Part 11

The Green Dragonwort and Jack-in-the-Pulpit were known, until recently, generically as _Arum_. _Arisæma_ antedates _Arum_, referring to the red-blotched stalks of some species. Jack-in-the-Pulpit to-day is known in the science as _Arisæma triphyllum_. The origin of the name Jack-in-the-Pulpit is recent, and, like Indian Turnip, is purely of American origin. Clara Smith of Medford, Massachusetts, so christened these Dragonworts, in a poem which was sent to Whittier for revision. He published it in _Child Life_, about 1884, after amending and adding several lines. The poem became popular, and the flower was thereafter known as “Jack-in-the-Pulpit.”

Columbine was especially plentiful along the hillsides; and the hollows and crevices of rocks were filled with blade-like leaves, resembling Sweet Flag (_Acorus Calamus_). They proved, however, to be the leaves of the Blackberry Lily (_Gemmingia Chinensis_). This lily creeps from southern New York to Georgia. The seeds resemble blackberries. The plant produces several large blossoms in a terminal bracted cluster, of an orange color mottled with purple. This species was formerly known as _Pardanthus_, meaning a Leopard-Flower. The roots are of a golden color.

Returning from the Point of Rocks above Deer Park, I passed along lanes bordered with cedars and junipers, while violets, rosy-pinks and tufts of maiden-hair spleenwort clung to the ledges. On leaving the swamp below, I found a drowsy diamond snake in a stupor, from having recently swallowed a bird or frog. The diamond-shaped checks upon his skin betrayed his species. He is considered venomous, therefore I remained a safe distance from him.

On May 18th I again visited the Point of Rocks and McLean’s Woods, searching for _Orchis spectabilis_ and for _Cypripedium parviflorum_. Leaving the car at Bedford Park, we struck westward, coming out near Poe Park, where still stands that quaint white cottage in which Poe wrote _The Raven_. We bore around the slopes, northward beyond the Racing Park, and entered a country lane, soon turning again to the left into the forest, where stood great pools of water. Along the sluggish stream grew many rare species of fern. Finally we entered Jerome Avenue, leading toward Yonkers.

We searched the borders of the roadside for that little two-leaved orchid, Twayblade (_Leptorchis liliifolia_), formerly known as Lily-leaved Liparis, which grows here in the moist woods. We were too early for it, however. We turned off into the deeper woods till we came to the tangled edges of McLean’s Swamp. Here, a little later, I collected pink azaleas and marsh marigolds, golden-ragwort,—known as the False Valerian (_Senecio aureus_),—white mustard, and water-cress,—also of the Mustard Family. Throughout these beautiful woods the Broad-Beech Fern (_Phegopteris hexagonoptera_) and the Oak Fern (_Phegopteris Dryopteris_) dwell. The Jack-in-the-Pulpit and Indian Cucumbers were here, towering above the False Lilies-of-the-Valley and Trillium; and among these vines the dainty golden-shoes of the Fragrant Cypripedium tripped forth like fairy’s foot-gear. The Indian Cucumber (_Medeola Virginiana_) is a strange plant belonging to the Lily-of-the-Valley Family. The root is tuberous, of a white, brittle substance, with a flavor like that of the garden cucumber. The leaves occur in two whorls along the slender stalk. About the middle of the stem there is a whorl of five to nine oblong-lanceolate leaves; above this another smaller whorl occurs, with three to five leaves; and still above this, all the small flowers nod toward the ground.

_Medeola_ is an adaptation of Medea, the name of the daughter of King Æetes of Colchis, who aided Jason by her witchcraft, and was afterward deserted by him. This plant is supposed to possess magic properties as a medicine, and is thus used by the Indians and other superstitious folk.

Colonies of Brake and Clayton’s Fern grew in the hollows on the hill, and about the stagnant pools northward. We wandered up and down the slopes with eyes bent upon the ground, carefully pacing between the vines, searching for the Golden Moccasin-Flowers. Most of the buds still were folded within the sepals, although we found a few that were showing their golden tips and carmine lacing-petals. In the swamps beyond, we gathered a dozen Nodding Wake-Robins (_Trillium cernuum_). This species is not so gaudy as the Painted Trillium, being of a delicate rose-pink, and often pure white.

Later in the week, while exploring to the east beyond the lane toward Mount Vernon, I ran upon a select group of _Cypripedium parviflorum_, many stems of which bore two blossoms. This colony grew beneath pines, cedars, thorns, and dogwood trees. The soil was rich and dry, and the leaves, for the most part, were blown off the bare black soil. I counted a hundred plants—evidently seedlings—besides the ones in bloom. Some were at least three or four years old; others were of only one or two seasons’ growth. The smallest plants were but a few months old. I had never found so many natural seedlings of Cypripedium before.

We journeyed homeward through Putnam Valley to Mosholu, passing Van Courtlandt Mansion. Near Cold Spring, along the borders of the Golf Links, we found the handsome leaves of Bloodroot (_Sanguinaria Canadensis_), of the Poppy Family, which is one of the early flowers, and is pure white. The roots contain a reddish orange juice which looks like blood, whence the name is derived.

At the crossing of the Putnam Railroad, we passed over the bridge near Deer Park, east of Mosholu. Leaving the road abruptly, we turned to the right, following along the west shore of the Putnam Swamp, which is filled with the rank growth of skunk’s-cabbage, Indian poke, tangled grape-vines, mints, mustards, golden ragwort, violets, dog’s-tooth lilies, and unknown measures of wild ginger root, stick-tights, or “pitchforks,” and cockle-burrs.

The Yellow Cypripedium also, at one time, grew along the edges of the swamp, amid the Indian poke, violets, and lilies. Slowly we climbed the hill toward the northwest, along winding paths among white birch saplings, pines, and junipers, until we reached the Point of Rock near Lowerre, this pile of granite being the highest along the Putnam Division, in this vale. On the east of the rocks, we found a dozen or more plants of the Showy Orchis, scattered among the stones and vines. Their flowers, however, were faded, and fell as soon as touched. Among the low bushes and plants I found a colony of the leafless parasitic Cancer-Root (_Thalesia uniflora_), of the Broom-Rape Family.

[Illustration: =1. Indian Pipes.= (_Monotropa uniflora._) =2. Pine-Sap.= (_Hypopitys Hypopitys_).

“_Humbly it wears its robe of snow,_ _When summer gives its bud release,_ _And Indians called it long ago_ _The Calumet or Pipe of Peace._”

W. M. L.]

Another plant lacking green leaves is the Indian Pipe or Corpse-Plant (_Monotropa uniflora_), frequently met among the Orange Mountains of New Jersey, and throughout the Hoosac Highlands. It grows among decayed brush-heaps in dark woods, during June and August. There are twelve species of _Monotropaceæ_. The flowers of a sister genus of _Monotropa_, found in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, are remarkable for their deep rose-carmine coloring. It is sometimes known as the Snow-Plant (_Sarcodes sanguinea_). The tall club-like, fleshy spikes are encircled with crimson pipe-shaped flowers, often sixty or even a hundred being found on one spike. A specimen plant, collected in Washoe Valley near Franktown, Nevada, was sent to me last season, on May 15th. The flowers grow there along the higher slopes of the mountains, at an elevation from six to nine thousand feet above sea level, amid brakes, pine, fir, cedar, golden-chestnut bushes, and the beautiful evergreen shrub, Manzanita (_Arctostaphylos pungens_).

Above the Point of Rocks, a rough canvas tent was pitched in a crevice of the ledge—probably the temporary abode of Italian green venders. Columbines, rock-pinks, violets, and Wood Betony (_Pedicularis Canadensis_) crept along our path. The plants of the Wood Betony produce yellowish-green as well as crimson-purple flowers. They are often called Lousewort. Children often mis-name them orchids, believing this term suitable to all odd-looking flowers.

The white Monumental Rock, east of Mosholu Swamp, is covered with glacial scratches. From its summit a dream of visual delight spreads toward the blue walls of the Palisades along the Hudson. The blossoming wood, waving with pink and white dogwood branches, the western slope of the rock itself, banked with rosy pinks, nodding lily-bells, and columbine, form a scene the impression of which never can fade from the mind.

Passing the station of Mosholu, we followed the path along the railroad southwardly near the marsh. Here, during July, three rare species of Habenaria will bloom. And in the meadows farther northward, the Ladies’ Tresses—genus _Gyrostachys_ of the Orchid Family—and the Blue Fringed Gentians (_Gentiana crinita_) will unfold in September and October. Soon we came to the end of the swampy path, and entered the broad meadows of Van Courtlandt Farm. In the distance the antique Colonial Mansion of Revolutionary fame stood out among the ancient trees. Over these fields the first bobolinks of the season were carolling. I found one of their eggs among the grasses. It is a risky nesting-ground for birds. The parades of the militia form upon these fields, the regiments’ camp being located east of the mansion. The trees along the lanes hereabout are English species, planted years ago by the owner of the mansion. Many are crumbling and decaying as the mills to the left. Another half century will do away with such as these. To the right flows Spuyten Duyvil Creek,—a small, elusive stream; and as it glides into the swamp beyond, it covers much marsh-land, where sedges and cat-tails flourish and no one dares to wade.

[Illustration: =The Snow-Plant of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.= (_Sarcodes sanguinea._)]

XIV

The Swamp of Oracles—Hoosac Valley

Science is welcome to the deepest recesses of the forest, for there, too nature obeys the same old civil laws. The little red bug on the stump of a pine,—for it the wind shifts and the sun breaks through the clouds.—THOREAU, _Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers_.

On June 6th I departed from New York for the Hoosac Valley, to obtain photographs of my orchids and their haunts. Rosy-faces, golden-slippers, witches’-bells, and milky-white stars all arose from the earth at once in gay array, and disputed their line of order in posing for their pictures. I had sent no forewarning of my coming to the swamps. I fancied I should find more flowers in bloom if I took them by surprise.

The morning of the seventh, I hurried off at sunrise through the dewy meadows. I felt sure I was too late for the Showy Orchis and the Ram’s-Head Cypripedium, the former having faded in Bronx Valley as early as May 18th. The hills were glorious; the robins, orioles, and bobolinks were carolling joyously. The meadows, still heavy with dew, caused me to choose my path along the edges of the Bone Lot near the old Pond Hole. This I found fringed with pink azaleas,—the swamp-apple blossoms loved of the children hereabout. I entered the chestnut wood beyond, and sought the colony of the Large Yellow Moccasin-Flowers, only to find that the shoes had been broken from their stems, and that there were none remaining. Still, there were other groups in the Swamp of Oracles, and I proceeded to scout the slopes leading to the hollow below, winding about the knolls—or Sugar-loaves, as they are called here. These glacial hills are worthless barren pastures at best, seldom ploughed for rye or corn, for all attempted crops of grain here have proven thin and dwarfed, and when it rains gutters burrow in the hillsides.

As I descended through Patterson’s Meadows, the air was musical with humming bees and birds. Moths and butterflies sailed lazily about the pools below, hovering about the first blossoms of Fleur-de-lis. Over the rolling fields near, the tender leaves of Indian-corn rustled musically in the breeze, and crows were still lingering on the fence, not in the least frightened by the snares and scarecrows about the field. I found the meadow ablaze with late Columbine (_Aquilegia Canadensis_); I had never before seen fields so luxuriant with the blossoms of this plant. They danced among the daisies, and outnumbered the grasses in their patches. The generic name _Aquilegia_, or _Aquileia_, is said in our manuals to be derived from _Aquila_, an eagle, since the curves of the hollow spurs of these flowers resemble an eagle’s talons. But in this case, the name should read _Pes Aquilegia_. Among the ancient herbals, however, there is no record of this derivation. Originally, as Dodoens wrote in 1578, this plant was known as _Aquileia_. Aquileia was also the name of a town in the vicinity of ancient Troy. The town was celebrated in history for its desperate resistance to Attila, King of the Huns. Assuming that the origin of the name is vague, and observing the customs of the ancients in the naming of plants, it might be inferred that these flowers were first observed in the town of Aquileia, or were named in honor of a king or herbalist of the region. This was the case with the _Pæonia_, which took its title from that good old man, Dr. Pæon of Pæonia, in Macedonia. The origin of the common name _Columbine_, also, has occasioned of late much discussion in the popular plant journals.[44] One author, claiming that the spurs of these flowers resembled a dove’s-foot, said that the name should read “_Pes Columbinus_”—_pes_ meaning foot, and _columbinus_ signifying dove. But “_Pes Columbinum_” was used by the ancients to designate an allied group of _Aquilegia_, a species of wild geranium, written of by Linnæus in 1753 as _Geranium Columbinum_. It is commonly known in English as Dove’s-foot Geranium, and in French as _Pied de pigeon_.

According to Gaza, species of _Aquilegia_ were supposed to have been named originally by Theophrastus—centuries before Christ—_Ponthos Theophrasti_. Theophrastus is accepted as our first real botanist leaving extant records of plants. The name _Columbine_ for these species appears to have originated in England, or in the Low Countries. Dodoens described them under that title as early as 1578; and as botany was not actually revived until 1530 and 1542, we may accept Dodoens as authoritative on the common names of that day. He writes of the Columbine: “The shape and proportion of the leaves of the floures do seem to represent the figure of a dove or culver,—these floures produce hollows with a long-crooked tayle like a Lark’s-claw (and bending somewhat toward the proportion of the necke of a Culver).”[45] The honeyed-spurs of Columbine, therefore, suggested the curve of a dove’s-neck rather than the dove’s-foot or the eagle’s-talons. Another author is reminded of a “dove’s-cote,” as he looks into the open flower, which seems to him a fitting home for doves.

Columbine-flowers are often called “Honeysuckles” by children. The name Honeysuckle, however, applies to the Woodbines which Dodoens describes as growing with flowers “in tufts like nosegaies, of a pleasant color, and long and hollow almost like the little bags of Columbine.” The Columbine became confused with the Honeysuckles of the Woodbine Family, since Columbines produce “little bags of honey”—which the children sucked and christened. Furthermore there is a resemblance in the long hollow spurs of the Woodbine flowers to those of Columbine blossoms.

The Columbines belong to the Crowfoot Family (_Ranunculaceæ_), and are closely allied with sister genera, including Clematis, Anemone, Hepatica, Meadow Rue, False Bugbane, Buttercup, Marsh Marigold, Goldthread, Larkspur, Aconite, and Monkshood. These species produce plants with cut leaves, as it were, resembling feet, claws, or talons of various birds, animals, and fishes.

Continuing my journey, I crossed the edges of Rabbit Plain, observing the low blue huckleberry bushes, laden with green fruit, and the flaming flowers of the deep pink azaleas. Through the bushes peered the white schoolhouse of District Fourteen. I wandered along the border of the wood just out of sight of the curious gaze of the children. A cow-path led windingly along the shades for a quarter of a mile. Near the bars above the Swamp of Oracles, I found a spike of the Small Round-Leaved Orchis (_Habenaria Hookeriana_) in bud. I blazed a tree above it, marking the spot for another day when the flowers should be in blossom. Crossing the East Pownal road, I turned into a hollow to the west, following along over decaying logs and pine brush-heaps. The ground sent up a rich pitch-like perfume as the sun poured down upon the mossy sod. Wild lilies were abundant here, producing the largest leaves I ever saw. Solomon’s Seal, arbutus, and wintergreen leaves (_Gaultheria_) were creeping everywhere near the edges of the deeper wood. Within the denser shades, growing among pine logs and heaps of leaves, I found the Great Round-Leaved Orchis, so seldom found in the lower vales. It proved to be a seedling, too young to bloom. The leaves were like large saucers, and of a beautiful silvery green underneath. The plant is always suggestive of the luxuriant tropics. I marked the corner, and shielded it from any chance vandal eye with a broken branch of black birch.

The slopes leading to Cold Spring, in the hollow below, were abrupt, and I was forced to slide most of the distance, clinging to the bushes. I came out at the foot of the hill in the midst of a colony of Sweet Canada Violets (_Viola Canadensis_) in full bloom. They grew along the borders of a little brook flowing through a dense thicket of soft maple and black birches. I had never before found this species in flower here. It seemed to have flown down from the heights of the Dome, to grace this swamp. Belated purple birthroot and its sister, the painted trillium, were still nodding here. There were also a few pale-faced priests-in-the-pulpit, unlike the larger coarse purple ones found in Bronx Valley. These Indian Turnips are not abundant here as in the swamps and hills of Mosholu. The wild leek of genus _Allium_ seeks the higher mountainsides.

I followed the Canadensis Brook to the edge of the Swamp of Oracles, crossing Ball Brook at the junction of these streams. I penetrated where the rarer orchids dwell, and where few children dare to travel. I was still too early for the Showy Queen Moccasin-Flower, but on time for the large and the small golden slippers, as well as the Pink Acaule—that humble two-leaved Cypripedium which, as a rule, only seeks the dryer edges of the swamps. The Large Yellow Moccasin-Flowers were beginning to fade and turn brown. The swamp was luxuriant in its growth of ferns and vines and foliage. Dogwood trees are very scarce here, but the azaleas, mountain laurel, or calico-bush, and the lambkill flowers make up for the missing snowy blossoms.

In the heart of the swamp I was attracted by an uprooted tree, about whose stump stagnant water had settled, now reflecting the shadows and sunshine as a miniature lake. Several baby deer-mice were in the pool. Many were dead, and the live ones were swimming about in desperation. I counted six or seven in all. I fished them out, and placed them on the sun-dried moss, which covered the roots of the turnover, forming little islands in the lake. But these white-faced, pink-eyed little creatures were no safer after my rescue than before; for soon, in their nervous fright, they crawled off the mossy islands, and were still swimming when—not wishing to witness the end—I went away. It was one of the many mid-forest tragedies which Nature seems to plan with so little philosophy, and which I knew I could not prevent. Had I removed them from the water again and placed them at a distance from the mud-hole over which they were born, certain starvation would have awaited them. In the topmost parts of the overturned stump, amid the roots and peat, a pile of forest leaves was rudely huddled, forming the deer-mouse mansion, hidden from the crawling turtles and creeping snakes, as well as from the hawks and owls in the trees above. There are many natural causes of destruction for such animals in the woods. Usually I have found the deer-mouse’s nest in low thorn-apple bushes, at least six feet above the ground, but always near the borders of streams. Such nests at first remind one of a last year’s bird-nest filled with drifted autumn leaves, until the little wildwood albinos are discovered.

With my vasculum packed full of perfect blossoms, I started homeward, following the Pownal Centre road westward, in order to have a look at the Ram’s-Head Cypripedium. On the edge of the marsh, as usual I found the two hundred unfolding buds of the Pink Moccasins (_Cypripedium acaule_).

Near the Amidon Meadows, I startled up two mother partridges and their broods—the Ruffled Grouse (_Bonasa umbellus_), so prolific in these woods. The old hens, fluttering and sputtering, limped away with their wings drooping, and continued to warn their chickens to hide. The little speckled fellows were soon lost sight of beneath the dead leaves at my feet. They ceased to peep, and being of the colors of the leaves, I hardly dared to advance for fear of stepping upon them. I sat down upon a stone by a tree, and waited for the return of the wild hens. Before long, I heard a rustling of leaves in the distance, and a clucking and calling as of a tame hen summoning her chickens to feed upon a worm. The little brown balls began—one, three, then a dozen, all at once to take their heads from under the leaves, and they ran like streaks of lightning. The mother partridge came so near, unawares, that I saw the color of her eyes. Finally, discovering me, she in terror signalled again, much as the tame hen does in real or fancied danger. The little grouse hid again, some of them putting their heads under leaves, while the body was wholly exposed.

On June 8th I visited Rattlesnake Swamp. Pink Moccasin-Flowers and late blossoms of Painted Trillium were abundant under the hemlocks along the slopes of the Domelet.

On June 10th I heard of a colony of albinos or white _Cypripedium acaule_ reported on the Rabbit Plain north of the Swamp of Oracles. In searching unsuccessfully for it, I frightened up an old mother whippoorwill. She feigned broken wings, attempting to distract my attention from her two unprotected yellow eggs upon the leaves at my feet. Both partridges and whippoorwills remain on their nests until almost stepped upon, as a rule, believing that they are concealed because of their dead-leaf ground-coloring. The old whippoorwill perched on some distant pine logs, and moaned piteously while I looked at her eggs. Her great round, sad eyes distressed me, while she gave forth a sighing sound. I broke down a small tree over the nest and near the path as I left, hung my linen collar on a tree, marking the line of entrance for another day.