HOW TWO WOMEN FOUND THE SHORTIA
I.
BY HARRIET E. FREEMAN
YOU have known the wish that I have had for so many years to see Shortia galacifolia growing in its native habitat; but you will perhaps hardly understand it until you know the history of this interesting flower.
When the elder Michaux, a well-known French botanist, was in this country about 1794, he made a collection of plants from the southern states, taking them back with him to Paris. In 1839, when Dr. Asa Gray was abroad, this old herbarium was of course an object of great interest to him. Upon looking it over, he found a plant he did not know without flowers, having only ripened capsules and leaves, and labeled as having been gathered in "les hautes montagnes de Carolinie."
It was of such interest to him that on his return home he went into that region to look for the flower; but it was all in vain it could not be found. And he asked other botanists going to that region to look for him, but they had no better success. Dr. Gray had found a similar plant in a Japanese herbarium (another instance of the similarity of the Japanese flora and ours), and that only convinced him that this unknown plant of Michaux must be found somewhere in the Carolinas.
He named this American plant after Professor Short of Kentucky, Shortia galacifolia, the specific name given because of the close resemblance of the leaves to those of galax, a low-growing plant common everywhere in the woods of the southern mountains. These leaves are now sent north in such quantities for decorative purposes that they are about as well known here as in the south.
Mystery and silence still surrounded the little plant, until in 1877 a boy found it in the low country of North Carolina. The father of this boy was a botanist, and so by correspondence the name of the plant was learned. Still, it was not found where Michaux had described it, and Dr. Gray was by no means satisfied.
In the fall of 1886 Professor Sargent went down into the mountains of North and South Carolina especially to find specimens of Magnolia cordata, a tree about which there was almost as much mystery. He went out collecting in the day, bringing back the specimens at night.
On one occasion he brought back the leaves of a small plant, gave it to the men in camp, and asked, "What's that?" They were about to reply, "Galax!" when, upon a second glance, they said they did not know. One of them said, laughingly, "Perhaps you have found Shortia." Curiously enough, that very day Professor Sargent had in his mail a letter from Professor Gray bidding him rediscover Shortia and cover himself with glory.
Professor Sargent kept the leaves carefully, and on returning to Boston showed them to Professor Gray, who at once pronounced them to be Shortia. Imagine the joy and interest! Professor Sargent sent word at once to Mr. Boynton, who had been with him in camp and asked him to visit the place again and find the plant.
But these gentlemen had gone their several different ways in their days' excursions, and Professor Sargent was alone when he found those leaves. He wrote the directions as well as he could, and Mr. Boynton made several fruitless efforts before finding the right spot.
I learned all this in my visit to Highlands, North Carolina, in 1896, when I had Mr. Boynton for my guide. He showed me the letter Professor Gray wrote Professor Sargent, which the latter had given him for a souvenir. He had pasted it into the flyleaf of his "Gray's Manual."
I asked him then if he would be my guide into the region, should I ever be able to go there in March when the flower blossoms. He said he would gladly, and from that time I have always had it in mind that I would go there at the first opportunity. I waited six years, but that was little to the years of waiting that Professor Gray had!
II.
OCONEE, WHITE WATER VALLEY, SOUTH CAROLINA, March 19, 1902.
We are here, and we have found it!
Now to begin at the beginning. We left Seneca at half-past nine in our "hack," the morning clear but cold. A pair of small, thin horses, a colored boy for driver, and the vehicle and wheels all covered with yellow mud, of course.
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| House on the drive from Seneca to Oconee |
Because the bridge had been carried away by floods, we had to make a divergence of five miles, making the drive thirty miles for dear Shortia!
We had been told that the road would be uninteresting up to the last moment almost, so we were not unprepared for the dreary waste we went through mile after mile. In order to clear the land, the people simply girdle the trees which then die and stand in various stages of decay. We passed through old corn fields and old cotton fields, and where the crop had not been thoroughly picked from the latter the white bolls looked very pretty.
At first we met a great many teams carrying out shingles from a mill which we did not pass. These were driven by white and black, but more often by the former. Always the men touched their hats to us and gave us friendly greeting.
Going by the mill, we met almost no one on the road; the houses were far apart and there seemed to be nobody about them. Finally, upon a sudden turn of the road, we saw a foaming river before us and no bridge; the road went in on one side and we saw it emerge on the other side. Fording, as you know, is no new thing to me, for I was well used to it in Shelburne, but I knew it was necessary for the driver to know the ford, and something depended upon the horses.
We asked the boy if this were all right and he said, "Yes." But then, he said "Yes" to everything, even when we asked him questions that contradicted each other. So that did not help matters. A line of foaming white breakers extended right across the river where we were to cross. I got out of the carriage and went up on a rock close by the river to look up and down, and the effect of the rapid, broken water was not reassuring. But we saw a camp of men on the opposite bank.
I waved my handkerchief and one of them came down to the edge of the water so we could call across. I said we were afraid and did not like to drive over with our boy. He said that it would be all right if we kept in the right place and did not get too far over to one side; if we did, there was a hole we should go into. We still did not like it and asked if he could not help us; though as there was no raft, or boat, or anything, I did not see how he could. called back that he would wade across and drive us over. So he took off his shoes, rolled his trousers up above his knees and came over, evidently stepping on slippery rocks below and balancing himself very carefully.
Then putting on his shoes he got into our wagon and drove us over in safety. He said the rock was "mighty slickery"; it did look like a single smooth rock which the horses had to walk over. Then he told us how a man with a mule team drove over a week before and did not follow directions and was carried down the river. I should think that it was two hundred feet that we had to cross. I handed out a piece of silver to him, but he said, "Oh, no! I did not do it for pay." But I made him take it, and he said that if we would call to him when we came back he would drive us back again.
Then came more miles of lonely road, more in the woods perhaps. We came sometimes to diverging roads which all looked just alike. There were no guide boards, or if there were, nothing legible was written on them.
We were on a clay road, not very rocky. But you know how clay roads wash, and it can't be helped; so the road was full of deep ruts and gullies. But our negro boy was careful and nice in driving, and the thin, small horses did very well, breaking into a trot themselves whenever there was a bit of good road. We met a good-looking man on foot, and from him we learned we were on the right road to Oconee, and he gave us further directions.
Then we met the postman, on foot, and we stopped to have quite a talk with him,— a tall, thin man with a good face, having but one arm and carrying the mail bag over his shoulder. His horse had got used up with hard work, so now he was doing his duty on foot, twenty miles a day, ten in and ten out, with an average, in the winter, of three letters a day. We bade him farewell and kept on. Meanwhile we had eaten our lunch while driving.
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| Postman to Oconee |
At last, when nearly three o’clock, the character of the land seemed to change a little; it became more rocky and broken, with little streams and with a great tangle of laurel and rhododendron. As we were crossing a little wet place, Caroline and I both called out at almost the same moment; she saw the leaves and I saw something more. I got out and went back.
Yes! there it was. The leaves of the long-lost Shortia galacifolia and a few buds, and then two more buds nearly opening into flowers! We handled them carefully and then drove on, rather despondent. Yes, we had come too early. But then, it was a great deal to have seen the plants and buds. We would try to be satisfied with that.
We drove on to more damp ground, following a little brook where the trees had been cut, which let the sun in more, and there we saw it in abundance, some plants green, some redder, and the dear flowers standing. up a long finger's length, all in full bloom. There is a single flower to each stalk, having five white petals, each delicately fringed. Imagine our delight! We got down on our knees, looked at them, touched them, but did not gather one. For all their abundance, we could not but remember their history, and we could not pick even one to have it fade and then be cast aside.
We knew that Mr. A- lived in the valley, and Mr. Boynton (my Highlands guide) had stayed with him and said he knew he would take us in. We struck Mr. B's house first, and that looked very unpromising. Then we retraced our steps up the White river and found Mr. A----'s. Remember, there is no town here. We have as yet seen but three houses, well apart. Mr. A- was away, but Mrs. A was at home, and when it proved that Mr. Boynton had stayed with her we knew we were at the right place.
There are seven children in the family, from eighteen years down to two, and the younger ones came round us in some surprise. When we talked about the flower they knew what we came for and called it "little coltsfoot." The woman said we were too early for it, but the boy said no; he saw the "bloom" yesterday. They do not speak of flowers, but use the word "bloom" " very prettily.
After we had put our bags into our room the boy Junius went with us on the road following up the bank of the river, and we found the flower in greater or less abundance. We came upon a patch three feet square-nothing but Shortia, and all in bloom. As to that particular patch, it was in perfect bloom, and if we had timed our visit to a day it could not have been better. At night Mr. A- returned and he proved to be an intelligent, friendly man. We are fairly comfortable here - as much as we could expect in this primitive country.
Our supper and breakfast were of eggs and milk and hot bread. No butter! Mrs. A- tried to get it for us but could not. As she sat with us at breakfast, which we ate apart from the family, she said, "I reckon things down here look mighty strange to you all." And she always spoke to us of things" up in your country," as if we came from far away. When we asked the boy what time he got up he replied, "A half hour by sun."
Mr. A, a man of fifty perhaps, has always lived in this valley and of course has always known "little coltsfoot." He says about fifteen years ago some gentlemen from the north came into the valley to hunt for trees, and then they told him about this flower and that it grew nowhere else in the United States. Only in Japan was there a flower that was anything like it.
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| Bed of Shortia |
Since then four men have been in to see it in bloom, the two Boyntons, Harbason, and Kelsey. He could not fail in his knowledge for he has always been here, and this settlement is so small. So we are the first outside women to have seen Shortia in bloom in its own habitat! Isn't that worth our long journey? The day following our arrival here we had the team hitched up for us at ten o'clock and we started with George, the colored boy, for driver and Mr. A-- for guide, to see some big timber, some tulip trees, as we called them poplars, as he called them.
Going up the river a mile, we had to ford; but the water looked so deep Caroline and I preferred to walk the log over which the water swashed just a little. On the other side we got into the wagon for a little while, but directly we got out to walk up the hill which was too steep for the little thin horses to pull us up. So we got in and out according to the road and the fords, for we forded six times, and when there was a log we generally took it.
At an open field we left George and the horses at twenty minutes past eleven, telling him to wait until we got back, and that we did not know how long we should be gone. We followed a trail for awhile, then scrambled through a rhododendron thicket and came to the creek, forty feet across. Mr. A- knew of this and said the only way to get us across was to fell timber. He took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers, and waded across.
After a few minutes we heard the sharp blows of an axe. He had selected his tree and begun work. The chips flew as he kept on. Finally the tree began to sway, totter, and crash! over it came across the river; an ash tree, eighty feet high and ninety years old (as Caroline afterwards computed by the rings), felled to make a footway for us! We crossed one at a time with Mr. A's help, the log lying eight feet above the foaming water.
Then we walked on through rhododendron thickets and through some open places and crossed a very steep bluff, where we had to go one at a time with Mr. A's help. Indeed in some places he went first and left his axe and the camera, then came back and took one of us over and then the other. He was somewhat surprised at our persistency and the ability we showed in getting over a "rough country," and I think we gave a favorable impression of northern ladies; for we must have been the first he had ever seen under such conditions.
Finally we came to the big timber - tulip trees, circumference sixteen and a half feet; chestnut trees, circumference fourteen feet; liquidambar, circumference nine feet; rhododendron, twenty-one inches in circumference. These were not guesses, for Caroline had her measuring tape. Mr. A- guessed on the poplars that they were one hundred and twenty-five feet high and seventy-five to eighty feet to the first branch.
But the Shortia! Beds of it! Banks of it! The ground was carpeted with it; large leaves, and such a luxuriant growth! For all that the leaves are evergreen they have a remarkably fresh and bright look, as if they were a new year’s growth. No rustiness or dullness, as if they had weathered a winter. We saw some flowers, but not a great many. Growing so much in the shade these flowers were later in blooming; but it was a great deal to us to see these masses of plants.
We made our way back to George and the horses and found them just as we had left them-headed away from home. It was ten minutes of three, and we had been gone three hours and a half. Reaching the house at four, we had some biscuits and hot milk, and started out for another walk down the river bank among thickets of the rhododendron.
We went to the post-office, kept by a widow, and there her two little girls told us there were "blooms over yonder on the branch," and we started off with them for another look at "little coltsfoot." The banks were simply covered with it. The woods had been cut off, so the plants were somewhat exposed to the sun. The consequence was they had not the rich, full leafy growth we saw in the woods this morning, but they had many more buds.
In a week's time the ground will be literally white with blossoms; and the little folks, three of them with us, kept saying the blooms would be "right pretty," and why couldn't we stay to see them, or why couldn't we come back.
The children are so pretty in their manners and so helpful, and their parents are so friendly that we feel sorry to leave the little valley, quite apart from saying good-bye to Shortia. The people are very poor, simply farmers, and to us the land looks so unpromising. And they have so little to do with!
They think it a wonder that we should have known of their flower and have come so far to see it. But it is worth the journey, and I am indeed glad that I have at last been able to bring to pass the wish of the last six years of my life.
