugget he picked out of the rock. Send to warn the Tuan magistrate, at least.'

'I say, sir, I Tuan magistrate here, and I know.' He unlocked a coffer, iron-bound, using three separate keys; brought out a parcel wrapped in cloth and slowly unfolded it, looking at Smidt the while, his narrow eyes twinkling.

'You say nugget, hey?'

Smidt gasped. It was a lump of gold as big as his two fists.

'Is this--is this mine?'

The chief sat down to laugh and rolled about, spluttering Chinese interjections.

'Is this mine? He-he-he-he! Mine? This gold, sir! Kunsi take gold--all gold here! You says, mine, sir? Ha! ha! ha!'

Smidt did not feel a.s.sured of his legal rights.

'You took it from Ahtan?' he asked. 'Did you arrest him?'

The chief had another fit. Recovering, he answered, 'Ahtan down this way,'

and stamped upon the ground.

'In the cellar? Oh, that's a comfort! I'll carry him to Kuching to-morrow.'

This caused another outburst of merriment. 'I tell, sir, I Tuan magistrate at Bau. Ahtan he under order for kingdom come to-night.'

This was rather shocking. 'Oh, I don't ask that. He must be tried.'

'What your matter, sir?' the chief snapped out. 'I try him, and I say die!

Ahtan is Kunsi man. He play trick before--I let him go. We catch him on river with gold. He die this time.'

Doubtless he did--not for attempted murder, but for breaking his oath to the Kunsi. Smidt ought to have denounced this monstrous illegality to the Rajah. But his firm did a great business with Chinamen, and their secret societies have a very long arm. I imagine that he held his tongue.

STORY OF CYPRIPEDIUM SPICERIANUM

The annals of Cypripedium Spicerianum open in 1878, when Mrs. Spicer, a lady residing at Wimbledon, asked Messrs. Veitch to come and see a curious flower, very lovely, as she thought, which had made its appearance in her green-house. Messrs. Veitch came; with no extravagant hopes perhaps, for experience might well make them distrustful of feminine enthusiasm. But in this instance it was more than justified, and, in short, they carried off the marvel, leaving a cheque for seventy guineas behind. I may remark that Cypripeds are easy to cultivate. They are also quick to increase. Messrs.

Veitch hurried their specimen along, and divided it as fast as was safe.

To say that the morsels fetched their weight in gold would be the reverse of exaggeration--mere bathos.

Importers sat up. They were not without a hint to direct their search in this case. The treasure had arrived amongst a quant.i.ty of Cyp. insigne.

Therefore it must be a native of the Himalayan region--a.s.sam, Darjeeling, or Sikkim, no doubt. There are plenty of persons along that frontier able and willing to hunt up a new plant. A good many of them probably received commissions to find Cypripedium Spicerianum.

At St. Albans they were more deliberate. It is not exactly usual for ladies residing at Wimbledon to receive consignments of orchids. When such an event happens, one may conclude that they have relatives or intimate friends in the district where those orchids grow; it will hardly be waste of time anyhow to inquire. A discreet investigation proved that this lady's son was a tea-planter, with large estates on the confines of Bhutan. With the address in his pocket Mr. Forstermann, a collector of renown, started by next mail.

Orchids must be cla.s.sed with _ferae naturae_ in which a landowner has no property. But it is not to be supposed that a man of business will tell the casual inquirer where to pick up, on his own estate, weeds worth seventy guineas each. Forstermann did not expect it. Leaving his baggage at the dak bungalow, he strolled afoot to the large and handsome mansion indicated. Mr. Spicer was sitting in the verandah, and in the pleasant, easy way usual with men who very rarely see a white stranger of respectable appearance, he shouted:

'Are you looking for me, sir? Come up!'

Forstermann went up, took an arm-chair and a cheroot, accepted a comforting gla.s.s, and sketched his experiences of the road before declaring even his name. Then he announced himself as an aspirant tea-planter, desirous to gain some practical knowledge of the business before risking his very small capital. In short, could Mr. Spicer give him a 'job'?

'I'm afraid not,' said Mr. Spicer. 'We have quite as many men in your position as we can find work for. But anyhow you can look round and talk to our people and see whether the life is likely to suit you. Meantime, you're very welcome to stay here as my guest. If you've brought a gun, my manager will show you some sport; but he's away just now. Oh, you needn't thank me. In my opinion it's the duty of men who have succeeded to help beginners along, and I'm sorry I can't do more for you.'

Forstermann remembers a twinge of conscience here. It may be indubitable that orchids are _ferae naturae_. But they have a distinct money value for all that, and to remove them from the estate of a man who gives you a reception like this! Anyhow, he felt uncomfortable. But to find the thing was his first duty. Possibly some arrangement might be made, though he could not imagine how.

The invitation was accepted, of course, and a week pa.s.sed very pleasantly.

But Forstermann could not bring his host to the point desired. Several times they observed Cypripedium insigne whilst riding or driving about the neighbourhood. Mr. Spicer even remarked, when his attention was called to it, that he had sent a number of plants home; but nothing followed. Then the manager returned, and the same night an appointment was made to go after duck on the morrow.

Forstermann turned out at dawn, but his companion was not ready. He gave the explanation as they rode along.

'We had another _chelan_ last night--you have learnt the meaning of that word, I daresay!--a faction fight among our people. The coolies on this estate come mostly from Chota Nagpore, and thereabouts. They're good workers, and not so troublesome as regular Hindus when once they've settled down. But there's generally a bother when a new gang arrives. We tell our agents to be very careful in recruiting none but friendly clans.

Young Mice and Fig Leaves we find best among the Oraons, Stars and Wild Geese among the Sonthals.' Forstermann was puzzled, but he did not interrupt. 'It's no use, however. They take any fellow that comes along--and between ourselves, you know, considering how many of those scamps bolt with the contract-money and never enlist a soul, we haven't so very much to complain of. It's a bad system, sir!

'Well, when they get here, a mixed lot, they find half a dozen mixed lots established. We have, to my knowledge,' reckoning on his fingers, 'Tortoises, Tigers, Crows, Eels, Gra.s.s-spiders, Fishing-nets--ay, and a lot more, besides Stars and Wild-geese. Of course, they quarrel at sight, and we don't interfere unless the _chelan_ gets serious. What's the good?

But, besides that, there is a standing provocation, as you may say. Some of our coolies have been with us many years. They don't care to go home--for reasons good, no doubt, but it's not our business. Well, two of these fellows have married--one, a Potato, has married the Stomach of a pig----'

'Eh?' Forstermann could not contain himself.

'Those are their families, you know.' The manager, quite grave hitherto, laughed out suddenly. 'Of course, it seems mighty droll to you, but we're accustomed to it. Each clan claims to be descended from the thing after which it is named. You mustn't ask me how the Stomach of a pig can have children. That's beyond our understanding. The point is that certain of these stocks may not intermarry under pain of death--that's their law. So you may fancy the rumpus when strange Potatoes arriving here find one of their breed----' he laughed again. 'It does sound funny, when you think of it! Last night, however, when the usual disturbance broke out--a new gang arrived yesterday, you know--Minjar, the Eel, who is the other fellow that has married some girl he ought not to, declared he had made blood-brotherhood with the chief of the Bhutias across the river, who would come to avenge him if he were hurt. And I fancy that's not quite such nonsense as you would think. I saw Minjar there that time I got the orchid----'

Forstermann heard no more of the tale. The orchid! They reached the pool, and he shot ducks conscientiously, but his thoughts were busy in devising means to lead the conversation back to that point.

There was no need of finesse, however. At a word the manager told everything. He it was who found the Cypripedium which had caused such a fuss, when shooting on the other side of the river--that is, beyond British territory. Struck with its beauty, he gathered a plant or two and gave them to Mr. Spicer. It took him several days' journey to reach the spot, but he was shooting by the way. Tigers abounded there--so did fever.

The mountaineers were as unfriendly as they dared to be. For these reasons Mr. Spicer begged him not to return. The same motive, doubtless, caused the planter to be reticent towards others.

With a clear conscience and heartiest thanks Forstermann bade his host farewell next day. He had a long and painful search before him still, for his informant could give no more than general directions. The plant grew upon rocks along the bed of a stream to the north-west of Mr. Spicer's plantation, not less than two days' journey from the river--that was about all. The inhabitants of the country, besides tigers, were savages.

Many a stream did Forstermann explore under the most uncomfortable circ.u.mstances, wading thigh-deep, hour after hour, day after day. I am sorry that I have not room even to summarise the long letter in which he detailed those adventures.

To search the upland waters would have been comparatively easy; he might have walked along the bank. But the Cypripedium grew in a valley; and nowhere is tropical vegetation more dense than in those steaming clefts which fall from the mountains of Bhutan. To cut a path was out of the question; the work would have lasted for months, putting expense aside. It was necessary to march up the bed of the stream.

Forstermann ascended each tributary with patient hopefulness, knowing that success was certain if he could hold out. And it came at length to one so deserving; but the manager had wandered to a much greater distance than he thought. After wading all the forenoon up a torrent which had not yet lost its highland chill, Forstermann reached a glade, encircled by rocks steep as a wall--so steep that he had to fashion rakes of bamboo wherewith to drag down the ma.s.ses of orchid which clung to them. It was Cypripedium Spicerianum!

Then arose the difficulty of getting his plunder away. After much journeying to and fro, Forstermann engaged thirty-two Bhutias, half of them to carry rice for the others along those mountain tracks, where 25 lbs. is a heavy load. So they travelled until, one day, after halting at a village, the men refused to advance. The road ahead was occupied by a tiger--I should mention that such alarms had been incessant; in no country are tigers so common or so dangerous as in Bhutan. Forstermann drove them along; at the next bit of jungle eight threw down their loads and vanished. He found himself obliged to return, but eight more were missing when he reached the village. There was no other road. Gradually the poor fellow perceived that he must abandon his enterprise or clear the path. At sunset, they told him, the brute would be watching--probably in a tree, described with precision. Forstermann spent the time in writing farewell letters--making his will, perhaps. Towards sunset, he took a rifle and a gun and sallied forth.

The Bhutias a.s.sured him that there was no danger--from this enemy, at least--until he reached the neighbourhood of the tree; but we may imagine the terrors of that lonely walk, which must be repeated in darkness, if he lived, or if the tiger did not show. But luck did not desert a man so worthy of favour. He recognised the tree, an old dead stump overhanging the path, clothed in ferns and creepers. Surveying it as steadily as the tumult of his spirits would allow, in the fading light he traced a yellow glimmer among the leaves. Through his field-gla.s.s, at twenty yards'

distance, he scrutinised this faint shadow. The tiger grew impatient--softly it raised its head--so softly behind that screen of ferns that a casual wayfarer would not have noticed it. But it was the hint Forstermann needed. With a prayer he took aim, fired--threw down his rifle and s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun. But crash--stone-dead fell the tiger, and its skin is a hearthrug on which I stood to hear this tale.

So on March 9, 1884, 40,000 plants of Cypripedium Spicerianum were offered at Stevens' Auction Rooms.