These Caribs are more or less descended from the Indians of Jamaica. Early in the last century the British Government collected the survivors of that hapless race, and planted them out of harm’s way in the Island of St. Vincent, uninhabited at the time. They did not thrive, however, and in 1796 the Government transported them once more to the Island of Roatan, in the Bay of Honduras.
But an extraordinary change had come over the poor creatures. We are to suppose that when landed at St. Vincent their type was mostly if not wholly Indian; when taken away it was to all appearance negro. Probably a slave ship had been wrecked there, and the blacks, escaping, killed all the male Indians, taking the women to wife; such is the theory, but there is no record. A transformation so sudden and complete in such brief time is striking evidence of the African vigour, for in hair, features, complexion, and build the Carib is a negro.
But not in character. He has virtues to which neither red man nor black lay claim—industry, honesty, truthfulness, staunch fidelity to his engagements and readiness to combine. The mahogany cutters have a Guild, which holds itself responsible for the failure of any member to execute work for which he has been paid; it cannot be called a Trade Union, because, so far as I learn, it has no other purpose—except jollification. In brief, the Carib of Honduras is one of the best fellows on earth in his way. He looks down on all about him, negro and Indian and ‘poor white.’ If a stranger suspect him of trickery, he thinks it defence enough to exclaim—‘Um Carib man, sah!’ And so it is, as a rule.
Messrs. Brown Ponder had lately taken on a new hand—let us call him Sam. This young fellow had been wandering up and down the coast some years, doing any honest work that turned up. Thus he had served in the boat’s crew of M. Sécard, when that gentleman was collecting orchids in Guiana. The experience had taught him that flowers have value, and he returned from his first visit to the bush, after entering the firm’s service, with the announcement of a marvel. We may fancy the report which negro imagination would draw of Brassavola Digbyana. The mysterious fringe did not puzzle Sam at all. It was long enough to serve the purpose of chevaux de frise, to keep off monkeys and birds! M. Sécard used to give him a dollar apiece for things not to be compared with it! In short, here was a fortune for the gathering—and what terms would Mr. Brown offer him?
Mr. Brown offered nothing at all. Residents in Honduras are curiously apathetic about orchids even now. I think it may be said that no collector has visited their country, which is the explanation perhaps. Moreover, Mr. Brown well knew the liveliness of the Carib imagination. Sam had met with only one or two belated flowers, which he displayed. But the shapeless little cluster of withered petals was no evidence of beauty—quite the reverse. Everybody cut his jokes upon it.
It might be supposed that a man would carry his wares to another market under such circumstances. But that is not the Carib way; it would be a breach of loyalty. Good-naturedly Sam told Mr. Brown that he was a fool, with an adjective for emphasis. They were all adjective fools, he assured them daily. But to treat with a rival could not enter his mind.
The gang had returned to the bush when young Mr. Ponder came back from Bluefields. His partner mentioned Sam’s idea as a jest in conversation when several friends were present. One of them recalled how Governor Digby had sent some orchids to Europe ages ago, which sold for a mint of money. Others had heard something of the legend. Ponder, young and enterprising, inclined to think the matter worth notice. He inquired among the oldest inhabitants, Carib and negro. Many recollected the Governor’s speculation, and the orchid also, when pressed. It was as big as a bunch of bananas, blue—no, red—no, yellow; shaped just like a boat, or a bird, or a star, or a monkey climbing a tree, and so forth. But all agreed about the fringe, ‘now you come to mention it.’ Ponder saw they knew nothing beyond the mere fact. But he made up his mind to get some specimens next rainy season, and judge for himself whether a consignment would be likely to pay.
In due time the cutters appeared with their rafts of timber. It was not the moment to broach an unfamiliar subject. Calculations awfully intricate for those honest fellows had to be made intelligible to them once more, and then to be discussed, approved, explained again, and finally accepted or compromised. The Caribs passed all day in argument and in measuring the logs over and over; all night in working sums of arithmetic on fingers and toes. At length the amount due was computed amicably, as usual, and paid. But then, not without embarrassment, the whole gang, ‘gave notice.’
When such an event occurs, under such circumstances, an employer knows the reason. His Caribs have found gold. There is nothing to be said beyond wishing them luck. But Mr. Ponder asked Sam to get him a few of his orchids next rains. Sam declined, somewhat roughly. Mr. Ponder laid the dispute before the Guild, so to call it, which pronounced that Sam must carry out his proposal before leaving the firm’s service.
The dry season was well advanced by this time, and all flowers had withered. Nevertheless Sam jumped into a canoe, swearing, and started up the river with a couple of Indians. In three or four days he returned with a boat-load of orchids, sent them to the warehouse, and vanished. They proved to be a miscellaneous collection, all sorts and sizes; evidently the men had just gathered anything they came across.