The Hut.
THERE can be little doubt that mankind has borrowed from the lower animals the first idea of a dwelling, and it is equally true, as we shall presently see, that not only primitive ideas of Architecture are to be found in Nature, but that many, if not all, modern refinements have been anticipated.
To begin at the beginning. The first idea of a habitation is evidently a mere shelter or roof that will keep off rain from the inhabitant. When Mr. Bowdich was travelling in Western Africa, he was told that the Njina—another name for the Gorilla—made huts for itself from branches, the natives also saying that it defended these huts with extemporised spears. A more truthful account is given of the Mpongwe and Shekiani, namely, that the animal builds a hut, but lives on the roof, and not under it.
Although this information has since proved to be false, there was a foundation of truth in it, for there really is an ape in that part of Africa which makes huts, or rather roofs, for itself. This animal is the Nshiego Mbouvé (Troglodytes calvus).
This remarkable ape has a curious way of constructing a habitation. Choosing a horizontal branch at some distance from the ground for its resting-place, the animal erects above it a roof composed of fresh branches, each laid over the other in such a way that rain would shoot off them as it does from a thatched roof. M. du Chaillu gives the following account of this habitation:—
“As we were not in haste, I bade my men cut down the trees which contained the nests of these apes. I found them made precisely as I have before described, and as I have always found them, of long branches and leaves laid one over the other very carefully and thickly, so as to render the structure capable of shedding water.
“The branches were fastened to the tree in the middle of the structure by means of wild vines and creepers, which are so abundant in these parts. The projecting limb on which the ape perched was about four feet long.
“There remains no doubt that these nests are made by the animal to protect it from the nightly rains. When the leaves begin to dry to that degree that the structure no longer sheds water, the owner builds a new shelter, and this happens generally once in ten or fifteen days. At this rate the Nshiego mbouvé is an animal of no little industry.”
The roof which this ape builds is from six to eight feet in diameter, and is tolerably circular, so that it looks something like a large umbrella. When the animal is at rest it sits on the branch with one arm thrown round the stem of the tree, in order to support itself during sleep. In consequence of this attitude the hair is rubbed away on one side, thus earning for the ape the specific title of calvus, or bald.
It is rather remarkable that the Orang-outan of Borneo is likewise a house-builder, though not in the same manner as the African ape which has just been mentioned. This animal has a way of weaving together the branches of trees, so as to make a platform on which it can repose, its enormously powerful arms being of great service in this task. The animal seems to make its platform in quite a mechanical manner, and it has been noticed that when an Orang-outan has been mortally wounded, it has expended its last energies in twisting the branches together so as to form a couch on which it can lie down and die.
Putting aside those cases where huts have been erected in trees by way of amusement, we may find instances where human beings have been forced to make their habitations in trees.
In some places, such as certain parts of South America, the natives are forced to make their houses in trees, partly on account of the climate, and partly for the purpose of avoiding the mosquitoes.
The delta of the Orinoco River is nearly half as large as England, and for a considerable part of the year is deep in water. Yet this tract is inhabited by the Warau tribe, who find in it their only mode of escape from the tiny but terrible mosquito. We in England know but little of the miseries inflicted by these insects, which are so plentiful in some parts of America that they are gathered in bags, pressed into thick cakes about as large as ordinary dinner-plates, and an inch in thickness, and then cooked and eaten.
Now it is found that although the mosquito infests the banks of rivers, it cannot venture far from land. The Waraus, therefore, make for themselves habitations which are far enough from land to baffle the mosquitoes, and near enough to be easily reached in canoes.
Fortunately for them, there is a tree called the Ita Palm, belonging to the genus Mauritia, which loves moisture, and grows abundantly in this delta. The Waraus, therefore, make their habitations in these trees, connecting several of them together with cross-beams, and laying planks upon them so as to form the flooring of their simple huts. Here they maintain themselves chiefly by fishing, but are sometimes obliged to visit the mainland, in spite of the mosquitoes. When, however, they return, they halt at some distance from the shore, and with green boughs carefully beat out every mosquito from the canoe before they dare to approach their dwellings.
The once-celebrated Lake Dwellers of Switzerland evidently lived after a similar fashion.
In this case insects drive human beings into trees, but there are instances where nobler animals have produced the same effect.
Some years ago there lived in Southern Africa a powerful chief called Moselekatze, who spent his whole life in warfare, converting all the male inhabitants into soldiers, dividing them into regiments, ruling them with the extreme of discipline, and by their aid devastating the neighbouring countries. He swept off all the cattle, which constitutes the wealth of the Kafir tribes, and either killed the male inhabitants or pressed them into his service.
The land was in consequence deprived of its natural defenders, and the wild beasts, especially the lions, increased rapidly, so that the position of the survivors was a really terrible one. They had no cattle to furnish the milk which is the chief food of the Kafir tribes; their weapons had been taken by Moselekatze; and they were forced to live almost entirely on locusts and wild plants. By degrees the lions became so numerous and daring, that the slight Kafir huts were an insufficient protection during the night, and the disarmed and half-starved inhabitants were perforce obliged to make their habitations in trees.
Dr. Moffat, the well-known missionary, saw one tree in which there were no less than twenty huts. They were conical, and made of sticks and grass, the base resting upon a platform or scaffold laid upon the fork of a horizontal branch. The only mode of approach to these huts was by notches cut in the trunk of the tree.
How needful were these precautions was shown by the fact that the missionary himself spent a night in one of these aërial huts, and had the pleasure of hearing a number of lions snarl and growl all night over a rhinoceros hump which he had placed in an oven made of a deserted ant-hill. The oven, however, was too hot for the lions, and they had to retreat at daylight.
Passing from the tropics to the polar regions, we now take an instance where man has acknowledgedly copied an animal in the construction of his dwelling.
In Esquimaux-land, where no trees can grow, where for months together the sun never rises above the horizon, where the temperature is many degrees below zero, and where the land and ice are alike covered with a mantle of snow so thick that every landmark is abolished, it would seem that no human beings could support life for one week. There is neither timber for house-building nor wood for fuel, so that shelter, warmth, and cookery seem to be equally impossible, and as these are among the prime necessities of human life, it is not easy to see how mankind could exist.
Yet these very regions are inhabited by sundry animals, and it is by copying them that Man can keep his place. We have already seen how the Esquimaux hunter copies the Polar Bear, and we have now to see how he copies the Seal in the material and form of his dwelling-house, and not only contrives to live, but to enjoy life all the more for the singular conditions in which he is placed. Captain Hall mentions, in his “Life with the Esquimaux,” that one of the natives, named Kudlago, who was returning to his native country after visiting the United States, died while on board the ship. Towards the end of his life he was yearning for ice, and his last intelligible words were, “Do you see ice? Do you see ice?”
On the vast plains of ice that are formed in the winter-time the snow lies thickly, and yet upon such an inhospitable spot the mother seal has to make a home for her tender young. This she does in the following manner:—
She has already preserved a “breathing hole” in the ice, through which she can inhale air. How she finds so small a hole under the surface of the ice, where there are no landmarks to guide her, is a marvel to every swimmer. She has to chase fish and follow them in all their winding courses, and yet, when she is in want of air, is able to go straight to her breathing hole, and there take in a fresh supply of oxygen.
When she is about to become a mother, she enlarges this breathing hole so as to make it into a perpendicular tunnel. She then, with the sharp nails of her fore-paws, or flippers, scoops away the snow in a dome-like form, as shown in the illustration, taking the snow down with her through the ice, and allowing it to be carried away by the water. By degrees she makes a tolerably large excavation of a hemispherical shape, and when her young is born she deposits it on the ice-ledge around the tunnel. From ordinary foes the young Seal is safe, and nothing can discover the position of the house unless guided by the sense of smell.
How the Polar Bear and the Esquimaux hunter discover the dwelling and capture the inmates we have already described in the chapter treating of War and Hunting. Our present business is with the dwelling itself. Comparatively few of these snow-houses, or igloos, as they are called, are discovered, and they remain intact until the summer sun melts the roof and exposes the habitation. By this time, however, the young Seal has grown sufficiently to shift for itself, and no longer needs the shelter of a dwelling.
The winter hut, or igloo, of the Esquimaux is made of exactly the same shape and of similar materials to the dwelling of the Seal, the chief difference being that it is built instead of excavated.
In order to save time, the igloo is generally erected by two men, one of whom supplies the material, and the other acts as bricklayer and architect in one. Each begins by tracing a suitably sized circle in the snow, which he clears away to some depth, so as to preserve a firm surface, either as a floor or as the material for the wall. In this work both men are equally valuable, for the skill required to cut the slabs of snow into such a shape that they can be formed into a hemispherical dome is quite as much as that which is needed for putting them together. I will call them the cutter and the builder. Sometimes a young hand is employed by way of labourer, and passes the snow slabs to the builder as fast as they are cut.
The builder receives the slabs, and arranges them in regular order, always taking care to “break the joints,” just as do our bricklayers of the present day. Always remaining within the circle, he gradually builds himself in, and when he has quite finished the house, he cuts a hole through the side, emerges, and, by the help of his partner, puts on the finishing touches. He usually also adds a sort of tunnel to the door, through which any one must creep on his hands and knees if he wishes to enter the igloo. This part of Esquimaux architecture will presently be noticed more in full.
Perhaps the reader may wish to know what provision there is for ventilation. The answer is simple enough. There is none, the Esquimaux not requiring ventilation any more than they require washing. The two, indeed, generally go together; and it may be observed, even in our own country, that those who object to fresh air, and are always complaining of draughts, have a very practical aversion to the use of fresh water, and but little confidence in what Thackeray calls the “flimsy artifices of the bath.”
The Esquimaux never washes, and knows not the use of linen. Consequently, it is no matter of surprise that a sailor of Captain Hall’s crew could not make up his mind to enter an igloo. “Whew!” exclaimed the man, “by thunder, I’m not going in there! It’s crowded, and smells horribly. How it looms up!”
Considering that there were inside that igloo a dozen Esquimaux, all feasting on a raw, newly killed, and yet warm seal, the sailor had reason enough to decline a visit. Captain Hall, however, determined, in his character of explorer, to brave the strange odours, and moreover to join the inmates in their feast, knowing that as he would have to live among the Esquimaux for some two years, he would be forced to live as they did, and might as well begin at once. Consequently on this resolve, he drank the still steaming blood, and quaffed it from a cup which an Esquimaux woman had just licked clean.