STORY OF ODONTOGLOSSUM HARRYANUM
Men supremely great in science have a quality beyond reason, such as we term instinct, enabling them to leap over the slow processes of demonstration, and announce a law or a result unsuspected, which they cannot yet prove. The great Collector Benedict Roezl had this gift. Returning from the memorable expedition in which he discovered the Miltonia commonly called Odontoglossum vexillarium, he assured Mr. Sander that in those parts would be found a true Odontoglossum of unusual colouring. When asked the grounds for his opinion he could only say he ‘smelt it.’ Mr. Sander was not unused to this expression, and he knew by experience that Roezl’s scientific nose might be trusted. It was something in the air, in the ‘lie’ of the country, in the type of vegetation, which guided him, no doubt. Other collectors born and bred have a like sense. Roezl showed his supremacy by the confident prediction that this new species would be darker than any known, and striking in the combination of its tints.
This was in 1875. Ten years later Professor Reichenbach wrote to Mr. Sander of an astounding Odontoglossum he had seen—it may be necessary to tell the unlearned that Professor Reichenbach was the very genius of orchidology. Nothing in the least resembling it had been even rumoured hitherto. And then Reichenbach described Odontoglossum Harryanum. The raptures of that enthusiast were wont to divert admiring friends, expressed with quaint vehemence, but always suggesting that he mocked himself the while. Never had he such a theme as this. Speaking with due thought and sufficient knowledge, I declare that Odontoglossum Harryanum is the most finished result of Nature’s efforts to produce a flower which should startle and impress by its colours alone, without eccentricity of shape or giant size, or peculiarities of structure. Remembering that not all the world has seen this flower, I should give just a hint of the means employed. Fancy, then, eight or ten great blooms, dark chestnut in tone, barred with yellow, striped with mauve; the lip white, broadly edged with a network of bluish purple and intersected by a deep stain of that tint, beyond which is spread a sheet of snow; touch with gold here and there, and you have the ‘scheme of colour.’ Those who knew the great savant can imagine how he raved after giving, with luminous precision, his scientific report of the new orchid.
Reichenbach persuaded himself, by study of the flower, that it must be a native of Mexico. He was wrong for once, but people were so used to regard him as infallible that Mr. Sander did not think of doubting the assertion. Presently, however, it became known that Messrs. Veitch had bought the plants, a dozen or so, from Messrs. Horsman. And then Mr. Sander learned by accident that the latter firm received a small case of orchids from Barranquilla, twelve months before. While pondering this news, Roezl’s unforgotten prophecy flashed into his mind. Barranquilla, in the United States of Columbia, is the port of that district where Odontoglossum vexillarium is found! He had a collector not far away. Within an hour this gentleman, Mr. Kerbach, received a telegram short and imperative: ‘Go Amalfi.’ Not waiting an explanation Kerbach replied ‘Gone!’—reached Amalfi in due course, and found another telegram containing a hint that sufficed, ‘New Odontoglossum.’
Kerbach began to inquire the same day. It was hardly credible that an orchid of importance could have been overlooked in the neighbourhood of Amalfi, where collectors—French, Belgian, and English—had been busy for years. A hunt there would be very unpromising. Kerbach wandered about, asking questions. Thus at Medellin he made acquaintance with a Bank clerk. It may be noted, by the way, that the inhabitants of that busy and thriving town, the bulk of them, are descendants of Maranos—that is, Jews converted by the processes of the Inquisition. Doubtless there are records which explain why and how many thousands of those people assembled in a remote district of New Granada, but they themselves appear to have lost the tradition; they have lost their ancestral faith also, for there are no more devout Catholics. The religious instincts of the race assert themselves, however, for New Granadans in general are not more fervent than other creoles of South America, while the town of Medellin is an oasis of piety.
The Bank clerk was questioned as usual, though not a likely person to take note of plants. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘there was a customer of ours at the Bank yesterday, swearing like a wild Indian at orchids and everybody connected with them. I should advise you to keep out of his way.’
‘What have the orchids done to him?’ asked Kerbach.
‘I wasn’t listening, but I’ll inquire.’ And presently he brought the explanation. A young French collector had been in those parts some years before. He stayed a while at the planter’s house, and there discovered an orchid which stirred him to enthusiasm. After gathering a quantity he made arrangements with his host for a shipment to follow next season, promising a sum which astonished the native. But this young man was drowned in the Couca. After a while Don Filipe resolved to despatch a few of the weeds on his own account to Europe, and he consigned them to a friend at Barranquilla. But the friend never returned him a farthing. He had handed the case to some one else for shipment, and this some one, he said, could not get his money from England. It is pleasant to hear, however, that Don Filipe had implicit trust in British honesty. He proclaimed his friend a swindler, and doubtless he was right.
All the cash that this good man was out of pocket could not well have exceeded ten dollars, and his time did not count. Perhaps he would have been less furious had the loss been greater. Anyhow he nursed his wrath with Indian stubbornness—for Don Filipe was an Indian, though distinguishable from a white only in character, as are myriads at this day.
Kerbach did not doubt that he had found his Odontoglossum, and gaily started for the hacienda. Some little diplomacy might be needed, and rather more cash than usual; but of course a sane man would come to terms at last. Don Filipe was absent when he arrived—a fortunate chance, perhaps. Meantime Kerbach entertained the ladies, played with the children, and made himself agreeable. The haciendero found him seated at the piano, and applauded with the rest.