The uncivilized races of men in all countries of the world; vol. 2 of 2 / Being a comprehensive account of their manners and customs, and of their physical, social, mental, moral and religious characteristics

by J. G. Wood

THE PELEW ISLANDS.

The westernmost group of the Carolines is known by the name of the Pelew or Pallou Islands. They were discovered, in 1543, by Villabolos, but have been made known to us principally by means of Captain H. Wilson, who was wrecked there in 1783. The group consists of about twenty small islands, which are surrounded by a reef.

The inhabitants are of a dark copper color, well made, tall, and remarkable for their stately gait. They employ the tattoo in rather a curious manner, pricking the patterns thickly on their legs from the ankles to a few inches above the knees, so that they look as if their legs were darker in color than the rest of their bodies. They are cleanly in their habits, bathing frequently, and rubbing themselves with cocoa-nut oil, so as to give a soft and glossy appearance to the skin.

The hair of the head is fine and black, and is worn long by both sexes, being rolled up in a peculiar fashion close to the back of the head. That of the face and chin is mostly removed, being plucked out by tweezers, only a few men, remarkable for the strength and thickness of their beards, allowing them to grow. The men wear no clothing, not even the king himself having the least vestige of raiment, the tattoo being supposed to answer the purpose of dress.

So unacquainted with real clothing were they when Captain Wilson visited them, that they were utterly perplexed at the garments of the white men, lifting up the flaps of the coats, pinching the sleeves, and then comparing them with their own naked limbs, evidently fancying that these mysterious objects were the skin peculiar to the white man. They also took the blue veins on the seamen’s wrists for lines of tattooing, and asked to be allowed to see the whole of the arm, in order to find out whether the blue lines were continued beyond the wrist.

In spite, however, of the absence of dress the deportment of the sexes toward each other is perfectly modest. For example, the men and women will not bathe at the same spot, nor even go near a bathing-place of the opposite sex unless it be deserted. If a man is forced to pass near a women’s bathing-place, he is obliged, when he comes within a stipulated distance, to give a loud shout; and, if it be answered by a female voice, he must either pass by a circuitous route, or turn back and wait until the women have left the spot.

Their features are tolerably good, the nose rather prominent, and the mouth moderately large. They would look a tolerably handsome people but for their custom of chewing the betel-nut, which stains the mouth red and the teeth black. The chiefs and all the principal men are so devoted to the betel that they always carry with them a little basket containing the nuts, and a small bamboo vessel in which they keep the quicklime which is mixed with the betel when chewed.

Although they care nothing for dress, and comparatively little for ornament, the very great chiefs wear one decoration which is prized by them much as is the Garter in England, or the Golden Fleece in Spain. This is a bone bracelet, worn on the left wrist and denoting the very highest rank next to that of the king himself. Those who are privileged to wear it are called Rupacks, and, as will presently be seen, the rank is not necessarily hereditary, but is conferred at the pleasure of the king.

It seems strange to us that distinctions of rank should be thus sharply defined among a people like the Pelew Islanders, and that “naked savages” should have their various gradations of social position. That a definite scale of rank should exist at all is an evidence of some civilization, and that so complete a system should be found among these islanders appears a perfect enigma to those who have been accustomed to associate clothing and civilization as inseparable conditions. Yet here we have the singular fact that there is a distinct division of ranks into king, nobles, gentry, and peasantry; and that, although these ranks are perfectly well defined and acknowledged, not a man, from the almost despotic king to the lowest subject, wears the slightest article of clothing.

Not only are these distinctions jealously observed, but we find also that the nobles are divided into several ranks, as is the case in civilized lands, and that the highest rank is denoted by a symbolical badge. This badge is conferred only by the sovereign himself, and the investiture with the Rupack’s bone is conducted with a ceremonious solemnity that denotes the estimation in which it is held. So deeply are the Rupacks attached to this symbol of their rank, that a rebel Rupack, who had made war against the king, and was taken alive, resisted every attempt to deprive him of his bracelet, and did not part with it until he had sacrificed his life in its defence. In shape the bone bears a curious resemblance to the open jaws of a skate, and is probably made on that model.

The mode of investiture is a very ceremonious one, and is [illustrated] on the following page. The Rupacks are assembled together in a sort of chapter of their order, and the Rupack elect is seated at a little distance from them. The king, or a Rupack appointed by him, then takes the bracelet, and directs the candidate to throw a stone as far as he can. This is done in order to ascertain which hand he habitually uses, so that if he be a right-handed man the bracelet goes on the left wrist, and if a left-handed man on the right wrist.

(1.) INVESTITURE OF THE RUPACK.
(See [page 1104].)

(2.) THE WARRIORS’ DANCE.
(See [page 1108].)

A string is then tied to each finger of the hand; the strings are passed through the bracelet, which, together with the hand, is plentifully anointed with cocoa-nut oil. The principal Rupack then places himself behind the candidate, and holds him firmly by the shoulders, while another hauls at the strings. The king, in the meantime, squeezes together the fingers of the hand, and by degrees draws the bracelet firmly on the wrist, he then makes a speech to the new Rupack, telling him to polish the bracelet daily, and keep it bright; never to suffer its honor to be tarnished, and never to part from it but with his life.

Captain Wilson, who was himself invested with the Rupack’s bone, writes thus of the ceremony and its object:—“This mark of distinction is given and received in these regions as a reward of valor and fidelity, and held out as the prize of merit.

“In this light such public honors were originally considered, and still ought to be so, in every state, from Pelew to Britain. And while they continue to be thus regarded they will operate on the human passions—excite emulation, inspire courage, promote virtue, and challenge respect. The decoration, indeed, derives all its splendor from the combined ideas of the mind whilst viewing it; and the imagination is equally impressed with the same sentiment, whether the badge of honor be a strip of velvet tied round the knee, a tuft of riband and a cross dangling at the button-hole, a star embroidered on the coat, or a bone upon the arm.”

He might have added that the intrinsic value of the decoration bears no comparison with the honor which it denotes, and that the bone of the naked Pelew Islander, the laurel or parsley crown of the ancient warrior, or the Victoria Cross of the modern hero, are alike valueless and priceless. It is remarkable that the king does not wear the bone, so that he has no external sign to distinguish him from the meanest peasant.

The Pelew Islanders are not a very warlike people, and their weapons are, therefore, simple and few. They have two kinds of spears, one used as a missile, and the other as a pike. The missile spear is thrown by a very remarkable instrument, reminding the observer of the Australian wummerah, or throw-stick.

It consists of a piece of wood about two feet in length, and having a notch at one end. When the warrior wishes to throw his spear, he places the butt in the notch of the throwing-stick, and with his left hand bends the elastic bamboo shaft until it is nearly doubled. The hold of the left hand is then loosed; and the spear projects itself to a considerable distance by means of its own elasticity. To an European nothing can be more awkward than this mode of throwing the spear; but the Pelew Islanders can send the weapon to a considerable distance, and aim it well besides.

Even without the aid of the throwing-stick, they are no mean adepts at hurling the spear. When Lee Boo, the son of the king, was at Canton, some gentlemen who were skilled in spear throwing asked him to exhibit the manner in which his own people managed the weapon. He took the spear, and, not thinking that it was to be thrown, merely quivered and poised it according to the usual preliminaries. He was then requested to throw it at a gauze cage, with a bird painted on it. The cage was at such a distance that the gentlemen could seldom strike it. Lee Boo, however, took up the spear carelessly, poised it for a moment, hurled it, and not only hit the cage, but struck the bird through the head.

The Rupacks mostly carry swords and daggers. The former are made of a very heavy wood, and nearly three feet in length. They are inlaid with pieces of white shell, and are strong and heavy enough to kill a man with a single blow. The daggers are made of the tail-bone of the sting-ray, and, when not in use, are carried in a sheath made of a single joint of bamboo, just as is the case with the small knives of Borneo.

Land battles are seldom fought in these islands, the natives trusting chiefly to their canoes, which are of large size and well built. Their hulls are cut out of tree trunks, and then are carved, painted, and inlaid with the patient care which distinguishes savage art. When the king goes out in state, the canoes are further adorned with bunches of shells, strung on cords and hung to the bows and stern-posts. The out-rigger is used, and the sails are of the “latine” form. Despite, however, of the care bestowed upon their vessels, the Pelew Islanders are not good sailors, and seldom venture outside the chain of reefs which encircle their group of islands. Even within it when the sea ran at all high, they would not venture into their canoes.

In consequence of their mode of fighting, the capture of an enemy’s canoe is thought of much more consequence than the slaughter of his soldiers, and is looked upon much in the same light as we consider the capture of an enemy’s gun or flag. Therefore when one party finds that the battle is going against them, they turn their canoes landward, and drive them ashore with all their might, and, if possible, drag them so high on the beach that they cannot be floated without exposing the invaders to almost certain death.

The principal tool used in making the canoe is the adze, or axe. In form the weapon is almost identical with the Polynesian adzes which have been already described in this work. The blade is made of the thick and strong shell of the giant clam, and the most curious point of the instrument is that the head revolves in a groove, so that it can be used as an adze or an axe at pleasure. The Dyak boat builder has a precisely similar instrument, as will be seen in the course of a few pages.

Their smaller tools and implements—such as stone knives, comb, and string—they carry in the basket which holds their betel; and as they have no dress, and consequently no pockets, a man never walks to any distance from his home without carrying the basket with him.

The architecture of the Pelew Islanders is very good. The houses are raised about three feet from the ground by means of stone posts, upon which are laid the beams which support the flooring and side-posts. The walls are made of thick matting, which extends from post to post, and the floors are generally of plank, having an inch or so of space between the boards. Sometimes they are made of split bamboos, which become polished and very slippery by the constant tread of naked feet.

Each house has in the centre its fireplace, sunk lower than the flooring, and formed of stones and earth. The fire is kept burning all night, not for the purpose of warmth, but that the smoke may fill the house, and drive away mosquitoes. When the house is a very large one, and employed for the general use, there are two fireplaces, one at each end. Along the sides of the house are arranged certain apertures which answer equally the purposes of windows or doors, and are furnished with sliding shutters, by which they can be closed at pleasure. Each of these apertures is furnished with stepping stones, by means of which the inhabitants can enter or leave the house without having to clamber from the ground to the raised floor. The large houses are employed for public uses, the councils being held in front of them, or the people assembling in them for social talk, in which the women bear their full share. Some of these houses are from sixty to eighty feet in length.

Being a cleanly people, the Pelew Islanders keep their houses neatly swept, the broom being a bundle of cocoa-nut husks tied together. The vessels which contain fresh water are simply joints of the bamboo, the open ends of which are furnished with a sort of spout or lip, by means of which the water can be poured without danger of being spilt.

The cooking vessels are made of earthenware, and are mostly of an oval shape. They are not, however, very good potters, their pots and pans being rather fragile, and so badly burnt that the natives dare not put them at once on the fire, but set them first at a little distance, and, as they become warmer, bring them nearer, turning them continually, so as to heat each part equally.

When Captain Wilson was at the Pelew Islands, the king had a vessel of which he was very proud. It was carved out of a block of wood, plentifully inlaid with pieces of white shell, and, when the cover was upon it, formed a tolerably fair representation of a bird. This vessel held about nine gallons, and on occasions of great ceremony, was brought out and filled with sweet drink for the use of the king and his Rupacks.

Of the amusements of the Pelew Islanders Captain Wilson says little, and gives but a brief description of the very odd dance in which they delight. This description will be better understood by reference to the [illustration] on the 1105th page. “In the evening our people were entertained with a dance of the warriors, who were just then returned, which was performed in the following manner:—

“The dancers have a quantity of plantain leaves brought to them, which they split and shiver into the form of ribands. These they twine and fix round their heads, wrists, waists, ankles, and knees; and the leaves being of a yellowish hue, so prepared, have not an inelegant effect when applied to their dark copper skin. They make also bunches or tassels of the same, which they hold in their hands.

“When drawn out, they form themselves into circles of two or three deep, one within another. In general, an elderly man amongst them begins in a very solemn tone something like a song, or long sentence—for our countrymen could not discriminate which it was—and when he comes to a pause, or what we should call the end of a stanza, a chorus is struck up, and the dancers all join in concert, still continuing their figure.

“Their dancing does not so much consist in capering or agility as in a particular method they have of balancing themselves, and this frequently very low sideways, singing together all the while; during which they will flatten their circles, so as to bring themselves face to face to each other, lifting up the tassels they hold in their hands, and giving them a clashing or tremulous motion. After this there will be a sudden pause, and an exclamation from every one of ‘Weel!’ Then a new sentence or stanza is repeated, and danced to as before, and the same ceremony continued till every man who is engaged in the dance has in his turn had his repetition and chorus.”

As far as was ascertained by Captain Wilson, the Pelew Islanders have some notions of religion, and certainly believed in a life after death. They had several superstitions, one of which was that the wood of a certain tree was unlucky, and always brought harm wherever it was used. When Captain Wilson was building his new vessel, he used some planks of this tree, much to the dismay of the king, Abba Thulle, who begged him to remove them. Captain Wilson explained to him that as in his own country any kind of suitable wood was employed for ship building without producing disastrous results, the same impunity was to be expected in the Pelew Islands. As it happened, shortly after the obnoxious planks had been inserted, one of the carpenters fell from the side of the vessel, and hurt himself severely, thus confirming the natives in their belief.

Their funeral ceremonies are very short and simple, and even in one instance witnessed by Captain Wilson, when the son of the principal chief was buried, there was scarcely any ceremony. The corpse was wrapped up in mats, and borne by four men on a bier, no men except the actual bearers attending. A number of women followed the bier, and poured out loud lamentations as they walked. When they arrived at the place of burial, the body was laid in the grave, and the earth immediately filled in by the four bearers, while the women knelt round, and renewed their lamentations, marking as if they would tear up the body from the ground.

Next day, however, Raa Kook, the father of the deceased, went to the burial-place, and performed a curious ceremony. He took two old cocoa-nuts (young nuts being always gathered for consumption) and some red ochre, with which he drew transverse stripes across the nuts. He then laid the painted nuts by his side, and repeated, in an undertone, some words which were supposed to be an incantation or prayer of some kind. A bundle of betel leaves was treated in the same way, and the whole were then delivered to an old woman, who went with them toward the grave; but the precise termination of the ceremony was not ascertained.

On [page 1107] mention was made of Lee Boo. As this young man was the first Pelew Islander who ever visited England, and was besides a very remarkable character, I will conclude this account with a short memoir of him.

He was the second son of the king, Abba Thulle, who was no common man, and well deserving of the power which he held. He possessed great energy, wonderful liberality of mind, and an innate nobility of disposition. The visit of the white men taught him their infinite superiority, and when Captain Wilson had built his new ship, and was about to start, Abba Thulle begged him to take Lee Boo to England, to have him instructed in the arts of civilization, and to send him back again so that he might be the teacher of his future people. The request was granted, and Lee Boo accompanied Captain Wilson to England, where he lived for five months, winning the esteem and affection of all whom he met, by his intelligent, modest, and affectionate nature. Unfortunately for his father’s hopes, he was attacked with small-pox, of which he died, his last wish being that all presents that been given him should be sent to his father. He died on Dec. 27, 1784, and was buried in Rotherhithe Church, where a tomb was erected to his memory by the India Company.

CHAPTER CXIV.
BORNEO.
THE DYAKS, THEIR APPEARANCE AND DRESS.

SUPPOSED ORIGIN OF THE DYAKS — NUMBER OF TRIBES — THE SEA AND LAND DYAKS — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — TATTOOING MOST PREVALENT AMONG THE LEAST CIVILIZED TRIBES — DRESS AND ORNAMENT — EXTRAORDINARY EARRINGS — FILING AND BLACKENING THE TEETH — A DYAK WARRIOR IN FULL DRESS — A DUSUM WARRIOR IN ORDINARY COSTUME — THE ILLINOAN PIRATES, THEIR ARMAMENTS AND FEROCITY — A SAGHAI DYAK AND HIS STRANGE HEADDRESS — STRENGTH AND ACTIVITY OF THE DYAKS — “BATANG” WALKING — AN OBLIGING DYAK — THEIR ABILITY TO PENETRATE JUNGLES — THE CHAWAT AND SARONG — A DYAK DANDY — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE BEDANG AND SLEEVELESS JACKET — THE BEAUTIFUL HAIR OF DYAK WOMEN — THE METALLIC BODICES — A SAIBAS GIRL IN FULL DRESS — DYAK BELLS — TREATMENT OF THE WOMEN.

With the exception of Australia, which may take rank as a continent, Borneo is the largest island in the world. It is situated in the tropics, the equator passing nearly through the centre of it, and forms the centre of the Indian Archipelago.

Until late years, scarcely anything was known of Borneo; but since the late Sir James Brooke accomplished his wonderful series of exploits against the piratical tribes that infested the coast for more than a thousand miles, and destroyed all commerce, the country has been tolerably explored, and the manners and customs of its inhabitants investigated. Following the plan on which this work has been formed, we will only concern ourselves about the natives of Borneo who live to a degree the life of savages, and only possess that amount of civilization which is compatible with savage existence.

Putting aside the Malay Mahometans who have settled in Borneo, we may roughly divide the native tribes into the Land and Sea Dyaks. The former of these divisions seldom go to sea, either for piracy or trade, and in this respect are very different from the Sea Dyaks, whose existence is essentially a naval one.

Mr. Brooke believes that the Land Dyaks have emigrated from a country in which they would be brought in contact with Hindooism, inasmuch as they possess sundry relics of that religion. “The remains of Hindooism found among them, such as stone-shaped bulls and other stone utensils, and the refusal among them to touch the flesh of cattle or deer—and so particular are they that they will fine a man for even spilling the blood of these animals on their premises; the name of their deity being Juwata—these testifying points support a fair conjecture that they must have gained a fair notion of Hindoo worship from people coming into the Kapuas River from the island of Java, which is only distant from some of the outstretching points of Borneo two hundred miles, and fair winds generally prevail between.”

In confirmation of this opinion, Mr. Brooke mentions that the expression, “in the days of the Hindoos,” was formerly employed when any ancient date was signified. There are about nine or ten branches of the Land Dyaks, each of which branches is divided into a considerable number of tribes. It is impossible to give the names and description of the individual tribes on account of their fluctuating character. The people are continually shifting their place in search of new lands for cultivation, and the result is that they quarrel with each other, fight, are dispersed, and thus form new tribes in the spots on which they settle.

It is thought that their number does not exceed forty thousand, many tribes of which have never been near the sea.

Next come the Sea Dyaks, a fairer, a finer, and a more interesting people. They are about three times as numerous as the Land Dyaks, and are at the present day much what the old sea-kings were in days gone by. They are essentially a nation of rovers, living by piracy, and carrying out to the fullest extent the abominable practice of head-hunting, of which we shall see something in the course of a few pages.

They are taller than the Land Dyaks, who seldom exceed five feet six inches in height, and much fairer in complexion. The skin of the Land Dyak is brown, whereas that of the Sea Dyak is many shades lighter, and has been compared to the color of a new saddle—a hue which admirably suits the well-developed forms of these people. They are very proud of their complexion, and the women are fond of an excuse for throwing off the jackets which they wear, in order to exhibit their smooth satiny skins, polished and shining as if of new bronze.

Their various customs in peace and war will be described in their proper places, and we will content ourselves at present with their appearance and dress.

The Dyaks, as a rule, are nearly beardless, and have a cast of countenance which might almost be called effeminate. Occasionally, however, a man does possess a few hairs on his upper lip, of which he is inordinately proud, and one or two instances have been known where a man has possessed a well-developed beard.

Tattooing is practised among many of the tribes, and prevails in inverse ratio to their civilization, those who are furthest from civilization being most profusely tattooed, and those who are brought in contact with it having almost entirely abandoned the practice. The men of some tribes are nearly covered with tattooed patterns, while those of other tribes have stars on their breasts and armlets and bracelets on their legs and arms. The Kanowit Dyaks, who belong to the great Malanau tribe, are tattooed from the breast to the knees with a pattern that has the effect of scale armor, and many of them tattoo their chins and chests so as to look as if they had real beards and moustaches. The tattoo of the women is often more elaborate than that of the men, as we shall presently see.

It is worthy of notice that, as a rule, the Sea Dyaks do not use the tattoo. They have an idea that it is a sign of cowardice, and are very much surprised that English sailors, whose courage they can but respect, will allow themselves to be tattooed with the anchors, true lovers’ knots, ships in full sail, entwined initials, and other figures with which a British sailor loves to disfigure himself. In consequence of this feeling many verbal skirmishes have been waged between the Sea Dyaks and the English seamen. The tribes among whom tattooing reaches its greatest development are mostly those of the Malaccan division, such as the Kanowits, who are mightily despised by the regular Land and Sea Dyaks, and are only tolerated by them as being the means of affording a constant supply of heads.

The Dyaks are exceedingly fertile in their invention of ear ornaments. Most savages content themselves with making one hole in the lobe of the ear, and often enlarge it so that a man’s hand could be passed through the orifice. But the Dyaks go much further in their ideas of adornment.

In common with other savages, they make an enormous hole in the lobe of the ear, increase it by inserting a series of gradually enlarged plugs, and drag it down as far as the shoulder by hanging leaden weights to it. But they also bore a series of holes all round the edge of the ear, and fill them with various ornaments. The favorite plan is, to have a series of brass rings, and to insert them in the holes of the ear, the smallest being at the top, and the lowest, which is large enough to be a bracelet, at the bottom. This decoration prevails chiefly among the Sea Dyaks, and there is a sort of proverb which warns the hearer to beware of a man who wears many earrings.

Often the Dyaks do not content themselves with wearing rings in their ears, but fill the apertures with such a miscellany of objects that they have been described as “châtelaines,” rather than earrings. One young man, the son of a chief, wore only one large ring in each ear, but from this ring depended a number of brass chains, to which were suspended various ornaments. To one ear were thus hung two boar’s tusks, one alligator’s tooth, part of a hornbill’s beak, three small brass rings, and two little bells.

Many of the men wear one large earring in the lobe, and bore a hole in the top of the ear, through which is passed a canine tooth of the tiger-cat.

These ornaments are only worn when the Dyak puts on his dress of ceremony, and at other times the holes in the ears are kept from closing by plugs of wood. And, as the effect of the brass is always to cause ulcerating sores, the ordinary appearance of a Dyak’s ears is not very pleasing. Some of them have a curious fashion of boring one hole at the top of the ear and another at the bottom, and tying to it a brass plate, to which are suspended the jingling ornaments of which these savages are so fond.

The Dyaks are so fully impressed with the idea that nature is meant to be improved by art, that they cannot even allow their teeth to retain their natural shape and color. As a general rule, the men file their front teeth into sharp points, while others improve upon nature still farther by scooping out the front face of each tooth and rendering it concave.

Having thus rendered the shape of the tooth as unlike its natural form as possible, the next process is evidently to change the color as completely as the shape, and to turn them from white to black. The habit of betel-eating has much to do with the darkening of the teeth, but besides, there is a mode by which the Dyaks deliberately stain their teeth black. The method by which the dye is produced and applied is well told by Mr. Boyle, in his “Adventures among the Dyaks”:—

“We made inquiries about the means employed for blackening the teeth, a custom which is universal in the far East. The old medicine man was finally persuaded to show us the process, and very curious it appeared.

“He produced from his stores a piece of dry wood of the kind called sinka: this was set on fire, and held over the blade of a parang (or sword), on which a few drops of water had been poured. As the stick blazed, a black sap oozed from it, and dropped upon the metal, where it mingled with the water, and in a few moments formed a pool of thick, jetty liquid. With this the teeth are stained in childhood, and one application, we are told, will suffice to preserve them black for ever, nor are there any means of removing the color.

“The process seems peculiar, because the wood from which exuded the sap appears to be as dry as dust, and because the dye will not affect any substance except the teeth, not even bone or horn. This is the more curious since some of the Malays file the enamel carefully from their teeth before applying the sinka. Many, indeed, file them to a point as sharp as a needle, as do some of the Dyak tribes.” The reader will remember that several of the West African tribes file their teeth in like manner.

[Illustration No. 2], on the 1101st page, represents two Dyak warriors, one in full costume, and the other a Dusum Dyak in ordinary dress. The former of these men carries in his right hand the sumpitan, with its spear head, and the other rests on his wooden shield covered with tufts of human hair. His parang-ihlang or war sword is on his left side, with its tufts of human hair depending from the handle. His ankles, legs, and arms are covered with multitudes of brass rings, he wears a sort of jacket formed from the skin of the orang-outan, and on his head is a kind of coronal made from the feathers of the Argus pheasant. This figure is taken from a photograph.

The next [figure] represents a man in ordinary costume. He belongs to the tribe of Dusums, who live on the northern coast of Borneo, and who wear less clothing than any of the tribes of the island, their whole dress consisting of the chawat and a number of large metal rings round their necks and hips. The Dusum warriors wear their hair long, merely bound with a piece of cotton cloth, and their spears are as simple as their clothing, being nothing more than a metal head lashed to a shaft of bamboo.

In order to show at a glance the appearance of various tribes of Borneans, two more Dyaks are represented in the [engraving No. 1] on the following page. The left-hand figure represents an Illinoan pirate. These men are found at Tampassook or Tampasuk as the name is sometimes spelt, a place on the north-western coast of Borneo, not very much above the island of Labuan.

The Illinoans possess many large and formidable war boats, which are armed in the bows with a very long gun, and have, after the fashion of Bornean boats, an upper deck, which serves as a platform for the combatants and a shelter for the rowers, who sit beneath. There is a small cabin astern for the captain, about the size of a dog kennel, but the boats have no other sleeping accommodation.

The paddles with which the rowers propel the vessel are shaped rather curiously, looking at a distance like mere sticks with flat discs of wood fastened to their ends. The boats are steered by an oar rudder at the starboard side of the stern, and each is furnished with a mast and huge sail, which can be raised in a few minutes, and struck in almost as many seconds. Although the Illinoans are wealthy tribes, and possess quantities of fire-arms, they are rather afraid to use these weapons, and trust in preference to the spear and parang.

The Illinoans were instrumental in the murder of two native chiefs who were friendly to the English, and who had been suspected of aiding the cession of Labuan. One of them, named Bud-ruddeen, a man of celebrity as a warrior, did not fall unavenged. When the enemy approached, he retired to his house, together with his favorite wife and his sister, neither of whom would leave him. By the aid of his followers, he fought desperately to the very last, until nearly all his men were killed, and he himself was dangerously wounded.

He then retired with his wife and sister into an inner chamber, while the enemy crowded into the house in search of him, and then, firing his pistol into a barrel of gunpowder which he had placed there in readiness, blew to pieces himself, his two relatives, and his enemies.

The [other figure] represents a Saghai Dyak.

This tribe lives on the south-eastern coast of Borneo, and is remarkable for the superb costumes of the men, who have about them an air of barbaric splendor, which they are exceedingly fond of displaying. Wearing, in common with all Dyaks, the chawat or waist cloth, they take a pride in adorning themselves with short tunics made of tiger or leopard skin, or rich and embroidered cloth; while on their heads they wear magnificent caps made of monkey-skin, and decorated with the beautiful feathers of the Argus pheasant, two of the largest feathers being placed so that one droops over each ear. All these Dyaks have a very singular profile, in consequence of their habit of filing the teeth and so reducing their bulk, those who have concave teeth presenting the most curious outline.

(1.) ILLINOAN PIRATE AND SAGHAI DYAK.
(See [page 1112].)

(2.) DYAK WOMEN.
(See [page 1118].)

Comparatively slight and feeble as the Dyaks look by the side of the stalwart and muscular European, their strength is really wonderful, and enables them to perform tasks which the powerful white man could not by any possibility achieve. On a journey, when an European has fallen from sheer fatigue, a Dyak has taken the burden with which the fallen man was laden, and added it to his own, without seeming to display any particular sense of having increased his own labor; and when the stranger, in spite of the relief, has lain down in absolute inability to move, a little wiry Dyak has picked him up, put him on his back, and proceeded on his journey with perfect ease.

The Dyaks are in the habit of crossing the swamps with which Borneo abounds by means of primitive bridges, called batangs. These are the very simplest form in which the principle of the bridge can be carried out. If the reader wishes to obtain a correct idea of a batang, he can do so easily enough. Two bamboo poles are driven into the ground so as to cross one another near the top, like an X with the lower limbs much developed. They are then lashed together at the intersection, just like the supports between which a modern rope dancer stretches his cord. At about thirty feet distance, another pair of poles are fixed in a similar way, and a horizontal bamboo laid upon them.

In fact, the whole apparatus looks just like a rope dancer’s apparatus, a bamboo taking the place of the rope. Beyond the second supports others are added and connected by horizontal bamboos as far as the marsh extends; and so fond are the natives of these very primitive bridges that they will make them a mile or more in length, and extend them over gorges of terrible depth.

To tread these extraordinary bridges is a task that would tax the powers of a professional rope dancer, and yet a Dyak has been known to take a heavy white man on his back, and carry him a mile or more over these slippery batangs, when, in many places, a false step would be certain destruction for both. He does not seem at all fatigued by this extraordinary feat of muscular power, but rather has a sort of boyish exultation in his strength, and a decided delight that he is able at all events in one respect to prove himself the superior of the white man, whom he regards with the most profound respect as a being of supernatural wisdom and power.

The Dyaks are able, in some astonishing manner, to penetrate with comparative ease through jungles which are absolutely impervious to Europeans. One of these men, while on the march with some English soldiers, exhibited his strength in a very unexpected manner. The path was a terrible one, all up and down steep and slippery hills, so that the Chinese coolies who accompanied the party first threw away their rice, and lastly sat down and wept like children. The English sergeant, a veteran, accustomed to hard marching both in China and India, broke down at the first hill, and declared his inability to move another step under the load which he carried. Mr. Brooke, who was in command of the party, asked one of the Dyaks to carry the sergeant’s burden, and promised him an additional piece of tobacco.

The man was delighted with the proposal, and accepted it. He was already carrying food for three weeks, his whole store of clothes, one twelve-pound shot, two twelve-pound cartridges, a double-barrelled gun, a hundred rounds of ball cartridge, and his own heavy sword and spear. Such a load as this, which would be almost too great even for a man walking on good roads, seemed a mere trifle to the agile Dyak, who went lightly and easily up and down paths which the foreigners could hardly traverse even without having to carry anything except their own weight.

So little, indeed, was he incommoded, that he strapped the whole of the sergeant’s kit on his back, and walked off as easily as if the whole load were but a feather weight. No one who has not actually traversed those paths can form an idea of the miseries attending the journey. The paths themselves are bad enough, but, in addition to the terribly severe labor of walking, the traveller has to endure mosquitoes, sandflies, intense heat at mid-day, and intense cold at night, thirst, wet, and every imaginable discomfort.

Yet the native seems quite easy in the journey, and gets over the ground in a manner that is absolutely exasperating to the Europeans who accompany him. He is able to push his way through prickly thickets and morasses in a way which seems almost impenetrable. Indeed, he says himself that it is impenetrable, and that he achieves these feats by means of certain charms which he carries about with him. On one occasion it happened that at the end of a hard five hours’ journey, a number of sketching materials and other necessaries had been forgotten, and a Dyak was sent to the boats to fetch them, being promised a pocket-knife for his trouble. He started about two P. M. and arrived with the parcels before sunset, having thus, in addition to his first journey with the travellers, and the heavy parcels which he had to carry, twice traversed the distance which had occupied them five hours in the transit.

When questioned about the manner in which he performed the journey, he said that it was owing to the virtues of a charm which he carried, and which he produced. It was a small misshapen horn, which he said that he had cut from the head of an antelope, and that its fellow horn was brass. He further offered to sell it for fifteen dollars, averring that its powers were unfailing, and that even any one who borrowed it was able to traverse the country at the same speed which he had exhibited.

The ordinary dress of the men is simple enough, consisting merely of the “chawat,” or slight strip of cloth, which is twisted round the loins in such a manner that one end falls in front and the other behind. The chawat is often very gaily colored. Sometimes the Dyak wears a sarong, or short petticoat of cotton cloth, which reaches from the waist to a little above the knees. It is simply a strip of cloth, with the two ends sewed together, and is almost large enough to encircle two ordinary men. When it is put on the wearer steps into it, draws it up to his waist, pulls it out in front as far as it will go and then doubles back the fold and turns the edges inward, in such a manner that it is held tight in its place, while the folds caused by its large diameter allow the limbs full play.

One of these chawats in my collection is woven in a sort of plaid pattern, the ground hue being a bright and rather peculiar red, and the cross-lines being nearly white. The texture is rather coarse, and the whole fabric has a stiffness which is characteristic of native fabrics made of this material.

Those young men who are proud of their personal appearance, and are able to afford the expense do not content themselves with the plain chawat, but adorn it with all kinds of strange decorations. One of these young dandies is well described by Mr. Boyle:—“The young man did not dress in Malay trousers like his father, probably because one pair alone of such articles existed in the house; but his chawat was parti-colored, and his ornaments numerous. He was about five feet four inches in height, very fair complexioned, and his face, though Tartar like in character, had a pleasant expression. From the elbow to the knuckles, both his arms were covered with rings of brass, and above the joint were two broad armlets of snowy shells, which contrasted admirably with his yellow-brown skin.

“But the marvel and glory of his array hung behind. To the end of his chawat was attached a long network of agate beads and bugles, which jingled merrily whenever he moved. Round his neck were strings of bright beads, and his knees were encircled by brazen wire. A profusion of dried scalps fluttered from the parang by his side; and in walking before us through the sunny glades of the jungle, his brazen gauntlet flashing in the light, and his beads of agate tinkling behind, he presented the very ideal of a barbaric dandy.”

One chief, desirous of outdoing his fellows, had taken a gong and beaten it out into a belt of solid metal a foot in width. In consequence of the extraordinary value which the Dyaks set upon gongs, this belt was a mark of wealth which no one could venture to challenge. Beside the chawat, the well-to-do man wears a sort of shawl mantle, much like a Scotch plaid, and capable of being disposed after as many different fashions. They display great taste in the graceful folds which they give to it, and seem to take a pride in the variety which they can produce by the different modes of folding this simple garment.

The women dress in a manner somewhat like that of the men; but, in lieu of the sarong, they mostly wear a rather longer petticoat, called a bedang. When obliged to go out in the sun, they also wear a jacket, without sleeves and open in front; but as this jacket hides the glossy brown skin on which they pride themselves, they generally lay it aside when in the house.

In youth they are remarkable for their slender and graceful forms; but, unfortunately, after a woman has passed the age of twenty, she begins to deteriorate, and at thirty is an old woman. The face is pleasing in expression, despite of the artificial means whereby the women do their best to make themselves hideous. The eyes are black, clear, and expressive, and the lashes singularly long. The nose is rather disposed to turn upward than downward, and the mouth is terribly disfigured with the continual chewing of betel and the mode in which the teeth are filed and blackened.

The chief point in a Dyak woman’s beauty is her hair, which is black, wonderfully thick, and shining, and so long that when allowed to flow over the back it nearly touches the ground. Of this ornament the women are inordinately vain, and, when engaged in conversation, are fond of flinging their shining tresses from side to side by coquettish tossings of the head. Unfortunately, the fever which is so prevalent in many parts of Borneo has the effect of bringing off all the hair, so that many a young girl is thus deprived of her chief ornament.

The women belonging to some of the tribes wear a most singular bodice, composed of bark and bamboo, and kept together by successive rings of brass wire, which form a strong and weighty bodice, to the lower part of which is attached the bedang, or petticoat.

Mr. Boyle seems to have taken a strong aversion to these bodices. “When a Dyak lover attempts to pass a tender arm round his sweetheart’s waist, instead of the soft flesh, he finds himself clasping a cuirass of solid metal. Nor is this all; for fashion ordains that the Dyak heiress shall invest her available means in the purchase of long gauntlets of twisted brass wire, reaching from the knuckles to the elbow; and if, in her turn, she encircles her lover’s neck with a responsive arm, the wretched man finds himself clasped by a horrible fetter, which draws a little bit of his flesh between each of its links, and pinches him fearfully. For these reasons, caresses are not common among Dyak lovers; after all, perhaps, they are only a habit.

“But, apart from their inconvenience, these brazen ornaments are decidedly tasteful and pretty. The ordinary color of a Dyak girl, when she does not stain her body with turmeric, is a dull brownish yellow, and the sparkling brass rings are a great relief to this complexion. They are not removed at night, nor, in fact, during the wearer’s lifetime, unless she outgrow them.”

More than once the possession of these strange ornaments has proved fatal to the wearer, the woman having fallen overboard from a canoe, and drowned by the enormous weight of her brass ornaments. In some parts of Borneo the girls are not content with their brass bodices, bracelets, and anklets, but must needs encircle their throats with the same material. They take a long piece of stout brass wire, and twist it spirally round their necks, so that the lower part of the coil rests on the shoulders, and the upper part comes just under the chin, causing the wearer to hold her head upright, and having a most inelegant and awkward effect.

The Kayan women are exceedingly fond of a peculiar bead which is of several colors, looking as if it were a black bead into which pieces of green, yellow, blue, and gray material had been carefully let. A rich woman will sometimes wear several strings of such beads just above the hips. The different strings are connected with each other so as to form a single ornament. For one such hip-lace (as Mr. St. John calls it) a woman has given property equal to thirty-five pounds of our money; and the same woman had several others for which she had given scarcely less, together with a great number of inferior value.

The Kayan women carry the tattoo to a great extent, and follow exactly the same plan as the Samoan warriors, i. e. being completely tattooed from the waist to the knees. They are very fond of this ornament, and are apt to wear their dress open at the side so as to exhibit it. When the women bathe, they think that the tattoo is quite sufficient dress, and at a little distance they really look as if they were wearing short trousers.

As has been already mentioned, the Sea Dyaks do not, as a rule, care for the tattoo, and in this respect the women follow the example of the men. They are, however, equally fond of ornament with their sisters of the land, and adorn themselves with most scrupulous care on festive occasions. Mr. Boyle gives an animated description of the gala-dress worn by the Saibas Dyak girls and women during a great feast given by the chief.

“Meanwhile the female portion of the community had been preparing for their part in the proceedings. At this moment they came from the interior of the house, and the stately magnificence of their appearance showed that time and labor had not been spared in arraying themselves for this great occasion. From the neck to the hips they were covered over with large agate beads; string of them was heaped on string, till many of the women were cuirassed an inch thick in solid stone before and behind.

“Upon their heads was placed a piece of bead-embroidered cloth, in which were arranged thin skewers of painted wood about five inches long: there were about twenty of these bits of wood disposed about their heads, and each was attached to the other by strings of brilliant glass beads. Five or six of these many-colored loops hung from each skewer, and they were entwined into a graceful network. The effect was very pretty, though barbarous, and the solemnity of the ceremonies was much enhanced by the stately uprightness which the women were compelled to observe in moving, on peril of disarrangement of this delicate structure.”

They also wear conical hats, made of split rattan. These hats are very light, and last for a wonderful time. A specimen was presented to me by a lady who had worn it for four years, and had certainly not treated it with any consideration. Yet it is as strong and good as ever, and the colors are as fresh and bright as when the hat was first made. The rattan has been split into very narrow strips, and stained red, yellow, and black, while some of the strips have had the natural color discharged, so as to make them nearly white.

The hat is fixed on the head by a broad loop of plaited palm leaf, which is fastened to the side. Hats made on this principle are prevalent throughout the whole Archipelago.

Among the ornaments which are worn by the Dyaks are the little bells which have already been mentioned as forming part of the appendages of an earring. These ornaments called “garunongs,” and mostly worn by the women on the edges of the bedang or petticoat, are almost exactly like our hawk-bells, being nothing more than little hollow spheres of brass or bronze about the size of a boy’s playing marble, with a small metal ball in the interior by way of a clapper, and a moderately wide slit at the bottom. To some of the bells the remarkable beads are attached. These bells keep up a musical chime or jingle as the wearer walks, and are therefore used in dances and on great occasions.

The general treatment of the Dyak women is good. They certainly have to work hard, but so have their husbands, and, as we shall presently see, they are not the abject slaves such as are too often found among savage nations, but maintain their share of influence in the family, and are perfectly capable of assisting themselves when the occasion requires it. They are accustomed to work in the fields, and the universal chopping-knife or parang is seldom out of their hands. The constant use of this weapon hardens their hands and often deforms the fingers.

When they come home from their work in the field, they have the heaviest portion of their work before them, their evening task being the husking and winnowing of the rice for supper and for the meals of the following day. The rice is first pounded in large troughs by means of long and heavy wooden poles, which are held perpendicularly, lifted up, and then allowed to fall on the grain, and, as a rule each trough occupies three women, who work for about half an hour. This pounding separates the husk from the grain, and the next process is to winnow the rice by means of a shovel and a fan.

The evening meal is then cooked and eaten, the children fed, the bronze dishes put away, and then the women can sit quietly in the veranda, and eat their betel in peace. Although this mode of life seems rather hard, and the husbands appear to be acting harshly toward their partners in letting them work in this manner while they sit in their houses, chew betel, and talk over the gossip of the day, there is really a very fair reciprocity of labor. While the wives have been working in the fields, the husbands have been fishing, and in so doing have repeatedly exposed their lives to danger, the rollers being at certain seasons of the year exceedingly dangerous. At Mukah, as at other places, the wives insist upon being furnished with fish by their husbands, and, in case the men should come home unsuccessful, the women fasten their doors and bar them out. Indeed, so long as the marriage holds good, the relation of husband and wife seems to be conducted in a manner similar to that which is so graphically depicted by Scott in his “Antiquary.”

In order to show the appearance of the Dyak women in their ordinary and gala costumes, two figures are introduced into [illustration No. 2] on page 1113. One represents a Dyak girl before arraying herself in the mass of ornaments with which she loves to decorate herself on festivals. She wears, as usual, the bedang, or petticoat, which, if she be of ordinary condition, is made of cotton, but if she be rich, of silk. It is twisted round the waist in the manner practised by the men, but, in addition, is fastened to the brass belts which surround her waist. Her long glossy hair is flowing to the full extent, before the owner gathers up its massive tresses preparatory to adorning her head with the complicated decorations, of full dress.

The other figure represents her as she appears in all the glory of full gala costume. As far as absolute dress goes, she wears no more than she did before, the only alteration being that her bedang is the best which she has, and is sometimes beautifully embroidered. On her arms are several thick rings of brass, and the singularly uncomfortable brass gauntlet extends from the wrist to the elbow. Her neck and bust are nearly covered with the heavy agate beads, and on her head is the complicated cap, with its curious arrangement of wooden spikes and glass beads.

CHAPTER CXV.
BORNEO—Continued.
WAR.

DYAK WEAPONS — THE SUMPITAN, OR BLOW GUN — CONSTRUCTION OF THE WEAPON — THE INLAID OR METAL BUTT — THE SPEAR HEAD, OR BAYONET — THE SUMPIT ARROW — THE UPAS POISON AND ITS EFFECTS — DESCRIPTION OF THE TREE — THE QUIVER — THE PARANG, OR SWORD, AND ITS VARIETIES — THE PARANG-LATOK, AND ITS CURIOUS HANDLE — POWER OF ITS BLOW — TWO BLOWS OF AN EXECUTIONER — THE PARANG-IHLANG: ITS CURIOUSLY FORMED BLADE — AN AWKWARD WEAPON — POWER OF THE PARANG-IHLANG, AND ITS VALUE — THE SHEATH AND ITS ADDITIONAL KNIFE — DOUBLE-EDGED PARANG, WITH CHARMS — A SINGULAR ORNAMENT — THE KRIS AND ITS VARIETIES — ITS WAVED AND LAMINATED BLADE — EFFECT OF THE LIME JUICE — THE EXECUTIONER’S KRIS.

We now come to the subject of Warfare, which forms perhaps the most important branch of Dyak history. Whether the Dyaks belong to the Land or Sea division, they are always warlike, though the latter are fiercer, perhaps braver, and certainly more enterprising than the former. In order to understand the system by which they wage war, we must first examine their weapons. I will take that which is the most characteristic; namely, the sumpitan, or blow gun.

We have here a weapon, the like of which we have not seen in any country that we have hitherto investigated; namely, an instrument by means of which missiles are projected by means of compressed air. The principle on which the sumpitan acts is precisely similar to that of fire-arms, though the propelling power is obtained in a different and more simple manner. In fact, the sumpitan is nothing but the “pea-shooter” of boys, very much enlarged, and carrying an arrow instead of a pea or clay ball.

This curious weapon is about eight feet in length, and not quite an inch in diameter, and is bored with the greatest accuracy, a task that occupies a very long time, the wood being very hard, and the interior of the sumpitan smooth and even polished. It is not always made of the same wood, the specimens in my own collection being of different material, one of very dark and the other of very light wood. The surface is of equal thickness from end to end, and, as it generally has to enact the part of a spear as well as of a sumpitan, it is very strong and heavy.

One of these weapons, brought to England by the late Admiral Young, is of a beautiful colored wood, and is beautifully inlaid, both at the butt and the point, with metal. The last few inches of the butt are entirely made of metal, the weight of which causes the weapon to balance itself easily when held to the lips. The pattern of the inlaying may be seen in [fig. 1], of the illustration entitled “Sumpitans,” on the 1122nd page.

The other sumpitan, [fig. 2], is of a very dark, almost black wood, which is brightly polished on the exterior as well as in the interior, and is not inlaid. The butt, however, is encased with brass for five inches, the brass being very thick and heavy at the end, and deeply ridged, so as to look at a little distance as if it were a spiral brass wire coiled round the butt of the sumpitan.

At the tip of this weapon is a spear head, very thick, broad, and strong, sharply edged and pointed, and decorated with engraved patterns after the manner employed by Dyak smiths. It is firmly bound to the sumpitan by brass wire or rattan, and is an exact analogue of the bayonet, the spear head being fastened to the side of the weapon, and not interfering with the flight of the missile. The bore of the weapon is very small, not quite half an inch in diameter, and it is really wonderful that the maker could contrive to hollow it with the perfect precision which is necessary for the accurate flight of the arrow.

We next come to the missile which is projected through the sumpitan. This is a very tiny arrow, made of the thorn of the sago palm, about seven or eight inches long, equally thick from base to point, and not thicker than a large steel knitting-needle. In order to make it fit the bore so that it can be propelled by the breath, it is furnished at the butt with a conical piece of pith or soft wood, so that it exactly fits the bore. In some of the arrows, the cone is hollow, and a few of them are furnished with wing-like appendages along the shaft. As a rule, however, the solid cone is in most general use.

These arrows are so small that the wound which they inflict is in itself insignificant, and would not be sufficient to kill any animal larger than a rat. They are, however, converted into weapons of the most formidable character by being smeared at the tip with poison obtained from the upas-tree.

The reader is probably aware of the many tales that are told of this tree—how that it poisons the country for a mile round, and how that the deadly juice can only be obtained by means of condemned criminals, who earn their pardon in case they can bring off a bottle of the juice. Even in more recent days the upas-tree has not lost all its legends, and many persons still believe that actual contact with the tree or its leaves produces a sensation of faintness. This, however, is not the case; neither is the actual juice of the tree so deadly as is supposed.

A wound made by an arrow poisoned with upas juice is sure to be fatal, provided that the poison be quite fresh; but it loses its power very rapidly, and after it has been exposed to the air for two hours it is useless, and must be renewed. When fresh, it is fatal in a very short time, as was found by Mr. Johnson, who led an attack on the Kanowit Dyaks in 1859. He lost thirty men in the attack, every one of them being killed by the tiny sumpit arrow, and not one having a mark on him, except the little wound made by the arrow’s point.

Should the poison have been exposed to the air, the wounded man has a chance of recovery; and it has been found that a large dose of spirits, sucking the wound, and keeping the sufferer continually in motion will generally overcome the virulence of the poison. Indeed, the sumpit arrow seems to have much the same effect as the bite of the cobra, and the treatment which is efficacious for the snake bite answers equally well for the arrow wound.

The juice of the upas-tree is procured simply by boring a hole in the trunk, from which the juice issues in a white, cream-like state. It is received in little flasks made of bamboo, which are closed in the most careful manner, in order to exclude the air. One of these flasks in my possession is five inches in length, and about half an inch in diameter. One end is naturally closed by a knot, and the other is sealed with the most scrupulous care. First, a plug of soft wood has been inserted into the end, after the manner of a cork. Over the plug a lump of beeswax has been firmly kneaded, and over the wax a piece of membrane has been tied when wet. Although the upas juice is white when it first issues from the tree, it speedily becomes black when exposed to the air.

The upas-tree is called scientifically Antiaris toxicaria, and it belongs to the natural order Astocarpeæ, the best known species of which order is the well-known bread-fruit tree. All the plants of this order produce a white milky juice, which is always acrid and deleterious, and in many instances is exceedingly poisonous. Yet those parts of the plant, such as the fruit, in which the milk is replaced by sugar in the process of ripening, are not only harmless, but even nutritious. The tree grows to a considerable size, and the bark of the trunk has a reddish hue.

The reader will at once understand how formidable is this weapon. It is greatly to be dreaded even when the Dyak warriors are met in open battle, and in naval engagements the showers of poisoned arrows that are continually shot through the port-holes render the gunners’ task a most unpleasant one. But the sumpitan is much more to be dreaded by land than by sea; and when it is employed in bush warfare, the boldest soldier shrinks from the encounter. The Dyak who wields it lies hidden in the thick foliage, sure that, even in case of discovery, he can glide through the tangled thickets into a place of security. The sumpitan makes no report, and gives out no smoke as an indication of its position, but the deadly arrow flies silently on its errand, and the only intimation of the presence of an adversary is the slight tap with which the arrow strikes its mark.

The only disadvantage of the sumpitan is that its range is a short one, the light arrow being seldom used at a distance exceeding forty yards, though a man who is accustomed to its use can propel an arrow for seventy or eighty yards. At this distance, however, it is not to be dreaded, as its force is so expended that it can scarcely break the human skin. Some of these arrows have their heads made of the barbed bone of the sting-ray, which snaps off at a touch, and remains in the wound if the man tries to draw out the weapon. Others have separate heads made of wood, which become detached as soon as the shaft is pulled. The native name of the head is jowing.

(1.) PARANG LATOK.
(See [page 1123].)

(2.) DYAK SUMPITANS.
(See [page 1119].)

(3.) PARANG IHLANG.
(See [page 1124].)

The Dyak generally carries thirty or forty of these arrows in a peculiar-shaped quiver. It is made of the ever useful bamboo, and is furnished with an appendage by which it can be stuck into the belt and carried at the side. This appendage is made of hard wood, and is lashed to the quiver by a broad belt of rattan, most beautifully plaited. The quiver is closed by a conical wooden cover, which is always secured by a string so that it shall not be lost. Some of the Dyak quivers are highly polished, covered with carvings, and are almost to be ranked with works of art. Many of these quivers have an inner case or lining of dried skin or membrane, so as to exclude the air, and preserve the poison of the arrow as long as possible.

When the Dyak uses the sumpitan, he holds the mouthpiece to his lips between the two first fingers of his left hand, while with his right he supports and aims the heavy weapon, which requires a strong as well as a practised man to direct it steadily.

The weapon which comes next in importance to the sumpitan is the parang or sword, of which there are several varieties. The Dyaks pride themselves greatly on their swords, and the excellence of their workmanship is so great that they have good reason for pride. Their forges are of excellent quality, and some of the tribes are able not only to forge their own weapons but to smelt their own iron.

The commonest of all the Dyak weapons is the sword called parang-latok, which is carried by every man and nearly every woman. It is used not only as a sword, but as an axe, and is indifferently employed for cutting through the jungle or cutting down the enemy. The shape of this sword is very peculiar, as may be seen from [illustration No. 1], on the preceding page, which represents a specimen in my collection.

The blade is formed after a very curious pattern. Toward the hilt it is squared, and is in fact nothing but a square bar of steel nearly half an inch in thickness, and three quarters of an inch in width. From the hilt to the point the blade becomes gradually wider and thinner, so that the broad point, two inches in width, contains just the same amount of metal as the half-inch square hilt. It is evident that the sword is first forged into a square bar of equable size, and is then beaten out flatter and flatter toward the point.

The [illustration] shows that the blade of the sword is bent at a considerable angle toward the hilt. This curious shape, awkward as it is to an unaccustomed hand, forms the principal value of the sword. When the parang-latok is used for cutting down branches or chopping a path through the jungle, it is grasped at the squared portion of the blade, and is used just as we use the common bill-hook in this country. But when the object which is to be chopped lies on the ground, the parang is held by the handle, so that the angular shape allows the blade to be used with full force. It is the habit of holding the parang by the squared portion of the blade, that disfigures and even deforms the fingers of the women, as has already been mentioned on [page 1118].

The ordinary parangs have no attempt at ornament upon them, but those of better construction are covered with patterns engraved upon the blade, of which we shall see some examples.

In war, this sword is a most formidable weapon. It is so heavy, weighing on an average two pounds, that a blow from it is sufficient to crush the skull or break the limb of a man, and, even if it had no edge, it would equal in efficacy the merai of the New Zealander. But the parang-latok has a very sharp edge, which is kept in the best order, and, when a blow is delivered with it, the very form of the weapon causes it to make the terrible “drawing cut,” the blade being drawn through the wound nearly from hilt to point. In consequence of this peculiarity, the wounds made by the parang-latok are very severe, and the natives pride themselves greatly on the depth of the wound which they can inflict.

One of the modes by which they try their skill is killing a pig with a single blow of a parang-latok, a good swordsman being able to sever the animal completely, and to drive the point of his weapon into the earth. If the reader has been accustomed to use the sword, he will see that to strike downward at an object so near the ground is by no means an easy task.

When an English swordsman performs the feat of severing a sheep at a single blow, he has several advantages which are denied to the Dyak. In the first place, the sheep is already dead, so that he can take his aim in quiet, whereas the pig is alive, so that the Dyak must aim his blow as he can. Then the sheep has been skinned and cleaned, so that the sword has not so much resistance to overcome. Lastly, the sheep is suspended, so that the swordsman can use the most effective blow, namely, “Cut 6,” i. e. a sweeping, horizontal cut from left to right, which can be delivered with the full swing of the arm.

Were it not for the peculiar form of the parang-latok the feat of severing a pig could not be accomplished, but the angular shape of the blade and its gradually increasing width combine the power of the drawing cut with the chopping force gained by the weight of the weapon.

The sheath of this parang is neatly made of two flat pieces of wood, neatly hollowed inside to receive the blade, and bound together in the most elaborate manner by a series of belts, twelve or fourteen in number. These belts are made of very narrow strips of dark rattan, and are twined into an endless four-plait. In my own specimen, there are thirteen of these belts. Attached to the upper end of the sheath is the cord by which the weapon is hung to the side. This cord is doubled, is made of scarlet and yellow cotton plaited square, and is ornamented at the ends with two large tassels, the strings of which are yellow tipped with scarlet tufts.

The parang-latok is more a Malayan than a Dyak weapon, but it is in favor with the Dyaks, and, as has been mentioned, has come into general use.

The Malays use it in execution, and are able to decapitate a man at a single blow, the executioner standing at his side and a little behind him. On one occasion, an executioner, who was distinguished for the skill with which he wielded a very heavy parang which he possessed, stood between two criminals as they knelt on the ground, and with a right and left hand blow struck off both their heads. The same man, who was one of the police, being annoyed by the howling of some dogs in the street, rushed out with his parang, and with one blow cut in two the first animal which he met.

We now come to another weapon, the parang-ihlang, which is one of the most extraordinary swords in the world, and more troublesome and even dangerous to strangers than can well be conceived. This is a smaller, shorter, and lighter weapon than the parang-latok. From point to hilt it measures nineteen inches, and in extreme breadth of blade is rather under an inch and a half. It weighs rather less than one pound six ounces, and altogether appears to be quite insignificant when compared with the parang-latok. We shall see, however, that in the hands of an experienced swordsman it is even superior to that weapon on account of a strange peculiarity in construction. The general shape of the blade of the parang-ihlang can be seen in [illustration No. 3], on page 1122. It is very thick and heavy toward the hilt, where it is nearly squared, like the parang-latok, but becomes gradually thinner toward the point, which is finished off in a series of scooped patterns that look at a little distance as if the sword had been broken. The back is quite straight, and along it and on either side of the blade is a series of small patterns engraved with much neatness and freedom of execution.

But the most remarkable thing about the blade is, that instead of being nearly flat as are European sword blades, it is convex on one side, and concave on the other, as is shown at the section, [fig. 5]. Owing to this form, it can only be used for two cuts, one downward and one upward; and if used in the wrong direction, it flies off at an angle, and is nearly certain to inflict a wound on the man who wields it. These swords are made either for the right or left hand, so that a man who is not acquainted with the peculiarities of any parang is afraid to use it without a careful trial, lest he should make the wrong cut with it, and so wound himself.

Small and insignificant as this weapon looks, it is capable of inflicting the most dreadful wounds, the peculiar concavity of the blade aiding it in a most remarkable manner. Like the parang-latok, it is used as a chopper as well as a sword, and in experienced hands is a most effective tool. One man, described by Mr. Brooke, was a celebrated swordsman, and has been known to sever at a single blow a log of tolerably hard wood as thick as a man’s leg.

Even English officers have been so much impressed with the value of this weapon, that they have only carried the regulation sword for show, preferring the parang-ihlang for use. The Sea Dyaks, who have been already mentioned as essentially warriors, prefer this sword to any other weapon, though the real inventors and principal makers of it are the Kayans, who belong to the Malanau division of the Land Dyaks. As a rule, the ordinary Land Dyaks use the parang-ihlang but little, and when they do use it are apt to hurt themselves. Mr. Boyle mentions an instance where the eldest son of a chief had cut himself seriously on both shins through his incautious use of this weapon.

“The finest parangs,” writes Mr. Boyle, “or those esteemed so, are found in the graves of Kayan warriors, which are consequently rifled by Dyaks and Malays on every possible occasion. I have one, purchased at Kennowit, which I was told had been obtained from a sepulchre, three hundred years old—a rather improbable assertion, though I believe the weapon was really found in a Kayan grave, for it was strangely stained and rusted when I bought it.”

The Dyaks are very proud of the quality of their blades, and hold even the best European steel in utter contempt. It is said that their swords are made of old files, which are imported in large quantities; but, whatever may be the material, the temper of their blades is marvellously excellent. These parangs not only take a razor-like edge, but are exceedingly tough, and when used for bush-work beat the very best English implements. Mr. Boyle remarks, that whereas his own hunting-knives, which professed to be the finest steel possible, broke and gapped, the Dyak parangs were not in the least injured.

Such a blade as has been described is exceedingly valuable, even in its own country, and one of the best quality cannot be purchased under ten pounds sterling. It may be easily imagined that when a Dyak is fortunate enough to possess one of these valuable blades he will not be content with an ordinary handle and sheath, but will lavish upon his weapon all the powers of his native art. The handle, instead of being of simple wood, is of bone, carved deeply and boldly into patterns, and is always bent at right angles to the line of the blade. It is further ornamented by sundry tufts of human hair, dyed of various colors, of which deep red, yellow, and green are the favorites. The hilt is generally bound with brass wire, and, for a small-handed race like the Dyaks, affords an excellent hold. An European generally finds that the narrow handle is very awkward and cramped, and is not sufficient for his grasp.

The scabbard of this weapon is covered with ornaments. Instead of being a plain and simple sheath, like that of the parang-latok, it is made of a hard wood, of a dark, rich, mahogany color, which takes a very high polish. This is carved in elaborate and really artistic patterns, the carving being confined to the front of the scabbard.

In the middle, just under the carved part, is a piece of fur, and below the fur is a tuft of human hair dyed red. In most cases of swords made by uncivilized races, there is some danger to the hand in drawing them, the edge of the sword being apt to project between the two flat pieces of which the sheath is made. In order, however, to guard against such an accident, the maker of the parang-ihlang places a piece of rattan against each edge of the scabbard, so that the blade cannot by any possibility cut the fingers, even if the hand should grasp the sheath. The various parts of this sheath are bound together by six belts of plaited rattan and three belts of brass wire, plaited most beautifully, in that form which is known to sailors as the Turk’s head.

The belt by which the sword is attached to the wearer is made of rattan, cut into very narrow strips and plaited into thongs, three of which thongs are again plaited together to form the belt. On the opposite side of the scabbard is a second sheath, of the same length as that to which it is fastened, but small and cylindrical. This sheath is made of red and yellow cloth, is lined with bark, and is intended for the reception of a knife which is peculiar to the Dyaks. One of these knives maybe seen at [fig. 3], in the illustration of the parang on page 1129. The handle of this knife is made of the same hard wood as that of which the sheath is formed. It is nearly cylindrical, about half an inch in diameter, and fourteen inches in length, the blade being short, pointed, and barely two inches in length. This curious knife is used by the Dyaks for splitting rattan, and similar purposes, the long handle being held under the left arm, while the rattan is drawn with both hands, across the edge of the blade.

The natives are singularly averse to parting with this knife. They will sell the sword, if a sufficient price be offered, but will always endeavor surreptitiously to withdraw the knife, so that, out of many parangs which have been brought to Europe, comparatively few have the knife attached to them. In one specimen in my collection, the weapon appears to be quite perfect, but, on withdrawing the knife from its sheath, it is seen that the Dyak has cleverly substituted a bladeless handle for the real knife.

Both the weapons which have been described were presented to me by C. T. C. Grant, Esq.

There is also in my collection a third kind of parang, which at first sight looks almost exactly like the old Roman sword. It is thick, massive, weighty, and at first sight looks more like an ancient than a modern weapon. On a closer examination, however, the peculiar Dyak workmanship is evident. Though it is not like the preceding weapon, convex on one side, and concave on the other, the two sides are entirely distinct. The blade is double-edged, very thick in the middle, and sloped off rather abruptly to the edge on either side.

The handle is only made of wood, but is profusely decorated with human hair of different colors and considerable length, and it is bound with a broad belt of plaited rattan. The sheath for the knife is entirely made of bark, and the knife itself is shown at [fig. 2]. Like the scabbard of the parang-ihlang already described, that of this weapon is richly carved, and adorned with fur and long tufts of human hair.

The belt by which it is suspended is made of rattan split very fine, and plaited so as to form a strap nearly an inch in width, and the sixth of an inch in thickness. It is rounded at the edges, and at the upper part it is ingeniously separated into two portions, so as to form a loop.

The chief peculiarity of this weapon lies in the number of charms which are attached to it. First come two teeth, and then there is a beautifully plaited little case, something like the cocoon of an insect, containing several little pieces of wood. Next comes a small bag of netted string, about an inch and a half in length, in which is a stone, and then come three little flattish baskets, with covers, which are empty. Fastened to the belt by several thongs is a curiously shaped piece of wood which I believe to be used for sharpening the edges of the sword, and to the end of the sheath is hung by a string of beads a feather, the quill of which has been carefully wrapped with red and black string.

This weapon is in all ways a most formidable one, and to European travellers is by far the best for practical purposes. The handle is rather larger than is the case with either of the preceding weapons; the blade has not that curvature which renders it so perilous a weapon in unpractised hands; it is double-edged, and either edge can be used with equal facility; and lastly, it possesses a point, which is not the case with the other forms of the sword.

One Dyak chief had an ornament attached to his sword of which he was exceedingly proud. It was an enormous tuft of hair, being nothing more nor less than the pigtails of ten Chinese whom he had killed, and whose hair he had fastened to the scabbard of his sword. This ornament must have been singularly inconvenient to him. There is in my collection an average specimen of a Chinese pigtail. It weighs nine ounces, so that the weight of the ten must rather exceed five pounds and a half, while the length is five feet, so that ten tufts of hair, each five feet in length, must have given the wearer an infinity of trouble as he walked.

The reader will already have noticed how the various forms of sword are used alike by the Malays and the Dyak tribes. There is another weapon, which, though strictly a Malay invention, is used by the Dyaks, and indeed, with some variations, throughout the whole of the Malay Archipelago. It is called the kris, sometimes, but wrongly, spelt creese, and is so common that any ordinary collection of weapons is sure to contain several specimens of the kris. It is remarkable for three points. In the first place, the handle is not set in a line with the blade, as in ordinary daggers, but is bent at a right angle; next, the blade is almost always waved in form, like the flaming sword with which the old painters armed the angels who kept the gates of Paradise; and thirdly, the blade is never smooth, but dull, rough, and indented with curved grooves much resembling in form the marks on a “browned” gun-barrel. By referring to the [illustration “Kris”] on page 1129, the reader will better understand its peculiarities.

There are few weapons which vary more in value, or in which the price set upon them is so apparently excessive. A first-rate blade, even without the handle and sheath, will cost from eighteen to twenty pounds, and an ordinary one can scarcely be purchased under two pounds. They have by no means the appearance of being valuable weapons, the steel of the blade being not only rough and corroded, but looking as if it were composed of successive laminæ which are on the point of being separated. This effect is produced by steeping the blade in lime juice, thus causing a partial corrosion of the metal, which is made of small pieces of steel twisted and welded together in such a manner as to produce exceeding toughness.

One of these weapons in my collection is worn away almost to a mere ribbon of steel by the action of the acid, and, strange as it may seem, weapons of this kind, which look much as if they were mere pieces of rusty iron-hooping, are the most valued by connoisseurs. The length of grain in this weapon is wonderful, the corrosion of the lime juice showing it in the most perfect manner. The long grooves can be traced from one end of the blade to the other, following the waved form of the narrower portion, and curling round in the wider part near the hilt, as if the whole of the blade had been forged out of steel wires laid parallel to each other and then welded together.

The lime juice takes off from the edge that razor-like smoothness which is so much admired in European blades, and gives it a ragged, saw-like appearance that is peculiar to the instrument. This edge, however, is a terrible one for penetration into human flesh, and answers the purpose even better than a plain and sharp edge could do.

The form of the kris is sufficient to tell the reader the mode of handling it, the weapon being thrust forward just as a man points with his extended forefinger, and not grasped according to the conventional ideas of painters. Spaniards, who are proverbially expert in the use of their long knives, hold and use them in nearly the same manner, laying the extended forefinger along the blade as a guide, and thrusting forward instead of striking downward. The average length of a kris blade is about a foot, but some are nearly as long as ordinary swords, while others are only six or seven inches in length.

Very great pride is taken in an old family kris, the owner regarding it with a veneration that is almost superstitious. Generally, the handle is quite plain, but the more wealthy have it made of gold, and encrusted with precious stones. This weapon is seldom used in war. It is carried more as the symbol of a gentleman than as a weapon to be used in actual fight, and plays the part that the sword used to play in the last century.

The kris is much used in executions, the weapon being one made expressly for the purpose, quite straight, thin, and narrow. In all cases it is used in the same manner, though there are some variations in detail. Generally, the man who is to suffer walks quietly and unbound to a chair, in which he seats himself, mostly solacing his last moments by chewing the betel-nut. His arms are then extended, and held by two men, while the executioner, standing behind him, places the point of the kris just above the left collar-bone, and strikes it downward into the heart, so that death is instantaneous.

In some places the execution kris is very narrow, thin, and sharp on both edges, like a lancet. The executioner takes a small tuft of cotton wool, and twists it lightly round the blade of the kris, just above the point. He then holds the cotton wool between the finger and thumb of his left hand, so as to keep the kris upright. After placing the point of the weapon on the right spot above the left collar-bone, he drives it downward into the heart with his right hand, and the man is dead. Still holding the cotton wool between the finger and thumb, he draws out the kris, and, as the point is withdrawn, presses the cotton wool into the small wound which it has made, so that the weapon is quite clean and bright, and not a drop of blood is allowed to be seen. There is no doubt that this mode of execution is as certain, swift and merciful as any that can be devised. It is equal in these respects to the guillotine, and has the great advantage of being absolutely bloodless, and requiring no scaffold or visible apparatus. A traveller might pass within two yards of the fatal spot, and not know that anything out of the ordinary way was being done.

Some of these weapons have been used for many successive generations, and are highly prized, some being valued at sums which to Europeans seem almost fabulous. One of these execution krises was shown at the Great Exhibition in London, but was lost, together with many other weapons of great value.

The spear is a weapon much favored by many Dyak tribes, but little employed by others, the spear head at the end of the sumpitan answering every practical purpose. In fact it is used, like the club of the Fiji Islander, as a summons to battle, and serves the same purpose as the fiery cross of the Scotch Highlands. This symbol is instantaneously obeyed, and, as it runs through a country with almost magical speed, a chief can raise a large force within a very short time. On one occasion, during the rajahship of Sir James Brooke, an incipient rebellion was ingeniously stopped by finding the “calling-out spear” as it lay hidden in a canoe, and taking possession of it. The people strenuously denied that such an article ever existed; but when it was taken from its hiding-place, the projected rising instantly collapsed.

CHAPTER CXVI.
BORNEO—Continued.
WAR—Concluded.

THE BORNEAN SHIELD, ITS USUAL SHAPE AND DECORATIONS — MODE OF USING IT — A CURIOUS SHIELD IN MY COLLECTION — HEAD HUNTING AND ITS ACCOMPANYING HORRORS — OBJECTS OF SIR JAMES BROOKE’S MISSION — HIS MODE OF SUPPRESSING THE PRACTICE — “OPENING MOURNING” — THE FISH SPEARING AND THE FEAST — VALUE OF HEADS — TREACHERY AND CUNNING — THE BAFFLED HEAD HUNTERS — DYEING AND PRESERVING THE HEADS — THE HEAD HOUSES — COURAGE IN WAR — STORMING A NATIVE FORT — A NAVAL BATTLE — TRAPS AND PITFALLS — MAKING PEACE.

By way of defensive weapons, the Dyaks use the shield, which is made of wood, and is generally of an oblong form. Like the parang, it is decorated with various ornaments, the chief of which are hair, beads, and feathers. The hair is made into flat tufts, and fastened at regular intervals all over the shield, as is seen in an [illustration] at the foot of next page, which represents a fine specimen in the magnificent collection of the late Mr. Christy. In the centre of this shield there is a rude and evidently conventional representation of the human face, the eye being circular, of very great size, and painted white in the centre. At the top and bottom of the shield are similar figures, but of smaller size. Some shields, which are now very seldom seen, have the entire human form painted on them, the legs issuing from the chest, and the neck being entirely dispensed with. The tufts of hair on this shield are black.

The mode of using the shield and sword is shown in their sword dances, and Mr. Brooke, who had great experience in the Dyak weapons, gives the following opinion of their value:—Sword dances with shields were going on. Each tribe has a peculiar step and code of its own; but as an attack and defence in earnest they all seemed to be equally ridiculous.

“However, in the event of an opponent using a shield, I feel convinced that an European could not stand against them, as they are able to crouch their bodies entirely behind it, and can spring immediately from such an attitude behind it without losing their balance. But without a shield a man with a rapier would be more than a match for any of them, unless, as is possible, a heavy Dyak weapon were to cut a light sword in two. This, however, no dexterous fencer would be likely to allow, and, after the first blow from a heavy weapon had fallen, the opponent would be at the mercy of a light swordsman.”

With due respect to the opinion of so competent an authority, I cannot but think that, even when furnished with this shield, the Dyak ought not to overcome a good fencer. The very fact that he is obliged to hold his shield before him, and consequently to stand either with his left side or at least his breast fronting his adversary, shows that he can have but a very short reach with his weapon, while his opponent, armed with a small sword, and using only the point, can remain entirely out of reach of the parang’s edge, while he himself is within easy distance of the Dyak, and ready to bring in the fatal point of his weapon at the slightest opening made by his opponent.

The reader may remember that the parang described on [page 1125] has attached to it, among other ornaments, a single feather. This feather has been taken from the rhinoceros hornbill, a bird which the Dyaks hold in much respect, and which they will not eat, however hungry they may be. The quill feathers of the wing and tail are black, with a band of white, and by both Malays and Dyaks they are thought to possess certain virtues, and are used as talismans. The bird is considered to be an emblem of war, and for this reason the sword sheaths, shields, and cloaks worn in war time are decorated with its feathers; and the huge horny beak of the bird is scraped thin, polished, and made into earrings.

(1.) DYAK KRIS
(See [page 1126].)

(2.) BORNESE SHIELD.
(See [page 1131].)

(3.) PARANG WITH CHARMS.
(See [page 1125].)

(4.) SPEAR.
(See [page 1132].)

(5.) DYAK SHIELD
(See [page 1128].)

I insert also on page 1129, a [figure] of a shield in my collection, which I believe to be of Bornean make, the materials and mode of employing them being evidently Bornean. In shape it exactly resembles the small shields used by horsemen in the early age of English history, and, small as it is, it forms a very efficient defence. It is twenty inches in length, and thirteen inches in width, and it is wielded by means of a separate handle, firmly lashed to the body of the shield by strips of rattan. The characteristic feature of the shield is the manner in which it is built up of a number of pieces, the whole, though merely bound together by rattan, being as firm as if it were cut out of one piece of wood.

If the reader will look at [figure 2], which shows the back of the shield, he will see that it is made of four flat pieces of wood, which are laid side by side. These pieces are of a lightish colored wood, and are but slightly smoothed. The handle is cut from a separate piece of wood, which runs the whole length of the shield. As is usual with Bornean weapons, the handle is much too small for the grasp of an European.

The front of the shield is made of a single flat piece of wood, to which the others are lashed, or rather sewed, by means of rattan passing through holes. In order to hold all these cross-pieces more firmly together, a deep groove has been cut in a thick rattan, which has been bound round the shield so as to receive the edges of the wood in the groove, and has been sewed to them by rattan at regular intervals.

The shield is further strengthened by an upright piece of wood, which runs along the front, and to which the handle at the back is lashed by rattan, so that the handle and the corresponding piece in front actually strengthen the shield instead of being a strain upon it. The materials have been chosen with the eye for color which the Dyak usually possesses. The thin flat wooden plate which forms the front of the shield is nearly black, the central piece is yellowish white, and the rattans with which it is edged and sewed are of a bright yellow. The weight of the shield is exactly a pound and a half. Besides the centre ornament on the front, a [section] of the shield is also given, so as to show the form of the handle, and the slight curvature of the whole implement.

The perpetual feuds that rage among the Dyak tribes are mostly caused by the practice of “head hunting,” which is exactly analogous to the scalp hunting propensities of the North American tribes. Mr. Boyle has sketched the outlines of this horrid custom in a few nervous words, which will afterward be examined in detail. “The great tribes of Sakarrang and Saribas have never been more than nominally subject to the Malays of Kuching or Bruni, and Sir James Brooke is the first master whom they have really obeyed. Every year a cloud of murderous pirates issued from their rivers and swept the adjacent coasts. No man was safe by reason of his poverty or insignificance, for human heads were the booty sought by these rovers, and not wealth alone. Villages were attacked in the dead of the night, and every adult cut off; the women and grown girls were frequently slaughtered with the men, and children alone were preserved to be the slaves of the conquerors.

“Never was warfare so terrible as this. Head hunting, a fashion of comparatively modern growth, became a mania, which spread like a horrible disease over the whole land. No longer were the trophies regarded as proofs of individual valor; they became the indiscriminate property of the clan, and were valued for their number alone. Murder lurked in the jungle and on the river; the aged of the people were no longer safe among their own kindred, and corpses were secretly disinterred to increase the grisly store.

“Superstition soon added its ready impulse to the general movement. The aged warrior could not rest in his grave till his relations had taken a head in his name; the maiden disdained the weak-hearted suitor whose hand was not yet stained with some cowardly murder.

“Bitterly did the Malay Pangerans of Kuching regret the folly which had disseminated this frenzy. They themselves had fostered the bloodthirsty superstition in furtherance of their political ends, but it had grown beyond their control, and the country was one red field of battle and murder. Pretexts for war were neither sought nor expected; the possession of a human head, no matter how obtained, was the sole happiness coveted throughout the land.”

It was in order to stop this terrible custom that Sir James Brooke undertook his rule. The sultan of Bruni, in despair at the state of things, and utterly unable to check the increasing rage for head hunting, ceded the territory to him, hoping that the Englishman, with his small forces, would succeed where he himself with all his soldiers had failed. Although these tribes were nominally his subjects, they never thought of obeying him, and the only sign of their subjection was a small tribute very irregularly paid. The sultan was right in his conjecture, and we know how the Englishman, with his steady, unflinching rule, succeeded in abolishing head hunting as an acknowledged practice, and, by his system of inflicting heavy fines on any one who took a head, gradually and steadily put an end to the practice. For several years the Dyaks could not understand the prohibition, and the English rajah and his officers were continually pestered with requests from Dyaks to be allowed to go and take heads. An old man, for example, had lost his wife, and begged piteously to be allowed to take just one head, so that she might rest quietly in her grave. Then a young man would come, who had been rejected by a Dyak damsel, lay his case before the authorities, and beseech them to permit him to take a head, and so to win the hand of the disdainful lady. One man, after meeting with the usual refusal, proposed a compromise, and asked whether he might not go and take the head of a Pakarran, because Pakarrans really could not be considered as men. In fact, as Mr. Brooke well remarks, the Dyaks behaved just like children crying after sugar-plums. No plan could have been devised which was more effective than that which was carried out by the English rajah. Whenever a party of Dyaks started surreptitiously off on a head hunting expedition, a force was always despatched after them, in order to cut them off and bring them to justice, when they were fined heavily. If they succeeded in procuring heads, their trophies were taken away from them, and they were fined still more heavily. Those who refused to submit to the punishment were declared to be enemies to the government, and their houses were burnt down. Dyaks of more peaceful tribes were always employed in such expeditions, as, owing to the feuds which had existed for so long, they had been exasperated by the numerous murders which had been perpetrated by the more warlike tribes. The English rule, unlike that of the Malay sultan, was irrespective of persons, and the highest chiefs were punished as swiftly and surely as the lowest of the people. On one occasion, a quarrel arose between two parties of Dyaks, one of which, commanded by a chief named Jannah, was entirely in the wrong, having first trespassed on the property of the other party, and then got up a quarrel because they had hurt themselves against the spiked bamboos, which were planted by way of fences. In the fight that ensued Jannah himself shot the other chief; but he gained little by his act. As soon as the facts were known, Mr. Brooke sent a large force against him, and he was fined nearly two hundred pounds. He and his party took to the bush, but they were soon starved out, and had to submit. The other chiefs were delighted at the result, and were accustomed ever afterward to check those who wished to go head hunting by telling them to remember Jannah and his two hundred pounds. It is rather curious that this high-handed proceeding inspired Jannah with the greatest respect and affection for Mr. Brooke, for whom he afterward entertained a sincere friendship. He asserted that the three years subsequent to this episode in his life had been marked by very much better harvests than he had before obtained from his land, and attributed his prosperity to his friendship for the white man.

One ingenious portion of the system was, that a large share of the fines was distributed among chiefs who had abstained from head-hunting. This plan had a double effect; it proved to the Dyaks that they were not fined for the benefit of the English, and it induced them to be always on the look-out for those who were going to hunt after heads.

It has been mentioned that the heads are wanted to “open the mourning” after the death of any person. This phrase requires some little explanation. When a chief loses a relative, he closes some stream during the time of mourning. This is done by driving spears into the bank, on either side, and fastening bamboos to them across the stream. No one is allowed to pass this obstruction until the mourning is over, an event which cannot take place, according to Dyak custom, until a head had been obtained.

When he has brought home the required trophy, he leaves it at the head house to be prepared, while he makes ready for the feast with which a new head is received. He takes some plants, the juice of which has a stupifying quality, pounds them, and throws them into the river. The fish come floating to the surface, and are then captured by means of barbed spears, which are flung at them from the bank. The spears are very light, their shafts being made of bamboo, so that they always float, and enable the thrower to recover both the spear and the fish which it has struck. The spears and poles which closed the stream are removed in order to allow the fishermen to use their weapons, and thus, by the arrival of the coveted head, the stream is again thrown open.

One of these [fish spears] is shown on page 1129. It is five feet in length, and the shaft, which is three-quarters of an inch in diameter, is made of hollow bamboo, and is exceedingly light. The four prongs are made of iron, and very slightly barbed. Owing to the manner in which they are lashed to the shaft, they are very elastic, so that their slight barbs are perfectly capable of retaining the fish. With the natural love of ornament which distinguishes the Dyaks, the owner of this spear has decorated it with several broad belts of split rattan, plaited in a very artistic manner. One was placed just below the head of the spear, another was placed at the centre of gravity, so as to guide the hand at once to the “balance” of the weapon, and the third was near the butt. Of the three, however, only the central belt remained when the spear reached me.

Owing to the enormous demand for heads, quantity rather than quality was the chief requisite, so that at the time when Sir James Brooke undertook the task of putting down the practice of head hunting, no practical distinction was made between the head of a stalwart warrior and that of a tender girl. A head was a head; the body to which it belonged was of no consequence.

The rage for heads was so great that in one head house an Englishman, who happened to know something of comparative anatomy, espied a head which seemed scarcely human, and which, on examination, turned out to be that of an orang-outan. The proprietors of the head house at first indignantly denied that any imposture had been practised, and adhered to the human origin of the head. At last, however, they were obliged to yield to a certain degree, but they only said that the head in question was that of an Antu or goblin, which had infested the village for a considerable time, and had at last been killed.

One exception was made in the value of these trophies, the head of a white man being beyond all price, and being so valued that a Dyak who had obtained one would not place it in the common head house, but would build a special house to contain it. One of these Dyak warriors was seen exposing himself to great danger in his anxiety to secure a white man’s head. A boatman had been killed, and one of the Dyak murderers was observed dragging up the hill the body of the slain man, hacking with his knife at the neck so as to secure the head, regardless of the fact that he was likely to be shot in the endeavor.

As the possession of a head is the height of a Dyak’s ambition, it is not extraordinary that the natives should use all their powers of force or craft to secure the trophy. One example of treachery is narrated by Mr. Brooke (the present Rajah).

“Five years ago the Saribas Malays were living at the mouth of their river, and, with very few exceptions, were hostile to us. Still they were on friendly terms so far as gaining trade, and making use of the merchandise they could only get by communication with Sarawak. A party of five people, three men and two women, left Sakarrang to go to Saribas for the purpose of meeting some of their relatives. After they had been absent a considerable time, the news was brought back that they had been beheaded by Dyaks in the river.

“It happened thus: They met a boat’s crew of Dyaks while in Saribas, and spoke together, saying they were traders, and were also seeking for fish. When the Malays were leaving Saribas to return, the Dyak boat followed in their wake, entered this river together, and on the following day proceeded to carry out their sly and murderous design.

“In the morning they offered their swords for sale, and sold or exchanged one, suffering the Malays to make an exceedingly profitable bargain. They then proposed fishing with a hand net on the mud bank, and persuaded a Malay named Limin (who was well known, and considered a brave man) to separate from the others and cast the net. This was done, and for some time they were successful in bagging fish, and were going further and further from the boats.

“At length the net fouled on a stump at the bottom, and one of the Dyaks immediately took off his sword and dived down, as poor Limin thought, to clear it, but, instead of doing so, the wily rascal twisted it firmly round and round, came up to take breath, and then again dived, and again twisted it in various ways round the stumps; he then rose, and said he could not clear it, but asked Limin to try. Limin unsuspectingly took off his sword, dived, and, on approaching the surface breathless, the two Dyaks struck and decapitated him without a sound. They then took his head and returned to their boat.

“A third Malay was persuaded to administer some cure to a Dyak’s foot, which was bleeding slightly. While the Malay was leaning over and looking to the wound, one of them chopped off his head from behind. After this, the woman was decapitated. They lost one head, which tumbled into the water, but the other four, with all the property belonging to the Malay party, were taken and carried away to Sadok.”

On another occasion, a party of Dyaks in a canoe met a boat containing a man, his wife, and their young daughter. They stopped the boat, and offered betel-nut for sale. As soon as they came within reach, they drew their swords, struck off the woman’s head, and took the girl prisoner, but the father had just time to jump overboard and swim ashore.

This occurred in the Saribas River, and, strangely enough, the murderer, whose name was Sadji, nearly came in contact with Mr. Brooke, who had gone out expressly to check his head hunting propensities. Mr. Brooke passed him on the river, but, not being acquainted with him, did not arrest him. This, as was afterward learned, was fortunate for Sadji sat in the boat with his sword drawn, and if the captive girl had called for help, or if the English had shown any signs of arresting him, he would have struck off her head, jumped with it into the river, swum ashore, and escaped together with his followers through the jungle.

The same author gives another example of head hunting, which is a curious mixture of the terrible and the ludicrous. A young man named Achang was brought before Mr. Brooke in irons. He was only nineteen years of age, and yet he had gray hair, the natural color having vanished in consequence of his troubles. Some time previously, he had fallen in love with a young Dyak girl, who spurned all his advances because he had never taken a head, and so proved himself to be a warrior. She was evidently a girl of energy, for she proposed that he should go to the Saribas fort, and take the head of Bakir, the Dyak chief, or of the Tuan Hassan, i. e. Mr. Watson.

Being thus pressed, Achang, with another lad of his own age, set off for the fort, and on the way suffered the usual drawbacks of bad birds, bad dreams, and missing the path, so that when they came within sight of the fort they thought they had better change their plans. They determined on going to a Chinaman’s house under pretext of purchasing his goods, and taking his head while he was off his guard. When well cooked and dried, one head would do as well as another, and they thought that they would have no difficulty in passing off the Chinaman’s head for that of the white man.

Accordingly, they went to a Chinaman’s house, had their supper with him very amicably, and then retired to rest, after agreeing that at midnight they would strike the fatal blow. Now it happened that Achang overslept himself, and his friend thought that he might as well take advantage of his drowsiness, and secure the head for himself. Accordingly, at midnight, hideous yells were heard from the Chinaman’s house, and when the people rushed into the room, they found the unfortunate owner with his face gashed all down one side, the Dyak youth having missed his blow in his haste. The actual perpetrator escaped, but Achang was found still fast asleep, and was instantly put in irons.

Next day he was brought down to Sakarrang, with a chain round his waist, and on the way he was followed by a body of Dyaks, who were trying to bribe his keepers to let them take his head. They actually held an auction for his head as they went along, each bidding higher than the other, and the horrors of that twelve-mile march were such that the poor lad became gray before the next morning.

After all, Achang was really a most gentle and innocent lad, and was only following the habits of his country in obeying the behests of his mistress. He was kept in irons for about a month, and then released, after which he attached himself to the service of the white men, worked in the garden, and, as the saying is, made himself generally useful.

The heads are subjected to a sort of drying process, called “cooking,” which is tolerably effectual, but is far inferior to that which is employed by the New Zealanders, and, for a considerable time after the heads are cooked, they are very offensive to European nostrils, though Dyaks seem to be quite unconscious of the evil odor. They are always kept in the pangarangs, or head houses, which are very unlike the ordinary dwelling-houses of the Dyaks. A very good account of a head house is given by Mr. F. S. Marryat:—

“We were escorted, through a crowd of wandering Dyaks, to a house in the centre of the village, which was very different in construction from the others. It was perfectly round, and well ventilated by numerous port-holes in the roof, which was pointed. We ascended to the room above by means of a rough ladder, and when we entered, we were rather taken aback by finding that we were in the head house, as it is termed, and that the beams were lined with human heads, all hanging by a small line passed through the top of the skull.

“They were painted in the most fantastic and hideous manner. Pieces of wood painted to imitate the eyes were inserted in the sockets, and added not a little to their ghastly, grinning appearance. The strangest part of the story, and which added very much to the effect of the scene, was, that these skulls were perpetually moving to and fro, and knocking against each other. This, I presume, was occasioned by the different currents of air blowing in at the port-holes cut in the roof; but what with their continual motion, their nodding their chins when they hit each other, and their grinning teeth, they really appeared to be endowed with new life, and to be a very merry set of fellows.

“However, whatever might be the first impression occasioned by this very unusual sight, it very soon wore off, and we amused ourselves with their motions, which were not life, as Byron says; and in the course of the day we succeeded in making a very excellent dinner in company with these gentlemen, although we were none of us sufficiently Don Giovannistic to invite our friends above to supper.”

These head houses are, as we have just seen, the places wherein guests are received, and we can therefore understand that the natives of any village would have a pride in showing to their visitors the trophies won by themselves. One of these houses scantily furnished with heads would be held as a scandal to the village, so that the three emotions of pride, love, and sorrow have all their effect in aiding the custom of head hunting.

In these head houses, the unmarried men of the village sleep. The reason for this custom is two-fold. In the first place, the bachelors are kept out of mischief; and in the next, they are always ready with their arms at hand to turn out in defence of the village should it be attacked. In such expeditions, the head house is always the central object of attack, and by having the young warriors at hand the Dyaks ensure the security of their cherished trophies.

Some of the horrors of the head hunting custom are well described by Mr. St. John:—“About thirteen years ago, I heard the Natuna people give an account of a horrible transaction that took place in one of their islands. A party of Saribas Dyaks were cruising about among the little isles near, and had destroyed several women and many fishermen, when they were observed, toward evening, creeping into a deep and narrow inlet to remain during the night.

“The islanders quietly assembled and surprised their enemies, killing all but seven, who were taken prisoners—six men and one lad. The former they roasted over a slow fire, and they declared that the bold fellows died without uttering a cry of pain, but defying them to the last; the lad, who stood trembling by, uncertain of his fate, was sent back to the coast, with a message to his countrymen that, if ever they came there again, they would all be treated in the same way. This fearful warning was sufficient to deter their seeking heads again in that direction.

“Parties of two and three sometimes went away for months on an inland incursion, taking nothing with them but salt wrapped up in their waist-cloths, with which they seasoned the young shoots and leaves, and palm cabbages found in the forests; and when they returned home, they were as thin as scare-crows.

“It is this kind of cat-like warfare which causes them to be formidable enemies both to the Chinese and the Malays, who never felt themselves safe from a Dyak enemy. They have been known to keep watch in a well up to their chins in water, with a covering of a few leaves over their heads, to endeavor to cut off the first person who might come to draw water. At night they would drift down on a log, and cut the rattan cable of trading prahus, while others of their party would keep watch on the bank, knowing well where the stream would take the boat ashore; and when aground they kill the men and plunder the goods.”

In war Dyaks have often proved themselves to be valiant soldiers. Mr. Brooke relates that when he was attacking the fort of a hostile chief having with him a mixed force of Malays and Dyaks, the latter were; by far the better soldiers. The former advanced to thirty or forty yards of the house, i. e. just beyond the range of the Sumpitan arrows, which were being blown from the fort, and ensconced themselves behind trees and stumps, where they could fire without exposing themselves to the deadly darts. The Dyaks, however, dashed boldly at the house, clambering up the posts on which it was built, carrying their weapons with them, hacking at the breaches which had previously been made with shot, and trying to force their way into the fort.

At last, one Dyak succeeded in getting into the house, and remained there for about five minutes, when he was obliged to retreat and slide to the ground down the post. After much fighting, the Dyaks managed to set fire to the building at both ends, thus forcing the inmates to rush out among their enemies. Scarcely any of them escaped, some perishing in the flames, others being badly wounded, and the rest being taken prisoners.

The victorious Dyaks were mad with excitement, and rushed about with furious shouts, carrying heads in their hands, and insensible to the wounds which many of them had received. One lad came yelling by, having a head in one hand, and with the other holding on one side of his face. An enemy’s sword had nearly sliced off the whole of that side of his face, but he was almost unconscious of the fact, and his excitement prevented him from feeling any pain. In a few minutes, however, he fainted from loss of blood, and, in spite of the terrible wound which he had received, eventually recovered.

Sometimes the Dyaks are exceedingly cruel to their captives, not being content with merely taking their heads, but killing them slowly by torture. Generally, however, the competition for heads is so keen that a man who has overcome an enemy has no time for torturing him, and is obliged to content himself with getting off the head as fast as he can.

Some of these forts are most perilous places to attack. The approaches are guarded with “ranjows,” i. e. slips of bamboo sharpened at the end and stuck in the ground. Ranjows are troublesome enough on open ground, but when they are stuck among leaves, grass, and herbage, they become terrible weapons, and impede very effectually the advance of the attacking force.

Then the Dyaks set various ingenious traps. They place bent bows near the path, so constructed that as soon as a man comes opposite them, the string is liberated, and an arrow is tolerably sure to transfix both his legs. Sometimes they bend a young tree down, and lay a javelin, so that when the tree is freed, it strikes the end of the javelin and urges it onward with terrific violence, just like the mangonel of olden times. They dig numberless pitfalls of no very great size in depth, but each having a sharp bamboo stuck upright in the centre, so that any on who falls into the pit must inevitably be impaled.

The forts themselves have been much modified since the introduction of fire-arms, the stockades which surround them being made of the hardest wood, about two feet in thickness, and capable of resisting the fire of any small arms. In fact, nothing but artillery is of much use against one of these forts. Many of them are furnished with a sally-port through which, when the place becomes untenable, the defenders quietly escape, just as is done with the pahs of New Zealand.

The Sea Dyaks, as their name implies, are a maritime set of tribes, and fight chiefly in canoes. They have some ideas of tactics, and can arrange their canoes in regular array when they meet with an enemy. One of their favorite tactics is to conceal some of their larger boats, and then to send some small and badly-manned canoes forward to attack the enemy. They are, of course, soon repulsed, and obliged to retreat. The enemy, thinking himself victorious, follows them exultingly, and, as soon as he passes the spot where the larger canoes are hidden, he is attacked by them in the rear, while the smaller canoes, which have acted as decoys, turn and join in the onslaught. The rivers are almost invariably chosen for this kind of attack, the overhanging branches of trees and the dense foliage of the bank affording excellent hiding-places for the canoes. An illustration of a “[Canoe fight]” is given on page 1139.

When peace is declared, or when people desire to renew friendship to each other, they declare themselves friends by a ceremony which is identical in principle with that which is practised in many parts of Africa, each of the contracting parties partaking of the blood of the other. Sometimes the blood is actually drunk, but generally it is taken by mixing it with tobacco and smoking it. Mr. St. John, in his “Forests of the Far East,” describes this ceremony with much force:—

“Siñganding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it is placed within a native cigar, and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony, which is called Berbiang by the Kayans, Bersabibah by the Borneans.

“I landed with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk, to give time for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad veranda of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum-Lia took a small piece of wood shaped like a knife-blade, and, slightly piercing the skin, brought the blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off. Then one of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Siñganding, and a small cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blade was spread on the tobacco.

“A chief then arose, and, walking to an open place, looked forth upon the river, and invoked their god and all the spirits of good and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was then lighted, and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination.

“They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to the Kiniahs, who live further up the river, and are intermarried with the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods, and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then killed, and, after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the wound, and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.”

The stranger thus admitted into membership with the Kayans is called Niau, or friend, and in some cases the experiment proves to be successful. Generally, however, the honor, such as it is, is greater than the profit, the Kayans assuming that their newly-admitted member ought to make plenty of rich presents to his tribe, in order to show his sense of the privileges that have been conferred upon him.

CHAPTER CXVII.
BORNEO—Continued.
SOCIAL LIFE.

MARRIAGE AMONG THE DYAKS — COURTSHIP, ACCEPTANCE OR REJECTION — A SIBUYAN WEDDING — CURIOUS DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS — PRIDE OF BIRTH — STATE OF MORALITY — FACILITIES OF DIVORCE — JEALOUSY, AND ITS RESULTS — HOW TO TREAT A RIVAL — FORBIDDEN DEGREES — SPORTS AND GAMES — BEE HUNTING — THE BORNEAN SWING — TRIALS OF STRENGTH AND EQUILIBRIUM — TRICKS WITH STRING — COCK FIGHTING — THE SWORD DANCE — A DYAK WAR DANCE WITH HEADS — THE CAT-O’-NINE TAILS — DYAK FESTIVALS — STRANGE COOKERY — THE DURIAN FRUIT — THE NATIONAL DRINK, ITS ODOR AND TASTE — HABIT OF INTOXICATION — A DYAK CIRCE — STOUT DRINKERS AND STRONG HEADS — THE FORCE OF RIDICULE.

Passing from war to peace, we will begin with marriage as practised among the Dyaks.

In some parts of the country marriage is a very simple business, the two parties living together as long as they like each other, and separating if either feels dissatisfied. In any case, as we shall see, the facilities for divorce are extreme, and the bonds of matrimony are worn with marvellous looseness.

The reader cannot but have remembered the singular coincidence that often exists between customs of savage and of civilized life.

Among the Sinambau Dyaks there is a mode of courtship which still prevails in some parts of Europe, though it is generally falling into disuse. A young Sinambau Dyak, when struck with the charms of a girl, shows his preference in various ways, such as helping her in her daily labor, carrying home her load of wood for her, and making her such presents as are in his power to give.

After he has carried on these attentions for some time, he thinks that he may proceed to a more explicit declaration. At night, when the family is supposed to be asleep, he quietly slides back the bolt of the door, steals to the spot where his beloved is sleeping under her mosquito curtains, and gently awakes her. He always brings with him an abundant supply of betel-nut and sirih leaf, and the two sit talking together throughout the greater part of the night. It cannot be expected that the parents of the girl, who sleep in the same room, should be wholly ignorant of the proceeding, but they are conventionally supposed to be so, and if they approve of the young man they take no notice, while if they do not, they use their influence with the girl to induce her to dismiss him.

The mode of rejection is in keeping with the rest of the proceedings. Should the girl dislike the too adventurous suitor, she declines accepting the betel-nut, and merely asks him to blow up the fire or light the lamp, a request which is tantamount to instant dismissal.

When the marriage takes place a feast is made, and then the parties are made man and wife without any more ceremony. It is very seldom that the young couple begin housekeeping on their own account, and, as a general rule, the bridegroom enters the household of his father-in-law, or, at all events, of some of his wife’s relations, and so becomes one of the family, laboring for the common stock, and taking his share when the head of the household dies. Occasionally this plan is reversed, and when the bride is one of a large family of brothers and sisters, or if the bridegroom is the sole support of his parents, she accompanies her husband, and becomes part of his household.

The ceremony of marriage among the Sibuyan Dyaks of Lundu is worthy of notice. The artist has given an admirable [representation] of this unique ceremony on the following page. Two bars of iron are laid on the ground in the spot appointed for the ceremony, and the young couple are brought from opposite ends of the village. The first part of the ceremony consists in seating them on the bars of iron, as token that the blessings of their married life are to be as strong as iron. The priest gives to each of the pair a cigar and some betel-nut and sirih leaf, which they hold in their hand until the next part of the ceremony is completed. Taking two fowls in his hands, the priest waves them over the heads of the couple, and, in the course of a long address, invokes every blessing upon them. He then solemnly knocks their heads together three times, after which the bridegroom places the betel-nut in the mouth of his bride, and inserts the cheroot between her lips, she afterward doing the same by him, this ceremony being the public acknowledgment of accepting each other as husband and wife.

After they have thus declared their acceptance of each other, the fowls are killed, and their blood received in two cups, the color of the blood being carefully inspected by the priest, and its hue being held as an omen of the future well-being or misery of the newly married pair. One of the feasts which will presently be described closes the ceremonies.

It has already been mentioned that in most cases the bridegroom enters the family of his wife. But in any case he is bound to honor the father of his wife even above his own father. The young husband may never even pronounce the name of his father-in-law, he may not eat from the same dish, drink from the same cup, or rest on the same mat.

Among another tribe of Dyaks, the Balaus of Lingga, the ceremonies of marriage are rather different. By way of a propitiatory offering, the mother of the bridegroom gives to the relatives of the bride some domestic utensil, such as a plate or a basin, and three days afterward the very simple ceremony is performed.

The bridegroom’s mother takes a quantity of the areca-nut prepared for chewing, divides it into three portions, places them in a basket, and sets them on a sort of altar in front of the bride’s house. The friends of both parties then assemble, and chew the nuts while they discuss the future prospects of the young couple, and they decide as to the amount of fine which the husband shall pay to his wife in case he separates from her after she is a mother, or when she is likely to be so. In fact, in their own rough-and-ready way, these Dyaks have contrived to organize a tolerably complete code of marriage settlements, which, in consequence of the very easy system of divorce, is absolutely necessary for the protection of the women.

These Sea Dyaks of Lingga have, in common with all the sea tribes, the greatest pride of birth; and if a girl were to listen to the addresses of a man of much inferior rank, her parents would prohibit the match. In one such case the two lovers fled into the jungle, poisoned themselves with the juice of the tuba plant, and were found dead next morning in each other’s arms. So full are they of their family pride, that they look upon any mixture of their noble blood as a dire disgrace, and this is carried to so great an extent that, although within their own degree their morals are of the laxest order, the men would scorn an intrigue with a woman of low condition.

The Dyaks of Sibuyan are remarkable for the superiority of their morals when compared with the generality of the Dyak tribes, believing that immorality is an offence against the higher powers, and that, if a girl becomes a mother before she is married, she angers the deities of the tribe, who show their wrath by visitations upon the whole of the tribe. If, therefore, such a case be discovered, both the erring lovers are heavily fined, and a pig is sacrificed in order to avert the anger of the offended deities. Nor do the delinquents always escape the fine even after the sacrifice of the pig, for every one who was smitten with sickness, or met with an accident, within a month of the sacrifice, has a claim on them for damages, as having been the cause of the misfortune, while, if any one has died, the survivors claim compensation for the loss of their relative.

The reader will remember that the young people of both sexes live with their parents, contributing their labor to the common stock, and being therefore incapable of possessing property of their own. In consequence of this arrangement, the fines which are levied upon the lovers practically fall upon the parents, who therefore take care to look after their daughters, while the young men are partly kept out of mischief by being obliged to sleep together at the head house.

The Dyaks of the Batang Lupar are more lax in their notion of morality than the Sibuyans, and it is seldom that a girl is married until she is likely to become a mother. When this is the case, the lover marries her as a matter of course, but in those cases where a man denies his complicity, and the girl is unable to prove it, she is so bitterly scorned and reproached by her kindred that she generally runs away from the village. Some such delinquents have been known to take poison in order to escape the contempt of their relatives and acquaintances. They are thought to have brought such a disgrace on their family, that the parents sacrifice a pig to the higher powers, and wash the door of the house with its blood, in order to propitiate the offended deities.

(1.) A CANOE FIGHT.
(See [page 1136].)

(2.) A DYAK WEDDING.
(See [page 1138].)

When the pair are married, they almost invariably remain faithful to each other. There is, however, small credit to them for it, inasmuch as they can be divorced on the slightest pretext. An evil omen in the night, such as a “bad bird,” will frighten both parties so much that they will separate by mutual consent on the next day. Mr. St. John mentions that many men and women are married seven or eight times before they finally fix upon a partner with whom they mean to spend the rest of their lives, and as an example of the exceeding facility for divorce which exists among the Dyaks, states that he saw a young girl of seventeen who had already had three husbands.

Still, it is very seldom that married couples part after they are parents; and if they do so, the family of the women expect a heavy fine from the fickle husband. Now and then, a married pair are really so attached to each other that they do not like to part, even when they hear the voice of a “bad bird.” In such a case they avert the anger of the superior powers by sacrificing a pig, and are then able to remain together without fear. It often happens that a man and wife quarrel, and divorce themselves. After a while, however, they begin to think that they have made a mistake, and are allowed to renew their matrimonial relations without any ceremony or fresh rites of marriage.

Mr. St. John mentions a curious case of jealousy after a divorce, and its consequences.

The Pañgeran Mumein took a Murout girl, and paid her father as a marriage portion a heavy weight of brass guns—a curious sort of currency which is much valued by the Dyaks, and perfectly useless for any practical purposes. He left her for some time, and then, after she had borne him a child, repudiated her, telling her father that he did not want her any more, unless she liked to follow him to Brunei. This, however, the girl refused to do, so the Pañgeran made her father refund the brass guns, and besides pay a fine of double the amount, as a penalty for not allowing the girl to go to Brunei, where he meant to have sold her as a slave. The father paid the fine, and was told that the girl might then go where she liked, and marry whom she chose, as was only just after the previous event.

Accordingly, some little time afterward, she did marry one of her countrymen, whereupon the Pañgeran flew into a fit of jealousy, and ordered the head man or Orang-Kaya of the village to seize them and bring them to him. The Orang-Kaya was afraid, and hid himself, so that the Pañgeran had to employ the Bisayas, who captured the husband and brought him to their employer. The unfortunate man was then tied up to the Orang-Kaya’s landing place, and the Pañgeran cut him to pieces with his own hand, finishing by making a present of his head to the Gadong Murut Dyaks. Having thus wreaked his vengeance on the man who excited his jealousy, he allowed the girl and her father to go unharmed. Dyak history is full of similar tales.

Jealousy is by no means confined to the men, the women being far more jealous of the men than they of their wives, and with good reason. There is a tacit law that, whenever a wife detects her husband in flirting, she may beat her rival to her heart’s content, provided that she use nothing except a stick, and, if the woman be married, her husband may beat the disturber of his domestic peace, if he can. The usual result of discovery in such cases is, that the man goes off into the bush under the pretext of head hunting, and stays there until he thinks his wife’s anger has cooled down. If he is fortunate enough to return with a head, his success as a warrior ensures a condonation for his shortcomings as a husband.

The Dyaks have a code of forbidden degrees for marriages, differing slightly in the various tribes, but tolerably uniform on the whole. Marriage with first cousins is not permitted, they being looked upon as brother and sister; neither, as a general rule, is an uncle allowed to marry his niece. To this latter rule, however, there are exceptions. Marriage with a deceased wife’s sister is almost universally permitted, and, in fact, encouraged, provided that the parents of the woman approve of the match, because in that case all the children belong to one family.

Of sport, as we understand the word, the Dyaks have no idea, though they possess all the capabilities for it, being active, daring, and quick sighted. All these characteristics are shown in the mode by which they supply themselves with honey. They do not keep hives in or near their houses, but seldom fail to see a bees’ nest in a tree, though the unaccustomed eyes of an European can see nothing of the bees at the great height at which the nests are usually found.

Sometimes the stem of the tree rises for a hundred feet without a branch, and is from fifteen to twenty-five feet in circumference. The Dyaks, however, ascend such a tree with ease. They bore holes in the trunk of the tree as high as they can reach, and drive into them wooden pegs rather more than a foot in length. A stout rattan or a bamboo is then driven into the ground, and the ends of the wooden pegs are lashed to it so as to form a sort of ladder, of which the bamboo forms one side, and the trunk of the tree the other. On this slender ladder they ascend, drive in more pegs, and lash them to the bamboo, adding one bamboo after another until the nest is reached.

Nothing looks more insecure than this primitive ladder, which sways fearfully as the man ascends, the rattan lashings cracking and creaking as if the whole structure were coming to pieces. It is, however, perfectly adapted for its purpose, and, armed with a flaming torch, the almost naked Dyak ascends, and fearlessly takes the nest, which he lowers down by means of a rattan.

The nest is generally attacked at night, the Dyaks saying the bees always fly after the sparks that fall from the torch, believing them to be the enemy that is disturbing the nest, the man himself escaping unhurt. Some of the tribes have another plan, and before they ascend the tree light beneath it a large fire in which they throw a quantity of green branches. The smoke from these branches drives the bees out of their nest, and stupefies them for a time, so that the combs can be taken without danger.

Of games which are, in fact, an imitation of war, the Dyaks are equally ignorant, and, although so warlike a people, they do not wrestle, nor box, nor race. It would be expected that a people who trust so much to the sword would exercise with sham weapons, for the purpose of accustoming themselves to the proper management of the sword and shield. This, however, they never do, thinking that all such exercises are unlucky.

They have one game which somewhat resembles our swing, but which partakes in some degree of the nature of a religious ceremony. A strong derrick is erected some forty or fifty feet high, and to this is suspended a stout single rattan, which reaches within a few feet of the ground. The derrick is strengthened by rattan stays lashed to a neighboring tree. The end of the rattan is formed into a large loop.

At some distance from the derrick, just where the end of the rattan describes its circle, a slight bamboo stage is erected. One of the swingers mounts on the stage, draws the rattan to him by means of a string, places his foot in the loop, and swings off with as much impetus as he can give himself. As he returns, another leaps on the swing, and sometimes two at a time will do so, until ten or twelve are all swinging away at the same time. Of course, they cannot all put their feet in the loop, but content themselves with clinging to the arms and legs of those who have done so. As they swing, they strike up a monotonous song, which sounds like a dirge. It is, however, merely an invocation to the deities for a plentiful harvest and a good fishing season. As may be imagined, they often get bad falls from those swings.

The boys and youths have a game which is familiar to all gymnasts. The two competitors sit opposite each other on the ground, the soles of their feet being placed in contact. They then grasp a short stick, and each tries to pull the other on his face or to raise him off the ground. There is also a game which bears a close resemblance to our “prisoners’ base,” twenty or thirty players joining in the game; and there is another game, which is very much like the “cock fighting” of English school-boys. The players stand on one foot, holding the other foot in one hand and try to upset each other, or at least to make their antagonists put both feet to the ground.

In “cat’s cradle” they are wonderful proficients. Mr. Wallace thought that he could instruct them in the game but found that they knew much more about it than he did. They were acquainted with all the mysteries of the English modification of the game, and produced a vast number of additional changes from the string. Indeed, the Dyaks can do almost anything with a piece of string, and they could well instruct our own conjurors in this branch of legerdemain.

Cock fighting is an amusement of which the Dyaks are very fond, though they do not indulge in that amusement with the reckless enthusiasm of the Malays. Mr. St. John writes of the birds used for this purpose: “We did not see more than a few of these birds in Dyak houses, but since they are usually kept, when not in training or exercise, closely wrapped in linen bands and hung on nails in a dry place, they might easily escape our notice.

“Not having the fear of police magistrates and Humane Society prosecutions before our eyes, we assisted at one or two brief combats, evidently mere trial matches to assist the calculations of the ‘bookmakers,’ by testing each bird’s pluck and skill. When this object was attained by a few minutes’ struggle, held with much secrecy in the veranda by the gray light of early morning, the cocks were picked up before any injury was inflicted, and carefully swathed in their bandages, from the midst of which they soothed their ruffled feelings with an occasional crow of defiance.”

Allusion has already been made to the feasts held by the Dyaks on several occasions, and it is only on such festivities that the men ever use their weapons in sham fight. Even in those cases, they do not so employ them by way of practising themselves, but merely because they form part of the movements of the dance. In one of these dances, described by Mr. Keppel, two swords are laid on a mat in the middle of the room, and two men advance toward them from opposite sides, waving their arms, revolving on their toes, and performing various manœuvres with their legs.

As soon as they come to the mat, they suddenly stoop, seize the swords, and go through the movements of actual combat, crossing swords, advancing, retiring, cutting at each other, kneeling at one moment as if to collect force, and then springing up with renewed energy. Both dancers have previously studied and practised the various movements, each of which they make simultaneously.

Sometimes the sword dance is performed with the shield as well as the sword, and of this dance Mr. Marryat has written so graphic an account that his own words must be used. The guests were asked if they wished for a specimen of the war dance.

“Having expressed our wishes in the affirmative, the music struck up; it consisted of gongs and tom-toms. The Malay gong, which the Dyaks also make use of, is like the Javanese, thick with a broad rim, and very different from the gong of the Chinese. Instead of the clanging noise of the latter, it gives out a muffled sound of a deep tone. The gong and tom-tom are used by the Dyaks and Malays in war, and for signals at night, and the Dyaks procure them from the Malays. I said that the music struck up, for, rude as the instruments were, they modulate the sound, and keep time so admirably, that it was anything but inharmonious.

“A space was now cleared in the centre of the house, and two of the oldest warriors stepped into it. They were dressed in turbans, long loose jackets, sashes round their waists descending to their feet, and small bells were attached to their ankles. They commenced by first shaking hands with the rajah, and then with all the Europeans present, thereby giving us to understand, as was explained to us, that the dance was to be considered only as a spectacle, and not to be taken in its literal sense, as preparatory to an attack upon us, a view of the case in which we fully coincided with them.

“This ceremony being over, they rushed into the centre and gave a most unearthly scream, then poising themselves on one foot they described a circle with the other, at the same time extending their arms like the wings of a bird, and then meeting their hands, clapping them and keeping time with the music. After a little while the music became louder, and suddenly our ears were pierced with the whole of the natives present joining in the hideous war cry. Then the motions and the screams of the dancers became more violent, and everything was working up to a state of excitement by which even we were influenced.

“Suddenly a very unpleasant odor pervaded the room, already too warm from the numbers it contained. Involuntarily we held our noses, wondering what might be the cause, when we perceived that one of the warriors had stepped into the centre, and suspended round the shoulders of each dancer a human head in a wide-meshed basket of rattan. These heads had been taken in the late Sakarran business, and were therefore but a fortnight old. They were encased in a wide network of rattan, and were ornamented with beads. Their stench was intolerable, although, as we discovered upon after-examination, when they were suspended against the wall, they had been partially baked, and were quite black. The teeth and hair were quite perfect, the features somewhat shrunk, and they were altogether very fair specimens of pickled heads; but our worthy friends required a lesson from the New Zealanders in the art of preserving.

“The appearance of the heads was a sign for the music to play louder, for the war cry of the natives to be more energetic, and for the screams of the dancers to be more piercing. Their motions now became more rapid, and the excitement in proportion. Their eyes glistened with unwonted brightness, the perspiration dropped down their faces; and thus did yelling, dancing, gongs, and tom-toms become more rapid and more violent every minute, till the dancing warriors were ready to drop. A farewell yell, with emphasis, was given by the surrounding warriors; immediately the music ceased, the dancers disappeared, and the tumultuous excitement and noise were succeeded by a dead silence.

“Such was the excitement communicated, that when it was all over we ourselves remained for some time panting to recover our breath. Again we lighted our cheroots, and smoked for awhile the pipe of peace.

“A quarter of an hour elapsed, and the preparations were made for another martial dance. This was performed by two of the Rajah’s sons, the same young men I have previously made mention of. They came forward each having on his arm one of the large Dyak shields, and in the centre of the cleared space were two long swords lying on the floor. The ceremony of shaking hands, as described, preparatory to the former dance, was gone through; the music then struck up, and they entered the arena.

“At first they confined themselves to evolutions of defence, springing from one side to the other with wonderful quickness, keeping their shields in front of them, falling on one knee, and performing various feats of agility. After a short time, they each seized a sword and then the display was very remarkable, and proved what ugly customers they must be in single conflict. Blows in every direction, feints of every description, were made by both, but invariably received upon the shield. Cumbrous as these shields were, no opening was left; retreating, pursuing, dodging, and striking, the body was never exposed.

“Occasionally, during this performance, the war cry was given by the surrounding warriors, but the combatants held their peace; in fact, they could not afford to open their mouths, lest an opening should be made. It was a most masterly performance, and we were delighted with it.”

A rather curious dance was witnessed by Mr. Boyle at a feast of which an account will presently be given. First two chiefs each took a sword, and began a maniacal sort of dance, which was intended to be very imposing, but only succeeded in being very ludicrous, owing to the fact that both were too much intoxicated to preserve their balance, and, being of opposite tempers in their cups, one was merry and the other was sulky.

After this performance was over, a tall chief stepped forward with a whip, much like a cat-o’-nine-tails, another produced a human head, and the two began to chase each other round the veranda of the building. Presently, the chief with the head stopped, and with one foot in the air began to pirouette slowly, while he swung the head backward and forward, the chief with the whip lashing vigorously at the spectators, and laughing derisively at each cut.

After a while these performers became too tired to proceed without refreshment, and their place was taken by four or five others carrying blocks of wood having a feather at each end. The foreign guests took these objects to represent canoes, but were told that they were rhinoceros hornbills, and were thought by all competent judges to be fine works of art. Suddenly a number of gongs were beaten, and over the mass of human beings arose swords, heads, rhinoceros hornbills, and cat-o’-nine-tails in profusion, the Dyaks being for the time half mad with excitement.

It was remarkable that in this wild scene no harm was done, no blow was struck in anger, and no quarrel took place. Decorum was maintained throughout the whole of the festival, though not one of the revellers was sober, and then, as Mr. Boyle remarks, “a scene which, according to all precedent, should have been disgusting, turned out to be pleasantly amusing.”

This feast was a very good example of a Dyak revel. It was given by the chief Gasing, who was gorgeously attired for the occasion in an old consular uniform coat, covered with gold lace, the top of a dragoon’s helmet tied on his head with a handkerchief, a brass regimental breastplate on his forehead, and a plated tureen cover on his breast. This tureen cover, by the way, was the most valued of Gasing’s possessions, and one which was madly envied by all the neighboring chiefs. Being a tall, thin man, the effect of his naked, lean, yellow legs, appearing from beneath all this splendor, was remarkable.

He had prepared his long house carefully for the festival. He had erected a bamboo railing on the edge of the veranda, as a necessary precaution against accidents, for the veranda was at a considerable height from the ground, and the guests are all expected to be very unsteady on their feet, even if they can stand at all. From the top of the rail to the eaves of the veranda he had thrown a quantity of cloths, so as to allow the chiefs who sat under them to be sheltered from the rays of the sun.

For this festival Gasing had been making preparations for months past, half-starving himself in order to collect the requisite amount of provisions, and being likely to find himself rather deeply in debt before the preparations were completed. Unfortunately for the English guests, the smell of Dyak cookery is anything but agreeable, and one of their favorite articles of food, the fruit called the durian, exhales a most intolerable odor, so that, if they had not been furnished with plenty of tobacco, they would have been obliged to retire from the scene.

The Dyaks roast fowls without removing the feathers, tear them joint from joint, and so eat them. They have a most extraordinary liking for viands in a nearly putrid state, such as fish or molluscs in a very advanced state of decomposition, eggs black from age, and rotten fruit, the chief being the durian, which smells like all the other dishes put together, but with a sort of peculiar fragrance of its own. Even foreigners have learned to like the durian, but they have not found that it acclimatizes them to the bad eggs, burnt feathers, and very high fish.

This very remarkable fruit is about as large as a cocoa-nut, slightly oval, and is covered with a thick, tough skin, armed with sharp, short, and stout spines, the bases of which touch each other. The skin is so strong, that even when it falls, as it always does when ripe, from a considerable height, it does not break, and the spines are so sharp and hard, that, if a durian falls on a man, it inflicts a very severe wound, and causes great loss of blood.

When possible it is eaten fresh, as it falls ripe from the tree, but it is often cooked while still green, and, when especially plentiful, is preserved in jars by means of salt. In this state its natural odor is very greatly increased, and the very opening of a jar of preserved durians is enough to drive a stranger to the country out of the room.

Mr. Wallace gives a very interesting account of the durian, mentioning that, although for some time the odor of the fruit completely deterred him from tasting it, he once found a ripe durian just fallen from the tree, overcame his repugnance to the fruit, tried it, ate it, and became from that moment a confirmed durian eater. The following passage contains his description of the peculiar flavor of the durian:—

“The five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval mass of cream-colored pulp, embedded in which are two or three seeds about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its consistence and flavor are indescribable. A rich, butter-like custard, highly flavored with almonds, gives the best general idea of it, but intermingled with it come wafts of flavor that call to mind cream cheese, onion sauce, brown sherry, and other incongruities.

“Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy, yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience.”

Mr. Wallace, in summing up the merits of the various fruits with which we are acquainted, says that if he had to fix on two only, which would represent the very perfection of flavor and refreshing qualities, he would choose the durian and the orange, which he terms the king and queen of fruits.

Their national drink, called “tuak,” is worthily matched with the viands. It is in color like thin milk, and its odor has been forcibly compared to that of five hundred negroes drunk in a slave-pen. The same traveller, having fortified his palate with the strongest tobacco, drank some of the liquid in honor of his host, and gives a very vivid description of its flavor. When first taken into the mouth, it gives the idea of cocoa-nut milk gone very sour, and holding in solution a considerable quantity of brown sugar and old cheese. When it is swallowed, the victim is conscious of a suffocating sensation, as if the liquid were thickened with starch and a great quantity of the strongest cayenne pepper, the general effect produced on the novice being comparable to nothing but a very bad attack of sea sickness.

Strange to say, this abominable liquid retains the strongest hold on three millions of human beings, who can conceive no greater luxury than the privilege of drinking it without stint. At their feasts it is kept in huge bathing jars, and is handed about in all kinds of vessels, which are continually emptied and sent back to be replenished, so that a continual stream of full and empty vessels passes from and to the large jars.

Even if the warriors who are invited to the festival were to feel inclined to sobriety, they would be forced to drink by the women, who seem to think themselves bound to make every man completely intoxicated. “No Delilah of Europe better knows her power to make a fool of a strong man than one of these Dyak syrens, nor is more inclined to exert her fascinations.

“The presence of the female element was soon felt in the noise and confusion, which absolutely seemed to increase. Several of the girls were so charming as to excuse the infatuation of their victims, and I need scarcely say that the prettiest were the most culpable. But ugly or beautiful, old or young, all instantly employed their most cunning arts in enticing the bravest and most famous warriors to drink and drink again.

“We saw a little beauty seat herself lovingly beside a tall fellow with a simple face and honest eyes, whom she coaxed to toast her from a large jar which she offered to his lips, until he fairly fell backward upon the floor. This satisfactory conclusion attained, his tormentor, who, we heard, was affianced to him, ran screaming with laughter to bring seven other wretches as mischievous as herself to jeer at the vanquished lover. Raising her hopes to sport of a higher order, she shortly after brought her jar to the spot where we sat, in the hope, no doubt, of beguiling the white men into the same condition as her other admirers; but in Europe we are accustomed to run the gauntlet of more dangerous fascinations, and she relinquished the attempt in despair.”

Mr. St. John mentions that the men are in no way behind the women in their efforts to seduce their guests to intoxication, and it is their greatest pride to have as much tuak drunk as possible, to drink their own share and remain comparatively sober, while all their guests are laid prostrate and insensible. In fact, if we substitute punch and port for tuak, and an open veranda for a closed dining-room, there is little difference between the hospitality of the present Dyak chief and that of the average English squire of the last century.

A chief, for example, who prides himself on his strong head, will sit before a huge jar of tuak, and pledge every one around. For every one whom he serves he drinks one cup himself, and it is his ambition to keep his seat after all his companions are insensible. Of course, it is impossible that any man can drink an equal amount with ten or twelve others, and it is most likely that he forces the tuak on them so fast that they are soon rendered incapable of seeing whether their host drinks or not. They are very proud of being fresh on the following morning, and boast that although their guests, who belonged to another tribe, had severe headaches, they themselves suffered nothing at all.

It is partly by means of appealing to this pride that the girls are able to make the men drink to the extent which has been mentioned, and they derive so much amusement from exercising their power that they lose no opportunity that falls in their way, and essay their blandishments even when there is no definite feast.

Once, when Mr. St. John had travelled from the Sibuyan Dyaks to the Bukars, he and his guides were received, as usual, in the head house. While the English guests were making their toilet, two young Dyak girls came very gently up the ladder and slipped into the chamber. Now the head house is, as the reader may remember, the bachelors’ hall, and consequently the girls had no business there. So, pretending not to see them, the white men proceeded with their toilets, and quietly watched their proceedings.

The two girls, after glancing cautiously at the strangers, and thinking themselves unobserved, made their way to the Dyak guides, each having in her hands a vast bowl of fresh tuak, which they offered to the visitors. The young men, knowing their object, declined to drink, and thereby drew on themselves a battery of mixed blandishments and reproaches. Above all, they were entreated not to inflict on the girls the shame of refusing their gift, and making them take it back, to be laughed at by all their friends.

Cajolery, honied words, and caresses having been resisted, they tried the effect of ridicule, and their taunts succeeded where their coaxings failed. “What!” said they, “are the Sibuyans so weak-headed as to be afraid of drinking Bukar tuak?” This touched the visitors on a very tender point. The Sibuyans specially pride themselves on the strength of their heads and of their tuak, and a refusal to drink was thus made tantamount to a confession of inferiority in both respects. So they raised the huge bowls to their lips, and were allowed no peace until they had drained the last drops, when their tempters ran away laughing, knowing that in a very short time their two victims would be senseless.

It is a most extraordinary thing that the Dyak women, most of whom do not drink at all, and very few drink even moderately, take such a delight in forcing the men into intoxication. The young girls are the most successful temptresses. They take advantage of their youth and beauty, and employ all their fascinations to inveigle the men into drinking. No man is safe from them.

Their brothers, friends, and even their betrothed, fall, as we have seen, victims to their blandishments. They will make up to perfect strangers, get up a flirtation, and lavish all their enchantments upon them like Circe of old, until they have reduced their helpless admirers to a state little better than that of the mythological swine. Even after the men have sunk on the ground, and are incapable of raising the cup to their lips, the women think their task not quite completed, and pour the tuak down the throats of the helpless men. In the “[Dyak Feast],” which the artist has so finely drawn on the opposite page, the appeal and dresses of these Eastern syrens are illustrated.

Yet, although on such occasions they give themselves over to utter drunkenness, the Dyaks are a sober race, and except at these feasts, or when beset by women, they are singularly temperate, the betel-nut supplying the place of all intoxicating liquor.

A DYAK FEAST.
(See [pages 1145], [1146].)

CHAPTER CXVIII.
BORNEO—Continued.
ARCHITECTURE—MANUFACTURES.

AERIAL HOUSES — THE LONG HOUSE AND ITS ARRANGEMENTS — THE ORANG-KAYA’S ROOM — STRUCTURE OF THE FLOORING — REASONS FOR THE DYAK ARCHITECTURE — THE NIPA PALM AND ITS USES — THE ATAPS — SALT AND SUGAR MANUFACTURE — ERECTION OF THE FIRST POST — VARIOUS MODES OF PROCURING FIRE — CONSTRUCTION OF THE DYAK BRIDGE — A NARROW ESCAPE — MANUFACTURES — THE ADZE AXE OF THE DYAKS — ITS ANALOGY WITH THE BANYAI AXE — SMELTING AND FORGING IRON — BASKET MAKING — THE DYAK MAT — SPLITTING THE RATTAN — THE BORNEAN KNIFE, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE SACRED JARS AND THEIR PROPERTIES.

The architecture of the Dyaks is very peculiar. The reader may find a [Dyak village] represented on page 1153.

In the first place, the houses are all built on posts, some of them twenty feet in height, and the mode of access to them is by climbing up a notched pole, which answers the purpose of a ladder. The chief dwelling in every village, and indeed practically the village itself, is the long house, which is of wonderfully large dimensions. One of these houses, measured by Mr. St. John, was more than five hundred and thirty feet long, and was inhabited by nearly five hundred people.

Throughout the entire length of the house runs the broad veranda or common room, which is open to all the members, and at the side are rooms partitioned off for the different families, as many as sixty or seventy such rooms being sometimes seen in one long house. Although the veranda is common ground to all the tribe, and in it the members go through their various sedentary occupations, each family occupies by tacit consent the portion of the veranda opposite their own rooms.

These rooms are strictly private, and none except the members of the family, or their intimate friends, would think of entering them. The chief or Orang-kaya of the long house has a much larger room than the others, and the space in front of his room is considered to be devoted to the use of the lesser chiefs and councillors, and, although free to all the inhabitants, is frequented almost entirely by the old men and warriors of known courage.

One of the rooms inhabited by the Orang-kaya was visited by Mr. Boyle, and was not an attractive apartment. On each side of the entrance there was a piece of furniture somewhat resembling an old English plate-rack, upon the lower shelf of which was placed a flat stone. In spite of the heat, which was terrific, a large fire was burning on the stone, and on the range above were wood, rice, pots, and other utensils. There was no chimney to the house, but a sort of flap in the roof was lifted up, and kept open by a notched stick. This flap answered both for window and chimney, and when it was closed the room was in total darkness, beside being at once filled with smoke.

The height of the chamber was barely seven feet, and the space was rendered still more limited by the weapons, girdles, mats, mosquito curtains, strings of boars’ tusks, aprons, and other property, that hung from the rafters. The sides were adorned with a quantity of English and Dutch crockery, each piece being in a separate rattan basket and suspended from the wall. The house being an old one, the smell was abominable; and the Orang-kaya’s chamber was, on the whole, a singularly uncomfortable residence.

A number of fire-places, varying according to the population of the house, are arranged along the veranda, and, as a general rule, one of the primitive ladders already mentioned is placed at either end, so that when a visitor enters the house, he sees throughout its entire length, the range of his eye being only interrupted by the posts, which after supporting the floor pass upward and serve also to support the roof. Outside this veranda extends another, called the outer veranda. It has no roof, and is exposed to the blazing sunbeams. It is used, not as a habitation, but as a kind of storehouse and drying ground.

As the flooring is made of bamboo, the Dyaks can easily, if they choose, keep the interior of their rooms clean. This, however, they seldom choose to do, limiting their cleanliness to the simple process of sweeping any offal through the floor so as to fall under the house. They never think of removing it after it has fallen, so that by degrees the heaps of refuse become higher and higher, and gradually diminish the distance between the floor of the house and the soil beneath. In some of the older houses, these heaps of rubbish have increased to such an extent that when the pigs are grubbing in them their backs touch the bamboo flooring of the house.

The reason for building the Dyak houses on piles are several, the chief being that such a house acts as a fort in case of attack. The custom of building on piles is universal, but only those tribes that are liable to invasion employ piles of the height which have been mentioned. This mode of architecture also protects the inhabitants from floods and from the intrusion of reptiles. The Dyaks do not use the bow and arrow, and before they learned the use of fire-arms, a house built on piles some twenty or thirty feet in height made a very secure fort, which could not be fired, and which exposed the storming party to certain and heavy loss. Even since the English have taken up their residence in Borneo, some of these houses, belonging to revolted chiefs, have given great trouble before they could be taken, artillery appearing to be the only weapon to which they at once succumb.

The piles are made of the hardest iron-wood, and are very thick, much thicker than is needed for the support of the house. The reason for this strength and thickness is, that in case of attack, the assailing party dash under the house, protecting themselves from missiles by a canoe which they turn keel upward, and hold over their heads while they chop at the posts, so as to bring the house and its defenders down together. If the posts are but moderately stout, they will sometimes succeed; but if they are very thick and strong, the defenders can remove part of the floor, and throw on the attacking party weights sufficiently heavy to break through their roof and kill them.

It is probable that the custom of building houses on piles is partly derived from the Malay fashion of erecting buildings over the water. The Dyaks copied this plan, and became so used to it that when they built inland they still continued the practice. The same theory accounts for the habit already mentioned of throwing all kinds of offal through the open bamboo flooring. This custom was cleanly enough when the houses were built over the water, but became a source of utter pollution when they were erected on land, and the offal was allowed to accumulate below, undisturbed except by the dogs and pigs.

Most of these houses are built rather high up the rivers, especially upon the tributary streams; and booms, composed of bamboos and rattans, are fastened across the stream below them, so as to hinder the advance of the enemy’s canoes. The thatch, as well as a considerable portion of the material, is obtained from the nipa palm, a tree which to the Borneans is almost a necessity of existence, and supplies a vast number of their wants. It grows in large numbers at the water’s edge; its huge leaves, fifteen or twenty feet in length, projecting like the fronds of vast ferns.

When dried, the leaves are woven into a sort of matted fabric called “ataps,” which is used sometimes as thatch, sometimes as the indispensable covering of boats, and sometimes even as walls of houses, the mats being fastened from post to post. By the use of these ataps certain portions of the roof can be raised on sticks in trap-door fashion, so as to answer the double purpose of admitting light and securing ventilation.

Various other mats are made of the nipa palm leaf, and so are hats and similar articles. The entire leaf is often used in canoes as an extemporized sail, the leaf being fastened upright, and driving the boat onward at a very fair pace. Besides these uses the nipa leaves, when young, are dressed as vegetables, and are both agreeable and nutritious, and the fine inner leaves, when dried, are rolled round tobacco so as to form cigars.

From the root and stem a coarse sugar is made, which is used for all general purposes; for, although the sugar-cane grows magnificently in Borneo, the natives only consider it in the light of a sweetmeat. It seems rather strange that sugar and salt should be extracted from the same plant, but such is really the case, and salt-making is one of the principal occupations of some of the tribes.

They gather great quantities of the nipa root, and burn them. The ashes are then swept together, and thrown into shallow pans half filled with water, so that the salt is dissolved and remains in the water, while the charcoal and woody particles float at the surface, and can be skimmed off. When the water is clear, the pans are placed over the fire and the water driven off by evaporation, after which the salt, which remains on the bottom and sides of the pans, is scraped off. It is of a coarse and decidedly bitter character, but it is much liked by the natives, and even the European settlers soon become accustomed to it. Salt is imported largely from Siam, but the Borneans prefer that of their own manufacture for home use, reserving the Siamese salt for preserving fish.

The nipa and the mangrove grow in similar localities and on the same streams, and are useful to those who are engaged in ascending rivers, as they know that the water is always shallow where the mangrove grows, and deep near the nipa.

In the olden times, when a long house was projected, the erection of the first post was always accompanied by a human sacrifice, precisely as has been mentioned of several other parts of the world. Mr. St. John saw one of these houses where a human sacrifice had been made. A deep hole was dug in the ground, and the huge post, which, as the reader may remember, is cut from the trunk of the hardest and heaviest wood which can be found, was suspended over it by rattan lashings. A girl was laid at the bottom of the hole, and at a given signal the lashings were cut, permitting the post to drop into the hole, and crush the girl to atoms.

The same traveller saw a ceremony among the Quop Dyaks, which showed that the principle of sacrifice still remained, though the victim was of a different character. The builder wanted to raise a flag-staff near his house, and proceeded on exactly the same plan. The excavation was made, the pole was suspended by a rattan, but, instead of a human being, a fowl was bound and laid at the bottom of the hole, so as to be crushed to death when the lashings were cut.

These houses are often approached by bridges, which are very curious structures, so apparently fragile that they seem unable to sustain the weight of a human being, and of so slight a character that to traverse them seems to imply the skill of a rope dancer. As these houses are often built on the side of a steep hill, a pole is laid from the platform to the hill, and, if it be a tolerably long one, supported by several rattan ropes fastened to trees. A very slight bamboo handrail is fastened a little above it, and the bridge is considered as complete.

One of these simple bridges is shown in [illustration No. 2], on the 1153d page, which gives a good idea of the height of the house and its general style of architecture. Near the foreground is a man engaged in making fire by means of twirling one stick upon another, precisely as is done by the Kaffirs and other savage tribes. There is, however, one improvement on the usual mode. Instead of merely causing a pointed stick to revolve upon another, the Dyaks use instead of the lower stick a thick slab of very dry wood, with a deep groove cut on one side of it, and a small hole on the other, bored down to the groove.

When the Dyak wishes to procure fire, he places the wooden slab on the ground with the groove undermost, and inserts his pointed stick in the little hole and twirls it rapidly between his hands. The revolution of the stick soon causes a current of air to pass through the groove, and in consequence the fire is rapidly blown up as soon as the wood is heated to the proper extent. In consequence of this arrangement, much labor is saved, as the firemaker is not obliged to stop at intervals to blow upon the just kindled dust which collects in the little hole around the firestick. Some tribes merely cut two cross grooves on the lower piece of wood, and insert the point of the firestick at their intersection.

The Saribas and Sakarrang Dyaks have a very remarkable instrument for obtaining fire, called by them “besi-api.” It consists of a metal tube, about three inches in length, with a piston working nearly air-tight in it. A piece of dry stuff by way of tinder is introduced into the tube, the piston rod is slapped smartly down and withdrawn with a jerk, when the tinder is seen to be on fire. Europeans find that to manage the besi-api is as difficult a task as to procure fire by two sticks. The reader may remember that a machine of similar construction is sold at the philosophical instrument makers, and that a piece of German tinder is lighted by the sudden compression of the air.

Another form of the besi-api is thus described by Mr. Boyle:—“Among some of the Dyak tribes there is a manner of striking fire much more extraordinary. The instrument used is a slender cube of lead, which fits tightly in a case of bamboo. The top of the cube is hollowed into a cup, and when fire is required this cup is filled with tinder, the leaden piston is held upright in the left hand, the bamboo case is thrust sharply down over it, as quickly withdrawn, and the tinder is found to be lighted. The natives say that no metal but lead will produce the effect.”

The same traveller gives an account of another mode of obtaining fire:—“Another interesting phenomenon these natives showed us, which, though no doubt easily explained on scientific principles, appeared very remarkable. As we sat in the veranda my cheroot went out, and I asked one of the Dyaks squatted at our side to give me a light.

“He took from his box of bamboo a piece of pitcher and a little tinder; put the latter upon the pitcher and held it under his thumb, struck sharply against the bamboo, and instantly offered me the tinder lighted. Several times subsequently we watched them obtain fire by this means, but failed to make out a reasonable theory for the result.”

Even rivers are bridged over in the same simple, but really efficacious manner, as the approaches to the houses. The mountain streams alternate greatly in depth and rapidity, and it is no uncommon occurrence for a heavy rain to raise a river some forty feet in its deep and rocky channel, and even after a single heavy shower the fords are rendered impassable. In consequence of this uncertainty, the Dyaks throw across the chasms such bridges as are described by Mr. St. John:—

“How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look! One, in particular, I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite to each other. Long bamboos lashed together formed the main portion, and were fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a woman and child pass over it we drew our breath until they were safe on the other side. And yet we knew that they were secure.

“I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once, when pressed for time, I was passing rapidly across with many men following close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack! crack! was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men were fortunately not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks below. After that, we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.”

The domestic manufactures of the Dyaks are of a very high order, and display a wonderful amount of artistic taste. The mode of building canoes has already been mentioned, but the principal tool of the canoe maker is too curious to be passed over. The implement in question is singularly ingenious, combining within itself a number of qualifications. The general appearance of it can be seen by reference to the [illustration], which is drawn from a specimen presented to me by C. T. C. Grant, Esq.

It is apparently a most insignificant tool, hardly worthy the hands of a child; and yet, when wielded by a Dyak, it produces the most remarkable results. The handle is only ten inches in length, and the blade measures barely an inch and a quarter across the widest part. The handle is made of two portions, united with a strong lashing of rattan, backed up by cement, The lower portion, which is curved exactly like the hilts of the Dyak swords, is made of a soft and light wood, while the upper part, which carries the head, is made of a hard, strong, and moderately elastic wood.

ADZE-AXE.

The head is made of iron, mostly imported, and is in all probability formed on the model of a stone implement that was formerly in use. As the reader may see, it is fastened to the wood by rattan, exactly as the stone heads of the Polynesian axes are held in their places by lashings of plaited sinnet.

But here the resemblance ends. The head of the Polynesian axe is immovable, whereas the essence of the Bornean axe is that the head can be shifted at will, by taking it out of the rattan lashing, reversing and replacing it, so that it forms an axe or an adze, as the user desires. The reader may remember that the Banyai tribe of Southern Africa have an axe made on a similar principle, though in their case the reversal is accomplished by cutting holes at right angles to each other, through which the shank of the iron head can be passed. (See p. 364, figs. 4, 5.)

With this tiny instrument the Dyaks not only shape their planks, but cut down the largest trees with a rapidity that an English workman could scarcely equal, in spite of the superiority of his axe. They have a very curious method of clearing away timber from a space of ground. They first cut away all the underwood with their parangs, or choppers, and then, with their little axes, cut the larger trees rather more than half through, leaving the largest to the last. This tree is then felled, and, as all the trees are bound together with rattans and other creepers, it brings down all the others in its fall.

(1.) A DYAK VILLAGE.
(See [page 1149].)

(2.) A DYAK HOUSE.
(See [page 1151].)

Although the iron which the Dyaks use is mostly imported, they are capable of smelting their own metal by a very simple process. By way of a crucible, they dig a small pit in the ground, and perforate the sides with holes, through which currents of air can be passed by means of the native bellows. Charcoal is first placed in the pit, and then the ore, well broken, is laid on the charcoal; and so the Dyak workmen proceed to fill the pit with alternate layers of charcoal and ore. A light is then introduced by means of a hole, the bellows are worked, and in a short time the metal is smelted. Although each man is generally capable of making his own tools on a pinch, there is generally a man in each village who is a professional blacksmith, and makes his living by forging spear heads and parang blades, as well as by keeping the weapons of the villagers in repair.

The basket work of the Dyaks is exceedingly good, color as well as form being studied in the manufacture. The basket called tambok is made of the nipa palm leaf, cut into strips not quite the twelfth of an inch wide, and stained alternately yellow and red. These are interwoven so as to produce a considerable variety of pattern, somewhat resembling that which is used in the sarongs and other woven fabrics. These patterns are nearly all combinations of the square, the zigzag, and the diamond; the last form, however, being nothing more than the square turned diagonally.

Although made in cylindrical form, the tambok is slightly squared by means of four strips of hard red wood, which are tightly fastened to the basket by rattan lashing. The bottom of the basket is squared in a similar manner, so as to flatten it and enable it to stand upright, and is defended by thicker strips of wood than those which run up the sides. The lid is guarded by two cross-strips of wood, and both the lid and the top of the basket are strengthened by two similar strips bound firmly round their edges. This basket is exceedingly light, elastic, strong, easily carried, and fully warrants the estimation in which it is held. Tamboks are made of almost all sizes, and are extensively used by the Dyaks, the Malays, and the European colonists.

Mats of various kinds are made by this ingenious people. One of these mats, which is in my possession, is a wonderful specimen of Dyak work. It is nine feet long and five wide, and is made of rattan, cut into very narrow strips—not wider, indeed, than those of the enlarged patterns of the tambok basket. These strips are interwoven with such skill as to form an intricate and artistic pattern. The centre of the mat is occupied by a number of spiral patterns, two inches in diameter, the spiral being produced by extensions of the zigzag already mentioned.

Around the spirals are three distinct borders, each with a definite pattern, and the whole is edged by a sort of selvage, which gives strength to the fabric, and prevents it from being torn. This kind of mat is exceedingly durable, the specimen in question having been long used in Borneo, then brought over to England, and employed as a floor-cloth; and, although cut in one or two places by chair-legs, is on the whole as firm as when it was made. As the rattan has not been dyed, the color of the mat is a pale yellow; but the pattern comes out with wonderful distinctness, just as is the case with good English table linen.

Like all uncivilized people, the Dyaks never hurry themselves about their manufactures. Time is no object to them; there is none of the competition which hurries European workmen through life. The women, who make these beautiful mats, go about their work in a very leisurely way, interweaving the slender rattan strips with infinite care, and certainly producing work that is thorough and sound.

The rattan is split in rather a curious manner. On account of the direction and length of its fibre, it will split almost ad infinitum into perfectly straight strips of very great length, so that the only difficulty is to cut the slips of precisely the same width. The knives with which this task is performed are rather peculiar. One of them has already been described on [page 1125], as an appendage to the Bornean sword; but there is another which is so remarkable that it deserves a separate description.

The handle is bent at an angle like that of the parang-latok, described and figured on the [page] to which reference was just made. In order to produce this effect, the handle is made of two pieces of wood, the ends of which are bevelled off, so that when they are placed together they produce the angular form which is desired. The two pieces are fitted very neatly together, and the joint is strengthened by a thick coating of cement. The handle is further ornamented by having a long piece of brass wire coiled tightly round it, and is finished off at the end with the same kind of cement as that which is used at the joint.

Not only does the handle resemble that of the parang, but there is a great resemblance between the blades of the sword and the knife. The blade of this knife has been forged out of a square bar of steel, which has been first flattened, and then beaten out into the slightly curved form which is so largely used throughout the whole of this part of the world.

As is the case with the sword knife already described, this implement is used by putting the handle under the left arm and holding the blade firmly in front of the body, while both hands are at liberty to press the end of the rattan against the edge of the knife, and so to split it into as many strips as are needed. In spite of the comparative roughness of the manufacture, which dispenses with a finish and polish, the knife can take a very fine edge; and my own specimen, after having suffered rather rough usage, is so sharp that I have just mended a pen with it, and cut a piece of note paper edgewise. The blade of this knife is eleven inches in length.

In order to preserve the sharpness of the edge, the Dyak carries the knife in a sheath made simply of a small joint of bamboo, closed at the lower end of the natural knot, and carefully wrapped at each end with rattan to prevent it from splitting.

The cotton fabrics are entirely made by the women, from the preparation of the thread to the weaving of the stuff. They beat out the cotton with small sticks, and, by means of a rude sort of wheel, spin it out into thread very rapidly. They cannot compete with the English manufacturer in fineness of thread, but in durability there is no comparison between the two, the Dyak thread being stronger than that made in England, and the dye with which it is stained being so permanent that no fabric wears so well as that which is of native manufacture.

Although we can hardly rank the Dyak jars among native manufactures, they play so important a part in the domestic life of these tribes that they cannot be passed over without some notice.

The Dyaks have no real currency, and can scarcely be made to understand it. They perfectly comprehend direct barter, but the secondary barter by means of a circulating medium is, as a rule, beyond an ordinary Dyak. He will take some goods to the market for the purpose of exchanging them for some article which he wants; but he has no idea of selling his goods for money, and buying with that money the needed article.

The reader may remember that brass guns have already been mentioned as a sort of currency. These are nothing more or less than cannon of various sizes, which are valued by weight, and form a sort of standard by which prices are measured, like the English pound or the French franc. They are bored to carry balls from one to two pounds weight, and, though regarded chiefly in the light of money, are serviceable weapons, and can throw a ball to a considerable distance. There is an advantage about this kind of currency. It is not easily stolen, and outside the chiefs’ houses may be seen rows of brass guns lying on the ground unmounted and owing their safety to their weight.

There is also a second standard of value among the Dyaks. This is the Jar, an institution which, I believe, is unique. These jars are of earthenware, and as far as can be judged by appearance, must have been of Chinese manufacture. They are of different descriptions, and vary greatly in value. The commonest jars, called Naga or Dragon jars, are worth about seven or eight pounds, and derive their name from figures of dragons rudely scrawled on them. They are about two feet in height. The Rusa jar, which is next higher in value, is worth from ten to fifteen pounds, according to its quality, and is known by the figures of the Rusa deer which are drawn upon it.

But the most costly is the Gusi, which is worth almost any sum that the owner chooses to demand for it. The Gusi jar is neither large nor pretty. It is of a dark olive green color, and about two feet in height. These jars are very scarce, and are considered as being worth on an average about five hundred pounds. Seven or eight hundred pounds have been paid for a Gusi jar, and there have been one or two so valuable that many thousands pounds have been offered and refused for them.

Mr. St. John mentions a jar of this kind belonging to the Sultan of Brunei, which derived its chief value from the fact that it spoke on certain great occasions. For example, the Sultan declared that on the night before his wife died the jar uttered hollow moaning sounds, and that it never failed to apprize him of any coming misfortune by wailing pitifully. This jar is kept in the women’s apartments, and is always covered with gold brocade, except when wanted for consultation, or to exhibit its medicinal properties. Water poured into a Gusi jar is thought by the Dyaks and by the Malays to be the best possible medicine for all kinds of diseases, and, when sprinkled over the fields, to be a certain means of procuring a good crop. As the people are willing to pay highly for this medicated water, there is some reason for the enormous cost of these jars.

One of them is said to possess a quality which belongs to itself. It increased everything that was put into it. If, for example, it were half filled with rice in the evening it would be nearly full in the morning; and if water was poured into it, a few hours would increase the depth of water by several inches. It is remarkable that the art of making these jars is lost. The Chinese, admirable imitators as they are, have always failed when they have endeavored to palm off upon a Dyak a jar manufactured by themselves.

CHAPTER CXIX.
BORNEO—Concluded.
RELIGION—OMENS—FUNERALS.

THE STATE OF RELIGION AMONG THE DYAKS — THEIR BELIEF IN A SUPREME BEING — THE VARIOUS SUBORDINATE GODS — THE ANTUS, AND THEIR FORMS — CATCHING A RUNAWAY SOUL — THE BUAU AND HIS NATURE — ORIGIN OF LAND LEECHES — CHARMS, AND THEIR VALUE — OMENS — THE GOOD AND EVIL BIRDS — A SIMPLE CAUSE OF DIVORCE — THE ENCHANTED LEAF — THE ORDEALS OF DIVING, BOILING WATER, SALT, AND SNAILS — THE ENCHANTED WATER — A CURIOUS CEREMONY — DYAK FUNERALS — THE OFFICE OF SEXTON.

The religion of the Dyaks is a very difficult subject, as the people themselves seem to have an exceedingly vague idea of it, and to be rather unwilling to impart the little knowledge which they have. It is tolerably clear that they have an idea of a Supreme Being, whom they call by different names, according to their tribes; the Sea Dyaks, for example, calling him Batara, and the land Dyaks Tapa. Next to the Supreme, by whom mankind was created, were some very powerful though inferior deities, such as Tenabi, who made the earth and the lower animals; Iang, who taught religion to the Dyaks, and still inspires them with holiness; and Jirong, the lord of life and death.

Besides those chief deities there are innumerable Antus or minor gods, which correspond in some degree to the fauns and satyrs of the ancients. They are called by many names, and as, according to Dyak ideas, there is scarcely a square rod of forest that does not contain its Antu, the people live as it were in a world peopled with supernatural beings. Some of them even declare that they have seen the Antus, the chief distinction of whom seems to be that they have no heads, the neck being terminated in a sharp point. They are capable of assuming the form of a human being or of any animal at will, but always without heads, so that they can be at once recognized.

The story of one of these Antu-seers is a very strange one. He declared that he saw a squirrel in a tree, threw a spear at it, and brought it to the ground. When he went to pick it up, it suddenly rose, faced him, and changed itself into a dog. The dog walked a few paces, changed again into a human being, and sat slowly down on the trunk of a fallen tree. The body of the spectre was parti-colored, and instead of a head it had a pointed neck.

The Dyak ran off in terror, and was immediately smitten with a violent fever, his soul having been drawn from the body by the Antu, and about to journey toward the spirit world. The doctor, however, went off to the spot where the Antu appeared, captured the fugitive soul, brought it back, and restored it to the body by means of the invisible hole in the head through which the Antu had summoned it. Next morning the fever was gone, and the man was quite well.

They tell another story of one of these inimical beings, who are supposed to be ghosts of persons killed in battle, and called Buaus. A Buau pounced upon a woman named Temunyan during her husband’s absence, carried her off, and by his magic arts fixed her against a rock from which she could not move. When the husband returned, he went in search of his wife, and, having found her, concocted a scheme by which the Buau was induced to release her. By stratagem the husband contrived to destroy the Buau, and took his wife home.

She had, however, scarcely reached her home when she gave birth to a horrible being, of which the Buau was the father. Her husband instantly chopped it into a thousand pieces with his parang, and flung it into the jungle, when each fragment took life, and assumed the blood-sucking character of the demon parent. And thus the Buau was the original parent of land-leeches.

In order to propitiate these beings, the Dyaks are in the habit of making offerings of food, drink, and flowers to them before they undertake any great task, mostly putting the food into dishes or baskets, and laying it in the jungle for the use of the Antus.

Satisfied apparently with the multitude of their deities, the Dyaks possess no idols, a fact which is really remarkable, as showing the character of their minds. Charms, however, they have in plenty, and place the greatest reliance on them. Some charms are credited as rendering the wearer invulnerable, and it is likely that those attached to the parang described on [page 1125] are of that character.

Mr. St. John mentions an amusing example of the value set upon these charms. There was a chief of very high rank, who possessed some exceedingly potent charms, which had been in his family for many generations, and had been handed down from father to son. They consisted of two round pebbles, one flat pebble, a little stone which had been found in a banana, and some sand. All these valuables were sewed up together and fastened to a string, by which they could be attached to the waist in times of peril.

Unfortunately, the chief lent these charms to a man who lost them, and was sued by the aggrieved owner before the English court. He gained his case, but was nearly as much dissatisfied with the court as with the defendant, inasmuch as he estimated the value of the charms at a Rusa jar, i. e. about thirty dollars, or seven pounds, whereas the value set on them by the court, and paid by the defendant, was fivepence.

Allusion has been already made to the birds on which the Dyaks so much rely as omens. These are three in number, the Kushah, the Kariak, and the Katupung. When a Dyak is about to start on an expedition, he goes to the place near the village where the feasting sheds are built, and there waits until he hears the cry of one of these birds. Should either the kushah or the katupung cry in the front, or on either side, and not be answered, the omen is bad, and the man gives up his expedition. It is a good sign, however, if the bird should first cry on one side and then be answered on the other. The most important bird is the kariak. If the cry of the kariak be heard on the right, the omen is good; if on the left, it is doubtful. But if the cry be heard behind the diviner, the omen is as bad as it can be, and portends at least sickness, if not death.

The Dyaks scarcely engage in any undertaking without consulting the birds, whom they believe to be half Dyaks, all birds having proceeded from the union of an Antu with a Dyak woman.

Mr. Brooke, in treating of this subject, has the following forcible remarks:—“Some of our party of Dyaks had proceeded, but most were yet behind, and will be sweeping down for the next week or more. Many go through the forms of their forefathers in listening to the sounds of omens; but the ceremony is now very curtailed, compared with what it was a few years ago, when I have known a chief live in a hut for six weeks, partly waiting for the twittering of birds to be in a proper direction, and partly detained by his followers. Besides, the whole way in advancing, their dreams are religiously interpreted and adhered to; but, as in all such matters, interpretations are liable to a double construction. The finale is, that inclination, or often fear, is most powerful. A fearful heart produces a disagreeable dream, or a bad omen in imagined sounds from birds or deer, and this always makes a force return. But they often loiter about so long, that the enemy gains intelligence of their intended attack, and is on the alert.

“However absurdly these omens lead the human race, they steadily continue to follow and believe in such practices. Faith predominates, and hugs huge wonders, and tenaciously lives in the minds of the ignorant. Some of the Dyaks are somewhat shaken in the belief in hereditary omens, and a few follow the Malay custom of using a particular day, which has a strange effect on European imaginations. The white man who commands the force is supposed to have an express bird and lucky charm to guide him onward; and to these the Dyaks trust considerably. ‘You are our bird, we follow you.’ I well know the names, and can distinguish the sounds of their birds, and the different hands on which the good and bad omens are interpreted.

“The effect of these signs on myself was often very marked, and no Dyak could feel an adverse omen more than myself when away in the jungle, surrounded by these superstitious people. Still, I could sympathize with the multitude, and the difficulty lay in the question, whether any influence would be sufficient to counteract such phantoms. It must not be thought I ever attempted to lead the Dyaks to believe that I was the owner of charms and such absurdities, which could not have lasted above a season, and could never be successful for a length of time. A maias’ (orang-outan’s) head was hanging in my room, and this they thought to be my director to successful expeditions.”

The cries of various animals are all interpreted by the Dyaks, those which have evil significations far outnumbering the good-omened cries. The worst of all omens is the cry of a deer, which will make a Dyak abandon any project on which he is engaged, no matter how deeply his heart may be set on it.

On one occasion, a Dyak had married a young girl for whom he had a very strong attachment, which was returned. On the third day after the marriage, the English missionary entered the head house and was surprised to see the young husband sitting in it hard at work on some brass wire. This was a very strong circumstance, as the head house is tenanted only by the bachelors. The missionary naturally asked him what he was doing there, and what had become of his wife, to which he answered sorrowfully that he had no wife, a deer having cried on the preceding night, so that they were obliged to dissolve the marriage at once.

“But,” said his interrogator, “are you not sorry for this?”

“Very sorry!”

“What are you doing with the wire?”

“Making ornaments for the girl whom I want for my new wife.”

It seems that the belief in the Antus is so ingrained in the minds of the Dyaks, that whenever any one meets with an accident, some Antu or other is presumed to have been the author of the injury, and to require appeasal. Mr. Brooke mentions that he once found the leaf of a palm tree folded in a peculiar manner, lying near his house. This was an offering to the Antu, because a man had fallen down there and injured himself.

The leaf was supposed to be possessed by the Antu, who would avenge himself if his leaf were disturbed by causing the arm of the offender to swell. However, Mr. Brooke picked up the leaf and threw it away, and within two days his arm became swollen and inflamed, and remained in that state for nearly a fortnight afterward.

In connection with this subject must be mentioned the ordeals by which disputes are often settled. These are of various kinds, but the favorite plan is the ordeal of diving. The two disputants are taken to the river and wade into the water up to the chin. At a given signal they plunge beneath the surface, and the one who can remain longest under water wins the case. There was a very curious instance of such an ordeal where the honor of a family was involved. The daughter of a chief was found to have disgraced herself, and laid the blame upon a young man of rank. He, however, utterly contradicted her story, and at last the dispute was brought to an end by the ordeal of diving. The young chief won his cause, and the result was that the offending girl had to leave the village, and her father was deserted by his followers, so that he was also obliged to seek another home.

Then there is the salt ordeal. Each litigant is provided with a lump of salt of precisely the same weight, and he whose salt retains its shape longest in water is held to be the winner. There is also the boiling-water test, which is exactly the same as that which was practised in England in former days, the hand being dipped into the hot liquid, and coming out uninjured if the appellant be innocent. Lastly, there is the snail ordeal. Each party takes a snail and puts it on a plate, and lime juice is poured over them, when the snail that first moves is considered to have indicated that its owner is in the wrong.

The reader may remember that the Dyaks are in the habit of purchasing water that has been poured into the sacred jars, and sprinkling it over their fields by way of ensuring fertility. They believe that water which has touched the person of a white man will have the same effect, especially if he be a man of some rank. So as soon as English officers arrive at a Dyak village, the natives have a custom of seizing them, pulling off their shoes and stockings, and washing their feet, the water being preserved as an infallible charm for promoting the growth of their crops.

They carry this principle to an extent which to us seems exceedingly disgusting. Long bamboos filled with dressed rice are brought to the visitors, who are requested to spit in them. The rice thus medicated is distributed among the assembled crowd, who press eagerly round, each attempting to secure a portion of the health-giving food. Some of the more cunning among the people try to secure a second and some a third supply, and Mr. St. John mentions an instance when one horrid old woman managed to be helped six times.

The same traveller mentions that the blood of fowls is thought to be a very powerful charm, and the Dyaks have a ceremony connected with the shedding of blood which is almost identical with the Jewish Passover. (See Exod. xii. 22.) A festival had been given in honor of the visitors. Their feet had been washed, and the water put aside. Their rice had been duly medicated, and the Orang-kaya began some curious ceremonies, flinging rice out of the windows, and accompanying the act with a prayer for fertility to the fields and prosperity to the village. He was evidently repeating a well-learned lesson, and it was ascertained that the words which he used were not understood by himself, so that we find among the Dyaks the relics of an expired language, the few remnants of which are preserved by religion, just as is the case with the inhabitants of New Zealand and other islands.

This portion of the ceremony being ended a sort of sacred dance was performed, the Orang-kaya and the elders going successively to the white visitors, passing their hands over their arms, and going off in a slow, measured tread, “moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat. Then came another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue out of us, another yell, and off they went again—at one time there were at least a hundred dancing.

“For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a couple of hours I awoke, my companion was still sleeping uneasily, the din was deafening, and I sat up to look around.

“Unfortunate moment! I was instantly seized by the hands of two priests, and led up to the Orang-kaya, who was himself cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands. Holding him by his legs I had to strike the lintel of the doors, sprinkling a little blood over each. When this was over, I had to wave the fowl over the heads of the women and wish them fertility; over the children, and wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out of the window, and invoke good crops for them.”

Funerals among the Dyaks differ slightly in the various tribes. The common people are buried or even burned with scarcely any ceremony, but the bodies of chiefs and their relatives are treated with a whole series of rites.

As soon as a chief dies, the corpse is dressed in his finest clothes, every ornament that he possessed is hung upon him, and his favorite swords and other weapons are laid by his side. The body is then placed on an elevated platform, and is watched and tended as if the dead man were still alive, food, drink, tobacco, and sirih being continually offered him, and the air kept cool by constant fanning. The men assemble on one side of the corpse, and the women on the other, and romp with each other as if the occasion were of a joyful rather than a sorrowful character. These games are continued until the corpse is far gone in decomposition, when it is placed in a coffin made of a hollowed tree trunk, and buried in a grave which must not be more than five feet deep.

Knowing the customs of the people, the Malays are apt to rifle the graves of dead chiefs, for the sake of obtaining the swords and other valuables that are buried with them. Formerly, after the body was laid in the grave, the sword, a jar or two, clothes, ornaments, and a female slave were placed in a canoe, the woman being firmly chained to it. When the tide was ebbing the boat was sent adrift, and was supposed to supply the spirit of the departed with all the goods that were on board. This custom, however, has been long discontinued, as the Dyaks found that the canoe and its contents almost invariably fell into the hands of the Malays, who thus procured slaves without paying for them, and enriched themselves besides with the swords, gold, and clothing.

The sexton’s office is hereditary, and whenever the line fails the Dyaks have great difficulty in finding some one who will not only take the office upon himself, but must also entail it upon his descendants. The office, however, is a very lucrative one, varying from a rupee to two dollars, a sum of money which can procure for a Dyak all the necessaries and most of the luxuries of life for several weeks.

The Kayan Dyaks do not bury their dead, but place the body in a very stout coffin made of a hollowed tree, and elevate it on two stout carved posts, with woodwork projecting from each corner, like the roofs of Siamese houses.

CHAPTER CXX.
TIERRA DEL FUEGO.
APPEARANCE—ARCHITECTURE—MANUFACTURES.

POSITION OF THE COUNTRY AND SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME — CONFORMATION OF THE LAND AND ITS ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE LIFE — APPEARANCE OF THE FUEGIANS — ERRONEOUS IDEAS CONCERNING THEM — COLOR, COSTUME, AND MODE OF WEARING THE HAIR — INDIFFERENCE TO DRESS — PAINT AND ORNAMENTS — FUEGIAN ARCHITECTURE — THE POINTED AND ROUNDED HUTS — THE SPEAR AND ITS HEAD — BOWS AND ARROWS — STONE THROWING — WONDERFUL STRENGTH OF THE FUEGIANS — SKILL WITH THE SLING — STUDY OF PARTICULAR WEAPONS — FOOD OF THE FUEGIANS — ANGLING WITHOUT HOOKS — THE DOGS, FISHERS AND BIRD CATCHERS — THE DOG RESPECTED BY THE FUEGIANS — CANNIBALISM — THE TREE FUNGUS — CANOES — THE LARGE AND SMALL CANOES, AND THEIR USES — SHIFTING QUARTERS AND TRANSPORTING CANOES — COOKERY — GENERAL TEMPERAMENT OF THE FUEGIANS — JEMMY BUTTON — FUEGIAN GOVERNMENT.

At the extreme southern point of America is a large island, or rather a collection of islands separated by very narrow armlets of the sea. It is separated from the mainland by the strange tortuous Magellan’s Strait, which is in no place wide enough to permit a ship to be out of sight of land, and in some points is exceedingly narrow. As Magellan sailed through this channel by night, he saw that the southern shore was studded with innumerable fires, and he therefore called the country Tierra del Fuego, or Land of Fire. These fires were probably beacons lighted by the natives in order to warn each other of the approach of strangers, to whom the Fuegians have at times evinced the most bitter hostility, while at others they have been kind and hospitable in their way.

The country is a singularly unpromising one, and Tierra del Fuego on the south and the Esquimaux country on the north seem to be exactly the lands in which human beings could not live. Yet both are populated, and the natives of both extremities of this vast continent are fully impressed with the superiority of their country over all others.

Tierra del Fuego is, as its proximity to the South Pole infers, a miserably cold country, and even in the summer time the place is so cold that in comparison England would seem to be quite a tropical island. In consequence of this extreme cold neither animal nor vegetable life can be luxuriant. The forests are small, and the trees short, stumpy, and ceasing to exist at all at some fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. There is a sort of evergreen beech (Fagus betuloides).

There is only one redeeming point in the climate of Tierra del Fuego. The mosquito that haunts alike the hottest and coldest countries, and equally a terror in tropical and Arctic America, cannot live in Tierra del Fuego, the damp, as well as the cold, being fatal to it. Indeed, there are very few insects in this strange land, and reptiles are altogether absent.

Absence of vegetable life naturally results in absence of animal life, the herbivorous animals being starved out for want of their proper food, and the carnivora being equally unable to live, as finding no animals on which to feed. Man being omnivorous, has a slightly better chance of living, but even he could not multiply and fill the country when food is so limited, provided he were limited to the land, but, as he is master of the waters as well as of the earth, he can draw his living from the sea and rivers when the land refuses to supply him with food. Such is the case with the Fuegians, who are essentially people of the sea and its shore, and who draw nearly the whole of their subsistence from its waters, as we shall see in a future page.

Perhaps in consequence of the scantiness, the irregularity, and the quality of their food, the Fuegians are a very short race of men, often shorter than the average Bosjesman of Southern Africa, and even lower in the social scale. They ought not to be called dwarfs, as is too often the case, their bodies being tolerably proportioned, and their figures not stunted, but simply smaller than the average of Europeans, while the muscular development of the upper part of the body is really wonderful. As a rule, the average height of the Fuegian men is about five feet, and that of the women four feet six inches. In some parts of the islands there are natives of much larger size, but these are evidently immigrants from the adjacent country of Patagonia, where the stature is as much above the average of Europeans as that of the Fuegians is below it.

The color of the natives is a dark coppery brown, the reddish hue being only perceptible in spots where they happen accidentally to be clean. The limbs are generally slight, so that the knees and elbows seem to be disproportionately large, and their heads are covered with masses of black hair, that possesses no curl, and falls in long, wild tangled locks over their shoulders. The men are almost entirely beardless.

An [illustration] on the opposite page of a Fuegian man and woman gives a correct representation of the ugliness of feature and want of intelligence which characterize this people.

Both sexes allow their hair to run to its full length, except over the forehead, where it is roughly cut with a shell to prevent it from falling into the eyes. The people have a strange superstitious reverence for hair, and that portion which is cut off is deposited in a basket, and afterward carefully disposed of. Once, when the captain had snipped off a little hair from a Fuegian’s head, he found that he had given great offence, and was obliged to restore the severed hair and put away the scissors before the angry feelings of the native could be smoothed. On another occasion, the only mode of pacifying the offended native was by restoring the lock of hair, together with a similar lock from the head of the white man. The cut hair is generally burned.

Captain King’s account of the Fuegian women is not attractive.

“The hair of the women is longer, less coarse, and certainly cleaner than that of the men. It is combed with the jaw of a porpoise, but neither plaited nor tied; and none is cut away, except from over their eyes. They are short, with bodies largely out of proportion to their height; their features, especially those of the old, are scarcely less disagreeable than the repulsive ones of the men. About four feet and some inches is the stature of these she-Fuegians, by courtesy called women. They never walk upright; a stooping posture and awkward movement is their natural gait. They may be fit mates for such uncouth men; but to civilized people their appearance is disgusting. Very few exceptions were noticed.

“The color of the women is similar to that of the men. As they are just as much exposed, and do harder work, this is a natural consequence. Besides, while children they run about quite naked, picking up shell-fish, carrying wood, or bringing water. In the color of the older people there is a tinge of yellow, which is not noticed in the middle-aged or young.”

As is the case with many savage tribes, the teeth of the Fuegians are ground down to an almost flat surface. This is most conspicuous in the front teeth. There is little apparent distinction between the canine and the incisor teeth, both being ground down to such an extent that the only remains of the enamel are on the sides, and, as Captain King graphically remarks, “the front teeth are solid, and often flat-topped like those of a horse eight years old ... the interior substance of each tooth is then seen as plainly in proportion to its size as that of a horse.”

The mouth is large, and very coarsely formed, and as there is not a vestige of beard its full ugliness is shown to the best advantage.

One of the strangest phenomena connected with the Fuegians is their lack of clothing. In a climate so cold that in the middle of summer people have been frozen to death at no great elevation above the level of the sea, it might well be imagined that the natives would follow the same course as that adopted by the Esquimaux, and make for themselves garments out of the thickest and warmest furs that can be procured.

They might do so if they chose. In some parts of their country they have the thick-woolled guanaco (probably an importation from the mainland), and in others are deer and foxes, not to mention the dogs which they keep in a domesticated state. Besides, there are few furs warmer than those of the seal, and seals of various kinds abound on the Fuegian coasts, some, such as the sea-lion, being of very large size. Then there are various water birds, whose skins would make dresses equally light and warm, such as the penguin, the duck, the albatross, and the like.

(1.) FUEGIANS.
(See [page 1162].)

(2.) PATAGONIANS.
(See [page 1173].)

It is evident, therefore, that if the Fuegian is not warmly and thickly clothed, it is not from want of material, and that he is naked not from necessity but choice. And he chooses nudity, neither sex wearing any description of clothes except a piece of seal or deer skin about eighteen inches square hung over one shoulder. No other covering is worn except this patch of skin, which is shifted about from one side of the body to the other according to the direction of the wind, the Fuegian appearing to be perfectly indifferent to frost, rain, or snow. For example, a Fuegian mother has been seen with her child in her arms, wearing nothing but the little patch of seal-skin on the windward side, and yet standing unconcernedly in the snow, which not only fell on her naked shoulder, but was heaped between her child and her breast, neither mother nor infant seeming to be more than ordinarily cold. During mild weather, or when the Fuegian is paddling or otherwise engaged in work, he thinks that even the piece of seal-skin is too much for him, and throws it off.

Though careless about clothing, he is not indifferent to ornament, and decorates his copper-colored body in various ways. He uses paint in profusion, generally laying on a white ground made of a chalky clay, and drawing patterns upon it of black or dull brick-red. The black is simply charcoal reduced to powder. He likes necklaces, which are mostly white, and are made of the teeth of fishes and seals, or of pieces of bone. Ornaments of the same character are worn upon the wrists and ankles, so that, although the Fuegian has no clothes, he has plenty of savage jewelry.

Both sexes keep their long, straggling locks out of their eyes by means of a small fillet made of sinews, or the hair of the guanaco, twined round the forehead. Feathers and similar ornaments are stuck into this fillet; but if they be white, the spectator must be on his guard, for white down and feathers on the head are signs of war. Red, on the contrary, denotes peace; so that these people entirely reverse the symbolism of color which is accepted almost over the entire world. Sometimes a native may be seen so covered with black paint that the coppery color of the skin is entirely lost, and the complexion is as black as that of a negro. This is a sign of mourning, and is used on the death of a relation or friend.

The houses of the Fuegians are as simple as their dress, and practically are little but rude shelters from the wind. Any boy can make a Fuegian house in half an hour. He has only to cut a number of long branches, sharpen the thicker ends, and stick them into the ground, so as to occupy seven-eighths or so of a circle. Let him then tie the sticks together at the top, and the framework of the house is completed. The walls and roof are made by twisting smaller boughs among the uprights and throwing long coarse grass on them, and the entire furniture of the hut is comprised in a few armfuls of the same grass thrown on the ground.

The opening at the side is always made in the direction opposite the wind, and there is no attempt at a door; so that, in fact, as has been said, the Fuegian’s only idea of a house is a shelter from the wind, so that the natives have no idea of a home or even of a dwelling-place. This is the form of hut used by the Tekeenika tribes of south-eastern Fuegia. A [Fuegian settlement], with houses and surrounding scenery, is well represented on the 1169th page.

That which is generally employed in other parts of Fuegia is even more simple. It is barely half the height of the Tekeenika hut, and looks something like a large bee-hive. It seldom, if ever, exceeds five feet in height, but, as the earth is scraped away within, another foot in height is given to the interior. It is made simply by digging a circular hole a foot or so in depth, planting green boughs around the excavation, bending them over, and tying their tops together. Upon this rude framework are fastened bunches of grass, sheets of bark, and skins; so that, on the whole, a habitation is formed which is equal in point of accommodation to a gipsy’s tent. These huts vary much in diameter, though not in height; for, while a number of huts are from four to five feet in height, their diameter will vary from six to twenty feet.

The Fuegians are a quarrelsome people, and the different tribes are constantly at war with each other; and, although they can scarcely be divided into definite tribes, the spirit of local jealousy is sufficiently strong within them to keep the inhabitants of one district at perpetual feud with those of another. The conformation of the country aids this feeling of jealousy, the land being divided by numerous ravines, armlets of the sea, and precipitous mountains; but, fortunately for the Fuegians, this very structure prevents destruction in war, although it encourages the ill-feeling which leads to war; and the battles of the Fuegians are, at the best, nothing but detached skirmishes, without producing the least political effect.

Their weapons are the bow and arrow, the spear, and the sling. These weapons are primarily intended for hunting, and are much more used for killing seals, guanacos, deer, fish, and birds than in slaying men. In the use of them the Fuegians are wonderfully expert. Capt. Parker Snow mentions a case where a number of Fuegians had assembled in their canoes round his vessel. A large fish happened to pass, whereupon the natives instantly speared it, and pitched it on board the ship.

The shafts of the spears sometimes reach the length of ten feet, and, instead of being rounded, as is mostly the case with spear shafts, are octagonal. The heads are made of bone, about seven inches in length, and have a single barb about four inches from the point. The Patagonians use a very similar weapon, as we shall presently see. There is another kind of spear head, which has a whole row of small barbs down one side. This weapon is used as a javelin, and is thrown with great force and accuracy, the native grasping it near the middle, poising for a moment, so as to look along it, and then hurling it.

The bow and arrow are mostly used for killing birds, the arrows being made of hard wood, about two feet long. They are headed with pieces of flint or obsidian, which are merely stuck in a notch at the end of the arrow, so that, when the shaft is withdrawn, the head remains in the wound. The bow is strung with twisted sinews. Birds are also killed by stones, some thrown by hand, and others with the sling, the wonderful strength of these strange people enabling them to use their missiles with terrible effect.

Although not tall, the Fuegians are very thick-set and enormously powerful. One of them, named by the sailors York Minster, was a match in point of muscular strength for any two of the men belonging to the ship. The women are as strong as the men. On one occasion, when three Fuegians, a man and two women, had treacherously attacked a white sailor, and were trying to beat out his brains with stones, they were interrupted, and the sailor rescued. The man was shot. One of the women tried to conceal herself under the bank, and the other was seized by the captain and his coxswain, who tried to pinion her arms. She struggled and fought so stoutly that they could scarcely achieve their object, and had no idea that they were contending with a woman until they heard some one announce the sex of their captive. As to the other woman, who was the oldest of the party, she clung so tightly to the bank that two of the strongest sailors could scarcely remove her.

The fate of the man was very curious, and illustrates the reckless, not to say senseless, courage of these people. He was mortally wounded, and fell back for a moment, allowing the maltreated sailor to escape. However, he instantly recovered himself, and, snatching stones from the bed of the stream in which he was standing, began to hurl them with astounding force and quickness. He used both hands, and flung stones with such truth of aim that the first struck the master, smashed his powder-horn to pieces, and nearly knocked him down. The two next were hurled at the heads of the nearest seamen, who just escaped by stooping as the missiles were thrown. All this passed in a second or two, and with an attempt to hurl a fourth stone the man fell dead.

Some time before this event the sailors had been astonished at the stone-throwing powers of the Fuegians, who nearly struck them with stones thrown by hand when they thought themselves even beyond musket shot. They generally carry a store of pebbles ready for use in the corner of their little skin mantles.

The sling is made of a cup of seal or guanaco skin, to which are attached two cords similar in material to the bow-strings, thus combining apparent delicacy with great strength. The cords of the sling are more than three feet in length. The skill which the Fuegians possess with this weapon is worthy of the reputation attained by the Balearic islanders. Captain King has seen them strike with a sling-stone a cap placed on a stump at fifty or sixty yards’ distance, and on one occasion he witnessed a really wonderful display of dexterity. He asked a Fuegian to show him the use of the weapon. The man immediately picked up a stone about as large as a pigeon’s egg, placed it in the sling, and pointed to a canoe as his mark. He then turned his back, and flung the stone in exactly the opposite direction, so that it struck the trunk of a tree, and rebounded to the canoe. The men seem to think the sling a necessity of life, and it is very seldom that a Fuegian is seen without it either hung over his neck or tied round his waist.

It is rather a curious fact that the Fuegians always devote themselves to one particular weapon. One, for example, will be pre-eminent in the use of the bow, another will excel in throwing stones with the hand, and a third will give all his energies to the sling. Yet, although each man selects some particular arm in the use of which he excels, they all are tolerable masters of the other weapons, and it sometimes happens that a Fuegian crosses over to the Patagonian coast, procures the singular weapon called the “bolas,” of which the reader will learn more presently, and becomes almost as expert in its use as the man from whom he obtained it.

As for the food of the Fuegians, it is, as I have already mentioned, chiefly drawn from the sea. He is an excellent fisherman, and manages to capture his prey without even a hook. He ties a bait on the end of the line, dangles it before the fish, and gradually coaxes it toward the surface of the water. He then allows it to bite, and, before it can detach its teeth from the bait, jerks it out of the water with his right hand, while with the left he catches or strikes it into the canoe. It is evident that by this manner of angling it is impossible to catch fish of any great size. As soon as he has caught the fish, the Fuegian opens it by the simple plan of biting a piece out of its under surface, cleans it, and hangs it on a stick.

Molluscs, especially the mussels and limpets which are found on the sea-shores, form a very considerable portion of the Fuegian’s diet; and it is a curious fact that these natives never throw the empty shells about, but carefully lay them in heaps. They are especially careful not to throw them back into the sea, thinking that the molluscs would take warning by seeing the shells of their comrades, and would forsake the coast. Every woman is furnished with a short pointed stick of hard wood, with which she knocks the limpets off the rocks.

There is a very large species of mussel found on these shores, which is particularly useful to the Fuegian, who employs its shell as a knife. These tools are made in a very simple manner. The Fuegian first knocks off the original edge of the shell, which is brittle and rather fragile, and, by grinding it against the rocks, produces a new edge, which is sharp enough to cut wood and even bone.

By means of the spear and arrows, the Fuegian contrives even to capture seals and sea-otters, but the pursuit in which he shows his greatest ingenuity is the capture of fish by means of dogs. These dogs are little, fox-like looking dogs, which appear utterly incapable of aiding their masters in hunting. Yet they are singularly intelligent in their own way, and have learned a most curious fashion of taking fish. When a shoal of fish approaches the land, the dogs swim out and enclose them, splashing and diving until they drive the shoal into a net, or into some creek when the water is sufficiently shallow for the spear and arrow to be used. The dogs are also taught to catch the birds while sleeping. They creep up to the birds quietly, pounce upon them, carry them to their masters, and return for more, and all so silently that the birds around are not disturbed.

These animals are regarded with very mingled feelings. The Fuegian neglects them and illtreats them, scarcely ever taking the trouble to feed them, so that if they depended on the food given them by their masters they would starve. However, their aquatic training gives them the power of foraging for themselves, and, when not required by their masters, they can catch fish on their own account. They are odd, sharp nosed, bushy tailed animals, with large, pointed, erect ears, and usually with dark rough hair, though a few among them have the fur nearly white. They are watchful and faithful to their masters, and the sight of a stranger, much more of a clothed stranger, sets them barking furiously.

Although the Fuegian neglects his dog, he has a great respect and even affection for the animal. It often happens that the mussels and limpets fail, that the weather is too tempestuous for fishing, and that in consequence the people are reduced to the brink of starvation. It might be presumed that, having their dogs at hand, they would avail themselves of so obvious a source of food. This, however, they never do, except when reduced to the last extremity, and, instead of eating their dogs, they eat their old women, who, as they think, are worn out and can do no good, while the dogs, if suffered to live, will assist in catching fish and guanacos.

When they have determined on killing an old woman, they put a quantity of green wood on their fire, so as to cause a thick, suffocating smoke, and in this smoke they hold the poor creature’s head until she is stifled. Unless there is very great distress, the women eat the upper part of the victim and the men the lower, the trunk being thrown into the sea.

Several species of echinus, or sea urchins, are eaten by the Fuegians, who dive for them and bring them to the surface, in spite of the sharp prickles with which the entire surface is beset.

The Fuegian’s great feast, however, takes place when a whale is stranded on the shore. All the people within reach flock to the spot, while fleets of canoes surround the stranded monster, and its body is covered with little copper-colored men carving away the blubber with their shell knives. Each cuts as much as he can get, and when he has torn and carved off a large piece of blubber, he makes a hole in the middle, puts his head through the aperture, and thus leaves his hands free to carry more of the dainty food. Besides this animal food, the Fuegian eats a remarkable kind of fungus, which is found on the antarctic beech, the tree which has already been mentioned. Mr. Webster gives the following description of it:—

“The antarctic beech is the common and prevailing tree. It is an elegant evergreen. It grows to the height of thirty or forty feet, with a girth of from three to five feet, and sometimes, doubling these dimensions, it forms a majestic tree. In December it puts forth a profusion of blossoms, with anthers of bright pink, large and pendent. This evergreen beech frequently has round the upper part of the trunk, or on some of the larger branches, large clusters of globular fungi of a bright orange color. Each fungus is about the size of a small apple, of a soft pulpy nature, with a smooth yellow skin. As it approaches maturity it becomes cellular and latticed on its surface, and when it drops from the tree, dries, and shrivels into a brown mass resembling a morel.

“The Fuegians eat this fungus with avidity. The gelatinous mass is pale, without taste or odor; at the part in contact with the tree are two germs or processes. From twenty to thirty of these fungi are clustered together, and encircle the tree. They form a very conspicuous object, and wherever they are attached they produce a hard knot, or woody tumor, of considerable density. I did not observe them on any other tree than the evergreen beech.”

Passing so much of his time on the sea, the Fuegian needs a boat of some kind, and, debased as he is in many points, he is capable of constructing a vessel that answers every purpose he requires. There are several kinds of Fuegian canoes. The simplest form is made of the bark of a sort of birch, and is in fact formed much like the primitive canoes of the Australians. It is a single sheet of bark stripped from the tree, and tied firmly together at each end. Several sticks placed crosswise in the middle serve to keep it open; and if any part has a tendency to bulge in the opposite direction, a skin thong is passed across the boat and keeps it in shape. The ends of the canoe, as well as any cracks or holes in the bark, are caulked with dry rushes and a pitchy resin procured from trees.

Like the Australian, the Fuegian carries fire in these tiny canoes, placing a lump of clay in the bottom of the boat, building the fire on it, and so being able to remain at sea for a considerable time, cooking and eating the fish as fast as he catches them. Such a boat as this, however, is too frail to be taken far from land, or indeed to be used at all when the weather is tempestuous. Moreover, it only holds one or two persons, and is therefore unfitted for many purposes for which a Fuegian requires a canoe. A much larger and better kind of canoe is therefore made, which has the useful property of being made in separate parts so that the canoe can be taken to pieces, and the various portions carried overland to any spot where the canoe may be wanted. Such a vessel as this is about fifteen feet in length and a yard in width, and, being very buoyant, is capable of holding a whole family, together with their house, and weapons, and utensils. It is considerably raised both at the bow and the stern, and the various pieces of which it is made are sewed together with thongs of raw hide.

The very character of a Fuegian’s life shows that he must, to a certain degree, be a nomad. He never cultivates the soil, he never builds a real house, he never stores up food for the future, and so it necessarily follows that when he has eaten all the mussels, limpets, oysters, and fungi in one spot, he must move to another. And, the demands of hunger being imperious, he cannot wait, but, even if the weather be too stormy to allow him to take his canoe from one part of the coast to another, he is still forced to go, and has therefore hit upon the ingenious plan of taking his canoe to pieces, and making the journey by land and not by sea. An [illustration] on the following page shows him shifting quarters.

All he has to do in this case is to unlace the hide thongs that lash the canoe together, take it to pieces, and give each piece to some member of the family to carry, the strongest taking the most cumbrous pieces, such as the side and bottom planks, while the smaller portions are borne by the children. When the snow lies deep, the smaller canoe is generally used as a sledge, on which the heavier articles are placed. As to the hut, in some cases the Fuegians carry the upright rods with them; but they often do not trouble themselves with the burden, but leave the hut to perish, and cut down fresh sticks when they arrive at the spot on which they mean to settle for a time.

The Fuegians are good fire makers, and do not go through the troublesome process of rubbing two sticks upon each other. They have learned the value of iron pyrites (the same mineral which was used in the “wheel-lock” fire-arm of Elizabeth’s time), and obtain it from the mountains of their islands. The tinder is made either of a dried fungus or moss, and when the pyrites and a pebble are struck together by a skilful hand, a spark is produced of sufficient intensity to set fire to the tinder. As soon as the spark has taken hold of the tinder, the Fuegian blows it until it spreads, and then wraps it up in a ball of dry grass. He rapidly whirls the grass ball round his head, when the dry foliage bursts into flames, and the fire is complete.

Still, the process of fire making is not a very easy one, and the Fuegians never use their pyrites except when forced to do so, preferring to keep a fire always lighted, and to carry a firestick with them when they travel. Fire is, indeed, a necessary of life to the Fuegians, not so much for cooking as for warming purposes. Those who have visited them say that the natives always look cold and shivering, as indeed they are likely to do, considering that they wear no clothes, and that even in their houses they can but obtain a very partial shelter from the elements.

Their cookery is of the rudest description, and generally consists in putting the food into the hot ashes, and allowing it to remain there until it is sufficiently done for their taste—or, in other words, until it is fairly warmed through. Cooking in vessels of any kind is unknown to them, and the first lessons given them in cooking mussels in a tin pan were scarcely more successful than those in sewing, when the women invariably made a hole in the stuff with the needle, pulled the thread out of the eye, and then insinuated it through the hole made by the needle. They were repeatedly taught the use of the eye in carrying the thread, but to little purpose, as they invariably returned to the old fashion which they had learned with a fish-bone and fibre of sinew.

(1.) A FUEGIAN SETTLEMENT.
(See [page 1165].)

(2.) FUEGIANS SHIFTING QUARTERS.
(See [page 1168].)

Though so constantly in the water, the Fuegians have not the most distant idea of washing themselves. Such a notion never occurs to them, and when Europeans first came among them, the sight of a man washing his face seemed to them so irresistibly ludicrous that they burst into shouts of laughter. In consequence of this utter neglect of cleanliness, and the habit of bedaubing themselves with grease and clay, they are very offensive to the nostrils, and any one who wishes to cultivate an acquaintance with them must make up his mind to a singular variety of evil odors. Moreover, they swarm with parasites, and, as they will persist in demonstrating friendly feelings by embracing their guest with a succession of violently affectionate hugs, the cautious visitor provides himself either with an oil-skin suit, or with some very old clothes, which he can give away to the natives as soon as he regains his vessel.

Although the Fuegians are often ill-disposed toward strangers, and indeed have murdered many boats’ crews, Captain Parker Snow contrived to be on very friendly terms with them, going on shore and visiting them in their huts, so as to place himself entirely in their power, and allowing them to come on board his ship. He was fortunate in obtaining the services of a native, called Jemmy Button, who had been partially educated in England, with the hope that he might civilize his countrymen. However, as mostly happened in such cases, he was soon stripped of all his goods; and when Captain Snow visited Tierra del Fuego, twenty-three years afterward, he found Jemmy Button as naked and dirty as any of his countrymen, as were his wife and daughter.

The man, however, retained much of his knowledge of English, a few words of which he had engrafted upon his native language. When first he arrived on board, the English words came with difficulty; but he soon recovered his fluency, and had not forgotten his manners, touching his forehead as he stepped on the quarter-deck, and making his bow in sailor fashion when he addressed the captain, to the entire consternation of the sailors, who could not understand an absolutely naked savage speaking English, and being as well-mannered as themselves.

The faculty of acquiring language is singularly developed in the Fuegian. Generally, the inhabitants of one country find great difficulty in mastering the pronunciation, and especially the intonation, of a foreign land; but a Fuegian can repeat almost any sentence after hearing it once, though of course he has not the slightest idea of its meaning.

A very absurd example of this curious facility of tongue occurred to some sailors who went ashore, and taught the natives to drink coffee. One of the Fuegians, after drinking his coffee, contrived to conceal the tin pot, with the intention of stealing it. The sailor demanded the restoration of his property, and was greatly annoyed that every word which he uttered was instantly repeated by the Fuegian. Thinking at last, that the man must be mocking him, and forgetting for the instant that he did not understand one word of English, the sailor assumed a menacing attitude, and bawled out, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” The Fuegian, nowise disconcerted, assumed precisely the same attitude, and exclaimed in exactly the same manner, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” As it turned out, “the copper-colored rascal” had the pot tucked under his arm.

The natives evidently seemed to think that their white visitors were very foolish for failing to comprehend their language, and tried to make them understand by bawling at the top of their voice. On one or two occasions, when a number of them came on board, they much annoyed Captain Snow by the noise which they made, until a bright thought struck him. He snatched up a speaking trumpet, and bellowed at his visitors through it with such a stunning effect that their voices dropped into respectful silence, and they began to laugh at the manner in which they had been out-bawled by a single man.

As far as can be ascertained, the Fuegians have no form of government. They live in small communities, not worthy of the name of tribes, and having no particular leader, except that the oldest man among them, so long as he retains his strength, is looked up to as a sort of authority. Their ideas of religion appear to be as ill-defined as those of government, the only representative of religion being the conjuror, who, however, exercises but very slight influence upon his fellow countrymen.

CHAPTER CXXI.
THE PATAGONIANS.
APPEARANCE—WEAPONS—HORSEMANSHIP.

POSITION OF PATAGONIA — STATURE OF THE INHABITANTS — SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME — HORSE FURNITURE — THE STIRRUP AND BOOT — AN INGENIOUS SPUR — THE GIRTH AND ITS CONSTRUCTION — PRIMITIVE BUCKLES — THE BRIDLE AND ITS ACCOMPANYING WHIP — THE PATAGONIAN AND SPANISH BITS — SIZE AND STRENGTH OF THEIR HORSES — HORSE-RACING — THE BOLAS, THEIR CONSTRUCTION, AND DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF FORM — WAR IN PATAGONIA-THE SPARE HORSES AND THEIR USE — THE RETURN FROM BATTLE — A HUNTING EXPEDITION — CHASING THE GUANACO — A TERRIFIED HERD — THE DISADVANTAGE OF CURIOSITY — DECOY GUANACOS — PARTRIDGE CATCHING — THE POWER OF FASCINATION.

Separated from Tierra del Fuego by a strait so narrow that in certain spots human beings might converse across the water, is the land called Patagonia.

It derives this now familiar title from a nickname given to the inhabitants by Magellan’s sailors. As we shall presently see when treating of their costume, the Patagonians wear a sort of gaiter to protect their ankles against thorns. These gaiters are made of the furry skin of the guanaco, the long hair spreading out on either side of the foot. The sailors, ever ready to ridicule any custom new to them, remarked this conspicuous part of the dress, and nicknamed the natives Patagones, i. e. duck-feet, a name which has ever since adhered to them, and even been applied to their country.

The narrow armlet of sea, to which reference has been made, divides two lands utterly opposed to each other, and inhabited by people totally distinct in appearance and habits. Tierra del Fuego has scarcely a level spot in it, but is composed of even set ravines clothed with trees, and precipitous, snow-clad mountains. Patagonia, on the contrary, abounds in vast level plains, unfertile and without a tree on them.

The human inhabitants of these countries are as different as the lands themselves, the Fuegians being below the average height, and the Patagonians above it. Yet, just as the Fuegian is not such an absolute dwarf, as has often been stated, the Patagonian is not such an absolute giant, a regiment of English Lifeguards being as tall as an equal number of Patagonians. It is true that if a Patagonian regiment of picked men were raised they would overtop even the Guardsmen, but the old tales about an average of seven or even eight feet are unworthy of credit. Some of the older voyagers even attribute to the Patagonians a much loftier stature, saying that some of them were twelve feet in height, and that when one of them stood with his legs apart, an ordinary man could walk between them without stooping.

The color of the Patagonians is somewhat like that of the Fuegians, being a dark copper brown, the reddish hue coming out well on any part of the skin that happens to be less dirty than others. The hair is coarse, long and black, and is allowed to hang loosely about their faces, being merely kept out of their eyes by a small fillet of guanaco hair. There is scarcely any eyebrow, a deficiency which always gives an unpleasant expression to the eyes, and indeed, even in the old men, the face is almost devoid of hair. The face is roundish, the width being increased by the great projection of the cheek-bones, and the chin is rather broad and prominent. The small, restless eyes, are black, as is the hair, and rather hidden under the prominent brows. The nose is narrow between the eyes, but the nostrils are broad and fleshy. The mouth is large, and the lips rather thick, but altogether the face is not a bad one. The [illustration] on the 1163d page, of a Patagonian man and woman furnishes a striking contrast with the Fuegians, their neighbors.

The dress of the Patagonians is simple, but sufficient, and in this respect they form a great contrast to the absolutely naked Fuegians of the opposite shores. The chief part of the costume consists of a large mantle made of guanaco skins. The guanaco is, as the reader may possibly be aware, one of the llama tribe, and is about the size of a deer. It is covered with a thick woolly coat, the long hair of which is valuable, not only to the Patagonians, but to Europeans, by whom it is made into various fabrics.

It is very plentiful in this country, fortunately for the Patagonians, to whom the guanaco is the very staff of life, the creature that supplies him with food, clothes, and dwelling. Sometimes it is seen in great droves of several hundreds in number, but it generally associates in smaller herds of twenty or thirty individuals. It is a shy animal, as well it may be, considering the many foes that are always ready to fall upon it; and as it is swift as well as shy, great skill is required in capturing it, as will presently be seen.

The guanaco-skin mantle is very large, and when folded round the body and clasped by the arms, falls as low as the feet; and when a tall Patagonian is seen in this mantle, which adds apparently to his height, he presents a very imposing appearance. Generally, the mantle is confined round the waist by a belt, so that when the wearer chooses, he can throw off the upper part of it, his hands remaining at liberty for action. Under the mantle he wears a small apron.

Next come the curious gaiters, which have been already mentioned. At first sight they look like boots reaching from the knee downward, but when examined more closely, they are seen to be devoid of sole, having only a strap that passes under the middle of the foot, so that the heel and toes and great part of the sole are left unprotected. The reason of this structure is, that the Patagonian is nearly always on horseback, and the toe is made to project beyond the gaiter in order to be placed in the stirrup, which is very small and triangular.

As the Patagonians are so devoted to horsemanship no sketch of this people would be adequate without an account of their horse accoutrements. I have a complete set in my possession. The saddle is made of four pieces of wood, firmly lashed together with raw-hide thongs, and both the front and back of the saddle are alike. From the sides depend the stirrups, which are appended to leathern thongs, and are made in a very simple manner. A hole is made at each end of a stout leathern strap, and a short piece of stick about half an inch in diameter is thrust through them, being retained in its place by a groove near each end. The strap being attached by its middle to the thongs which act as stirrup-leathers, the article is complete.

As the space between the grooves is rather less than three inches, it necessarily follows that the Patagonian horseman can only insert his great toe in the stirrup. This, however, is sufficient hold for him, as he is an admirable though careless looking rider, the greater part of his life, from childhood upward, having been spent on horseback.

The spur is as primitive as the stirrup, and exactly resembles in principle the prick-spurs of the ancient knights. It consists of two pieces of stick, exactly like those employed for the stirrups, and two short straps of cowhide. A hole is made at each end of the strap, and the sticks are pushed through them, being held in their places, like those of the stirrups, by a groove cut half an inch from their ends, so that the two sticks are held parallel to each other.

To the upper ends of each stick a leathern thong is applied, and these thongs, being tied over the instep, hold the spur in its place. At the other ends of the sticks holes are bored, into each of which a sharp iron spike is inserted. In my own specimen, the maker has been economical of his iron, and has only inserted spikes in one of the sticks, so that when the spurs are worn with the spiked stick inward, they are quite as effective as if both sticks were armed. Still, the hole for the reception of the spikes has been bored in all the sticks, and there is no doubt that the Patagonian who made the spurs would have inserted the spikes at some time or other.

The spur is worn as follows: The armed sticks come on either side of the foot, the strap which is next to the spiked ends goes round the heel, the other strap passes under the hollow of the foot, and the hide thongs are tied over the instep. Such a spur as this is not only an effective but a cruel instrument, really as bad as the huge metal spurs, with rowels four inches in diameter, which the Gauchos wear. It is impossible to see this simple form of spur without recalling the old story of “Sandford and Merton,” and referring to the adventure of Tommy Merton, who, on being forbidden to use spurs, stuck pins into the heels of his boots, and was run away with in consequence.

The girth is a singularly ingenious piece of work. The strength of the girth itself is prodigious. At first sight it looks as if it were a single broad belt of leather, but a nearer inspection shows that it is made of twenty-two separate cords, each about the eighth of an inch in thickness, laid side by side, and united at intervals by several rows of similar cords of strings. Each of these cords is made of two strands of raw hide, probably that of guanaco, and looks as strong as ordinary catgut. Buckles are unknown to the Patagonian, who has invented in their stead a mode of tightening the girth by passing straps through holes, hauling upon them, and fastening off the ends.

The bit and bridle are equally ingenious. It consists of a squared bar of iron four and a half inches long, the ends of which are passed through holes in doubled pieces of hide, and hammered when cold into a sort of rivet-like shape, so as to retain the leather in its place. To the lower part of the leathers are attached a couple of stout thongs, which are passed under the lower jaw of the horse, and then tied, so that they keep the bit in its place, and at the same time act as a sort of curb.

To the upper part of the leathers are fixed the long plaited thongs which are used as reins, and which seem strong enough to hold an elephant, much more a horse. The Patagonian uses no separate whip, but has a long double strap of stout hide, which is fixed to the junction of the reins, so that there is no danger of losing it.

This is the ordinary bit of a Patagonian hunter, but those who can obtain it like to use the cruel Spanish bit, which they fit up in their own way with thongs of plaited hide. One of these bits is shown in [illustration No. 4] on the following page. The principal distinguishing point about these bits is the large iron ring, which passes over the horse’s jaw, and gives to the rider a leverage so powerful that he could break the jaw of any horse without making any very great exertion. By the use of this bit, the horse is soon taught to stop almost suddenly, to wheel in a very limited area, and to perform the various evolutions which are needed in carrying out the pursuit in which the Patagonian depends for much of his livelihood.

The reins which are attached to this bit are of enormous strength, and are plaited in a square form, so that no amount of pulling which any horse could accomplish would endanger them. The whip is attached to these reins like that of the last mentioned apparatus, but is more severe, thicker, and heavier, and is made of a long and broad belt of hide, cut into four strips, which are plaited together, flat and narrow strips about four inches long answering as the lash. It will be seen that the Patagonian is by no means merciful to his beast, but that he uses a bit, spur, and whip which are, though so simple in appearance, more severe in practice than those which have a far more formidable aspect.

The horses which he rides are descended from those which were introduced by the Spaniards, and which have multiplied so rapidly as almost to deserve the name of indigenous animals. They are of no great size, being under fifteen hands high, and belonging to that well-known mustang breed which is more celebrated for strength and endurance than for aspect, qualities which are indispensable in an animal that has to carry so heavy a rider after creatures so fleet as the guanaco or the rhea.

The Patagonians are fond of racing, but never make their courses longer than a quarter of a mile. The reason for these short races is, that their horses are not required to run for any length of time at full speed, but to make quick and sudden dashes, so as to enable the rider to reach his prey, and hurl the singular missiles with which he is armed.

There is yet an article needed to complete the equipment of a Patagonian. This is the celebrated “bolas,” a weapon which looks almost contemptible, but in practised hands is exceptionably formidable. It consists of two or sometimes three balls at the end of hide thongs. The form most in use is that which is represented in [illustration No. 3] on the next page. The native name for the two-ball bolas is somai, and that for the three-ball weapon is achico.

The first point in making the bolas is to procure the proper balls, and the second to prepare the proper rope to which they are fastened. The ordinary balls are made of stone, and are nearly as large as cricket balls. They are made by the women, who pass much of their time in supplying the men with these necessaries of life. To cut and grind one of these stones is a good day’s work, even for an accomplished workwoman.

A still more valuable ball is made of iron, which has the advantage of being so much heavier than stone that the ball is considerably smaller, and therefore experiences less resistance from the air, a quality which is of the first consequence in a missile weapon. The most valuable are those which are made of copper, as is the case with the specimen from which the [illustration] is taken. Each of these balls weighs eighteen ounces, in spite of its small size, so that the weapon is a very formidable one.

The thong to which the balls are attached is nine feet in length, and is made in the following manner: two pairs of thongs of raw hide are cut, and, while they are still fresh and wet, each pair is twisted together so as to form a two-stranded rope. These ropes are again twisted into one, so that the aggregate strength of the four is enormous.

Round each of the balls is then laid a circular piece of guanaco hide, with holes bored all round the edge. The ends of the thongs being passed through the holes and laced tightly, the raw hide is drawn over the balls, and encloses them in a sort of pocket, as is seen by the enlarged figure in the [illustration]. This specimen is one of the three-ball weapons. In this case a third thong five feet six inches in length has been twisted, one end fastened to a ball, and the other interlaced with the strands of the first thong exactly at its centre. We have now the three-ball bolas, which is made in such a manner that, when the thongs are grasped at their points of junction, two of the balls hang at equal depths from the hand, and the third is just a foot below them.

(1.) STIRRUPS AND SPURS.
(See [page 1196].)

(2.) LASSOS.
(See [page 1197].)

(3.) PATAGONIAN BOLAS.
(See [page 1174].)

leather plait

(4.) SPANISH BIT AND PATAGONIAN FITTINGS.
(See [page 1174].)

The bolas is to the Patagonian what the kris is to the Malay, the boomerang to the Australian, the lasso to the Gaucho, the club to the Fijian, and the bow to the Andamaner. From early childhood upward no Patagonian is without this weapon, which seems to him an absolute necessity of existence. Generally he carries it twisted round his waist, like an officer’s sash of the olden days, the balls dangling at the side like the tassels of the sash.

It is, however, coiled on the body with such consummate skill that it can be cast loose with a turn of the hand, the eye being fixed on the object of attack, and in a moment the Patagonian is fully armed. Putting aside warfare, which in Patagonia is scarcely known, the tribes, or rather the families, not being strong enough to wage real war upon each other, the so-called battles are unworthy of any name except that of skirmishes, which among themselves seem to do no great harm, however formidable they may be to opponents who happen to be unacquainted with the mode of fighting practised by the Patagonians.

For example, a dozen trained riflemen, on foot, who could thoroughly depend on each other, would overmatch ten times their number of mounted Patagonians, who, every whit as brave as themselves, are ignorant of discipline, and fight every man for his own hand.

Let the riflemen once allow the Patagonians to come within thirty yards, and they would be annihilated; but as long as the foe could be kept out of throwing distance, they are comparatively harmless.

When a Patagonian intends to attack either a human enemy, or some animal of chase, or even, as often happens, some wild beast or bird, he slips the ever-ready bolas from his waist, grasps the thongs at their point of union, drives his primitive spurs into the flanks of his rough-coated steed, and dashes off at full gallop, whirling the bolas round his head by a dexterous movement of his flexible wrist.

As soon as he comes within throwing distance, which materially varies according to the strength of the thrower and the structure of the bolas, he hurls his singular weapon with unerring skill. No sooner does it leave his hand than the centrifugal force causes the balls to diverge, and they fly round and round in the air with a motion exactly resembling that which an English street acrobat imparts to a couple of padded balls at the ends of a string, when he wants to clear the ground.

Urged by the stalwart arm of the Patagonian, the bolas flies straight to its mark, and no sooner does it strike it, than the impetus communicated to the balls causes the thongs to twist round the unfortunate victim, and bring him at once to a halt. Indeed, should a man be struck by the bolas, he may congratulate himself if in three minutes afterwards he finds himself alive, neither having been strangled by the cords twisting round his neck, nor brained by the heavy balls coming in contact with his skull.

The skill which the Patagonians attain is really marvellous. At any distance short of fifty yards a victim marked is a victim slain. So terrific is the gripe of the bolas thong, that Europeans who have been struck with it have been found to suffer from weals as well marked as if they had been made by the stroke of a “cow-hide” whip upon the bare flesh.

An excellent description of the various kinds of bolas is given by Captain King:—

“Sometimes two balls, each of which has a cord about a yard in length, are fastened to the thong of the larger set. This is to entangle the victim more effectually. They do not try to strike objects with these balls, but endeavor to throw them so that the thong shall hit a prominent part; and then, of course, the balls swing round in different directions, and the thongs become so ‘laid up’ (or twisted), that struggling only makes the captive more secure.

“They can throw them so dexterously as to fasten a man to his horse, or catch a horse without harming him. If an animal is to be caught without being thrown down suddenly—an inevitable consequence of these balls swinging round his legs while at full speed—a somai is thrown upon his neck. The two balls hang down, and perplex him so much by dangling about his fore-legs that his speed is much checked, and another set of balls or a lasso may be used to secure without throwing him down. The lasso is not much used, so adroit, are they with the balls.

“A formidable missile weapon is the single ball, called by the Spaniards ‘bola perdida.’ This is similar to the other in size and substance, but attached to a slighter rope about a yard long. Whirling this ball, about a pound in weight, with the utmost swiftness around their heads, they dash it at their adversary with almost the force of a shot. At close quarters it is used, with a shorter scope of cord, as an efficient head-breaker. Several of these original and not trifling offensive weapons are kept in readiness by each individual, and many a Spaniard, armed with steel and gunpowder, has acknowledged their effect.”

The raids which are dignified by the name of warfare are more for plunder than conquest, inasmuch as the Patagonian cares nothing for territory, of which he has enough and to spare, and almost nothing for military fame. Sometimes he wants plunder; sometimes he means to make a hunting expedition into a district held by another tribe; and sometimes he prepares a short campaign against an inimical tribe in revenge for a real or fancied insult.

When preparing for such an excursion, or while expecting the attack of another tribe, the Patagonians keep themselves in constant preparation for war. They put on three of their thickest mantles in order to deaden the blow of the bolas, or withstand the point of the spear and arrow. These mantles are not wrapped round them in the ordinary fashion of peace, but are worn like ponchos, the head being thrust through a hole in the middle. The innermost mantle is of guanaco skin, with the hairy side inward, while the others are simple leather, without hair, the place of which is taken by paint. Their heads are guarded by conical caps, made of hide, and often adorned by a tuft of feathers from the rhea.

Those who are wealthy enough purchase a sort of armor composed of a thick hide tunic, with a high collar and short sleeves, and a hat or helmet made of double bull’s hide. This garment is very heavy and clumsy, but it will resist every weapon except bullets, and will make even the blow of the “bola perdida” fall harmless. Those who are too poor to possess a horse, and are obliged to fight on foot, carry shields made of several layers of hide sewed together.

Sometimes they come unexpectedly upon enemies, and a skirmish is the immediate result. In this case they mostly fling aside their cumbrous mantles, and fight without any clothing except the girdle and their spurs. When they make expeditions against inimical districts, they take spare horses with them, one of which is intended to bear the plunder as they return, and to take its share in carrying the warrior to battle. As soon as the Patagonian finds that his weight is beginning to tell upon the horse which he rides, he vaults upon the other without checking them in their gallop, and thus makes sure of a fresh and unwearied horse upon going into action. The second horse is afterward used for the conveyance of slaves, skins, weapons, and other booty.

As they return, they fling off the cumbrous armor of coats and mantles, and ride, according to their fashion, naked to the waist, the innermost mantle being retained in its place by a leathern thong, which acts as a belt. In some of these expeditions a whole troop of loose horses is driven in front of the warriors, and when a man feels his own horse becoming wearied, he rides alongside one of the loose horses, shifts the bit, and leaps on the fresh animal, not troubling himself about the saddle.

When the Patagonian goes out hunting, he carries no weapon except the bolas and a knife, the latter being considered rather as a tool than a weapon. Should he see a herd of guanacos, he makes silently toward them, imitating the cry of the young one in distress, and doing all in his power to attract the animals. Anything very strange is sure to attract them, just as it attracts cows, which are horribly afraid of the new object, but, victims of a sort of fascination, are led nearer and nearer by a spirit of curiosity, for which they pay with their lives. When a small herd—say six or eight—of guanacos is seen, they can generally be enticed within range of the bolas by a hunter on foot, who steals as near them as he can manage to do without alarming them, and then plays various antics, such as lying on his back and kicking his legs in the air, tying a strip of hide or a bunch of feathers to a stick, and waving it about. The inquisitive creatures seem unable to resist the promptings of their curiosity, and, though they are really afraid of the strange object, come closer and closer, until the hunter is able to hurl the terrible bolas at them.

When, however, the herd is a large one, the guanacos are much more timid, and, until the introduction of the horse, the Patagonians could seldom do much with them. Now, however, the possession of the horse, together with their knowledge of the guanaco’s disposition, enables them to capture and kill great numbers of the animals.

In this mode of chase the Patagonians make use of two characteristics which belong to the guanaco. In the first place, it is a hill-loving animal, and when pursued, or even afraid of pursuit, leaves the plains and makes for some eminence. Like all gregarious animals, the guanacos invariably have sentinels posted on the most elevated points, and trust their safety to their watchfulness, the squeal of alarm being instantly followed by the flight of the herd. Knowing this peculiarity, the hunters are sure that if a herd of guanacos be in the plain, and a hill be near them, the animals will be almost certain to take to it.

The second characteristic is, that the guanacos, when thrown into confusion, entirely lose their presence of mind, running a few steps in one way and then a few steps in another, being quite unable to fix upon any definite plan of escape.

A large party of hunters, sometimes nearly a hundred in number, arm themselves with their long, light, cane-shafted spears, called chuzos, summon their dogs, and set off toward the spot where a herd of guanacos is known to be. Having fixed upon some grassy hill, half of the hunters push forward and take up a position on the further side, while the others drive the guanacos gently toward their well-known grazing place.

PATAGONIANS HUNTING GAME.
(See [page 1181].)

As soon as the animals are fairly on the hill, the hunters spread out so as to enclose them in a semicircle, and then dash forward, driving the herd up the hill. The detached band on the other side, as soon as they hear the shouts, spread themselves out in a similar manner, the two bodies completely surrounding the hill, so that when the guanacos reach the summit they find themselves environed by enemies.

After the usual custom in such cases, the guanacos lose all presence of mind, some running one way, some another, mutually hindering each other’s escape, so that the hunters are able to pierce with their long spears the finest animals, and thus secure in a very short space of time so great a number, that they are amply supplied with skins and meat.

Although they carry the spear on these occasions, they are not without the bolas, it being used for capturing the young guanacos, which are kept in a domesticated state like sheep. Now and then a guanaco, which possesses more sense than its comrades, takes a line of its own, and dashes through the circle of its enemies. Still it has but little chance of escaping, for round the circle of horsemen there is another circle of men on foot, accompanied by dogs. As soon as a guanaco breaks through the first circle, it is instantly seized by the dogs, which terrify it to such an extent that it is unable to move, and neither tries to escape nor resist.

On the preceding page is a spirited [engraving] which represents Patagonian scenery, and the natives in their favorite pursuit of hunting game. The hot chase, the flying bolas, the bewildered guanacos are vividly pictured.

The young guanacos which have been mentioned as being domesticated are not solely intended to furnish food, or even bred merely for the sake of their skins. They are employed for the sake of decoying the adult animals. Taking the young guanaco to the feeding grounds, the hunter ties it to a bush, and then conceals himself behind it. By imitating the mother’s cry, he induces the captive to utter the plaintive bleating sound by which a young one calls for its mother. This is a sound which the adult guanacos cannot resist, and as soon as they come within twenty yards or so of the bush, the bolas is launched, and the animal at which it is aimed falls to the ground, enveloped in the fatal coils.

The power of the bolas is eminently shown in the chase of the rhea, or American ostrich. This bird is as swift and wary as the true African ostrich, and, but for the bolas, the hunters would scarcely be able to secure it. In the chase of this bird the Patagonians employ the same device which is used in capturing the guanacos. They know that the rhea shares with the guanaco the tendency to become confused and uncertain in its movements when it is pressed simultaneously from opposite directions. They therefore try to surround the herd and converge upon it, or, at all events, two or three of them attack it from opposite quarters, driving it first one way and then another, so that the bird becomes so perplexed that it cannot make up its mind to run in one direction, and escape its foes by its superior speed, but allows them to come within range of the bolas, when its fate is sealed.

The hunters also know that, in common with all the ostrich tribe, and, indeed, with many wild animal of chase, the rhea always runs against the wind. It is therefore easy for them to ascertain the direction which the bird will take, and by sending two or three horsemen several miles windward the retreat of the bird is easily cut off. The Patagonian can even kill the little cavies with the bolas, so accurate is his aim.

The reader may easily imagine that such a weapon as this would be serviceable in warfare. When the Patagonian uses it in battle, he does not always fling it, apparently because he does not like to deprive himself of his weapon. Sometimes he dashes alongside of a foe, and throws one of the balls at him, just as if he were throwing a stone, retaining the other ball in his hand, so as to recover the weapon after the blow has sped. When the Patagonian carries the three-ball bolas, which has already been described, he uses the third ball, which, as may be remembered, is attached to the longest thong, as an English robber uses his “life-preserver,” or an American his “slung-shot.”

Another mode of procuring game is practised by the Patagonians, and is identical with that which is used by the North Africans in taking the partridge, the South Africans in killing the bustard, as well as by the inhabitants of other parts of the earth. There is a sort of partridge which is common on the plains, and is called the Pampas partridge. Its scientific name is Nothuria major. The weapon, or rather implement, required for this sport is a very simple one. It is nothing more than a light reed, some eight feet in length, at the end of which is a noose composed of a strip cut from the side of a long feather. This noose has sufficient pliability to be drawn tight when pulled and sufficient elasticity to keep itself open.

Furnished with this implement, the Patagonian looks out for a partridge on the ground and, when he finds one, begins riding round and round it in an ever decreasing circle. The bird is much perplexed by this conduct, and, instead of flying away, it simply crouches closely to the ground. By degrees, the young hunter—this sport being only practised by boys—comes so close to the bird that he slips the noose over its neck, and, before it can spread its wings for flight, jerks it into the air.

An expert bird catcher will secure three or four birds in an hour by this curious mode of hunting, which may be pursued on foot as well as on horseback. The only drawback to it lies in the very limited time during which it can be attempted. It has been found that, if the shadow of the hunter should fall upon the partridge, the bird seems to shake off the strange feeling which paralyzes its energies, and flies away before it can be captured. Consequently, the sport can only be pursued so long as the sun is toward the meridian; and as soon as the shadows lengthen sufficiently to throw them on the bird, the young hunter abandons his sport. All practical naturalists are aware of the alarm caused by a shadow falling on some animal which they are watching or trying to capture; and entomologists in particular have learned that, to approach most insects, it is necessary to keep the insect between themselves and the sun.

As to the strange sort of fascination which forces the bird to crouch instead of flying away, it exists in very many birds, of which the domestic poultry or any of the common cage-birds are familiar examples. Any one who is accustomed to deal with these birds can take one, stand it or lay it on a table, go away, and return after an absence of hours, knowing that the bird will not dare to move. During the time that I kept and bred canaries, I used to free them from the dreaded red mite by sprinkling insect powder under their feathers, laying them on a piece of paper covered with insect powder, and leaving them there for an hour or two, until the powder had destroyed all the parasites.

CHAPTER CXXIII.
THE PATAGONIANS—Concluded.
DOMESTIC LIFE.

PATAGONIAN MARRIAGE — APPEAL OF A SUITOR — REJECTION OF THE OFFER, AND RESULT OF THE NEGOTIATION — CURIOUS MODE OF SMOKING — PRESCRIPTION FOR A SICK CHILD — PATAGONIANS AT HOME — NATIVE COOKERY — PATAGONIAN ARCHITECTURE — TREATMENT OF WOMEN, CHILDREN, AND SLAVES — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — POWER OF THE CACIQUE — NOTIONS OF RELIGION — OFFERINGS AND LIBATIONS — FUNERALS IN PATAGONIA — SECLUSION OF WIDOWS — VISITS OF CONDOLENCE.

We will now glance at the domestic life of the Patagonians, if the word “domestic” can be rightly applied to people who have no settled home or domus.

How marriage is conducted among them is described by Captain Bourne, who was kept a prisoner for a considerable time, and had every opportunity of studying their manners and customs. It appeared that in the house of the chief to whom he belonged there was a daughter—a widow, with a young child. One evening, the tramp of many feet was heard on the outside of the hut, together with the mutterings of voices. Presently, one voice was heard louder than the rest, evidently addressed to some one within the hut. It was the voice of a suitor come to ask the hand of the young widow. The chief scornfully refused the offer, saying that he was not worthy to be her husband, having no horses or other property. The man admitted that at the present time he did not happen to have any horses, but that he was a remarkably good thief, and that, if the lady would only accept him, he would steal horses, catch guanacos, and give her plenty of grease.

These overtures being rejected as contemptuously as the last, the suitor addressed himself to the lady, who was very willing to accept him, and entirely yielded when he repeatedly promised to bring home plenty of grease for her. She then besought her father to listen to the suitor’s application, but was angrily refused. Her mother then tried to pacify the angry father, saying that the young man might fulfil his promises, catch plenty of horses, and become a great chief.

This was too much for the old man. He jumped up in a towering passion, seized the cradle in which his little grandchild was lying, flung it out of the hut, snatched up every article which his daughter possessed, threw them after the cradle, and then ordered her to follow her goods. This was exactly what she wanted; so, accompanied by her mother, she left the hut, and was joined by her intended husband.

A curious mode of smoking is practised among the Patagonians, which somewhat resembles that which is used by the Damaras, as recorded on a preceding page.

When one of these smoking parties is organized, the guests assemble together, sometimes in a hut, and sometimes in the open air. They gravely seat themselves in a circle, round a vessel of water,—sometimes an ox-horn stuck in the ground, and sometimes a sort of basin made of raw hide. All being assembled, one of them takes a stone pipe, and fills it with a mixture of tobacco and the shavings of some yellow wood.

The pipe being prepared, all the company lie flat on their faces, with their mantles drawn up to the top of their heads. The pipe is then lighted and passed round, each drawing into his lungs as much smoke as he can swallow, and retains it as long as he can exist without breathing. As soon as the smoke is expelled, the men begin a series of groanings and gruntings, which become louder and louder, until they are absolutely deafening. By degrees they die away; and when quiet has been restored, each takes a draught of water, sits silently for a space, and then slowly rises and moves away.

Captain Bourne is of opinion that this ceremony has in it something of a religious element. The groaning and grunting might be due to the tobacco, or the substance which is mixed with it, but the sounds seemed to him to be louder and more emphatic than they would have been if entirely involuntary; and the breathings, writhings, and other accompaniments, the profound gravity, and the abstinence from speech, all appeared to have some religious signification.

The same traveller gives a very amusing account of a visit paid by a Patagonian physician to the hut of a chief. The party were just preparing to shift their quarters, after the Patagonian fashion, when one of the daughters came in, carrying a child who was crying loudly, and who was supposed in consequence to be very ill. The journey was stopped, and a messenger despatched for the wise man, who soon came, and brought with him his magic medicines, rolled up in two pieces of skin.

These were laid on the ground, and the doctor squatted by the side of them, fixing a steady gaze on the child, who presently ceased crying. Encouraged by this success, the wise man ordered a clay plaster to be applied. This was done. Some yellow clay was brought, moistened until it was like paint, and with this substance the child was anointed from head to foot. The clay seemed to have but little good effect, for the child began to cry as badly as ever.

The two mysterious packages were now untied, and out of one the doctor took a bunch of rhea sinews, and from the other a rattle. The doctor then fingered all the sinews successively, muttering something in a very low tone of voice, and after he had muttered for some five minutes or so, he seized his rattle and shook it violently. He next sat in front of the patient, and stared at him as he had done before. After an interval of silent staring, he turned to the chief and asked whether he did not think that the child was better. A nod and a grunt expressed assent, and the mother on being asked the same question gave a similar response.

The same process was then repeated—the silent stare, the painting with clay, the lingering of the sinews, the muttering of inaudible words, the shaking of the rattle, and the concluding stare. The treatment of the patient was then considered to be complete. The chief gave the doctor two pipefuls of tobacco by way of fee. This was received gratefully by the man of skill, who gave his rattle a final shake by way of expressing his appreciation of the chief’s liberality, and went his way. As soon as he had gone, the child resumed its crying, but the parents were satisfied that it was better, and, as Captain Bourne testifies, it soon became quite composed, and throve well afterward.

The general mode of life among the Patagonians is not particularly alluring to persons of civilized habits, if we may judge from the graphic picture drawn by Captain Bourne:—

“A few dry sticks and a bunch of dry grass were brought; mine host drew from a convenient repository a brass tinder-box with a stone and a piece of steel, and soon produced a blaze that brilliantly illuminated the scene. By its light I was enabled to survey the first specimen of Patagonian architecture that had blessed my vision. It was constructed in a ‘pointed’ style, though not very aspiring, consisting of a row of stakes about eight feet high, each terminating in a crutch or fork, with a pole laid across them; two parallel rows of stakes on either side about two feet high, with similar terminations and a similar horizontal fixture; and a covering composed of skins of the guanaco sewed together with the sinews of the ostrich, the only thread used by the people. This covering is thrown over the framework and fastened by stakes driven through it into the ground. For purposes of ventilation, some interstices are left; but these again are half closed by skins attached to the outside, so that the air from without and the smoke from within (in default of a chimney) must insinuate themselves through these apertures in great quantities.

“In truth, my first survey was rather hurried; the first cheerful gleam had scarcely set my eyes on the look-out, when I was fain to shut them against an intolerable smoke. In no long time I felt as bacon, if conscious, might be supposed to feel in the process of curing. No lapse of time was sufficient to reconcile the eyes, nostrils, and lungs to the nuisance. Often have I been more than half strangled by it, and compelled to lie with my face to the ground as the only endurable position. ‘Talk that is worse than a smoky house’ must be something out of date, or Shakespeare’s imagination never comprehended anything so detestable as a Patagonian hut. The chief and his numerous household, however, seemed to enjoy immense satisfaction, and jabbered and grunted and played their antics and exchanged grimaces as complacently as if they breathed a highly exhilarating atmosphere.

“My meditations and observations were shortly interrupted by preparations for a meal. The chiefs better-half—or rather fifth-part, for he had four wives—superintended the culinary operations, which were as rude and simple as the hut where they were carried on. And now my fancy began to conjure up visions of the beef, fowls, and eggs, the promise of which had lured my men from the boat, had proved stronger than suggestions of prudence, and had made me a prisoner. But these dainties, if they existed anywhere within the chief’s jurisdiction, were just at present reserved.

“The old hag threw down from the top of one of the stakes that supported the tent the quarter of some animal, whether dog or guanaco was past imagining. She slashed right and left with an old copper knife with might and main, till it was divided into several pieces. Then taking a number of crotched sticks about two feet long, and sharpened at the points, she inserted the forked ends into pieces of the meat, and drove the opposite points into the ground near the fire, which, though sufficient to smoke and comfortably warm the mess, was too feeble to roast it. At all events, time was too precious, or their unsophisticated appetites were too craving, to wait for such an operation, and the raw morsels were quickly snatched from the smoke, torn into bits by their dirty hands, and thrown upon the ground before us.

“The Indians seized them with avidity, and tossed a bit to me; but what could I do with it? I should have no appetite for the dinner of an alderman at such a time and place, but as for tasting meat that came in such a questionable shape, there was no bringing my teeth or resolution to it. While eyeing it with ill-suppressed disgust, I observed the savages, like a horde of half-starved dogs, devouring their portions with the greatest relish, seizing the fragment with their fine white teeth, giving every sign of enjoyment, except what one is accustomed to see in human beings.

“The old chief remarked the slight I was putting upon his hospitality. ‘Why don’t you eat, man? This meat very good to eat—very good to eat. Eat, man, eat.’

“Seeing him so much excited, and not knowing what deeds might follow his words if I refused, I thought it expedient to try to ‘eat what was set before me, asking no questions,’—thinking, moreover, that if there were any evil spirit in it that the fire had failed to expel, it could not possibly have resisted the smoke. So, being sorely divided between aversion to the strange flesh and fear of showing it, I forced a morsel into my mouth. Its taste was by no means as offensive as its appearance, and I swallowed it with less disgust than I had feared. This was my first meal with the savages, and a sample of many others, though better viands afterward varied their monotony now and then.”

It is most probable that the meat which was so rapidly cooked and eaten was that of the guanaco. The Patagonians are in no way fastidious as to their diet, and eat almost every animal which they kill, whether it be guanaco, rhea, or cavy. They have a repugnance to the flesh of dogs, though they cannot, like the Fuegians, be accused of eating the flesh of human beings rather than that of dogs.

Their chief dainty is the flesh of a young mare, and it is rather curious that these strange people will not, if they can help themselves, eat that of a horse, unless it be disabled by an accident. They are fond of the fat of mares and rheas, separating it from the flesh by boiling, and pouring it into bladders, much as lard is treated in this country. Yet the fat obtained from the guanaco is not stored like that of the mare and rhea, but is eaten raw. As is the case with the Fuegians, the Patagonians obtain a considerable amount of food from the seashore, great quantities of limpets, mussels, and similar creatures being gathered by the women and children.

Besides animal food, vegetables are consumed, though rather sparingly, by the Patagonians. Two roots form part of their ordinary diet. One is called “tus,” and looks something like a yam or potato. It is bulbous, and when cleaned and properly cooked bears a strong resemblance to a baked potato. The second root is called “chalas,” and is a long, slender root, scarcely so thick as an ordinary pencil.

It is rather remarkable that the Patagonians do not seem to have invented any intoxicating drink. They soon learn to appreciate rum and other spirits, and will intoxicate themselves whenever they can procure the means, but they obtain all fermented and distilled liquors from the white traders, and not from their own manufacture. They have a sort of cooling drink made of the juice of barberries mixed with water, but it is drunk in its natural state, and is not fermented.

The dwellings of the Patagonians are worthy of a brief description, inasmuch as they show the distinction between the Patagonian and Fuegian ideas of architecture. The reader will remember that the principal portion of the Fuegian hut consists of sticks and branches, whereas the Patagonian only uses the sticks and poles by way of a framework whereupon he can spread his tent of skins.

These huts, called by the Spanish “toldos,” and by the Patagonians “cows,” are of variable dimensions. Generally they are little more than sloping sheds, six or seven feet high in front, and only two feet high at the back. The length of each toldo is about twelve feet, and its width about nine feet. As east winds are hardly ever known in Patagonia, the opening of the hut is always to the east, the skin covering of this simple tent being impervious to wind and rain. A [Patagonian village], showing the form of these huts, is represented on the 1187th page.

This is the ordinary kind of dwelling, but in some places a much larger description of hut is erected for the chief or the medicine man. These houses are gabled, being eight feet or so in height in the middle, and sloping on either side to the wall, which is five feet or so in height. Huts of this kind are nearly square, their depth rather exceeding their length.

The sleeping accommodation of these habitations is very simple, and consists of skins, which are spread on the floor. Other skins rolled up are laid along the side of the hut, and serve as pillows, the children lying in a corner by themselves, and the dogs sleeping at the feet of their owners. Those children who are unable to walk are laid in simple cradles made of square pieces of guanaco skin, hung hammockwise by four ends to the rafters of the hut.

During the daytime the infants are kept, or rather packed, in cradles made of flat pieces of board, over which some pliable sticks are bent in a semicircular form. The child is placed between two pieces of guanaco skin, fastened in the cradle, and can then be carried about without trouble. Even when the family is shifting quarters, the cradle can be hung on the saddle-bow of the mother’s horse, the little occupant being perfectly contented with its situation.

It might seem from this statement that children are treated with neglect. Such, however, is not the case, the Patagonians being remarkable for their parental affection, and being much more inclined to spoil their children by over-indulgence than to behave unkindly toward them. Indeed, when a Patagonian chief wishes to change his quarters, and the people do not wish to part with him, they take one of his children, indulge it in every way, and declare that he must leave it behind him. The affectionate parent cannot bring himself either to leave his child, or to deprive it of the society of those who are kind to it, and in consequence he remains with his people.

The condition of the women is a very tolerable one. They certainly have to work hard all their lives unless their husband be rich enough to purchase slaves, or be fortunate enough to procure them by a raid on some other tribe. Many such slaves are obtained from the Fuegians, who do not scruple even to sell their own relatives when they can procure a good price for them. Even the wives of the chief men are not exempt from labor unless their husbands happen to possess slaves.

Generally the wives are faithful to their husbands, but there are cases where the woman has thought herself ill-treated, and has betaken herself to another protector. Should he be an inferior, the aggrieved husband makes him pay for his offence; but if a superior, he is obliged to put up with his loss. Generally, however, the husband and wife live happily together, and the husband thinks it a point of honor to take his wife’s part if she should fall into a dispute, no matter whether she be right or wrong. He will scold her severely in private, and even inflict corporal punishment on her, for involving him in such a dispute, but he will make a point of upholding her in public.

The mode of punishment of the Patagonians is rather variable, but is generally a modification of the patriarchal system. The heads of families or tribes possess hereditary rank, and take the lead in all important events of peace or war. Their power is, however, not very great, and they are not able to raise taxes, nor enforce compulsory labor without payment. These chiefs, or caciques, as they are termed, can, if they choose, refuse the rank, and many do so, preferring to become subjects of some other cacique to the trouble and responsibility which accompany the post.

According to Falkner, “the cacique has the power of protecting as many as apply to him; of composing or silencing any difference; or delivering over the offending party to be punished with death, without being accountable for it. In these respects his will is the law. He is generally too apt to take bribes, delivering up his vassals, and even his relations, when well paid for it.

“According to his orders the Indians encamp, march, or travel from one place to another to hunt or to make war. He frequently summons them to his tent, and harangues them upon their behavior, the exigencies of the time, the injuries they have received, the measures to be taken, &c. In these harangues he always extols his own prowess and personal merit. When eloquent he is greatly esteemed; and when a cacique is not endowed with that accomplishment, he generally has an orator who supplies his place.”

The religion of the Patagonian is a polytheism, the natives believing that there are great numbers of deities, some good and some evil. Each family is under the guardianship of one of the good deities, and all the members of that family join him when they die. Beside these gods there are subordinate demons, good to their own friends, but bad toward all others, so that on the whole the bad predominates in them. They are called by the name of Valichu.

Yet among some of the Patagonian tribes there is even an approach to personal religion. It has been thought that the Patagonians are totally destitute of such religion. This, however, is certainly not the case, as even our limited knowledge of these people, their language, and their habits shows that, even though they may not possess any definite system of religion, they are still impressed with the idea of some Being infinitely greater than themselves, who knows everything that they do. Thus they believe in an omniscient Being; and such a belief as this, limited and imperfect though it may be, is yet a step toward true religion.

(1.) PATAGONIAN VILLAGE.
(See [page 1185].)

(2.) PATAGONIAN BURIAL GROUND.
(See [page 1189].)

To this unknown Being they return thanks when they have obtained a supply of food after long famine, so that we find them acknowledging that the great Being, who knows all their deeds, watches over them, and is the Giver of all good things. When, for example, they have procured a seal after having been half-starved for months, they assemble round a fire, and the oldest man present cuts for each person a piece of the seal, uttering over each portion a sort of prayer, and looking upward in devotion to the unseen God, who had sent them meat in their need. Undisciplined as are the Patagonians, totally unaccustomed to self-denial, and mad with hunger, not one of them will touch the food until this invocation has been repeated.

The mode of burial among the Patagonians varies in detail according to the particular tribe, but there is a general resemblance in the ceremonies throughout the country. When a man dies, his body is wrapped in his best mantle, placed on his favorite horse, and conveyed to the place of burial, where a square pit has already been dug, some six feet in depth and two or three feet in width. In this pit the body of the deceased is placed in a sitting position, his bolas, spears, and other property laid beside him, and the pit is then covered with branches, on which a quantity of earth is thrown. The horse is next sacrificed. It is held at the grave by one man, while another kills it by a blow on the head from the bolas, and the skin is then removed, stuffed, and supported at the grave on four posts. At the grave of a cacique four horses are sacrificed. The clothing which is not buried with the deceased is burned, and a feast on the body of the horse closes the proceedings. On page 1187 the reader may find an [engraving] of a Patagonian burial ground.

The widows are obliged to remain in a state of the strictest privacy for an entire year, keeping themselves within their huts, never mixing in society, and not even showing themselves unless absolutely obliged to do so. They must blacken themselves with soot, and not eat the flesh of the guanaco, the mare, or the rhea. Should a woman break the rule of seclusion, and be detected in an intrigue, she would at once lose her life at the hands of her dead husband’s relations.

Among some of the tribes the tomb is periodically opened, and the skeleton of the deceased, which has been prepared with the greatest care, is washed and clothed in new robes. This office belongs to an old matron, who is specially selected for the task, which becomes in process of time a long and tedious one, as the warriors are placed side by side in the grave, each year gradually adding to the number of those who have to be washed and clothed annually.

Among some of the tribes the skeletons are prepared by laying the bodies on platforms woven from canes and twigs, and during the time that is occupied in cleaning and bleaching the skeleton the platform is guarded by the friends of the dead man, draped in long mantles, and bearing spears or staves with which they strike the ground, while they sing mournful strains in order to drive away the Valichus or spirits, who may possibly be well disposed toward the dead man, but are more likely to be unfriendly.

Should the deceased have been a wealthy man, many visits of condolence are paid to the relatives, the mourners weeping loudly, and pricking their arms and legs with thorns in order to prove their affection by the effusion of their blood. For these tokens of respect they are rewarded with beads, brass ornaments, and other presents; and it need scarcely be said that the sorrow felt for the deceased and the sympathy excited for his friends depend very much on the amount of property at the disposal of the relatives.

CHAPTER CXXIV.
THE ARAUCANIANS.
DRESS—ETIQUETTE—GOVERNMENT.

DIVISION OF THE NATION INTO TRIBES — THE MAPUCHÉS — PECULIAR STRUCTURE OF THE HEAD — THE CHERIPA, PONCHO, AND BOOTS — MODE OF SHAVING — DRESSING THE HAIR — THE “PULLING HAIR” FIGHT — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE ENORMOUS BREASTPIN — SINGULAR USE OF THIMBLES — ELABORATE HEADDRESS — PAINT — EXHIBITION OF FEMALE VANITY — DRESS OF THE CHILDREN — ARCHITECTURE OF THE ARAUCANIANS — THE CHIEF’S HOUSE AND ITS FURNITURE — LONG HOUSE OF THE MAPUCHÉS — NUMBER OF FIRES — CODE OF ETIQUETTE — THE SPEECH OF CEREMONY — VALUE OF ORATORY — DEMAND OF TRIBUTE — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — THE GRAND TOQUI — THE COUNCILS OF PEACE AND WAR.

Passing northward from Patagonia, and taking a westerly direction, we come to the Araucanian nation. This title was given to them by the Spaniards, just as was the name of Patagonians to their southern neighbors, and, although it is an incorrect one, it has been accepted for so many years that it cannot be conveniently exchanged for the more correct designation.

The aborigines of Chili and a part of the territory now occupied by the Argentine Republic were formerly one great people, extending over a very considerable portion of the land, and necessarily modified in manners and customs by the influence of climate and geographical position. Their general title was Alapu-ché, or People of the Land, but they were separated into three great divisions, namely, Pehuen-ché, or People of the East; Mara-ché, or People of the West; and Huili-ché, or Far-off People, being those nearest to the Patagonians. Passing over the wars with the Spaniards, as foreign to the object of this work, we will describe the Mapuchés, or People of the Country, as they call themselves.

These people are rather below the middle height, strong, thick-set, broad-chested, and much inferior in point of form to the North American tribes. The head is narrow, and low in front, broad and high behind, and the back of the head falls in almost a direct line with the nape of the neck, a peculiarity by which an Araucanian may almost invariably be distinguished. The foot is as remarkable as the head. It is very short and broad, and rises straight from the toes to the ankle with scarcely any curve, so as to produce a very high but very clumsy looking instep.

The ordinary dress of the Mapuché men is mostly composed of two garments, namely, the “cheripa” (pronounced chĕreepah) and the poncho. The cheripa is a sort of compromise between a kilt and trousers. It is a piece of stuff, mostly cotton, which is fastened to the back of a girdle, passed between the legs, drawn up in front there, and tucked then into the girdle. The poncho is nothing but a large circular piece of stuff, with a hole in the centre, through which the head passes. It is exactly similar in principle to the cloak of Polynesia, and is at once a primitive, efficient, and graceful robe, assuming with every change of attitude folds which delight the eye of an artist.

Beside the poncho and cheripa, the Mapuché generally wears a pair of boots, similar to those of the Patagonians, and made of similar materials, the skin from the hind legs of a horse being drawn over the foot while still fresh, so that it moulds itself to the leg of the wearer. As with the Patagonians, it is open in front, so as to allow the two first toes to pass through and grasp the small triangular stirrup. The elaborate horse-accoutrements in which the Mapuchés delight will be described when we come to the manners and customs of the people. Men of rank wear woollen bracelets and anklets as marks of their superior position.

Like most of the Araucanian tribes, the Mapuchés have but little beard, and what they have they eradicate after the usual fashion of savages, plucking out the individual hairs instead of shaving. Mr. R. E. Smith had the opportunity of seeing the operation performed:—“At one house where we stopped I saw an Indian, who at first sight seemed to be a white man, from the fact that his beard was grown as though unshaven for a week. He looked red and blotched, and was continually raising his hand to some part of his face, wearing all the while an expression of patient endurance. A close scrutiny showed that he was engaged in shaving.

“These Indians pull out or nip off the beard with small steel tweezers. This instrument was originally, as the Mapuché name signifies, a clam shell, but, by intercourse with the whites, they have been able to procure a more elegant article. Every dandy carries his tweezers hanging from his neck, and at leisure moments amuses himself by smoothing his face to the taste of his painted mistress. The arguments they use in defence of their treatment of the beard are precisely those used by shavelings the world over.”

They do not content themselves with merely removing the hair from the chin, cheeks, and upper lip, but pull out the eyelashes and eyebrows, substituting instead of the latter a slender curved line of black paint. They say that the presence of the eyelashes hinders them in the pursuit of bee hunting, a sport of which they are very fond, and on which they pride themselves greatly. Some of the younger warriors have allowed a very slight fringe of hair to remain on the upper lip, but the older chiefs think that it is an innovation on the ancient customs, and discountenance it as far as they can.

The hair of the head is cut short at the top, but is allowed to grow long at the sides, in order that it may be easily grasped, just as the North American tribes leave one long lock on the crown of the head so as to assist the enemy who slays them in getting off the scalp.

When two lads quarrel, they settle the dispute with a fight, which is conducted, not by blows with the fist or with a weapon, but by pulling the hair. “Let us pull hair, if you are not afraid,” cries one of the disputants to the other. The challenge is never refused. Off goes the poncho, if they happen to be wearing it, the cheripa is tucked tightly into the belt, the combatants allow each other to take a fair grasp of the long locks, and the struggle begins. Each tries to twist the head of his opponent so as to bring him to the ground, and when he has once fallen, they loosen their grasp, rub the backs of their heads, take a fresh grasp, and repeat the struggle until one of them yields. The combat over, all animosity vanishes, and they are good friends again.

The dress of the women is, like that of the men, composed of two garments, though they are differently put on. One is an enlarged cheripa, and made of the same material. It is first wrapped round the body close under the arms, and then pinned together over each shoulder, so that the arms are left bare. It is confined at the waist by a very broad belt, and falls nearly to the ankle. This alone is a very sufficient dress, but over it is thrown a second piece of stuff which acts as a shawl or mantle, being fastened in front with a pin having a most enormously flat head, about the size of a cheese plate. Sometimes the head is globular, but the flat form is the favorite, and it is adorned with engraved figures. The cloth is mostly of native manufacture, and is either black or a very dark indigo blue.

Like that of the men, the hair of the women is divided into two long tails, one of which hangs over each shoulder. The tails are wound round with spiral strings of blue beads, and their ends are connected by a string of twelve or fourteen brass thimbles, which hang side by side, like a peal of bells. Besides these ornaments, the women wear a sort of cap, made entirely of beads, and falling over the back of the head as far as the shoulders. Its lower edge is decorated with a row of brass thimbles, like that which connects the two queues of the hair. This elaborate headdress is only worn on great occasions, while ordinarily the queues are wound round the head, the two ends projecting in front like horns, a fillet, usually studded with beads, being employed to keep the hair in its place. These peculiarities of dress are shown in the illustration of a [Mapuché family] on page 1201.

Ornaments are worn according to the wealth of the owners. Strings of beads, silver dollars, and brass thimbles are hung in profusion round the neck, which is further decorated with a collar made of leather and inlaid with silver. Wide bracelets and anklets are also worn, similar to those of the men, but made of variously colored beads instead of wool.

Paint is worn by both sexes, but chiefly by the women, and is anything but ornamental. It is invariably of two colors, red and black, which are mixed with grease, so that they can be applied and removed at pleasure. The usual plan is to have a broad red belt from ear to ear, taking in the cheeks, eyelids, and nose, the lower edge of the belt being sometimes edged and scalloped with black. The eyelids and lashes are also edged with black, and a thin line of the same hue takes the place of the eyebrows, which are all removed except a very fine row of hairs in the centre. Some of the women further decorate their faces by spots of black paint. The women are exceedingly proud of these ornaments; and an amusing instance of their vanity is related by Mr. Smith:—“Our conversation turned upon female dress; and, without intending any disparagement to our fair entertainers, we compared them to the women whom we had seen at the house of Chancay. The women, who were at work near by, did not understand half-a-dozen words of Spanish; but, with that intuitive perception which belongs to the sex, they were not long in discovering that our conversation related to themselves and their dresses.

“Immediately they held a council of war; and, entering the house, they presently returned, each with a bag of trinkets. There were coverings for the head and breast, composed of strings of beads of all colors and designs, with brass thimbles and silver coins. There were rings and pendants for ears and nose; bracelets and anklets, collars and breastpins of colossal proportions. These were held up for our admiration; and that we might more fully realize their wealth, the ladies proceeded to deck themselves with all their finery. They were at the same time jabbering at the top of their lungs, praising their own superiority to all other women, and appealing to us for a confirmation of their own good opinions.

“Finally, the belle of the lot, having ornamented her head, breast, and arms to their fullest capacity, stepped in advance of the others, and, raising her dress as high as the knee, displayed to our astonished gaze a remarkably well-rounded piece of flesh and blood. Patting the calf with honest pride, and turning it about for our inspection, she hung it round with beads, adjusted the many-colored anklets, and, snapping her fingers contemptuously, poured out a perfect torrent of Mapuché.

“Unfortunately, there was no one near to interpret this language; but from her action, and the frequent repetition of the name ‘Chancay,’ we gathered her meaning to be pretty much that, in whatever else the wives of Chancay might excel, she would defy them or any one else to produce a finer leg than the one in question.”

The dress of the children is simple enough. As long as they are infants, and not able to walk, they are tightly rolled up in bandages, so as to be unable to move. In this helpless condition they are put into bamboo cradles, and hung up on pegs driven into the walls of the house, or laid in baskets suspended from the roof, so that they can be swung about by a cord tied to the cradle. The infants are perfect models of behavior, never crying, and allowing themselves to be hung on pegs without betraying any signs of life, except the movement of the eyes. As soon as they can walk, they are allowed to run about without the incumbrance of any clothing, which is not worn until they become boys and girls of seven or eight years old.

The architecture of the Araucanians is very simple, but differs slightly according to the district, and the position of the owner of the house. The ordinary house of a common man is a mere hut, built of wicker-work, about twelve feet by ten, carelessly made, and ill calculated to withstand the elements. On a wet day the rain pours into the hut on all sides, a circumstance which has its advantages to counterbalance its discomforts. On rainy days all cooking has to be done within the house, which would be absolutely unbearable if the apertures which let the rain in did not let the smoke out. At night, moreover, these huts are overcrowded with sleepers.

In one of these huts there were three rude bedsteads, for the accommodation of two married couples and a pair of grown-up girls, while on the ground lay sixteen or seventeen young men and children, packed together like herrings in a barrel. Moreover, a whole troop of dogs came sneaking into the house as soon as the inmates closed their eyes; so that within this limited space some thirty living beings were contained during the night. It is evident that, if the hut had been weather-proof, the whole party would have been suffocated before the morning.

A better kind of habitation, visited by Mr. Smith, deserved the name of house. It was rectangular instead of rounded, and measured thirty feet in length by fifteen in breadth. In the middle of the roof was a hole, by way of chimney, the fire being made directly beneath it. There was no window, the hole and the door being the only apertures for the admission of light and air.

There was only one room, though a sort of loft was made in the roof. This was used as a storehouse, where sacks of beans and similar luxuries were kept. As might be supposed, the whole upper part of the house was thickly encrusted with soot. One of the corners was partitioned off with a sort of wicker-work wall, and served as a granary, in which the wheat was stored.

From the sooty, cobwebbed rafters hung bunches of maize, pumpkins, joints of meat, nets full of potatoes, strings of capsicum pods, and similar articles; while earthenware pots, dishes, and spears were scattered in profusion over the floor. In the middle of all these articles hung two long lances, with their points toward the door; but, although their heads were protected by being stuck into lumps of fat, they were rusty, and had evidently been long out of use.

Two of the corners were occupied with the ordinary bedstead of the country, i. e. a framework of cane, with a bull’s hide stretched tightly over it; and near the beds hung the stock of finery belonging to the owner, namely, spurs, stirrups, and bits, all of solid silver, belonging to the men, and breastpins, necklaces, earrings, strings of thimbles, and other adornments of the women. The usual basket cradle, containing a swathed baby, was suspended from one of the rafters.

The house of a cacique, or chief, is very much larger than either of those which have been described, and somewhat resembles the “long house” of Borneo. One of these houses, belonging to a cacique named Ayllal, looked at a distance something between a very long boat and a haystack. Its height was about fifteen feet, its width thirty, and its length about one hundred and forty.

The middle of the house was common to all the inhabitants, but the sides were partitioned off so as to form a series of chambers, each of which belonged to a married son of the proprietor, or to one of his own wives. In cases where the family is not a very large one, each wife has her own fireplace; but when the number of families under one roof is considerable, one fire is common to two or three of them. In Ayllal’s house there were six fireplaces, and over each was a hole in the roof. The fireplaces are nothing more than a few stones, so arranged that the pots can be kept clear of the burning wood; and, as the ashes are allowed to accumulate where they fall, or to be blown about by every current of air, it is evident that the interior of such a house is not a model of cleanliness.

In consequence of the custom of appropriating a separate fire to each wife, the one is conventionally accepted as a metaphor for the other. It is not considered polite to ask a man how many wives he has, but etiquette permits any one to ask another how many fires he burns. In front of the door hangs a cross-bar, beyond which no one ventures to pass without a special invitation, unless he be an inmate of the house, or an intimate friend of the family.

The Mapuchés exhibit in perfection that curious mixture of the savage and the gentleman that is so often found among uncivilized people. They have a most elaborate code of etiquette, which to a stranger is often irksome, on account of the time which is consumed in going through the requisite formalities. When two persons meet, it is necessary that they should go through a set course of complimentary remarks, the omission of which, except between relatives or very intimate friends, would be held as an unpardonable offence. Let us take Mr. E. R. Smith’s account of the ceremonial:—

“If the guest be a stranger, the host begins by addressing him with ‘I do not know you, brother,’ or ‘I have never seen you before.’ Thereupon the stranger mentions his own name and residence, and goes on to ask the host about himself, his health, and that of his father, mother, wives, and children; about his lands, crops, cattle, and flocks: the chiefs of the district, the neighbors, their wives, children, crops, &c., are next inquired about; and whether there have been any disturbances, diseases, deaths, or accidents.

“If the responses given are favorable, the questioner goes on to express his happiness, and moralizes to the effect that health, wealth, and friendship are great blessings, for which God should be thanked. If, on the contrary, the answers should convey bad news, he condoles with the afflicted, and philosophizes that misfortunes should be borne with equanimity, since men cannot always avoid evil. The guest having finished, the host commences in turn to ask all the same questions, making such comments as the answers received may demand.

“This formality occupies ten or fifteen minutes. The questions and answers are recited (by rote) in a low monotonous voice, with a sing-song tone, not unlike the saying of the rosary or the chanting of friars. At the end of each sentence, if the last word end with a vowel, the voice is raised to a shout; but should the final letter be a consonant, it is rounded off with a nasal grunt. The listener expresses his satisfaction occasionally by a sound between a grunt and a groan, or indicates surprise by a long-drawn “Hué!” With these exceptions, he never interrupts until the speaker has given notice, by a peculiar cadence of the voice, that he has said his say. During this palaver, the speakers often do not look at each other, and frequently even sit with their backs turned to one another.”

As soon as etiquette has been satisfied by these formalities, the speakers assume their ordinary tone of voice, and converse freely on subjects respecting which they really take an interest.

Oratory is highly valued by the Mapuchés, and should a young man have some power of speech, and train it into eloquence, he is on the high road to distinction, and will probably end by becoming a chief, though originally of inferior rank. Such young men are always eagerly sought by the chiefs as their messengers, inasmuch as etiquette requires that such messengers should not only possess a retentive memory, so as to insure, the transmission of the message correctly, but should also be fluent of speech and choice of diction, the latter being a point in which the Mapuchés are exceedingly fastidious.

A young man who shows himself to be a proficient in these three requisites is sure to be taken into the service of an important chief, and indeed he knows his own value too well to damage his prospects by serving any except a man of very high rank. Acting as messenger, he practically becomes a sort of ambassador, on whom the reputation of his principal is reflected, and by associating with the chief men, and speaking at their assemblies, he soon gains for himself that importance which was formerly only accorded to his official capacity. Men of this stamp have frequently become the masters of those whom they formerly served, their abilities having raised them to their appropriate station.

To a stranger the eloquence of these men is utterly unintelligible. They deliver their message in a sort of monotone, varied with inflections, but without the least spirit or action. In fact, they very much resemble schoolboys reciting a piece of poetry which they have learned by rote without taking the trouble to understand it. Yet the Mapuchés are held entranced during the delivery of such a discourse by an accomplished orator, the purity of whose diction excites the respectful admiration of his hearers.

Etiquette is so highly valued among the Araucanians that on one occasion an English gentleman nearly lost his life by neglecting a ceremonial. It seems that every chief, no matter how petty may be his domain, expects that every stranger who passes through his territory shall pay him a tribute. The amount of the tribute is of little consequence, so that something is given as an acknowledgment of rank.

Being new to the country, the gentleman in question was passing through the territory of a chief, when he was stopped and asked for tribute, a demand which he refused to pay, on the ground that he was only a traveller and not a trader. Thereupon a young man leaped into a cabin, brought out a trumpet made of a horn, and blew a blast upon it. The signal was answered in all directions, and from every side there poured in a number of mounted and armed warriors. The traveller was not daunted, in spite of the martial array, cocked his pistols, and awaited the attack, when his guide ran up to him, and begged him to give them something, if it were only a pocket-handkerchief.

The traveller saw at once, from the smallness of the suggested present, that it was a mere question of etiquette, and munificently presented the chief with a jack-knife. Enmity at once gave way to enthusiastic friendship. The old chief was quite overcome by the splendor of the gift, swore eternal friendship with the traveller, and sent a guard of honor to accompany him for several miles on his way.

We naturally come to the mode of government employed by the Araucanians.

The four great divisions are subdivided into provinces, and these into smaller districts, each of which is presided over by a chief, who exercises a kind of patriarchal authority over his clansmen. He is the judge and arbiter of the clan, and there is no appeal from his decision. Yet he levies no taxes, and cannot force even the lowest of his people to work for him. He can require the services of the men for war or for business of state, but there his authority ends. No land can be sold except by the chief, to whom it is by a sort of legal fiction supposed to belong, and even he cannot sell it to any except a native Araucanian, under penalty of death.

All these chiefs, or caciques, as they are often called, are considered to be equals in point of rank, and independent of each other, though one is chosen on account of his personal abilities to be the head chief of the district, but merely as primus inter pares. The office of chief is generally but not always hereditary. It mostly descends to the eldest son, but the actual holder of the office may bequeath it even to one who belongs to another family. Should a chief die without sons, brother, or a recognized successor, the people have the power of electing a chief for themselves, and it is on such occasions as these that the eloquent messengers lately described find their opportunity of being raised to the rank of cacique.

Up to this point the details of the government are simple enough. We now have to consider a most singular arrangement, unlike that of any other known nation. From the head chiefs of the various districts one is chosen as the Toqui, or head of the province, and these Toquis form the supreme council by whom the affairs of the nation are managed. From among them one is selected as president of the council, and is called by a title which signifies the Grand Toqui. He is the highest personage in the state. He can summon councils whenever he sees occasion, he watches over the welfare of the state, lays before his colleagues any information that he considers important, and on special occasions he can act on his own authority.

When Mr. E. R. Smith travelled in Araucania, the Grand Toqui was an old chief named Mañin, who seems to have been worthy of the position which he held. Mañin Hueno (“the Grass of Heaven”), as he was called by his compatriots, or Mañin Bueno (“Mañin the Good”), as the Chilenos termed him, was a very old man, his age being estimated as falling little short of a century, though his general bearing was such that he might have been taken for little more than sixty. His long black hair was but slightly sprinkled with silver, his eye retained its brightness, and his mien its uprightness; and though his many years had diminished his strength, they had not affected his intellect.

He was held in the very highest respect, as indeed was due to his acknowledged wisdom, by means of which war had many a time been averted. Yet he was not a rich man, and in point of wealth the greater number of the lesser chiefs were far richer than Mañin Hueno. His only marks of wealth were the solid silver horse accoutrements—but even these were not worth fifty pounds of our money; while his apparel was of the simplest kind, a red and yellow handkerchief tied round his head being the most costly article of his apparel.

When a council of Toquis is assembled, the members generally endeavor to outshine each other in the magnificence of their appointments; and after the day’s labor is over, they join in a general debauch, which sometimes lasts for the whole of the next day, and prevents the councillors from resuming their business until they have become sufficiently sober.

Now comes the curious part of Araucanian government. The Supreme Council treats only of the internal management of the nation, and is technically called the Council of Peace. As soon as war is declared, the Council of Peace falls into abeyance, and its place is taken by the Council of War. This is headed by the Toqui of War, who, as long as the war lasts, has unlimited power, except over life. He appoints the officers, settles the number of warriors required, orders a conscription to be set in operation in each district, and lays upon each cacique the duty of levying a certain number of men, and raising a certain amount of supplies. As soon as peace is concluded, he and all his council retire from office, and the Council of Peace reassumes its sway.

CHAPTER CXXV.
THE ARAUCANIANS—Continued.
DOMESTIC LIFE.

LOVE OF THE HORSE — THE STIRRUP, BIT, AND SPUR OF THE ARAUCANIANS — MODE OF FASTENING THE SPUR ON THE HEEL — TRAINING OF THE HORSES — VALUE OF THE HORSE ACCOUTREMENTS — HATRED OF SHAMS — LOVE FOR SILVER AND CARELESSNESS OF GOLD — HOW THE ARAUCANIANS RIDE — THE BOLAS OR LAQUI, AND THE LASSO — MODE OF MAKING AND THROWING THE LASSO — CAPTURE OF A SAVAGE BULL — COURAGE OF THE ARAUCANIANS — THEIR SUCCESSFUL STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY — CAREER OF A YOUNG HERO — MARRIAGE AMONG THE ARAUCANIANS — ABDUCTION OF THE BRIDE — RECONCILIATION WITH THE PARENTS — ARAUCANIAN COOKERY — PREPARING NACHI, CHICA, AND MUDAI — THRESHING CORN.

We now come to the ordinary life of the Araucanians.

Like the American tribes in general, they have become wonderful adepts in the use of the horse, the climate, the natives, and the horse seeming to agree with each other in a way which is really remarkable, considering that the animal is of comparatively late introduction into America. Unlike the Patagonians, they pride themselves on the massive solidity of the accoutrements with which they bedizen their horses; and, although they care little about the individual animals, and are rather hard masters to them, they bedeck the horses in the most lavish manner.

Their saddles are made very much after the fashion employed by the Patagonians, being little more than rude wooden frames. A few skins are laid on the back of the horse, the saddle is placed on them, a saddle cloth of thick leather is thrown over it, and the whole apparatus is complete. The bridle is made, like that of the Patagonians, of twisted hide, or sometimes of a number of strips of horse-skin plaited together, a few threads of silver being mingled with them. The bit is generally the ordinary Spanish bit, with its cruelly powerful arrangement of curb and ring.

The stirrups are generally nothing more than a piece of cane twisted into a triangular form, and hung to the saddle by leathern cords; but the wealthy Araucanians pride themselves in having these articles of solid silver. The shape of these stirrups varies in some degree, the usual form resembling that of the English stirrup, but very much larger and heavier, the sides being from one to two inches wide, and pierced in ornamental patterns, while the cross-bar on which the foot rests is fully two inches in width.

The form of stirrup to which they are most partial resembles the other, as far as the side pieces are concerned; but the foot-bar is developed into a large plate of silver, which comes over the front of the stirrup, and protects the toes and instep from the thorns which are plentiful in the country. The back of this plate projects behind in a sharp point, which is used as a spur.

About the spurs themselves the Araucanian is very fastidious. They are of enormous size, and armed with rowels measuring from two to three inches in diameter, and sometimes even exceeding that measurement. It may be imagined that spurs of this size, which are exceedingly weighty, must be buckled on the feet very tightly, so as to keep them in their places.

This, however, is not the case. On the contrary, the strap by which they are fastened is quite loose, so that when the wearer walks the rowels trail on the ground, and when he is mounted they hang nearly perpendicularly from his heels. The Araucanian cares little for the impediment in walking, as he never walks twenty yards if he can help himself; while the position of the spurs when he is mounted is a real necessity. An illustration of [stirrups and spurs] is given on the 1175th page.

The horses are never more than half trained. They are taught to wheel within a very small circle, to stop suddenly and throw themselves on their haunches, and to dash off at full gallop; but that is the extent of their accomplishments. Many of them are young, spirited, and nervous steeds, and if, in the course of the struggles for victory which they occasionally attempt, the spurs were to come against their sides, they would be greatly alarmed, and their struggles would only be increased. But as the spurs hang down almost below the rider’s feet, they swing clear of the horse’s flanks, while at any time, if they are needed for use, the wearer has only to bend his feet, which brings them into position.

The Araucanians have a very wholesome contempt for shams, and will have nothing that has any pretence about it. The poorest peasant, who can only afford an iron spur, or possibly not even a spur of any kind, would scorn to wear either spur or stirrups of plated metal, or of any imitation of silver, however good.

They are so fastidious in this matter that they will not use articles that have been made abroad; and even if a spur is made of solid silver in imitation of their own patterns, they will be nearly certain to reject it, the workmanship being sure to betray itself to their experienced eyes. A high polish always excites their suspicions, inasmuch as the native artificers are incapable of imparting it. All these articles are made from the silver currency of the country, and the wealthy Araucanian always carries with him a pair of balances, and a number of dollars which serve as standard weights.

It may be imagined that the purchase of a pair of spurs or stirrups is a matter of importance with these people. The buyer sits in silence on the ground, takes the spurs, and examines every part with the minutest attention, scrutinizing every joint, smelling the metal, tasting it, and ringing it, in order to judge whether it has been debased by the mixture of any inferior material. Not only spurs and stirrups, but pendants for the bridle, and ornaments for the headstalls and saddles, are made of silver; so that the accoutrements of a wealthy Araucanian will sometimes be worth a hundred and fifty pounds, merely as silver, without regard to the value of the workmanship.

The men who make these highly prized ornaments use the very rudest of tools, and their workshops are but rough hovels, quite out of keeping with the barbaric magnificence of their wares. Sometimes the artificer makes the ornaments for sale; but in the case of large articles, such as spurs or stirrups, which weigh several pounds, and consume a great number of dollars, he prefers to wait for the order, and make the required article out of the bag of dollars with which it is accompanied.

It is remarkable that the Araucanians, fond as they are of silver, will have nothing to do with gold. Besides these horse accoutrements, they wear earrings, breastpins, and other ornaments of silver, but none of gold. Some travellers think that their reason for the rejection of gold is their wish to conceal its presence in the country from the knowledge of the foreigner, remembering that it was the cause of the disastrous war with the Spanish invader. The real cause is, probably, that it cannot be procured in sufficient quantities without more labor than they choose to bestow, and that they have not learned to work gold as they do silver.

The Araucanians are admirable riders, though their seat would not please an European riding master. They depend entirely on balance for retaining their seat, and seem rather to hang on the horse’s back than to hold by any grip of the knee. Indeed, a stranger to the country always thinks that an Araucanian rider is on the point of being thrown, so loose is his seat, whereas the very idea that he can by any possibility be thrown never enters his mind. He and his horse seem one being, actuated by one mind. A traveller once saw a horse take fright, and leap sideways from the object of terror. He thought that the rider must be flung by the suddenness of the movement; but, to all appearance, the man took fright and shied at the same moment with his horse.

The Araucanians use the bolas in common with their southern neighbors, the Patagonians, and are never seen without the “laqui,” as they term the weapon, hanging at their waists. Some of them have a way of leaving one of the balls without its covering of leather, saying that the covered bolas is used when they fight with friends, but the bare bolas when they fight with an enemy.

They also use the lasso, that terrible weapon which extends over so vast a territory, and which supersedes the bolas as it proceeds northward.

This terrible weapon is simple enough in principle, being nothing more than a leathern rope, forty feet in length, with a noose at the end. As, however, the construction is rather ingenious, I have given an [illustration] on the 1175th page, taken from specimens in my possession. Fig. 1 shows the lasso coiled through the strap by which it is attached to the saddle of the rider. It is made of a number of thongs of raw hide, plaited into a round rope, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter; so that, although it appears very slender, it really possesses enormous strength, and an elephant could scarcely break it. This part of the rope is shown at fig. 5.

For the last ten feet of its length the rope is much thicker, is composed of more strips of hide, and is plaited into a square form. At the extreme end the various strands are plaited round an iron ring, as seen at [fig. 4]. Through this ring the lasso passes, so as to form a running noose. The change from the round to the square plait is seen at fig. 3, and fig. 2 shows the peculiar knot which keeps the lasso from slipping from the saddle.

[Fig. 6] shows the end of another sort of lasso, made of the silk-grass fibre, i. e. the long fibres from the leaves of a species of agave. These fibres are wonderfully strong, and the lasso is remarkable, not only for its strength, but its elasticity. Instead of an iron ring being placed at the end, the rope is brought round so as to form a loop, the interior of which is lined with stout leather, and the exterior adorned with colored wools.

When the lasso is to be used, the thrower takes the ring in his left hand, and the lasso in the right, and separates his arms so as to make a running noose nearly six feet in length. Grasping the ring and the cord with his left hand, he slips his right hand along the rope so as to double it, and there holds it. When he throws it, he whirls it round his head until the noose becomes quite circular, and then hurls it at the object, throwing after it the remainder of the rope, which has hung in coils on his left arm. As it passes through the air, the noose becomes gradually smaller, so that the thrower can always graduate the diameter of the noose to the object which it is intended to secure.

The skill with which they fling this noose is wonderful, as may be seen from Mr. Smith’s account of a struggle with an infuriated bull:—

“The capture of a particular animal from a herd, within a range of pasture utterly unbounded except by mountains and rivers, is often difficult, and gives rise to many exciting cases and ludicrous scenes. Even when taken, the captives are not easy of management, their attachment for old associates manifesting itself in frequent attempts to return.

“One particular bull gave great trouble. He was a noble fellow, of spotless white,—such an one as bore the beautiful Europa through the waters of the Phœnician deep, or such an one as might be worshipped on the shores of the Ganges.

“After a long time he was lassoed, and the horseman, who had literally taken the bull by the horns, started off complacently to lead him to the place of gathering. But his bullship did not take the going as a matter of course; for, with a mad bellow, he charged upon his captor, who, seeing a very formidable pair of horns dashing toward him, started at full gallop, still holding fast the lasso, which he in vain tried to keep taut. The horse was jaded, and old Whitey was fast gaining. Another Indian bounded forward, and, dexterously throwing his lasso, caught the unoccupied horn, bringing up the prisoner with a round turn.

“The bull was not yet conquered. After plunging, pawing, bellowing, and tossing for a while, he changed his tactics. Making a rush and a feint at one of his annoyers, he wheeled about suddenly, and nearly succeeded in catching the other on his horns. Things were becoming more complicated than ever, when, as the infuriated animal stood head down, with his tail stuck out at an angle of fifty-five degrees, a third horseman came to the attack, and, whirling his lasso with a jerk, caught the caudal extremity in a running knot.

“Thus the two men at the sides were safe, provided that the man behind kept his lasso strained. But a question in the rule of three now arose. If three men catch a bull, one by each horn, and one by the tail, and all pull in different directions, which way can the bull go?

“No one seemed able to work out the answer; but Katrilas was a man ready for all emergencies, and, dismounting, he started to the assistance of his companions, armed with a long lance and an old poncho. Running before the bull, he threw the poncho on the ground, a few paces in front, the man behind slackened a little, and the bellowing captive made a desperate plunge at the red cloth. A jerk on the tail stopped further progress, till Katrilas, picking up the poncho on the tip of the lance, tossed it several yards in advance. There was another slackening, another plunge, another jerk, and so on, until the ‘critter’ was brought to the desired spot.

“The next trouble was to loose the captive. Sundry scientific pulls brought him to the ground, and Katrilas, springing forward, stripped the lassos from his horns. But another remained on the tail. That no one would venture to untie, for the bull had risen, and stood glaring frantically around. An Indian, unsheathing his long knife, ran full tilt at the extended tail, and with one blow severed the greater part of that useful member from the body.

“The last was literally the ‘unkindest cut of all.’ The poor brute was fairly conquered. He stood with head hanging, eyes glaring, the tongue lolling from his frothing mouth, his once spotless coat defiled with foam and dirt, while the drip, drip, drip, of the warm blood upon his heels rendered the abjectness of his misery complete.”

That the Araucanians are a courageous race is evident from their struggles with the Spaniards. Though vanquished again and again by the superior arms and discipline of the Spaniards, they were never conquered, and when repulsed, only retired to gather fresh forces. Toqui after Toqui fell in the struggle, the most remarkable of these warriors being a mere youth named Lautaro, who was unanimously elected to the post in consequence of his conduct when the Araucanians attacked the Spaniards at Tucapel. He was a captive and a servant in the family of Valdivia, when the place was attacked. The Spanish musketry told so terribly upon the Araucanians, that they were on the point of retreating, when Lautaro dashed forward, rallied his countrymen, and led them to the attack with such spirit that the whole Spanish force was destroyed with the exception of two, who escaped to Concepcion with the news of the defeat. Valdivia himself was captured, and it is said that Lautaro desired to save the life of his former master, when an old chief seized an axe and dashed out the brains of the captive general.

Foreseeing that General F. de Villa Gran, who was at Concepcion, would march at once to avenge the destruction of Tucapel, Lautaro assembled the troops, pushed forward, and concealed half of them in the sides of a defile through which the road led, while the other half were also concealed at the summit of the mountain. The battle began in the defile, and, after causing great destruction among the enemy, the Araucanians had to retire.

Fancying that the enemy were beaten, the Spaniards pressed on, and arriving wearied at the summit, found a second and fresh army opposed to them. They fought with the utmost courage, and their artillery nearly turned the day in their favor, when Lautaro told off one of his bravest officers with orders to capture the cannon, while he attacked Villa Gran on the flank. So furiously was the charge made, that the guns were taken, and the Spaniards had to retreat, Villa Gran barely escaping with his life.

When they entered the pass through which they had come, they found the outlet blocked with fallen trees, and the sides filled with warriors, whom the far-seeing Lautaro had despatched for that purpose at the beginning of the conflict. The slaughter was terrific, and only a few of the Spaniards escaped, led by Villa Gran, who at last forced his way through the barriers.

Lautaro showed his splendid generalship, by pushing on at once to the headquarters at Concepcion, which he took, pillaged, and burned. Orders were received from Lima to rebuild Concepcion, and no sooner was it done than Lautaro captured and burned it again. He then conceived the bold project of attacking Santiago itself, and in a wonderfully short time appeared before the place.

Here he committed his only error in generalship. He had to pass through the territory of the Purumancians, who had become allies of the Spaniards, thinking them invincible. Lautaro should have remembered that the late defeats must have altered the opinions of the Purumancians, who could have been easily induced to act against their former allies. But his indignation at their treachery was so great, that he stopped to ravage their territory and destroy their crops.

Villa Gran, who was then the governor of Santiago, knew his enemy well, and employed the time in fortifying the city, which would have fallen at once had Lautaro pushed on without stopping to punish his traitorous countrymen. Three times Villa Gran sent a force against the Araucanians, the last being commanded by his own son, but all were routed and driven back.

At last Villa Gran, stung by these repeated defeats, determined himself to conduct an expedition against his foes, and with a mixed force of Spaniards and Purumancians came stealthily upon the Araucanian camp. Born general though he was, Lautaro did not know the use of outposts, and the consequence was, that Villa Gran surprised his camp, and as he rushed to the front to rally his followers, he was pierced by a dart flung by one of the Purumancians, and fell dead on the spot.

Thus fell Lautaro, a youth worthy to be named with the greatest heroes of antiquity. Chosen commander at the age of seventeen, he opposed for two years the best soldiers of Europe, armed with infinitely superior weapons, and accustomed to military discipline. Though a mere boy, he displayed a military skill and a fertility of resource worthy of the most accomplished generals, and by sheer force of intellect and courage won every battle except that in which he fell.

A nation which could produce men such as Lautaro, or the troops who fought and conquered under his command, is evidently capable of great things, and, at all events, worthy of the liberty which it won from the Spaniards, and which has never again been threatened.

Marriage among the Araucanians is an odd mixture of ceremonies. Theoretically, the bridegroom is supposed to steal his wife against her own will and in opposition to the wishes of her parents; practically, he buys her from her parents, who have long looked upon their daughter as a valuable article, to be sold to the first purchaser who will give a sufficient price.

Sometimes the match is one of affection, the two young people understanding each other perfectly well. Music is the usual mode by which an Araucanian expresses his feelings, and the usual instrument is the jews-harp. The Mapuché lover is never seen without his jews-harp hanging from his neck, tied upon a little block of wood to prevent it from being injured, and decorated with strings of many-colored beads. Furnished with this indispensable instrument, the lover seats himself at a little distance from the object of his choice, and produces a series of most dolorous sounds, his glances and gestures denoting the individual for whom they are meant.

After a little while, the lover thinks that he had better proceed to the marriage. Should he be a wealthy man, he has no trouble in the matter; but if not, he goes among his friends and asks contributions from them. One gives an ox, another a horse, another a pair of silver spurs, and so on. It is a point of honor to make these contributions, and equally so to return them at some time or other, even if the intending bridegroom has to wait until in his turn he can sell his eldest girl.

The next process is, that the friends of the young man assemble, all mounted on their best horses, and proceed in a body to the house of the girl’s father. Five or six of the best speakers dismount and ask permission for the marriage, extolling to the utmost the merits of the bridegroom, and expatiating on the happiness of his daughter in being married to such a man. The father, treating the matter as gravely as if he had not done exactly the same thing himself, makes a speech in his turn.

All this ceremony is intended to give time to the young man to hunt for his intended bride, and, until he has found her, they will go on with their speeches. As soon as the young man discovers the girl, he seizes her and drags her to the door, while on her part she screams and shrieks for protection. At the sound of her voice all the women turn out, armed with sticks, stones, and any other weapons which come to hand, and rush to her help. The friends of the bridegroom in their turn run to help their friend, and for some time there is a furious combat, none of the men escaping without some sharp bruises, and the girl screaming at the top of her voice.

At last the bridegroom dashes at the girl, seizes her as he can, by the hand, the hair, or the heels, as the case may be, drags her to his horse, leaps on its back, pulls her up after him, and dashes off at full speed, followed by his friends. The relatives of the girl go off in pursuit, but are constantly checked by the friends of the bridegroom, who keep them back until he has dashed into the forest with his bride. They halt at the skirts of the forest, wait until the sounds of the girl’s screams and the galloping of the horse have died away, and then disperse. This Araucanian [ceremony of marriage] is represented on the following page.

The young couple are now left alone until they emerge from the wood on the second day after the abduction, when they are supposed to be man and wife. That all the fighting and screaming are a mere farce is evident from the fact that, if a man should offer himself who is not acceptable to the parents of the girl, and should proceed to carry her off, one of her relatives blows the horn of alarm, as has already been mentioned, and all the male relations turn out and drive off the intruder. Sometimes, however, he succeeds in gaining the bush before he is caught, and in that case the marriage holds good.

Some few days after the marriage, the friends call on the newly-married couple, and bring the contributions which they had promised. The whole party then proceed to the house of the girl’s father, and offer him these goods, which are taken as if they were merely offerings, and not the price for which the girl was sold. Being satisfied with the presents, he expresses himself pleased with the marriage, and congratulates the young couple and their friends.

But the mother is not so easily to be satisfied. With her it is a point of honor that she is not satisfied, but, on the contrary, is highly outraged at the abduction of her child. So she will neither speak to nor look at the bridegroom, but sits down with her back turned to him.

Now comes a difficult point. She is bound, in accordance with the laws of hospitality, to entertain the guests, and as the offending son-in-law is the most important person, he must be consulted first. So she addresses the bride, “My daughter, ask your husband if he is hungry.” The conversation thus begun is carried on in a similar manner, and ends with an entertainment on which the mother of the bride exhausts all her culinary knowledge. Sometimes the husband never addresses his mother-in-law for years, except with her back turned to him, or with a fence intervening between them. The reader may remember that a similar custom is followed by the Kaffir tribes of Southern Africa. See page 88.

The cookery of the Araucanians is at first anything but agreeable to European taste.

Mutton is largely consumed in the country, and is killed, dressed, and cooked in a speedy and simple manner. The sheep being hung by its hind legs to a tree, its throat is cut, and the blood is received into a bowl and mixed with salt, in which state it is thought to be a very great delicacy. The sheep is then opened, and the whole of the interior removed to be cleaned and cooked, this being held as the best part of the animal. The skin is then removed, the body is split along the spine from head to tail, and each half is transfixed with a stick, and set over the fire.

The greatest delicacy, however, that can be placed before a guest is called “nachi.” The mode of preparing this dish is a good example of the total disregard of inflicting pain which is common to all uncivilized people.

(1.) ARAUCANIAN MARRIAGE.
(See [page 1200].)

(2.) MAPUCHÉ FAMILY.
(See [page 1191].)

A sheep is hung up by the fore-legs, a quantity of cayenne pepper and salt is mixed in a bowl, and the throat of the sheep is cut so as to open the windpipe, down which the operator stuffs the salt and pepper as fast as he can. He then draws out the jugular vein, cuts it, and turns the end into the severed windpipe, down which the blood flows, so as to mix with the pepper and salt, and carry them into the lungs. The unfortunate sheep swells up and dies in horrible agony, which is totally disregarded by the spectators, not from intentional cruelty, but utter want of thought. The sheep is then opened, and the lungs are found distended with a mixture of salt, pepper, and blood. This is the nachi, which is served up by being cut in slices and handed to the guests while still warm.

There are two national drinks, namely, chica and mudai. The former is a sort of cider, and prepared as follows. A sheepskin is laid on the ground, with the woolly side downward, and a ponchoful of green apples is emptied on it. Two or three men sit round it armed with switches, with which they beat the apples, and in a short time convert them into a pulp. Water is next poured upon them, and the chica is ready for use. The men take up large handfuls of the pulp, and squeeze them into jars, this being all the preparation which the chica receives.

This drink is at first hated by foreigners, and afterward liked by them. See, for example, two extracts from the journal of the same traveller. “After riding for a long time in the hot sun without meeting any running stream, we spied a farmhouse in the distance, and, going to it asked for a glass of water.

“‘There is not a drop of water within a mile of the house,’ said an old woman who came to the door, ‘but we can give you some chica de manzanos (cider) that is very nice,’ producing at the word a huge glass of a green, muddy liquid. To call it vinegar would be too high a compliment, and to add that it was flavored with gall would convey no adequate idea of this abominable stuff, which had been made from the very greenest of green apples. One mouthful sufficed for me, and my first impressions of chica de manzanos were not favorable; but our guide tossed it off with infinite relish.”

This description was written immediately after entering the country for the first time. Here is another description of the same liquid. After describing the mode of its manufacture, he proceeds to say: “Such cider is somewhat coffee colored, and rather sour, but I soon became fond of it, especially with the addition of a little toasted meal, which makes it much more palatable.”

Mudai is a drink which resembles almost exactly the kava of Polynesia, and is prepared in the same manner, meal being substituted for the kava root. A bushel or so of wheat is slowly boiled for several hours, after which the decoction is strained off and set to cool. In order to hasten fermentation, a quantity of meal is masticated and added to the liquid. The effect is very rapid, and when fermentation has fairly begun, the mudai is fit for use, and is strained off into jars. It has a muddy look, but possesses a pleasant and slightly acid flavor, which is very agreeable in a hot country if the mode of preparation be not known.

Wheat is prepared in a rather peculiar, not to say poetical and romantic, manner. The sickle is not employed, but the ears are plucked by hand. The wheat gatherers separate themselves into pairs, a young man and a girl taking a basket between them, and walking slowly through the cornfield. As they pass along, they gather the ears, rubbing them on the back of their companion’s hand, so that the ripe grains fall into the basket. They accompany the light toil with songs, which mostly treat of love, and as the tendency of each pair is naturally to diverge from the others, it happens that in this way is originated many a love-match, which afterward finds its issue in the marriage ceremonies above described.

This plan is, however, only employed when corn has to be gathered and threshed on a small scale. When a large quantity is prepared the horse is brought into requisition, the ears being thrown into a circular shallow pit, round and round which six or seven horsemen urge their steeds, shouting and yelling as if mad. When they think that the grain is sufficiently released from the ears, they leap out of the ring, and a number of women and children enter, who sweep up the corn and chaff to the edge of the ring with bunches of twigs which serve as brooms.

This operation, however, is a very imperfect one, and before the corn can be taken to the mill a further husking has to be performed. This is done by placing the wheat in shallow wooden dishes, getting into them barefooted, and keeping up a sort of shuffling dance, throwing up the grain with each foot alternately, and rubbing it with the other.

The winnowing is simply accomplished by flinging the wheat into the air, so that the chaff is blown away by the wind. As to the grinding, it is exactly similar to that mode which is practised by the Kaffirs, the women placing the corn on the top of a flat, sloping stone, and rubbing it with another stone shaped like a rolling-pin. The mill being placed on a sheepskin, the meal falls upon the skin as it is ground. This is very hard work indeed, and even the skilled Araucanians are bathed in perspiration before they have ground enough corn for a meal.

CHAPTER CXXVI.
THE ARAUCANIANS—Concluded.
GAMES AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

THE GAME OF PELICAN, AND ITS CLOSE RESEMBLANCE TO HOCKEY — AVAS, OR THE EIGHT BEANS GAME — MANUFACTURES — MAKING BROTHERHOOD, AND EXCHANGING NAMES — AN IRRUPTION OF NEW RELATIVES — STATE OF THE HEALING ART — THE MACHIS OR DOCTORS — THEIR MODE OF WORKING CURES — A WEIRD-LIKE SCENE — THE FEMALE DOCTOR AT HER INCANTATION — FEAR OF ALLOWING THE NAME TO BE KNOWN — BELIEF IN OMENS — THE LUCKY BIRDS — HUMAN SACRIFICE — FUNERAL OF A CHIEF.

The games of the Araucanians are tolerably numerous, and one or two of them resemble some of our own games. There is one, for example, called Pelican, which is almost identical with the well-known game of hockey. An animated description of this game is given by Mr. E. R. Smith:—

“Early in the morning we saw a number of boys engaged upon the fine lawn in front of the house in planting out twigs at short intervals, thus forming an alley about forty feet wide, and some three hundred long. They were preparing for a game of Pelican. Others were blowing a long horn (formed by the insertion of a cow’s horn in a hollow cane), to the tones of which came back answering notes, as though a rival band were approaching over the hills. The night before, we had heard the same challenge to the neighboring youths, and the same echoing reply, but more faint and distant. At last the enemy were seen emerging from the woods; a shout of welcome arose; there were many salutations, a ‘big talk,’ and all put themselves in readiness for the great trial of skill.

“The game of Pelican ... is played with a small wooden ball, propelled along the ground by sticks curved at the lower end. The two sides have their bases at opposite extremities of the alley. The ball is placed in a hole half-way between the bases, and over it two boys are stationed, while the other players are scattered along the alley, each armed with a stick. When all is ready, the two boys strike their sticks together in the air, and commence a struggle for the ball, each striving to knock it toward the opposite party.

“The object of every one is to drive the ball through his opponent’s base, or, in defence of his own, to knock it sideways beyond the bordering line of twigs, in which case the trial is put down as drawn, and recommences. Each game is duly notched on a stick, and the party first tallying a certain number gains the victory.

“There was much shouting and shuffling, many a cracked shin and an occasional tumble, but the greatest goodwill reigned throughout. Some thirty players were engaged in the game, mostly naked, with the exception of a poncho about the loins. I was much disappointed with their physical development, which was not as I expected to see. They struck me as inferior to the laboring classes in Chili, both in muscle and symmetry, though possessing the same general features. Neither was their playing remarkable either for skill or activity; and if they were a fair sample, it would be an easy matter to select from many of our schools or colleges a party of young men more than a match for the same number of picked Araucanians, even at their own national game of Pelican.”

When the sun is too high to allow this game to proceed, the players generally abandon it in favor of another game called Avas. This is purely a game of chance. It is played with eight beans, each having a mark on one side, and ten sticks, which are used in reckoning the game. Spreading a poncho on the ground, the players sit at opposite sides, and each in turn takes the beans, shakes them in his hands, and flings them on the poncho. For each bean that falls with the marked side upward one point is scored, a hundred completing the game.

The interest displayed in this game is extraordinary. The players shout to the beans, talk to them, kiss them, press them to their breasts, and rub them on the ground, imploring them to send good luck to themselves, and evil fortune to their antagonists, and treating them exactly as if they were living creatures. At this game they stake all the property that they can muster, and ponchos, bolas, lassos, knives, ornaments, and dollars when they can be got, change hands with great rapidity amid the excited yells of the players and spectators. At this game the Araucanians frequently lose every article of property which they possess, and it is not at all uncommon to see a well-dressed and well-armed player go disconsolately home without his weapons, his ornaments, and his clothes, except a ragged cheripa.

The fate of prisoners of war often depends on the turn of a bean, and sometimes, when the national council have been unable to decide on a subject, they have settled the point by the result of a game at avas. Even the pelican game has sometimes been entrusted with the decision of a knotty point of policy.

The manufactures of the Araucanians are but few. The art of the silversmith has already been described, as has also that of the bolas maker, while the manufacture of the lasso will be described in another place. The native cloths are made of cotton or wool, and are woven in very rude looms. The principal dye employed by the Araucanians is indigo, and the bright scarlet patterns which are introduced into the best cloths are obtained by interweaving threads unravelled from European manufactures.

Among their social customs, the mode of making brotherhood ought to be mentioned, inasmuch as it resembles in some respects that which has already been described as practised in the Malay Archipelago and in Africa, and in others. The ceremony is called Lacu, and is performed after the following manner.

One individual is selected from the family into which the honored guest is to be received, and to him a present is made. He then fetches a lamb, kills it, cuts it into two pieces, and boils one-half of the animal. The meat is then placed in a huge wooden bowl, and brought to the new brother in Lacu, who is supposed to eat the whole of it, and if he should leave a single mouthful would grievously insult the family into which he was to be received.

Fortunately, he is allowed by the laws of etiquette to take advantage of the adage, qui facit per alium facit per se; and though he cannot by any possibility consume half a lamb, he is allowed to eat as much as he can manage and to distribute the remainder among the family, who are only too happy to take their share in fulfilling the required conditions. From that time the two Lacus exchange names.

Mr. E. R. Smith went through the ceremony of Lacu, and became a member of the Mapuché tribe, under the name of Nam-culan, an abbreviation of Namcu-Lanquen, i. e. Eaglet of the Sea. Sometime afterward he found that his relations were strangely numerous.

“After the usual meal, the usual distribution of presents was made, and as the family was small we were just congratulating ourselves on escaping cheaply, when in sauntered a neighbor, who was presented as my brother. He had hardly settled down to the enjoyment of his share of the booty, when in dropped a blear-eyed old woman, who proved to be my aunt. Next followed a stately dowager, fair, fat, and forty, radiant with paint and silver ornaments, looking as innocent as though she had dropped in by the merest accident in the world. She was my sister, and so it went on until we began to think that our host’s relations were innumerable.”

The Araucanians know a little about medicine, and much more about surgery, though the mixture of superstition with practice lessens the former, and the absence of a written language hinders the latter. Their medicines are almost entirely vegetable, the chief of which is the well-known sarsaparilla root. Bleeding is performed by means of sharp flakes of obsidian, which are sharper than any knife of native manufacture, and blisters are in great favor.

The Mapuché mode of blistering is the very simple one of the actual cautery, and is performed by means of a moxa made of dried pith. This material is rolled up in little balls and applied to the skin, where it is allowed to remain until entirely consumed, being pressed down so as to ensure its full effect. This is horribly painful, but in spite of that drawback—perhaps in consequence of it—is very much in favor with the people.

Beside these material medicines they have others of a different character, which are employed when the disease is beyond the reach of their simple medicines. The wise men who practise this advanced system of healing are but few in number, and are called by the title of Machi, their mode of practice receiving the name of machilun.

Going on the principle that a disease which cannot be expelled by medicine must be caused by an evil spirit, the Machi proceeds to drive it out after his own fashion. The hut is cleared of inhabitants, and the patient laid on his back in the middle of the floor. The Machi, having in the meanwhile removed nearly the whole of his clothes, and made himself as horrible as he can by paint, enters the dwelling, taking with him his magic drum, i. e. a wooden bowl with a cover of sheepskin strained tightly over it. After examining the patient, the Machi begins a long-drawn monotonous incantation, accompanied by continual beating of the drum, until he has worked himself up to a pitch of frenzy, and falls backward on the ground, with breast jerking convulsively, eyes rolling, and mouth foaming.

As soon as he falls, a number of young men, who have been waiting close to the hut, leap on their horses, and dash at full speed round the house, yelling defiantly, waving lighted torches over their heads, and brandishing their long lances by way of frightening the evil spirit, and warning him not to come near the place again. Like the Machi, they are all nearly naked, and painted in the most hideous fashion, so as to strike terror, not only into the spirit that has possession of the man, but into those who are hovering round the house, and trying to gain admission. In the first [engraving] on the next page the artist has furnished a strange, weird scene, illustrating the Mapuché mode of healing the sick.

After a while the Machi recovers from his trance, and then announces the seat and immediate cause of the malady. For the latter he carefully searches the patient, and after a time produces it in the shape of a spider, a toad, a stone, an arrow head, or similar object. Were he to do more than this, no harm would accrue, and if the patient should recover no harm is done.

But, should he die, the Machi is forced by public opinion to declare that the evil spirit has been sent to the dead man by means of witchcraft.

The body is opened, the gall removed, and placed in the wooden bowl of the magic drum, where it undergoes a series of incantations. After they are over, it is put into a closely covered pot and placed on the fire until it is dried up. The sign of witchcraft is a stone found at the bottom of the pot, and it is needless to say that such a stone is never wanting. By means of this proof of witchcraft, the Machi again throws himself into a trance, in the course of which he designates the culprit who has caused the illness of the deceased.

No one ever disbelieves a Machi, and the relatives of the dead man seek out the accused and murder him. It naturally follows that the Machis are too prone to abuse this terrible power of their position by accusing persons against whom they have enmity, or whom they have been bribed to condemn. No counter proof is admitted in the face of a Machi’s accusation; and if the alleged culprit should be in another district, the cacique is requested to deliver him up to justice. The unfortunate wretch is sure to suffer torture for the sake of extracting a confession of his guilt, and, whether he confess or not, he is sure to be killed; so that a wise man admits his guilt at once, and thereby escapes the tortures which he would otherwise have suffered.

Sometimes, though rarely, the Machi is a woman. In this case she assumes the male dress, mimics as far as she can the masculine tone of voice and mode of walking, and is always a very disagreeable individual, being mostly crabbed, ill-tempered, petulant, and irritable.

As the Machi always operates at night, the scene is most wild and picturesque, as may be seen from the account of Mr. E. R. Smith, who witnessed (at a distance) the operations of a female Machi.

“One of the neighbors was dangerously ill, and during the night there was a grand machilun performed by the grand exorcist, the medicine woman of Boroa herself. I wished to be present, but Sancho would not listen to the proposal, insisting that we might expose ourselves to violence by appearing to interfere with this witch, whose hatred of the whites and influence over the natives were alike unbounded.

“The night was black and threatening, well suited to her machinations. We could plainly hear the monotonous tap of the Indian drum, and the discordant song occasionally rising with the frenzy of the moment into a shrill scream, then sinking to a low, guttural cadence, while all else was hushed for very dread of the unhallowed rites. Suddenly the singing stopped, and there was a long silence, broken by the eruption of a troop of naked savages rushing round the house on horse and afoot, brandishing fiercely lance, and sword, and burning fagot and blazing torch, and making night hideous with their demoniac cries. The frightened dogs howled in dismal concert, and again all was still. The evil spirit had been cast out and driven away. It only remained for the sick man to recover or die.”

The witch who presided over this extraordinary scene was a mestizo, i. e. a half-breed between the negro and the native. She was a singularly unprepossessing personage, hideously ugly, and turning her ugliness of features to account by her shrewdness of intellect. Ugliness is not, however, a necessary accompaniment of this particular caste. There is now before me a photograph of a young mestizo woman, whose features, although they partake somewhat of the negro character, are good and intelligent, her color is comparatively pale, and her hair retains the length and thickness of the Araucanian, together with a crispness which has been inherited from the negro race.

(1.) MAPUCHÉ MEDICINE.
(See [page 1206].)

(2.) MAPUCHÉ FUNERAL.
(See [page 1210].)

Like many other uncivilized nations, the Araucanians have a great objection to allow a stranger to learn their names, thinking that by means of such knowledge the wizards may be able to practise upon them. When they are brought into contact with the white man, and are asked their names, the Araucanians flatly deny that they have any. They will take service under him, and allow him to call them by any name that he likes, but their own name they will never tell, nor do they like even to invent one on the spur of the moment. The reader will doubtless recall many similar instances that have been recorded in the course of this work. They have a similar objection to their portraits being taken, thinking that the possessor will be able to exercise magical influence upon them by means of the simulated features.

This terror has been increased by the use of books by the white travellers. Nothing is more inexplicable to an Araucanian than to see a white man, evidently ignorant of the language, refer to a book and then say the word which he wants. How such a mystery can be achieved is beyond his comprehension, and he regards the book and its owner as equally supernatural beings.

In one case, an Indian of more than usually inquisitive mind pointed to various objects, in order to see whether his white visitor could find out their names by looking at a book. Being convinced that the feat really was performed, he peered into the book, vainly trying to detect some resemblance between the word and the object which it signified. As he did not gain much information from his eyes, his white friend pointed out the word, on which he laid his hand as if to feel it. Just at that moment, a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the book. The man drew back as if a snake had bitten him. The mysterious voice of the white man’s oracle had spoken to him, and, what was worse, upon his left hand. He said nothing, but silently withdrew, and, wrapping his poncho round his head, sat for several hours without speaking a word.

In consequence of this superstition, a traveller dares not use his note book openly. He is obliged to write his remarks surreptitiously, and, so great is the fear inspired by the very fact of writing, that even if the traveller be out of sight for any lengthened time, the people are nervous and suspicious.

The Araucanians have a firm belief in omens, and will address prayers after their own fashion to any of the creatures that are supposed to have supernatural power. On one occasion, when Mr. E. R. Smith was travelling with his native friends, one of the mules fell and broke its back. This was a sinister omen, and the Araucanians were correspondingly depressed at it. Fortunately, an omen so good followed it that their fears were dispelled and confidence restored.

The reader may remember that Mr. Smith had just exchanged names with a Mapuché lad, and was called Namcu-lanquen, i. e. Eaglet of the Sea. Just after the unlucky mule had injured itself, a sea eagle rose suddenly from its perch, circled around the party, and sailed off southward. This was indeed a fortunate omen. In the first place, the bird was the emblem of the white man who had recently become a Mapuché, and in the next, the eagle was on the right hand of the travellers.

The native guide Trauque put spurs to his horse, dashed forward at full gallop, shouting and yelling with excitement at the piece of good fortune that had befallen them. Presently he halted, and addressed a prayer to the eagle: “O Namcu! Great being! Look not upon us with thy left but with thy right eye, for thou knowest that we are poor! Watch over our children and brothers; and grant us happiness, and allow us to return in safety from our journey.”

Every circumstance combined to make the omen propitious. The Namcu is the being most venerated by the Araucanians, who think that it is a sort of heavenly messenger in direct communication with the Superior Being. The reader will doubtless be struck with the coincidence between the bird divinations of the Araucanians and those of the Dyaks of Borneo, as well as by their identity with the auguries of ancient Greece and Rome.

With the exception of the wise men above mentioned, the Araucanians have no priests, and as a necessary consequence they have no temples and no religious ceremonies. There is a general though vague belief in a good and evil principle, which may be manifested by a host of inferior deities or demons. They have not even an idol, nor is there any definite system of worship, the only prayers which a native makes being invocations such as that which has just been described as made to the eagle.

Sacrifices are made at their great national councils. An animal is killed, its blood is poured on the ground as a libation, and the heart, laid on a green branch, is borne round the assembly, accompanied with dances and songs. The flesh is then cooked and eaten, and the bones collected and thrown into the nearest river, so that they shall not be polluted by being eaten by the dogs.

Sometimes in war time, a prisoner is sacrificed. He is placed on a horse whose tail and ears have been cropped by way of deriding the rider, and is thus taken to the place of execution. Here he dismounts, and is forced to dig a hole, into which he throws a number of sticks, calling each after the name of some celebrated warrior of his tribe. He is then made to fill up the hole, thus symbolically burying the fame of his countrymen, and as soon as he has done so, his brains are dashed out with a club, care being taken to inflict as little damage as possible on the skull.

As soon as he falls, the heart is torn from the breast and handed to the Toqui, who sucks a few drops of the blood, and passes it to his officers, who follow his example. The large bones of the arms and legs are made into flutes, the head is placed on a spear and carried round in triumph, and the skull is made into a drinking-cup to be used at the principal feasts. Such a sacrifice, however, is not to be considered as an act of worship, but merely as a mode of propitiating the manes of deceased warriors.

The similitude between the bird omens of the ancient Greeks and Romans and those of modern Araucanians has already been mentioned. There is another semi-religious practice which also recalls the customs of classic times, namely, the making of libations and offerings of food at every meal. When the Araucanian takes his broth or wine, he pours a few drops upon the ground as a thank offering to the higher powers, and with the same motive he scatters around a few morsels of food.

The mode of burial differs slightly according to the locality and the tribe.

When a Mapuché chief dies, the body is exposed on an open bier for several days, during which time the friends and neighbors pay their respects and offer their condolence to the family. On the day of the funeral a procession is formed, led by a company of young men on horseback, who dash forward at full speed to the place of interment. After them the body, borne by the principal relatives, and behind them come the women, who wail aloud and fill the air with their cries of sorrow. Last of all comes a woman who scatters ashes on the ground, so that the deceased may not return by the path along which he was borne. The [illustration No. 2], on page 1207, represents this part of a Mapuché funeral.

The body is then bound with the knees to the breast, and lowered into the grave, with the face toward the west, the direction of the Mapuché spirit-land. The saddle, bit, spurs, and stirrups of the deceased are laid by his side, together with some provisions for the journey, a few beads, and a piece of money, and the grave is then filled up. As, however, the horse accoutrements of a chief are of silver, and exceedingly valuable, they are represented by wooden copies, which are supposed to serve the purposes of the deceased as well as the more costly articles, which become the property of his successors.

At the head of the grave is planted the dead man’s lance, the steel head of which is replaced by a wooden imitation. It is also necessary that a horse should be provided for the dead chief, and this is done by sacrificing his favorite steed, and hanging its skin over the grave by means of a pole placed across two forked props. Mr. E. R. Smith shrewdly remarks that in all probability the deceased would be put off with a wooden horse to ride, were it not that the Mapuchés are exceedingly fond of horseflesh, and take the opportunity of holding a great banquet on the flesh of the slaughtered animal, the skin and spirit going to the share of the dead man.

Such ceremonies as these are only for a chief, a common man not being supposed to need a horse, and consequently being buried with slight and simple ceremonies. For the funerals of women the rites are of a similar character, the chief distinction being that, instead of the saddle and weapons, some cooking vessels, a distaff, and similar objects are laid in the grave.

Some travellers have asserted that when a powerful chief dies, his favorite wife is also killed and placed in the tomb with him. This statement is, however, very doubtful, and was flatly contradicted by every one of whom Mr. Smith inquired. The Mapuchés seem to have a vague notion that the dead are able to return to earth and watch over the living; and when the dark thunder-clouds lower over the distant Cordilleras, they imagine that the deceased warriors of their tribe are chasing away the invisible foes of their country, and utter loud shouts of encouragement to the supernatural warriors.

In some parts of the Mapuché territory the graves are surrounded with a rude fence of upright boards, from the midst of which rises the long quivering lance with its slight pennon fluttering in the wind. (See background of [illustration]).

The Huilyichés, however, have a much more elaborate mode of decorating the graves of their chiefs, resembling in some degree that which is employed by the New Zealanders. Figures supposed to represent the deceased chief and his wives are set round the grave, just as the New Zealanders plant their “tikis” round the graves of their friends. (See [page 861].)

One such memorial, seen by Mr. Smith, had a very singular, not to say ludicrous, appearance. Each figure was cut out of a huge log of wood, some ten or twelve feet in height. In the middle stood the chief himself, wearing no clothing, but having a hat on his head and a sword in his hand. Round him were stationed his wives, equally without clothing, the great object of the artist being to leave no doubt which is the chief and which are his wives, without troubling himself as to details of drapery. Rude as these figures are, only very few natives can carve them, and these sculptors make a large income by the exercise of their skill. Each figure is purchased with a fat ox, or even at a higher price, according to its size and the amount of labor bestowed upon it, and no grandee can be considered as buried respectably unless the grave be decorated with a figure of the deceased.

CHAPTER CXXVII.
THE GRAN CHACO.
APPEARANCE—WEAPONS—CHARACTER.

THE GRAN CHACO AND ITS INHABITANTS — THEIR LOVE OF FREEDOM — CONTRAST OF THE TWO RACES IN SOUTH AMERICA — THE VARIOUS TRIBES IN THE COUNTRY — APPEARANCE OF THE INHABITANTS — ERADICATION OF THE EYEBROWS AND EYELASHES — HAIR DRESSING — COSTUME OF THE SEXES — EQUESTRIAN HABITS — THE NAKED MAN ON THE NAKED HORSE — WEAPONS — THE MACANA CLUB, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE LONG SPEAR — CURIOUS ARMOR — THE FOOT-BOW — ATTACKING A VILLAGE — HUTS OF THE GRAN CHACO INDIANS — CROSSING A RIVER — CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE.

To the east of the Araucanian territory, and extending to the Paraguay and Panama rivers, lies a tract of mountain country, of indeterminate northern and southern boundaries, called the Gran Chaco. This great district is inhabited by a series of tribes who deserve a short notice.

Not the least remarkable point in their history is the manner in which they have preserved the freedom of their own land, despite the attacks of various white nations. Both the Spaniards and the Portuguese have, at different times, seized on a few positions in the Gran Chaco, but have not been able to retain them except on the indefinite western frontier line. On the east, where the great Paraguay River forms the natural boundary, the native is left unmolested in his freedom.

In the eloquent words of Captain Mayne Reid: “On its eastern side, coinciding almost with a meridian of longitude, the Indian of the Gran Chaco does not roam; the well-settled provinces of Corrientes, and the dictatorial government of Paraguay, presenting a firmer front of resistance. But neither does the colonist of these countries think of crossing to the western bank of the boundary river to form an establishment there.

“He dares not even set his foot upon the Chaco. For a thousand miles, up and down, the two races, European and American, hold the opposite banks of this great stream. They gaze across at each other—the one from the portico of his-well-built mansion, or perhaps from the street of his town—the other standing by his humble ‘toldo,’ or mat-covered tent, more probably on the back of his half-wild horse, reined up for a moment on some projecting promontory that commands a view of the river. And thus have these two races gazed at each other for three centuries, with little other intercourse passing between them than that of a deadly hostility.”

As the territory of the Gran Chaco is very extensive, being about three times as large as that of Great Britain, and extends north and south through eleven degrees of latitude, it naturally follows that the tribes which inhabit it differ from each other in many details, those of the warm north and cold south being in many points strongly contrasted with each other. Still, there are many points of similarity, and these we will select in the following brief account of the Gran Chaco tribe, omitting, from want of space, those wherein they differ from each other.

In the first place, the aborigines of the Gran Chaco are of a much paler complexion than those of the more northern tribes, known from their color by the name of Red Men, and more nearly resemble the rich olive of the inhabitants of Southern Europe. The nose is rather aquiline, the mouth well formed, the cheek-bones high, and the eyes and hair jetty black. The latter is singularly abundant, and though coarse and without curl is smooth and glossy when properly dressed.

The men have but little beard, and the scanty hairs which grow upon the chin and face they completely eradicate, using for that purpose a pair of shells until they are rich enough to purchase iron tweezers. Even the eyebrows and lashes are pulled out, the natives saying that they only hinder the sight, and comparing those who wear them to the ostrich—i. e. the rhea, or American ostrich, which is plentiful in their country.

To an European, the loss of these appendages to the eyes has a very unsightly effect; but the native takes a very different view of the case, and looks upon a countenance wherein the eyebrows and lashes are permitted to grow much as a gentleman of George the Second’s time would have regarded a head which was decorated by its own hair, and a face from which the beard and moustache had not been removed.

The masculine mode of dressing the hair has some resemblance to that which is practised by the warlike tribes of Northern America. The hair is shaved from the forehead, as well as from a band extending behind the head from one ear to the other. The remainder is allowed to grow to its full length, and carefully cherished and tended.

The Gran Chaco Indians only use paint upon great occasions, when they decorate themselves as fantastically as any savage tribe can do; but, as a rule, their faces and bodies are allowed to retain their normal olive hue. Neither do the men use the tattoo, this being restricted to the women, who mark themselves with a variety of patterns upon their arms, cheeks, and breasts, each having a line of blue dots extending from the corner of each eye to the ears, and a pattern of some kind upon her forehead.

The dress of these people is very simple. In warm and fine weather, it consists merely of a piece of cotton or woollen fabric, woven in the brightest hues of red, white, and blue. It is little more than a mere strip of cloth, and in this respect the dress of the women scarcely differs from that of the men. In cold and stormy weather, both sexes wear a warm cloak made of the skin of the jaguar, or, if so valuable a material cannot be obtained, of that of the nutria, or South American otter. Earrings are worn by both sexes; but the hideous ornaments which so many savage tribes wear in their lips and noses are utterly unknown to them.

The Gran Chaco Indian is essentially a horseman, and no inhabitants of America have made more use of the horse than he has. He differs, however, from those which have been already mentioned in one important particular. He utterly despises the costly spurs, stirrups, and headstalls which have been described in the account of the Araucanians, and, almost naked himself, he rides upon an entirely naked horse. He uses no saddle, no stirrups, and no bit, guiding his steed by voice and touch, and not by the power of the iron curb. The only representative of a bridle is a slight rope of plaited hide passed round the lower jaw of the horse.

The weapons of the Gran Chaco Indian are very few. He carries the bolas and lasso, but cares little for them in war, preferring, as his most efficient weapon, his spear. This instrument is sometimes fifteen feet in length, and in the hands of a skilful rider, mounted upon a perfectly trained steed, is a most formidable instrument of war. The warrior uses his spear, not only for battle, but as a means for mounting his horse. He stands on the right hand of the animal, places the butt of the spear upon the ground, and, using the shaft as a leaping pole, swings himself upon the back of the horse with scarcely an effort.

A rather peculiar club is also used by these people. This weapon is called “macana,” and exists throughout a very large portion of Southern America. It seldom exceeds two feet in length, and in form somewhat resembles a square dice box, being smaller in the middle, and increasing in diameter to each end. It is used both as a missile, and as a hand weapon, and when used is held by the middle. The young warriors pride themselves on the force and accuracy with which they hurl this instrument, and during their leisure time vie with each other in throwing it at a mark. The specimen which is shown in the [illustration] was presented to me by H. Bernau, Esq., together with several other weapons and implements of South America.

THE MACANA.

Sometimes the macana is armed with a cylindrical piece of hard stone, which projects from one end like the blade of an axe. It is fastened into the wood by a very ingenious process. Having fixed upon a young branch which he thinks will make a good club, the Indian bores a hole in it, and hammers into the hole the stone cylinder which has been previously prepared. He then allows it to remain for two or three years, by which time the wood has grown over the stone, and become so firmly imbedded that it will break to pieces rather than be loosened by any amount of violence.

Another of these weapons in my collection is remarkable for the slight but elaborate carvings with which it is covered, leaving only a small space in the centre devoid of ornament. The patterns are scratched rather than cut, so that they cannot properly be seen unless the weapon is turned from side to side, so as to ensure the light falling properly upon it; but the extreme hardness of the wood makes them retain their integrity in spite of rough usage. The tree from which these clubs are made is one of those which are popularly called iron-wood, on account of the hardness and weight of the timber. It belongs to the guaiacums. The Spaniards call the tree by a name which signifies “axe-breaker.”

The strangest part of war as waged by these natives is, that when they fight with each other they adopt an elaborate system of defensive armor, while they discard everything of the kind when they match themselves against the fire-arms of the whites, knowing that the shield and costume which will guard them against the club and the spear are useless against a bullet.

The armor is of a most cumbersome description, and looks nearly as awkward as that which is worn by the soldiers of Begharmi. (See page 638.)

First of all, the warrior puts on a coat made from the skin of the jaguar, dressed so as to remain soft even after being wetted. Over this dress he wears a complete suit of armor, made from the thick and hard hide of the tapir. Not only the body armor, but the helmet and shield are made of this material, which is capable of resisting the stroke of the lance or the point of the arrow. It interferes, however, with the right management of the horse, and it is very doubtful whether its defensive powers compensate for its exceeding clumsiness. Still, it may have a moral effect upon the enemy; and there is no denying that it gives the warrior a more formidable appearance than he would possess if he rode without armor. To add to the ferocity of his aspect, he employs paint on these occasions, and with scarlet and black pigment makes himself absolutely hideous.

When he goes to attack a village inhabited by white men, he does so in a very ingenious manner. Usually he fights exclusively on horseback, being so admirable a rider that he can even stand on the withers of his horse when at full speed, and feeling himself out of his element when dismounted. But when he has to attack so formidable an enemy as the white man, he begins after a different fashion. He takes with him an enormous bow, far too strong to be drawn in the usual manner, and a number of long arrows. Dismounting at some distance from the village, he creeps to some spot within range of his arrows, and then prepares for action.

He begins by wrapping a quantity of cotton wool round the arrows just behind the head, and when he has treated them all in this way, he strikes a light and sets fire to the cotton wool on one of the arrows. Lying on his back, he holds the bow with the toes of both feet, and, laying the blazing arrow in its place, he is able to use both his hands to draw the powerful weapon. He shoots with a wonderfully good aim and great rapidity, so that when a number of Indians surround a village, and pour their fiery missiles into it from all directions, the houses are sure to take fire.

In the midst of the confusion caused by the flames that arise on all sides, the warriors leap on their horses, dash at the village, kill all whom they can reach, carry off as much plunder as possible, and then gallop back to their own districts, where no one dares to follow.

Retaliation is never feared, as the Gran Chaco Indians have no fixed habitation, and nothing that can be called even a village. The hut or rather tent of these people is a very simple affair. Two upright posts are driven firmly into the earth, and another is laid horizontally across them. Over the horizontal pole is hung a large mat, the ends of which are pegged to the ground, and the tent is then complete. The mat is made of the epidermis of young palm leaves. In order to prevent water from flooding the tent in rainy weather, a trench is dug around it. The only furniture is the hammock in which the inhabitant sleeps, and in fine weather, this is much more often slung between two palm trees than between the upright posts of the tent. In fact, the only use of the tent is as a shelter in rainy weather, the whole of the life being passed in the open air.

As may be imagined from this mode of life, the Gran Chaco Indian is essentially a rover, passing from one part of the country to another when game begins to be scarce in that district which he temporarily inhabits. [Illustration No. 1], on the 1218th page shows the manner in which a community of these natives cross rivers. Swimming with perfect ease themselves, they merely with one hand guide their horses in the water without caring to get on their backs, while with the other hand they paddle themselves across the stream, or hold the spear with its light burden of ornaments.

ARROWS AND ARROW-CAP.
(See [page 1229].)

The children and household goods are conveyed easily enough. Square boats or tubs made of bull’s hide are launched, and in them are placed the children, the puppies, of which there are always plenty, and the heavier goods, such as the kettles and cooking vessels. A rope is tied to the “pelota,” as this primitive boat is called, and the cargo is towed across the stream either by being attached to the tail of a horse, or held in the mouth of a good swimmer. The lighter articles, such as dress and ornaments, are fastened to the head of the spear, which is held upright, so as to keep them out of the water.

The dogs which have just been mentioned are extremely useful to the Gran Chaco Indians, who employ them in the chase. They give but little trouble to their masters, living for the most part in holes which they scratch in the ground, and feeding contentedly on the offal and scraps of food, which in an uncivilized community are more than scanty. Without the dogs the hunter could scarcely bring to bay the jaguar, the peccary, and similar animals, which are so annoyed by the perpetual and noisy attacks of the little curs that they stop in their flight in order to revenge themselves, and so give the hunter time to come up with them.

Although so essentially a warrior, and living much upon the proceeds of his plunder, the Gran Chaco Indian is in one respect far superior to the North American tribes. He does not torture the prisoners whom he takes in war, and the women and children he treats kindly, and adopts into his own tribe.

CHAPTER CXXVIII.
THE MUNDURUCÚS.
MANUFACTURES—SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

POSITION AND NUMBER OF THE MUNDURUCÚ TRIBE — THEIR GENERAL APPEARANCE — MODE OF TATTOOING — SKILL IN FEATHER WORKING — FEATHER SCEPTRES AND APRONS — HEAD PRESERVING — THE TRIUMPHAL FEAST AND WARRIOR’S PRIDE — TRAINING OF THE WARRIOR — THE ORDEAL OF THE “GLOVES” — INTELLIGENCE OF THE MUNDURUCÚS — THE HEALING ART — ENCHANTED CIGARS — COLLECTING SARSAPARILLA — THE GUARANA TEA — THE PARICA SNUFF AND ITS OPERATION — THE SNUFF TUBE — COOKERY AMONG THE MUNDURUCÚS.

The largest, most warlike, and most powerful of the Amazonian tribes is that which is known by the name of Mundurucú.

Formerly, they used to inhabit the country on the southern bank of the great Amazon River; but since their long and valiant struggle with the Portuguese, they have moved considerably southward, having conceded to their new allies the more northern portion of their territory. Since that time, they have been on very good terms with Europeans, and a white man of any nation is sure to find a welcome when he comes among the Mundurucús. This feeling does not extend to the negroes and mulattoes, the dark skin arousing the anger of the Mundurucú as a white skin excites his friendship.

The color of the Mundurucús is warm coppery brown; their hair is thick, black, and straight, and with the men is cut short, except a long fringe, which is allowed to hang over the forehead. Their features are good, the lips being thin, the forehead tolerably high and arched, and the general contour of the face oval. Unfortunately, they disfigure themselves by a tattoo which is just as elaborate as that of the Marquesans, but without its elegance.

The Mundurucú seems to have no idea of a curved or scroll-like pattern, and contents himself with tracing straight lines and angles. One favorite plan is, to cover the whole body with a sort of trellis-like pattern, the lines crossing each other diagonally in some, and at right angles in others. One man, seen by Mr. Bates, had a large black patch on the centre of his face, covering the bottom of the nose and mouth, while his body was decorated with a blue checkered pattern, and his arms and legs with stripes.

At first it seems strange how the people can draw the lines with such regularity. It is managed, however, easily enough by means of the peculiar form of the tattooing instrument. This, instead of being very small and made of bone, is of considerable size, and is in fact a comb made of the sharp thorns of the pupunha palm set side by side. With this instrument there is no difficulty in producing straight lines, as all that the operator has to do is to lay the points of the comb on the skin, tap it sharply until a row of little holes is made, and then rub into the wounds the charcoal pigment.

Besides the tattoo, they use paint in profusion, and adorn themselves with lovely ornaments made of the feathers of the macaw, the toucan, and other native birds. There are other tribes which use similar decorations, specimens of which we shall presently see. They are perhaps the best savage feather workers in the world, displaying an amount of artistic taste which is really astonishing. Their feather sceptres are beautiful specimens of native art. They are about three feet in length and three inches in diameter, and are made by fastening on a wooden rod the beautiful white and yellow feathers from the breast of the toucan. At the top, the sceptre expands into a wide plume, composed of the long tail-feathers of the trogons, macaws, and other birds. In order to preserve these sceptres in their full beauty, they are kept in cylindrical bamboo cases until they are wanted. These decorations are only used on festival days, which are determined by the will of the Tushaúa or chief of the tribe. On these occasions the women prepare great quantities of “tarobá,” which is exactly the same as the mudai of the Araucanians, and they go on drinking, singing, and dancing until all the liquor is exhausted.

The [illustration No. 7] on page 1231, gives some idea of the mode of feather working, and the kind of pattern employed by the Amazonian aborigines, though the plain black and white can give no idea of the gorgeous coloring and artistic arrangement of the hues. For this reason, I have been obliged to limit the illustrations of the elaborate feather work of these natives, and only to give a few examples, where form, as well as color, is exemplified.

The body of this apron is made of cotton strings, plaited into a netting, so close that it resembles a woven fabric, while they are allowed at the upper part to be loose, and parallel to each other. Beginning at the bottom of the apron, we have first a row of jetty black feathers, upon which is a tolerably broad band of bright yellow. The ground-work of the rest of the apron as far as the base strings is made of scarlet feathers, crossed by two narrow yellow bands, and the curious double pattern in the middle is yellow above and blue below. The sides and top are edged by a belt of black monkey fur.

Among the upper edge of the base strings are a number of the elytra or wing cases of the gorgeous Buprestis beetle. They are loosely strung in a row by their bases, and not only look splendid when the light of the sun shines on them, but rattle at every movement, so as to keep time to the steps of the dancers, for whom such ornaments are chiefly made. These wing cases are used also for children’s rattles.

Like many other warlike savages, the Mundurucús perpetuate the memory of valiant deeds by preserving a trophy of the slain enemy. Indeed, this is the only way in which it is possible to preserve the accounts of their valor, and the Mundurucús follow in this respect the example of the Dyaks, by cutting off and preserving the head of the dead man. When a Mundurucú has been fortunate enough to kill an enemy, he cuts off the head with his bamboo knife, removes the brain, soaks the whole head in a bitter vegetable oil, called “andiroba,” and dries it over a fire or in the sun. When it is quite dry, he puts false eyes into the empty orbits, combs, parts, and plaits the hair, and decorates it with brilliant feathers, and lastly passes a string through the tongue, by means of which it can be suspended to the beams of the malocca or council-house, where it remains except on festival days. When, however, the chief gives orders for a feast, the proud owner of the head arrays himself in his most magnificent suit of feathers, fetches his prize from the malocca, fixes it upon the point of his spear, and parades himself before his companions in all the glory of an acknowledged brave.

One of these preserved heads is shown on page 203, drawn from a specimen in the possession of A. Franks, Esq., of the British Museum. In order to show the ordinary kind of feather headdress which is worn by the Mundurucús, a portrait of a chief is also given on the same page, so that the contrast between the living and preserved head is well marked.

The value which a Mundurucú attaches to this trophy is simply inestimable. As none except acknowledged warriors are allowed to contend against the enemy, the fact of possessing a head proves that the owner has passed triumphantly through the dreadful ordeal of the gloves. It is very remarkable that we find two totally distinct races of men, the Malay and the Mongol, possessing exactly the same custom, and reckoning the possession of a head as the chief object in life.

It is quite impossible that the Dyak of Borneo and the Mundurucú of Central Southern America could have been geographically connected, and we must infer that the custom took its rise from the love of approbation inherent in human nature. In all countries, whether civilized or not, renown as a warrior is one of the chief objects of ambition. In civilized countries, where a literature exists, this renown is spread and conserved by means of the pen; but in uncivilized lands, some tangible proof of success in war must be required. In this head the necessary proof is obtained, for its existence shows that the owner has killed some man or other, and the form or absence of the tattoo is a proof that the slain man was an enemy and not a friend.

The successful warriors are so proud of their heads that they will often remove them temporarily from the malocca, and place them on the fence which surrounds their crops, so that the women, who are working in the field, may be cheered by the sight of their relative’s trophies. Of late years, either this custom has fallen into abeyance, or the people are unwilling to exhibit their trophies to a white man, for Mr. Bates, who spent so much time with them, never even saw a preserved head, or could hear of one being used.

Like many other natives, the Mundurucús have to pass through a horribly painful ordeal before they can be admitted into the rank of men. There is a strange, weird-like character about the whole proceeding.

The reader must know that South America possesses a great number of ants, many of which sting most horribly. There is, for example, the muniri ant, a great black insect, as large as a wasp and with as venomous a sting. Then there is the fire ant, whose bite is just like a redhot needle piercing the flesh, together with many others. These ants are made the instruments by which the courage of the lad is tested.

(1.) GRAN CHACO INDIANS ON THE MOVE.
(See [page 1213].)

(2.) THE GLOVE DANCE OF THE MUNDURUCÚS.
(See [page 1219].)

On the appointed day, the candidate for manhood and the privilege of a warrior, goes to the council-house, accompanied by his friends, who sing and beat drums to encourage him. The old men then proceed to the test. They take two bamboo tubes, closed at one end and open at the other, and place in each tube or “glove” a number of the fiercest ants of the country. Into these tubes the wretched lad thrusts his arms, and has them tied, so that they cannot fall off. The drummers and singers then strike up, and the candidate joins in the song.

Accompanied by the band and his friends, he is taken round the village, and made to execute a dance and a song in front of every house, the least symptom of suffering being fatal to his admission among the men. In spite of the agony which he endures—an agony which increases continually as the venom from the stings circulates through his frame—the lad sings and dances as if he were doing so from sheer joy, and so makes the round of the village. At last he comes in front of the chief’s tent, where he sings his song for the last time, and is admitted by acclamation to be a man. His friends crowd round to offer their congratulations, but he dashes through them all, tears off the gloves of torture, and plunges into the nearest stream, to cool his throbbing arms.

This fearful test of manhood, called “[The glove dance],” is represented on page 1218.

The Mundurucús seem to be an intelligent race of savages, as may be seen from Mr. Bates’s account of the interest which they displayed in a book of illustrations.

“To amuse the Tushaúa, I fetched from the canoe the two volumes of Knight’s ‘Pictorial Museum of Animated Nature.’ The engravings quite took his fancy, and he called his wives, of whom, as I afterward heard from Aracú, he had three or four, to look at them: one of them was a handsome girl, decorated with necklace and bracelets of blue beads. In a short time others left their work, and I then had a crowd of women and children around me, who all displayed unusual curiosity for Indians.

“It was no light task to go through the whole of the illustrations, but they would not allow me to miss a page, making me turn back when I tried to skip. The pictures of the elephants, camels, orang-outangs, and tigers seemed most to astonish them, but they were interested in almost everything, down even to the shells and insects. They recognized the portraits of the most striking birds and mammals which are found in their own country; the jaguar, howling monkey, parrots, trogons, and toucans.

“The elephant was settled to be a large kind of tapir; but they made but few remarks, and those in the Mundurucú language, of which I understood only two or three words. Their way of expressing surprise was a clicking sound made with the teeth, similar to the one we ourselves use, or a subdued exclamation, Hm! Hm!

“Before I finished, from fifty to sixty had assembled; there was no pushing, or rudeness, the grown-up women letting the young girls and children stand before them, and all behaved in the most quiet and orderly manner possible.”

Like other savage tribes the Mundurucús place great faith in their medicine men, or “pajes,” as they are termed. These men are supposed to exercise a power over evil spirits, especially those which cause sickness, and which take the visible form of a worm or some such creature.

When a Mundurucú is ill, he sends for the paje, who goes through the gesticulations common to all the tribe of medicine men, until he has fixed upon some spot wherein the evil spirit has located itself. He then makes a huge cigar, by wrapping tobacco in folds of tanari, i. e. the inner bark of a tree, which is separated into layers and then beaten out like the bark cloth of Polynesia. Several trees, especially the monkey-root tree (Lecythis ollaria), furnish the tanari, the best being able to furnish a hundred layers from one piece of bark.

The smoke from the cigar is blown for some time upon the seat of the malady, and after a while the paje applies his lips to the spot, and sucks violently, producing out of his mouth the worm which has done the mischief. On one occasion, when a paje had operated on a child for a headache, a white man contrived to get possession of the “worm,” which turned out to be nothing but a long white air-root of some plant.

These people have, however, some genuine medicines. In the first place, they know the use of sarsaparilla root, and gather it in large quantities for the market. The root, or rather the rhizome, of a species of Smilax is the well-known sarsaparilla of commerce.

The natives collect it during the rainy season, when the roots can be easily torn out of the wet earth. After washing the roots carefully, the gatherers store them under shelter until they are quite dry, and then make them up into bundles of uniform size, for the convenience of packing. These bundles are rather more than three feet in length, and about five inches in diameter. They are tied up very tightly with the sipo, a kind of creeper, and sold to the traders.

Another medicine known to them is the guarana. It is made from the seeds of a climbing plant belonging to the genus Paullinia. The seeds are roasted in their envelopes, and then taken out and pounded between two stones. The powder is mixed with water so as to form a stiff paste, which is moulded into squares and left to dry. When used, the vegetable brick is scraped into water, about a teaspoonful going to the pint, and the medicine is complete. It has a stimulating effect on the system. Like strong tea, it repels sleep, but is so valuable in the intermittent fever of the country that in the Brazilian settlements it obtains a very high price.

There is another very remarkable medicine, which, though not used by the pure Mundurucú tribe, is in great favor with the Cuparis, a sub-tribe of the same nation. This is a sort of snuff, called paricá, which is prepared and used after the following manner. The seeds of a species of ingá (a plant belonging to the Leguminous Order) are dried in the sun, pounded in wooden mortars, and the dust put into bamboo tubes.

When the people determine to have a bout of snuff taking, they assemble together and drink various fermented liquors until they are half intoxicated. They then separate into pairs, each having a hollow reed filled with the paricá snuff. After dancing about for some time, they blow the snuff into the nostrils of their partners so as to make it produce its full effect.

The action of the paricá is very singular. Sometimes it is so violent, that the taker drops on the ground as if shot, and lies insensible for some time. On those who are more used to it the effect is different. It causes for a time the highest excitement, driving off the heaviness of intoxication, and imparting a lightness and exhilaration of spirits, causing the taker to dance and sing as if mad, which indeed he is for a time. The effect soon subsides, and the men drink themselves anew into intoxication.

The Muras, a quarrelsome and savage tribe, with whom the Mundurucús are at perpetual feud, are the most confirmed paricá takers. The Mauhés, a neighboring tribe, use it as a means of repelling ague in the months between the wet and dry seasons, when miasma always abounds.

They keep the powder in the state of dried paste, and when they wish to use it, scrape it into a flat shell, spreading it very carefully with a little brush made from the hair of the great ant-eater. They then produce the snuff-taking apparatus. This is made of two eagle quills tied side by side for part of their length, and diverging at one end to such a distance from each other that the extremities will go easily into the possessor’s nostrils. The shape of the instrument is very much like that of the letter Y.

Inserting the diverging ends into his nostrils, the Mauhé places the other end on the powder, and draws it through the quills, the end travelling over the shell until every particle of the powder has been taken. Sometimes the snuff taker employs, instead of the quills, the bone of a plover’s leg. This instrument, however, is very rare, and cannot easily be procured, the possessor esteeming it to be a most valuable piece of property. It is remarkable that the paricá, under different names, is used in places a thousand miles apart.

The cookery of the Mundurucús is very simple. They make cassava bread and tapioca, after a fashion which will be presently described, and feed on yams, plantains, and similar vegetables. Animal food is obtained by hunting, and chiefly consists of the monkeys with which the South American forests abound. When a monkey is to be eaten, it is cooked in one of two ways. Should there be time, a large fire is made and allowed to burn nearly down, so that there is little or no smoke. Over the red embers a number of green sticks are laid parallel to each other, just like the bars of a gridiron, and on these bars the monkey is placed just as it is killed, the skin never being removed, and the interior seldom cleaned.

There is even a simpler plan than this, which is employed when the Mundurucú has no time to build a large fire. He makes up as large a fire as he can manage, impales the monkey on a stick sharpened at each end, and fixes the stick diagonally in the ground, so that the body of the monkey hangs over the fire, just as a soldier cooks or rather burns his rations by impaling the piece of meat on his ramrod. Very little cooking is required by these people, who are content if the skin is well calcined and the flesh not quite raw.

The Mundurucú can also procure fruits that are capable of preservation, so that he need be in no fear as to suffering from lack of provisions. The chief fruits are the “nuts” of the Lecythis and the Bertholetia. The fruit of the former tree is popularly known as “monkey-cup,” because the hard envelope which encloses the seeds has a movable lid, that falls off when the fruit is ripe, and enables the monkeys to draw the seeds out of their case.

The fruit of the Bertholetia is familiarly known as the Brazil nut. A number of these nuts are enclosed within a very thick and hard pericarp, which has no lid, though there is a little hole at the top through which the seeds can be seen. When the fruit is ripe, it falls to the ground with such force that if it were to strike a man on the head it would instantly kill him. One of these fruits in my collection measures exactly a foot in circumference, and, though very dry, weighs nine ounces. The reader may imagine the force with which such a fruit would fall from the height of a hundred feet or so.

To guard themselves against accidents, the Mundurucús always wear thick wooden caps when they go after the Brazil nuts, and are careful to walk very upright, so as not to be struck on the back or the nape of the neck.

CHAPTER CXXIX.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA.
WEAPONS.

CHANGES OF LANGUAGE — INVERSION OF WORDS AND SENTENCES — THE TALKING PARROT — THE FIVE CHIEF TRIBES OF GUIANA — PECULIARITY OF CLIMATE, AND CONSEQUENT EFFECT ON VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE — THE HAMMOCK OF GUIANA — THE WEAPONS PECULIAR TO THE COUNTRY — THE TWO KINDS OF BLOW GUN — THE ZARABATANA, AND MODE OF CONSTRUCTION — WEIGHT OF THE WEAPON — THE PUCUNA — ITS DOUBLE TUBE — THE OURAH AND SAMOURAH — THE KURUMANNI WAX — THE INGENIOUS FORE AND BACK SIGHTS — THE BLOW GUN ARROWS — THEIR CONSTRUCTION — MODE OF SHARPENING — THE PIRAI FISH — INGENIOUS MODE OF PACKING THE ARROWS — MODE OF PROPELLING THE ARROWS — THE WINGED ARROW — THE QUIVER AND COTTON BASKET.

It is evident that the innumerable tribes which inhabit the neighborhood of the great Amazon River are members of the same family, differing more in language than in appearance or habits. It is natural that families when they become large should separate themselves, and so become founders of fresh tribes, which spread themselves over the country, settling down in those spots which suit them best. They retain the general character of their manners and customs, but, owing to the total want of a literature, their language is continually changing.

This alteration in their language is also due to the native fondness for inverting words and sentences during their conversation with each other, a custom which bears some resemblance to that of punning among ourselves. When these inverted words happen to please the people’s fancy, they are retained in the language, so that in a few years after a family has separated itself from the parent tribe the two dialects will have receded so far from each other that the people can hardly understand each other.

To the philologist this fluctuation of language would be exceedingly interesting, but, as we are concerned with manners and customs rather than with language, we will pass northward and eastward to Guiana. Sir R. Schomburgk mentions a fact which is a singular corroboration of the rapidity with which language changes among these tribes. There was a parrot living in 1800, which spoke well, but many of whose words could not be understood, because it spoke the language of the Atures, a tribe which had passed entirely out of recollection after it had been mastered by the warlike Caribs.

This comparatively small country is especially interesting to ethnologists, in consequence of the perfect manner in which the natives have guarded their individuality. Evidently sprung from one source, they have settled down in different districts and, though alike in color and general conformation, are as widely different in language, and often in manners, as if they belonged to separate quarters of the world.

Five principal nations inhabit Guiana, and are subdivided into a vast number of small tribes. These are the Macoushies, the Arawâks, the Accawaios, the Caribs, and the Waraus. The two first of these will be taken as representatives of the tribes in Guiana, though the others will be mentioned in cases where they present any marks of difference.

Taking broadly the chief points of distinction between these tribes, we may simply define them as follows.

The Macoushies are the largest and most ingenious tribe. They excel in the manufacture of the terrible wourali poison, which they exchange for canoes and other necessaries from other tribes. They also make the best blow guns. Their huts are closed, and conical like sugar loaves. Their number is somewhere about three thousand.

The Arawâks are rather taller than the Macoushies, being, on an average, five feet six inches in height. Their faces are marked with the tattoo, and, as they are much brought into contact with white men, they approach civilization nearer than do the other tribes.

The Accawaios and Caribs wear no clothing except on occasions of ceremony. The former are distinguished by a wooden ornament in the cartilage of the nose, and the latter by wearing ornaments in the under lip, and by a lump of annatto fastened to the hair of the forehead. The Waraus are darker than the others, and are acknowledged to be the best canoe makers in Guiana. Some of their vessels will carry ninety or a hundred men, and they sell these canoes to the Macoushies for the excellent wourali poison for which that tribe is celebrated.

Owing to the peculiarities of the climate, all these tribes have many customs in common. The climate is a very remarkable one, being exceedingly hot and exceedingly wet. The heat is owing to the geographical position of Guiana, which is close to the equator, and the wet is due to the trade winds and the configuration of the country. Blowing across the Atlantic they absorb a vast quantity of moisture from the ocean, and discharge the greater portion of it before they can reach any distance inland, the moisture being condensed by the secondary mountain chains, which are from five to seven thousand feet in height.

In consequence of this perpetual heat acting on perpetual moisture, vegetation flourishes with a luxuriousness scarcely to be seen in any other part of the world; and so completely is the ground covered with tree and bush, that many trees are unable to find a habitation upon the ground, and are forced to live upon each other. Thus, upon a lofty mora tree a fig tree will grow, and upon the fig an enormous creeper will fasten itself, its long shoots dangling loosely from the enormous height at which they grow, or drooping in graceful and flower-clad festoons from one tree to another. Such a forest as this is often ankle-deep in water for miles together, and the vegetation is so thick that the only way of passing through the tangled mass of vegetation is to cut a path with the axe. And even then, after a week or two has elapsed, the path will have vanished, so rapid is the growth of vegetable life.

It follows from this description that the animals which inhabit Guiana must be chiefly of two kinds, those which inhabit the trees and those which live in the water. Accordingly, we find that the country is tenanted by a great variety of the monkey tribe, that the arboreal puma and jaguar take the place of the terrestrial lion and tiger, and that the aquatic capybara and tapir flourish where beasts of equal size would perish if they had to live on the land. Birds of the most lovely plumage abound in Guiana, which is also a very paradise of insects.

It is evident that any human beings that live in such a country as this must have many characteristics in common. They need no clothes, no houses, and the woods supply them with food without the trouble of cultivation, so that their chief incentives to labor are taken away. Consequently, they may be called an idle people, though the indolence is rather apparent than real. They will work as long as there is a necessity for it; but, as a man can support existence without doing a real day’s work in his life, it is evident that the necessity for work does not often arise.

One habit which they have in common is that of sleeping in the hammock. This article is made by the natives from various vegetable fibres, and is woven in different ways, according to the character of the tribe which makes it. Some of these are made simply by laying a number of strings parallel to each other, and knotting others across at right angles; but the best have no knots at all, the strings interlacing with each other diagonally, so as to yield in every direction to the body of the occupier. When a native has made a particularly fine specimen, he adorns it with feathers, and other brilliantly colored objects.

These hammocks are of various sizes, some being small and used for children, and others large enough to contain an entire family. The specimen in my collection will hold two Guianan natives, but not two Englishmen. It is rather more than sixteen feet in length, and six feet in width.

The hammock is exactly adapted to the wants of the native. It is so light that he can roll it up and tie it round his body, so as to carry it on a journey; so slight in texture as to keep him cool when lying in it; and so yielding in its structure that the bare cords do not hurt his naked skin. On a journey he always carries his hammock with him, and if he wants to rest, he does not sit down, but slings the hammock between two trees and lies in it. Several purposes are fulfilled by this arrangement. In the first place, the ground is usually wet, so that the man is kept dry in the hammock; in the next place, he is safe from the snakes and other unpleasant reptiles that swarm in the forests; and lastly, he would always rather lie down than sit.

Another point which they have in common is the mode in which they destroy the animals on which they live. The reader will remember that the density of the jungle is so great, that if an animal were able, after it was wounded, to run for a hundred yards or so, or a bird to fly the same distance, it would be lost in the bush without the chance of recovery. It is evident, therefore, that the successful hunter must possess some means of destroying motion, if not life, almost instantaneously, and this he finds in the terrible wourali poison, which has the effect of causing instant stupor when it mixes with the blood. The mode of manufacturing this poison will presently be described, and at present it is sufficient to say that nearly all the missiles used by the Guianan aborigines, whether propelled by the bow or by the breath, are armed with this poison.

We will first take those missiles which are propelled by the breath, and examine the instrument through which they are sent. In principle this is exactly like the sumpitan of Borneo, described on [page 1119], but the mode of construction is different, and in the best specimens the Guianan work is far superior to that of Borneo.

Of this singular weapon there are several varieties, the two principal of which are shown over the title “[Blow guns]” on the 1225th page, both being taken from specimens in my possession. On the right is the zarabatana. This is found throughout a very large tract of country southward of Guiana, when it takes a somewhat modified and improved form.

It is made of two separate pieces of wood, in each of which is cut a semicircular groove, so that when they are placed in contact with each other they form a long wooden rod, pierced with a circular bore. As the natives use nothing but the incisor teeth of rodent animals by way of tools, it may be seen that the labor of making one of these instruments is very great. The bore being carefully smoothed, the two halves are laid together, and bound by means of long, flat strips of jacitara wood wound spirally round them.

To the lower end of the weapon is fastened a large mouthpiece, with a conical opening like the mouthpiece of a trumpet, so as to collect the breath for the propulsion of the arrow. A quantity of cement, composed of a black wax made by a wild bee mixed with a pitchy substance obtained from several trees, is then rubbed over the whole weapon, which is considered complete. The zarabatana is exceedingly heavy, and requires not only a strong but a practised arm to hold it steady. The specimen in my collection, which is several feet in length, weighs three pounds twelve ounces.

A far superior weapon, called the “[pucuna],” larger, lighter, and more easily handled, is made by the natives of many parts of Guiana, that used by the Macoushie tribe being the best. The specimen which is shown on the left of the zarabatana was brought from Guiana by the late Mr. Waterton, who presented it to me shortly before the accident which caused his death.

The weapon in question (called pucuna) is double, being made of two portions, called ourah and samourah. The essential portion of the blow gun is the ourah. This is a singular reed (Arundinaria Schomburgkii), which, as far as is known, only grows on the sandstone ridge of the Upper Orinoco between the rivers Ventuari, Paramu, and Mavaca. Like the bamboo, it grows in clusters, and, though not exceeding half an inch in diameter, the first fourteen or sixteen feet are without a knot. From this point spread the long, slender branches, measuring from thirty to forty feet in length, and waving in graceful curves when moved by the wind.

The portion used for the blowpipe is the first joint, which is uniform in diameter throughout, and is naturally polished within. But it is so thin, the walls being not twice the thickness of a playing card, that it would be too fragile to be used without some protection. Accordingly, the native has recourse to a sort of palm, called by him samourah, its scientific title being Ireartia setigera.

This is chosen of a proper size, cut down, and steeped in water, for the purpose of extracting the pulp which fills the interior. When it is quite dry, the reed is inserted into this tube, the native gunmaker having a wonderful talent in getting the slender reed exactly in the centre of the palm-stem, and fixing it in its place with the black wax already mentioned. This wax is called kurumanni by the Macoushies, and is used by them as freely as is the “black-boy” wax by the Australian aborigines. The samourah is then scraped down to the proper thickness, well polished, and the weapon is ready for the accessories which complete it.

One end is chosen to serve as a mouthpiece, and is bound with a string made of silk-grass and the other is tipped with the half of the acuero nut, which is very hard and prevents the end of the weapon from being injured by accidental blows against a tree or the ground. This acuero seed acts as a fore-sight, by which the native hunter can direct his weapon; but, in order to secure a more certain aim, he adds a singularly ingenious back-sight. Taking a lump of kurumanni wax, he presses it on the blowpipe about eighteen inches from the mouthpiece, and by means of the wax fixes upon the tube the two lower incisor teeth of the acouchi, one of the cavies.

[Figure 1] shows the weapon itself, and [fig. 2] the front view of the tip, guarded with its ring of acuero seed, which forms the fore-sight. [Fig. 3] gives an enlarged representation of the back-sight, made of the teeth of the acouchi (Dasyprocta Acouchi) fixed in their place by the black kurumanni wax. [Fig. 4] is a section taken through the middle of the back-sight, so as to show the way in which the teeth project from the shaft. [Fig. 5] is a front view of the butt, showing the way in which the ourah reed is enclosed within the samourah palm.

Such a weapon as this is exceedingly light and easy to handle, presenting a strong contrast to the heavy and cumbrous zarabatana. The weight of the one in my collection barely exceeds a pound and a half, although it is eleven feet in length. It is held in rather a curious manner. The left hand is turned with the palm upward, and the elbow against the hip. The hand then grasps the blow gun within a hands-breadth of the mouthpiece, and the right hand seizes it, palm downward, in the space left by the other hand. In fact, this mode of holding the weapon is exactly similar in principle to that which is employed by riflemen. The blowpipe is then raised, not by the arms, but by bending back the body; and it is astonishing to see how steady it can be held for a lengthened time—a steadiness which can never be gained if it be held by stretching out the right arm and grasping it at some distance from the mouth.

The natives are most careful respecting the straightness of their blow guns, and never allow them to lean against anything lest they should be warped. When they go hunting, they carry the blow gun upright, like a soldier, “shouldering arms,” and when they return to their huts, they suspend the weapon by a loop to the top of the house. Mr. Waterton repeatedly draws attention to this point in his “Wanderings,” and when he presented me with the pucuna which he brought from Guiana, the gift was accompanied by a condition that it should never be allowed to lean against a wall, but should be either laid on the ground or suspended by its loop.

We now come to the arrows which are propelled through the pucuna. They very much resemble in shape and size those which are employed by the Dyaks, but, instead of being made to fit the bore of the pucuna by a piece of pith or soft wood at the butt, a small quantity of wild cotton, taken from the Bombax ceiba, is wound upon it, and fastened with a fibre of silk grass. Cultivated cotton is too heavy to serve the purpose, and nothing answers so well as the yellow, stout-fibred cotton of the Bombax. Very great art is required in putting on the cotton properly. It must exactly fit the bore, be perfectly regular, so as not to disturb the accuracy of the flight, and must taper gradually in front, so as to offer the least possible resistance to the air. See [illustration No. 1], on the next page.

The shaft of the arrow is made of the leaf ribs of the coucourite palm, a species of areca. It is about ten inches in length, no thicker than a crow quill, and at one end is brought to a point as sharp as a needle by scraping it between the teeth of the pirai fish (Serrasalmus piraya). The teeth of this fish are flat, pointed, and double-edged, much like those of the shark—and, indeed, the pirai is a veritable fresh-water shark, biting whole mouthfuls from the bodies of animals that enter the water, and even attacking the alligator itself—and when the arrow is drawn between them, delicate shavings are taken off, just as is the case with the double knife-sharpeners of the present day. One half of a pirai jaw is always suspended to the quiver of a Macoushie.

Of the poison with which the arrow is armed we will presently treat: we are now only concerned with the manufacture of the weapon. In order to save space, the cotton is not put upon the arrows until just before they are wanted, six or seven finished arrows being left in the quiver for immediate use, and the rest tied in a bundle until needed. The formation of this bundle is singularly ingenious, the native being able to remove any of the arrows without untying it, and to add as many as he likes without disturbing those which already are tied together.

The native takes a rod of hard wood, a little longer than the arrows, and at one end he fixes a little wheel, rather more than two inches in diameter. At two inches from the wheel, and the same distance from the end of the rod, two holes are bored, through each of which are passed two strings made of cotton. When the man wishes to tie up a number of arrows, he lays them successively between the strings, which he twists between each arrow. When the last arrow is laid in its place, the whole are kept firm by a couple of sliding knots, which can be slipped along the strings.

[Illustration No. 7] on the following page, will explain the method of stringing the arrows better than can be done by words alone. Two of the arrows are shown as prepared for use, the cotton being on their butts and the poison on their tips. A number more are shown as they appear on the double strings, poisoned, but without the cotton. A hunter will sometimes have as many as five hundred arrows at once upon a string.

In order to keep the weapons compact, so that they can be easily slipped into the quiver, they are rolled round the little rod, and bound firmly together in a cylindrical form, the poisoned points being directed to the wheel, of which the reader will now see the use. It serves as a sort of shield to the hand, so that when the hunter wishes to take the arrows out of the quiver, he can do so without the least danger; and when he desires to remove some arrows to be mounted with cotton, he can push them through the spokes of the wheel, and take them out without having to untie the bundle. See [illustration No. 6].

(1.) BLOW GUN ARROWS.
(See [page 1224].)

(2.) WINGED ARROW.
(See [page 1227].)

(3.) COTTON BASKET.
(See [page 1227].)

SHARPENER ENLARGED

(4.) QUIVER AND SHARPENER.
(See [page 1227].)

STEM ENLARGED
1 ENLARGED
2

(5.) BLOW GUNS.
(See [page 1223].)

(6.) ARROWS ROUND STICK.
(See [page 1224].)

(7.) ARROWS STRUNG.
(See [page 1224].)

When properly made and mounted, these arrows can be propelled with wonderful force. I have sent one for a distance of a hundred yards, and the natives can propel them to a still greater distance. There is a certain art in using the pucuna, the arrow not being urged by a lengthened breath, but by collecting all the air that the lungs will hold, and giving a short expiration, as if the object were to empty the lungs at one puff. The force comes entirely from the lungs, the cheeks having nothing to do with it. When an arrow is rightly propelled, it flies from the tube with a slight pop, like that which is produced by quickly drawing the cork of a small bottle. It is quite invisible for some little time, so rapid is the motion; and even when fitted with white instead of yellow cotton the eye can scarcely follow its course.

Such an instrument as this is simply invaluable for the purposes to which it is devoted. It is intended to be used almost exclusively for killing birds and small monkeys, both of which creatures live on trees. Now, as the trees of Guiana run to an enormous height, some of them attaining at least a hundred feet before they throw out a branch, it will be seen that the birds are beyond the reach of shot-guns. The foliage is so thick that it does not permit more than one or two shots to reach the bird, and the height is so great that, even if they did strike, they would produce but little effect. But the pucuna can throw an arrow higher than a gun can propel a shot, and if the needle-like point enters any part of the bird the effect is fatal.

There is another advantage which the pucuna possesses over fire-arms. The report of the gun frightens away every bird within sound, whereas the pucuna is practically noiseless. The slight “pop” with which the arrow is expelled does not alarm the birds, and an expert hunter can kill twenty or thirty birds from one tree without alarming the others. The pucuna is particularly useful in the chase of the toucan. The feathers of this bird are much used in the manufacture of the beautiful gala dresses which the natives wear on grand occasions, and are much prized by them. Now, the toucan has a way of sitting on the topmost boughs of the tallest trees, and were it not for the deadly arrow of his pucuna, the native could seldom obtain a specimen.

Just before the arrow is put into the blowgun, the hunter places it between two of the pirai-teeth already mentioned, and turns it round between his fingers. He thus cuts it through just above the poisoned portion, so as to leave a mere thread of wood attaching the head to the shaft. If, therefore, the bird or monkey, on feeling the smart, should seize the arrow and withdraw it, the poisoned head snaps off and is left in the wound.

In some parts of the country a very ingenious form of arrow is used. Instead of being made to fit the bore by means of cotton tied on the butt, a flat piece of bark is twisted round the arrow so as to cause it to terminate in a hollow cone. A larger piece of the same material is fixed along the shaft of the arrow, and slightly twisted so as to cause it to revolve when projected through the air. The arrow is tipped with a slight iron blade, instead of being merely sharpened wood. (See [illustration No. 2].) This form of hollow base is admirably adapted for its purpose, and has been copied by Messrs. Lang, the well-known gunmakers of Cockspur Street, in their blow gun darts for killing small birds and animals without noise.

Next comes the quiver in which the arrows are kept. This is shown in [illustration No. 4], on page 1225. The framework of the quiver is made of the ittiritti-reed, and the bottom is closed by a circular plate of wood. In order to keep the poisoned arrows from the damp, which would effectually spoil them, the whole of the quiver is covered with a thick coat of kurumanni wax, which is pressed firmly into the interstices of the wicker-work, and into the junction between the bottom and the sides of the quiver.

Lest the rough basketwork should injure the delicate arrows, the quiver is lined with beautifully made mat-work, of much finer material, and quite smooth to the hand. The cover is made of a piece of skin, sometimes of the tapir, but mostly of the peccary. While fresh and wet it is moulded over a wooden block of the proper size, just as hatters mould their felt into its form. The hairy side is kept inward, and when it is pressed on the top of the quiver, and twisted with a turn of the hand, it holds itself firmly in its place. When the cover is on the quiver, no water can enter, and even if the hunter were to drop it into the river, the arrows would be preserved quite dry in their floating receptacle.

Before the kurumanni wax which covers the quiver is quite dry, a flat plaited belt made of silk grass is secured to it by means of a long string, which encircles the quiver several times. In this cincture is also secured by strings a coil of silk-grass, from, which can be drawn the fibres by which the cotton is attached to the arrow, together with the half jaw-bone of the pirai, with which the arrows are sharpened. In my specimen this jaw-bone is two inches in length.

The last article which completes the equipment of the bird hunter is the basket of wild cotton. This, as may be seen from [illustration No. 3], has a narrow neck, and bulging body; so that the cotton does not fall out of the basket, though carried with the opening downward. The quantity which it will hold is astonishing. From one of them Mr. Waterton took handful after handful until a large heap was on the table, just as a conjuror takes vast quantities of feathers out of an apparently empty hat.

CHAPTER CXXX.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA—Continued.
WEAPONS—Concluded.

EFFECT OF THE WOURALI — DEATH OF THE AI — THE LARGER ARROWS — TUFTED ARROWS — A SINGULAR QUIVER — ARRANGEMENT OF THE MOVABLE HEAD — QUIVER FOR THE HEADS — FATE OF THE WOUNDED INDIAN — HOW THE ARROWS ARE FEATHERED — THE NATIVE BOW — TURTLE ARROWS — MANUFACTURE OF THE WOURALI — THE QUAKE AND ITS USES — THE WOURALI VINE, AND OTHER VEGETABLE CONSTITUENTS — THE HYARRI POISON, AND ITS USES — ANTS AND SNAKE FANGS — BOILING THE WOURALI — EFFECTS OF THE PROCESS ON THE MAKER — SELF-POISONED ARROWS — VARIOUS ARROW HEADS OF GUIANA — THE WHISTLING ARROW.

The effect of the poison is instantaneous, provided that it be of good quality and kept dry. There are many varieties of the wourali, but the best, which is made by the Macoushies, is so powerful that one of the tiny arrows brought by Mr. Waterton from Guiana killed a hedgehog at once, though fifty years had elapsed since the poison was made. Death was not instantaneous, for the animal, which was very slightly wounded in the hind leg, breathed for some seconds; but the hedgehog was quite insensible, and, as soon as it had been pricked by the dart, it allowed me to lay it on its back, and place my finger on the ball of its eye, without shrinking.

Many experiments have been made in England with the wourali poison, most of which have tended to prove that its power has been exaggerated, and that a man could not be killed by the small quantity that could be conveyed into a wound on the point of an arrow. I feel certain, however, that in such cases either the poison has not been of good quality, or that it has been carelessly kept, and allowed to become damp, in which case it loses the greater part of its strength. It is very difficult to procure the strongest wourali poison from the natives, who are very unwilling to part with it, and will always try to substitute an inferior kind. The only mode of procuring the best wourali is to do as Mr. Waterton did, i. e. live among them, and induce them to part with the little wourali-pots from which they have poisoned their own arrows. Moreover, he must imitate their example in keeping the poison in a perfectly dry place. The natives are so careful on this point that they frequently remove the covers of their poison pots and put them near the fire.

There is no mistake about the potency of such poison as this. Its effect upon a hedgehog has already been mentioned, but Mr. Waterton tried it on several animals. For example, he had an Ai sloth that he wanted to kill painlessly, and without damaging the skin. How he did it is best told in his own words:—

“Of all animals, not even the toad and the tortoise excepted, this poor animal is the most tenacious of life. It exists long after it has received wounds which would have destroyed any other animal, and it may be said, on seeing a mortally wounded sloth, that life disputes with death every inch of flesh in its body.

“The Ai was wounded in the leg, and put down upon the floor, almost two feet from the table. It contrived to reach the leg of the table, and fastened itself upon it as if wishful to ascend. But this was its last advancing step; life was ebbing fast, though imperceptibly; nor could this singular production of nature, which has been formed of a texture to resist death in a thousand shapes, make any stand against the wourali.

“First one fore-leg let go its hold, and dropped down motionless by its side; the other gradually did the same. The fore-legs having now lost their strength, the sloth slowly doubled its body, and placed its head betwixt its hind-legs, which still adhered to the table; but when the poison had affected these also, it sank to the ground, but sank so gently that you could not distinguish the movement from an ordinary motion; and had you been ignorant that it was wounded with a poisoned arrow, you would never have suspected that it was dying. Its mouth was shut, nor had any froth or saliva collected there.

“There was no subsultus tendinum, nor any visible alteration in its breathing. During the tenth minute from the time it was wounded it stirred, and that was all; and the minute after life’s last spark went out. From the time the poison began to operate, you would have conjectured that sleep was overpowering it, and you would have exclaimed—

‘Pressitque jacentem

Dulcis et alta quies, placidæque simillima morti.’”

The reader will see that this account agrees exactly with my own experiment. In neither case was death instantaneous, but in both cases the power or wish to move seemed to be immediately taken from the animal, though wounded in a limb and not in a mortal spot.

Of course the quantity of poison must be proportioned to the size of the animal. The tales that are told of a mere scratch producing death are manifest exaggerations. It has been mentioned that in Guiana no very large animals are found, the tapir and the jaguar being the largest of the mammalia. For the purpose of killing these, or going to battle where man is to be destroyed, the natives employ a very different weapon, and use a bow and arrow of rather peculiar construction.

They are extremely long, some of them being six feet in total length. The shaft is made of a cylindrical, hollow, and very strong reed (Gynecium saccharinum) which runs to some length without a knot or joint. In one end is fixed a long spike of a very hard and heavy wood, called letter wood, because it is covered with red marks like rude attempts at writing, very much like the scribbled marks on a yellow-hammer’s egg. In order to guard it from splitting, the shaft of the arrow is bound for some inches with cotton thread. The commoner kinds of arrow are merely wrapped with this thread, but in the better sorts the thread is woven in patterns almost as neat as those employed by the Polynesian islanders. When the native wants to make a peculiarly beautiful arrow, he ornaments it in a most singular manner. Into the thread which wraps the shaft are inserted a quantity of brilliantly colored feathers, mostly those of the various parrots which are so plentiful in Southern America. Only the smallest and softest feathers are used, and they are worked into the wrapping in a manner which produces the most artistic combinations of color.

The natives have a marvellous eye for color, most likely from having continually before their eyes the gorgeous insects and birds of their luxuriant country, and it is wonderful to see the boldness with which they achieve harmony from a number of hues that scarcely any one would dare to place in opposition with each other. Scarlet, yellow, pink, blue, green, and snowy white are all used in these arrows, and are arranged in a way that would do honor to the best European artist.

Sometimes a cap is made for the arrows, and decorated with feathers in the same brilliant style. Such arrows as these require much care on the part of the owner, who is not content with an ordinary quiver, wherein they might be jolted about and their lovely feathers spoiled, but constructs a special and peculiar quiver for their reception. He takes a number of bamboos, about the thickness of a man’s finger, and cuts them into pieces some eighteen inches in length. These he lashes firmly together, and then ties over them a bark cover, neatly wrapped with cotton string.

Each of these tubes contains one arrow, which fits with moderate tightness, the downy feathers keeping it in its place. They are fixed so perfectly, that when the arrow is pushed into its tube the feathers are pressed tightly against the shaft, and when it is withdrawn, they spring out by their own elasticity, and form an elegant colored tuft. As the long arrow shafts are apt to vibrate by their own weight, and might damage the feather tufts in the tubes, a cap is usually slipped over them—in some cases plain, like the covering of the quiver, but in others gorgeously made of feathers. These arrows are tipped with the barbed tail-bone of the sting-ray or are pointed with iron, and not with bone. These arrows and one of the tubes are [illustrated] on p. 1214.

The heads of the arrows are made in various ways. Sometimes they are simply covered with a series of rather blunt barbs, but the generality of them are constructed after a very elaborate fashion.

The barb of one kind of arrow reminds the observer of the weapon of the Bosjesman, though the arrow is almost a spear in comparison with the tiny weapon of the African savage. The point is tipped with a piece of iron cut into a single barb, and projecting from it and pointing in the opposite direction a curved iron spike is slightly lashed to the shaft with cotton.

A thick layer of wourali poison is laid on the arrow for about three inches, aiding to fasten the iron spike to the shaft. Now, the wourali poison mixes instantaneously with the blood, so that when the arrow penetrates an animal, the poison dissolves, and allows the spike to escape into the wound, carrying with it a sufficient amount of the poison to cause death, even if in its struggles the animal should succeed in shaking out the arrow itself. If the reader will refer to illustration No. 4, on page 247, he will see in the illustration (fig. 4) the Bosjesman arrow, which is made on the same principle.

Some of these arrows appear to have been much prized by the owners who have covered them with an elaborate ornamentation of cotton thread for a considerable portion of their length—an example of which, drawn from one of my own specimens, may be seen in the [illustration]. Some of the arrows have long ends of cotton strings hanging from them in lieu of the feather tufts. These dangling cords are often used as ornaments by the natives, who decorate with them their clubs in such a manner that two or three blows must destroy the whole of the work. We shall presently see examples of these clubs.

The arrow head which is most in vogue among the Macoushies, whom we take as the typical tribe of this part of the world, is made in a different fashion. A square groove, about an inch in depth, is cut in the extremity of the letter wood spike which terminates the arrow, and a slight sliver of bamboo is lashed so as to press against the opening along the side. A barbed spike of coucourite wood is then cut. It is about three inches in length, flat toward the point, and squared at the base, so as to slip easily into the groove at the head of the arrow, where it is slightly held by means of the little bamboo spring. This spring enables the head to remain in its place while the archer is fitting the arrow to his bow and taking aim; but as soon as the missile has struck its object, and the animal bounds forward, the poisoned head remains in the wound, and the shaft falls on the ground.

There is considerable art in putting the wourali on this kind of arrow head. It is done in several layers, one being allowed to dry before the other is applied, and being managed so as to cause an edge of the pitch-like wourali to run along each side of the head. In consequence of the movability of the head the native archer does not trouble himself to carry more than one or two shafts, though he has by him a store of ready-poisoned heads. These are kept in a little quiver made of a joint of bamboo fitted with a cover, in order to keep the poison from moisture, and with a cotton belt by which it can be slung over the shoulders.

One of these quivers in my collection, (see [illustration No. 6], page 1231,) brought from Guiana by Sir. R. Schomburgk, is only seven inches long by an inch and a half wide, and is capable of containing twelve to fourteen poisoned heads. The native hunter does not require more than this number, as he rarely shoots without hitting, and when he has struck one animal large enough to require this kind of arrow, he seldom wants more than one specimen. In the course of this account of the Guiana natives the reader will notice the many trouble saving expedients employed by them.

Owing to the generous nature of the country, which supplies food without requiring labor, and the warm, moist character of the climate, the natives are very apathetic, and have the strongest objection to carrying one ounce more weight, or doing one stroke more work, than is absolutely needful. So, instead of carrying a large bundle of arrows, the hunter has one, or at the most two arrows, and a quantity of small poisoned heads, the whole equipment being so light that a child just able to walk could carry the bow, arrows, and quiver without being much inconvenienced.

Knowing the power of this poison, the natives are exceedingly cautious in handling it, and never carry the arrow with its head bare. They always slip over the head a small tube of bamboo, just large enough to be held in its place by the cotton wrapping that passes round the junction of the head and the shaft. This is never removed except when the arrow is to be used, and it is scarcely possible to frighten a native more than by taking off the guard of an arrow and holding the point to him. It is of this kind of arrow that the following story is told in Mr. Waterton’s “Wanderings.”

“One day ... an Arawâk Indian told an affecting story of what happened to a comrade of his. He was present at his death. As it did not interest the Indian in any point to tell a falsehood, it is very probable that his account was a true one. If so, it appears that there is no certain antidote, or at least an antidote that could be resorted to in a case of urgent need; for the Indian gave up all thoughts of life as soon as he was wounded.

“The Arawâk Indian said it was but four years ago that he and his companion were ranging in the forest in quest of game. His companion took a poisoned arrow, and sent it at a red monkey in a tree above him. It was nearly a perpendicular shot. The arrow missed the monkey, and in the descent struck him in the arm, a little above the elbow. He was convinced it was all over with him. ‘I shall never,’ said he to his companion, in a faltering voice, ‘bend this bow again.’ And having said that, he took off his little bamboo poison box which hung across his shoulder, and putting it, together with his bow and arrows, on the ground, he laid himself down close by them, bade his companion farewell, and never spoke more.”

Mr. Waterton then proceeds to mention the different antidotes, in none of which does he place the least reliance, and in another place remarks that if the natives knew of any remedy for the poison, they would never be without it.

(1.) WINGED ARROWS.
(See [page 1233].)

(2.) CASSAVA DISH.
(See [page 1248].)

(3.) QUAKE.
(See [page 1234].)

(4.) ARROW HEADS.
(See [page 1235].)

From Christy Collection.

From my Collection.

Section

(6.) QUIVER.
(See [p. 1230].)

(5.) TURTLE ARROW.
(See [page 1233].)

(7.) FEATHER APRON.
(See [page 1216].)

Before passing to the manufacture of this dreaded poison, we will finish the description of the arrows.

The very long arrows, with their plumed shafts, need no feathers, their great length sufficing to keep them straight during their flight. Were the Guianan native to attempt a “long shot,” he would fail. He is not used to long ranges, which for the most part are rendered needless by the conformation of the country and the density of the foliage. He does not expect to shoot at an object distant more than thirty or forty yards, and likes to get much closer if possible. At these short ranges, the great length of the arrow keeps it straight, and is effectual in enabling the hunter to strike an animal, such as a tapir, a capybara, or a monkey, through the masses of vegetation by which it is concealed from most eyes except those of a native.

Most of the arrows, however, are feathered, and there is such ingenuity in the way of putting on the feathers that it deserves mention. In the arrows to which we are accustomed there are three feathers, but in the Guianan arrow there are only two. These are taken from the corresponding feathers of the opposite wings of the bird, so that when they are fixed on the end of the shaft they curve in different directions, like two blades of a steamer’s screw, and so communicate a revolving motion to the arrow as it flies through the air. So, if a native has two or three arrows before him to which he wishes to add the feathers, he procures a bird, and for the first arrow takes, we will say, the second primary feather from the right and left wings of the bird, cuts off a portion of the upper part, about three inches in length, strips away the inner half of the feather, and fastens the remainder on the weapon. The next arrow is feathered from the third primary of each wing, and so on. See [illustration No. 1], page 1231.

The feathers are lashed to the arrow with cotton thread, and so rudely put on, that they would sadly cut an English archer’s hand when the arrow was shot. In order to preserve the nock of the arrow from being split by the bow-string, it is not made in the reed shaft of the arrow itself, but in a piece of letter wood, which is lashed to the butt of the arrow.

The bow is often shorter than the arrows, and is of no great strength, a long range being, as has already been stated, not required. Many kinds of wood furnish the Guianan bow, but those weapons which are most in favor are made of a species of Lecythis. They are strung with the silk grass which has been already mentioned.

Besides the ordinary mode of using their bows and arrows, the Guianan natives have another, which exactly resembles that sport of the old English archers, when a garland was laid on the ground, and the archers, standing in a circle round it, shot their arrows high into the air, so that they should fall into the garland. It sometimes happens that a turtle is lying in the water in such a manner that an arrow, shot at it in the usual manner, would only glance off its hard coat without doing any injury. The hunter, therefore, shoots upward, calculating the course of the descending missile so accurately that it falls upon the turtle’s back, and penetrates the shell.

These arrows are heavier than the ordinary kinds, and are furnished with a sharp iron point, made in a very ingenious manner. As may be seen by reference to [illustration No. 5], page 1231, the iron point is doubly barbed. Its neck, at first flat, is soon divided into two portions, which diverge from each other, and have their ends sharply pointed, so as to constitute a secondary pair of barbs. A stout double string of silk grass is then fixed to the neck, and cotton cord, strengthened with kurumanni wax, is coiled round the diverging points, so as to form a tube. The end of the piece of hard wood which terminates the arrow is scraped down to a conical point, so that it can easily be slipped into the tube. Lastly, the double cord fastened to the head is carried for a foot or so along the arrow, and made fast by a couple of belts of silk grass.

As soon as this arrow strikes the turtle, it dashes off, shaking the shaft out of the tube, and so preventing the arrow from being worked out of the wound by dragging the upright shaft through the water. Whenever the reptile comes near the surface, the light reed shaft of the arrow rises so as to indicate its presence, and, aided by this mark, the hunter is soon able to secure the reptile. The arrow, a part of which is shown in the [illustration], is rather more than five feet in length. It is represented with the shaft separated from the tube. The iron point is thick and solid, and as the hard-wood spike is fourteen inches in length, the front part of the missile is comparatively heavy, causing it to descend with great force.

We now come to the manufacture of the dreaded poison which produces such fatal effects. The natives are very chary of giving information on the subject, and it is very difficult to learn the precise ingredients, the proportionate quantities, or the mode of preparing them. The following account is obtained partly from Mr. Waterton’s book, partly from information given by himself, and partly from the words and works of other travellers in the country.

A good many articles are employed, or said to be employed, but I believe that only two are really needed. The native who is about to make wourali sets about his task in a very deliberate manner. He sets off into the woods alone, taking on his back a peculiar kind of basket called a “quake” or “habbah.” This is a very ingenious kind of basket, combining the two requisites of lightness and strength. It is generally used when the native wants to carry objects that are not very heavy, and are large enough not to slip through the interstices.

It is made from the ittiritti reed, split into slips about the third of an inch in width. As when tilled it swells out toward the bottom and is narrow at the mouth, the objects that are placed in it have no tendency to fall out, which might easily be the case with an ordinary basket, as the bearer is obliged to clamber over fallen trees, to force his way through the dense underwood of a tropical forest, and to subject the quake to such rough treatment that its qualities of form and elasticity are continually brought into operation.

The quake will hold a wonderful amount of goods, being as dilatable as an English carpet-bag. My own specimen (see [illustration No. 3], p. 1231,) measures twenty inches in width, and this is the usual average.

The first thing to be sought is the wourali vine (strychnos toxifera). It is closely allied to the tree which furnishes the well-known strychnine, in its coarser stages of preparation called nux vomica, or ratsbane. The upas tree, which furnishes the poison for the Dyak sumpitan arrows, belongs to the same genus. The wourali (spelt sometimes “oorara” or “curari”), though not very rare, is very local, and not easily discovered. It has a vine-like appearance, with a woody stem about three inches in diameter, covered with rough gray bark. The leaves are dark green, placed opposite each other, and of an oval form. The fruit is nearly as large as an apple, round, and smooth, with seeds imbedded in a bitter gummy pulp.

When the poison maker has found the wourali, he looks after two bulbous plants, containing a green and glutinous juice, and puts some of their stems into the quake. The third vegetable is a bitter root, which I believe to be the hyarri, a papilionaceous plant, which is largely used by the natives in poisoning the water when catching fish on a large scale. All parts of the hyarri are poisonous, but the root is the most powerful part of it. The natives take some of the root in their canoes, bale water over it, and pound it with their clubs. After allowing the water time to mix with the expressed juice, the fisherman throws it overboard, and in a few minutes every fish within a considerable distance comes floating to the surface perfectly helpless. One cubic foot of the hyarri will poison an acre of water, even among rapids, while a much less quantity is needed for creeks and still water. The poison has no effect on the flesh of the fish, which is perfectly wholesome.

The wourali and the hyarri are, in my opinion, the essential parts of the poison, the bulbous plants probably supplying the glutinous matter needed to make it adhere to the point of the weapon. But the poison maker is not content with vegetable substances, but presses the animal kingdom into his service.

He procures two kinds of ant, one the muniri (Ponera grandis), a huge, black creature, sometimes an inch in length, with a sting so venomous that it often produces a fever. One of these ants is in my collection, and its very look is venomous enough to warn any one against it. The other is the fire-ant (Myrmica sævissima), a tiny red insect, whose sting is just like the thrust of a redhot needle. Besides these he takes the poison fangs of the labarri and counacouchi snakes, two of the most venomous serpents of the country. These fangs are kept in store, as the native always kills these reptiles whenever he sees them, and extracts their poison fangs.

That these latter ingredients can have no effect in increasing the power of the poison I never doubted, and some years ago I expressed my opinion that they were not used at all, but merely collected as a blind, to prevent the secret of the poison being known. This opinion is corroborated by the researches of Dr. Herman Beigel, who analyzed some wourali poison taken from the same arrow with which the hedgehog was killed, and who ascertained that there was not a particle of bony or animal matter in the poison, but that it was wholly of a vegetable character. Moreover, there was no trace of red pepper, which is said to be one of the ingredients.

As far as the sense of taste goes, my own experience coincides with that of Dr. Beigel. I have tasted the poison, which is innocuous unless mixed directly with the blood, and found it to be intensely bitter, and rather aromatic. These two qualities are doubtless due to the strychnine of the wourali and to the hyarri. There was not the least flavor of red pepper.

All these ingredients being procured, the poison maker sets to work in a very systematic manner. He will not prepare the wourali in, or even near, his own house, but makes his preparations in the depth of the forest, where he builds a little hut especially for the purpose. His first care is to build a fire, and while it is burning up, he scrapes into a perfectly new pot a sufficient quantity of the wourali wood, adding to it the hyarri in proper proportion, and placing them in a sort of colander. Holding the colander and its contents over the pot, the Indian pours boiling water over them, and allows the decoction to drain into the vessel, when it looks something like coffee. When a sufficient quantity has been obtained, the bulbous roots are bruised and their juice squeezed into the pot, and, lastly, the snakes’ fangs and ants are pounded and thrown into the pot.

The vessel is now placed on the fire, which is kept up very gently, so as to allow the contents to simmer, rather than boil, and more wourali juice is added to supply the waste by evaporation. A scum is thrown up during the process, and carefully skimmed with a leaf, the boiling being continued until the poison is reduced to a thick dark brown syrup, about the consistence of treacle. According to some accounts, the seeds of the red pepper are used, not as adding to the strength of the poison, but as a test of its preparation being complete. When the native thinks that the poison is nearly ready, he throws into it a single seed of red pepper, which immediately begins to revolve. He then allows the boiling to proceed a little longer, and throws in another seed, which perhaps revolves, but more slowly; and he repeats this experiment until the seed remains stationary, which is accepted as a proof that the preparation is complete.

The Indian then takes a few arrows, dips them in the poison, and tries their effect upon some animal or bird, and, if satisfied with the effect, pours the poison into a new earthenware pot, ties a couple of leaves over the mouth, and a piece of wet hide over the leaves, so as to exclude both air and moisture, especially the latter. The little pots which are used for holding the wourali are nearly spherical, and about as large as an ordinary orange.

The above account of preparing the wourali poison is that which is furnished by the natives, but, as they have a definite object in keeping the mode of preparation secret, it cannot be absolutely relied upon. That there is a secret connected with its manufacture is evident from the fact that the Macoushie poison is acknowledged to be better and stronger than that which is manufactured by any other tribe, and that all the Guianan tribes are glad to purchase wourali from the Macoushies.

It is not every native who knows how to make this wonderful poison. The knowledge is restricted to the conjurers, who keep it in their families and hand it down from father to son. They are so careful to preserve their secret, that not only do they make the wourali at a distance from their houses, but when they have completed the manufacture they burn down the huts, so as to obliterate every trace of the means which have been employed.

They have a sort of superstitious reverence for the wourali. The ostensible reason which is given for burning down the hut is, that it is polluted by the fumes of the poison, and may never again be inhabited, so that it is better to burn it down at once. They allege that during its preparation the Yabahou, or evil spirit, is hovering over, ready to seize upon those who are uninitiated in the mysteries, and so by the aid of superstition effectually prevent their proceedings from being watched.

In order to carry out this fear of the wourali to its full extent, the professors of poison-manufacture will refuse to make it except when they please, alleging any excuse that may suggest itself. Mr. Waterton narrates an instance where a man who had promised to make some wourali poison declined to do so at the last moment, on the ground that he expected an increase to his family. The maker is always pleased to consider himself ill after he has completed his work, which, in spite of the repeated washing of his face and hands, renders him sufficiently liable to the attacks of the invisible Yabahou to cause indisposition. The manufacturer is not altogether an impostor in this case, but acts from a sort of belief in the mysterious gloom which always surrounds the wourali. Nothing, for example, would induce him to eat while the poison is being prepared, and, however hungry he may be, he will fast until the completed wourali has been poured into its receptacle.

Although the chief poison in Guiana, the wourali is not the only one, the natives having discovered a sort of wood which is sufficiently poisonous in itself to need no other appliance. The wood is that of some endogenous tree, of a pale yellow color. From this wood the natives cut long blade-shaped heads, much resembling those of the Kaffir assagais in form. The peculiar shape of the head may be seen in figures 4 and 5 of [illustration No. 4], on page 1231, which represents two views of the same arrow head. Sometimes the head is left quite plain, but in some specimens a pattern is rudely scribbled on the outer surface of the blade. Annatto is the coloring matter used, leaving a dusky red dye behind it. I possess specimens of these arrows, both plain and colored.

These flat heads are lashed to the hard-wood spike that terminates the arrow by a complicated arrangement of cotton threads, which, though they do not possess the artistic elegance of the Polynesian wrapping, yet are crossed and recrossed so as to produce a series of diamond shaped patterns. Mr. Waterton first called my attention to the venomous properties of this arrow head.

The young men practise diligently with these weapons. The largest, which are intended for the slaughter of tapirs, jaguars, and such like animals, are tested by being shot perpendicularly into the air, each archer trying to send his arrow above that of his competitor.

Mr. Brett, in his “Indian Tribes of Guiana,” gives an interesting account of the skill of the natives as marksmen, and relates one little episode of the shooting, which shows that the “inevitable dog” accompanies sports in Guiana, just as he does in England.

“After several rounds from each man and boy, the archery contest closed by a simultaneous discharge of arrows from every bow. More than two hundred shafts flying through the air together presented a novel spectacle, and in an instant demolished the target amid loud shouts from all. A dog which, unheeded, had wandered behind it, was surrounded by the crop of arrows which suddenly stuck in the sand, some even beneath him. He was a lucky dog, however, for with marvellous fortune he escaped unhurt, though bewildered by the adventure and the roar of applause which followed his somewhat hasty retirement, with deprecating look and drooping tail.”

Spears are also used by some of the tribes. The same writer describes the mode in which a Warau had practised with the spear. His weapon was made of the same material as the arrow, but of greater size, the shaft being of reed, and the head of hard wood. The young spearman had fixed a mark on the soft stem of a plantain tree. As the missile struck the mark, the hard-wood head remained sticking in the tree, while the elastic shaft bounded back toward the thrower.

The lad said that this javelin was used for killing sundry large fishes, which are induced to rise to the surface of the water by means of scattering seeds and other food of which they are fond, and are then killed by means of this weapon.

Some of the arrows are unpoisoned, and, as an example of the great variety assumed, of the arrow heads of the different tribes three more specimens are given in the three left-hand figures of [illustration No. 4], on page 1231, taken from the “Christy” collection. These heads are something of the same form as those which have just been described, but, instead of being flat, they are curved. The reader may remember that a similar form of arrow prevails in New Guinea. The reason is simple enough. The bamboo is covered with a coating of pure flint, which forms a natural edge so sharp, that when the bamboo is split, it can be used as a knife.

Indeed, until the introduction of iron, the bamboo furnished the knife in ordinary use throughout all Polynesia and many other countries where it grew. It is evident, therefore, that an arrow head merely made from a hollow bamboo stem, and retaining the hollow shape, must be a most formidable weapon, and inflict a very dangerous wound. It is brittle, fragile, and would shiver to pieces against a shield or defensive armor of even moderate strength, but against the naked bodies of the Indians it is a most effective weapon.

Great pains have been taken with these arrows, all of which have been ornamented in some peculiar manner. One of them is covered on the convex side with colored patterns, just as is the case with the poison-wood arrow just described. Another is not only ornamented, but cut into barbs. The third, which is plain, is distinguished by a hollow ball, placed just below the head. The ball is pierced with a hole, so that when the arrow is sent from the bow a whistling sound will be produced. The Chinese use whistling arrows at the present time, and so did our archers in the days when the long-bow was the pride of England. In all these cases, the whistle could be used for amusement in time of peace, but for signals in time of war.

As the thoughtful reader might gather from the elaborate care exercised in ornamenting these weapons, the natives would rather exhibit than use them. It is almost invariably found to be the case, that really warlike people keep their weapons in the highest state of efficiency, but trouble themselves comparatively little about ornamenting them, whereas those who want a reputation for valor, without the trouble and danger of earning it, try to gain their end by having their weapons covered with ornament, and themselves assuming as martial an aspect as possible. If the reader will remember the various peoples that have been described in the course of this work, he will see how completely this rule holds good.

Take, by way of example, the Fijian and the Tongan. The one is celebrated throughout the world for the variety, the beauty, the finish, and the artistic ornamentation of his weapons. He always moves armed, feeling himself at a loss without his club on his shoulder; he bedizens himself in the most extravagant manner for the war dance, and before joining in actual battle he consumes a vast amount of time in boasting of his prowess, and of the use to which he will put the body of his foe.

But the Tongan, who never thinks of boasting before or after battle, whose weapons are simple and unadorned, is so completely the superior of the Fijian that he could, if he chose, make himself the master of the whole Fiji territory. We see the same characteristic in several Eastern lands, in which the men are walking arsenals of weapons inlaid with gold, silver, and precious stones, and yet will take the first opportunity of running away when there is a probability that their ornamental weapons will be used in earnest.

So the experienced anthropologist, as soon as he sees these beautifully carved arms, decorated with the most delicate plumage, and painted with all the colors which native art can supply, at once makes up his mind that such weapons are more for show than use, and that the makers would not have expended such time and trouble upon them, if they had intended them to undergo the rough usage of actual warfare.

(1.) HEADDRESS
(See [page 1255].)

(2.) HEADDRESS.
(See [page 1255].)

(3.) GUIANAN CLUBS.
(See [page 1239].)

(4.) GUIANAN CRADLE.
(See [page 1247].)

CHAPTER CXXXI.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA—Continued.
WAR—SUPERSTITION.

GUIANAN CLUBS — THE SAPAKANA AND POTU — WARFARE — CANNIBALISM — THE SHELL MOUND AND ITS CONTENTS — RISE AND FALL OF THE CARIB TRIBE — BLOOD FEUDS — THE KANAIMA AND ITS RESULTS — A STRANGE SUPERSTITION — THE GUIANAN VAMPIRE — WAR WITH THE ARAWÂKS — INGENIOUS STRATEGY — THE AMBUSH — THE FORT AND THE BOOM — CAPTURE OF THE CHIEF AND END OF THE WAR.

We will now pass to their clubs, in which, as well as in the arrows, can be read the characteristics of their makers: some of them are wonderful examples of savage art. The specimens which are shown in [an illustration] on the preceding page are all drawn from examples in the “Christy” collection.

Those on the right are examples of the kind of club which is called Sapakana. They are made of the heaviest and hardest wood which the native can find, and some of them are so large and heavy that they require a strong man to wield them. The blade is formed something like that of the New Zealand merai, being slightly convex in the middle, and coming to an edge on either side, so that it is as formidable a weapon as can well be imagined.

In order to give a firm grasp, the handle is covered with cotton string wound upon it very neatly, afterward being ornamented with feathers and similar decorations. As the heads of these clubs are very much alike, I have only given one entire, and the handles of two others. The central is the most highly ornamented, having tufts of brilliant green feathers just at the junction of the head and the handle, and below the feathers a series of white balls made of cotton-wool. The reader will doubtless admire the elaborate pattern in which the cotton string is wound upon the handle. One of these weapons in my own collection very much resembles that which has been already described, except that, instead of the feathers and cotton-wool balls, it is ornamented with a series of long trailing tufts made of cotton fibre.

At the present time the use of these beautiful clubs is practically abandoned, the musket having superseded the native weapons, so that the clubs, although they are still manufactured, are made for sale, and not for use.

Next comes which is used by the Caribs. It carries out fully the principle which has just been mentioned respecting the ratio between the ornament of the weapon and the warlike spirit of the user. This club is comparatively plain, being meant for use and not for show. The makers call it by the name of Potu, and it is evidently a modification of the “macana” club of the Gran Chaco Indians. To the eye it seems no very powerful weapon, but its weight, form, and balance render it capable of dashing out the brains of a man with a single blow. There is generally a wrapping of cotton string round the middle, so as to afford a firm grip, and a loop made of the same material, which passes over the wrist. A modification of the potu is shown in the left-hand specimen.

The very shape of the potus proves that they are meant to be used by a courageous and warlike people. As a rule the instinct of a really courageous people is to “get at” the adversary, while that of an unwarlike people is to keep the foe at a distance.

As to warfare and the mode of conducting it, there is considerable variation in the different tribes, some being peaceable and quiet, while others are just the reverse. The most warlike tribe among them is undoubtedly the Carib, of which Raleigh wrote that they were a naked people, but as valiant as any under the sky.

The Caribs were at that time the most important of the Guianan tribes, having earned their prominence by their weapons. If they quarrelled with another tribe, they were accustomed to make an expedition into the enemy’s land by night, surround in succession their scattered villages, kill all the men, and take the women and children prisoners. Some of these captives were employed as slaves among themselves, and by degrees became incorporated with the tribe of their captors, while others were reserved for sale. They did not, however, restrict themselves to this kind of secret expedition, but openly made war with other tribes, and boasted that they would paddle their canoes against the stream, so that the enemy might hear them coming and not be taken by surprise.

There seems to be little doubt that the Caribs were at one time cannibals, though at the present day there is great difficulty in getting them to acknowledge the fact. The former cannibalism of these tribes was easily continued by some discoveries which were made in a large mound situated on a sand reef, some ten or twelve miles from the sea.

Thinking that this mound might be a kitchen midden similar to those which are found in many parts of the Old World, Mr. Brett instituted a search, and found that, like these mounds, the heap consisted chiefly of shells, mostly those of mussels and periwinkles, together with the claws and shells of crabs, and some bones of fishes and land vertebrates. At no very great depth from the surface, the excavators came upon a vast quantity of human bones, the skulls shattered to pieces, and the bones of the arms and legs split longitudinally.

To an experienced eye this state of the bones told its own story. The bones were not laid regularly, as they would have been if they had been the remains of bodies regularly interred, but were tossed about in confusion, the fragments of skulls, vertebrae, and limbs being scattered here and there without the least order. The story which these remains tell is simple enough. They are the bones of human beings who have been eaten by their fellow-men, which, after being cracked for the sake of the marrow, have been flung aside, together with the shells of molluscs and other refuse. That this horrid custom was common to all the tribes at one time seems very probable, but the Caribs are the last to whom cannibalism has been attributed.

Like the Mundurucús, the Caribs had an ordeal consisting in enduring the bites of ants. They had no hereditary chief, though the son of a chief would succeed his father if he were considered to possess sufficient ability and courage. Even in such a case, the candidate for chieftainship had to prove his superiority over his fellows by his capability of bearing privations as well as torture. He was required to show that he was acquainted with all the stratagems of war, that he could endure long fasting, that he was of unflinching courage, and that he could resist even the terrible ordeal of the ants, and not until he had satisfactorily passed through all those trials did the tribe lay their weapons at his feet in token of their submission to him.

We may naturally feel some surprise that a people who exhibit such an indomitable spirit, and such a love of freedom, who have overrun vast tracts of territory and successfully resisted even the well-armed and disciplined troops of Europe, should not have advanced in the scale of civilization, but have remained as savage at the present day as we know them to have been three hundred years ago. Mr. Brett, whose personal knowledge of them enables him to speak with authority, gives his solution of the question as follows:—

“There arose among them no master spirit, who, combining the wisdom of the legislator with the bravery of the warrior, might have established humane and civilizing institutions among his people, and permanently united their scattered hordes. In great emergencies the necessity for united action led them accordingly to follow, and implicitly obey, some one of their chiefs, invested by themselves with superior authority, like a dictator of ancient Rome. But at other times each petty head of a clan or family moved and acted in a great measure as he pleased, there being no actual power nor hereditary authority sufficiently respected to command the obedience of all.

“Having thus no permanent band of cohesion, their wild hordes could only fight, overrun, oppress, and destroy, and in their highest prosperity were incapable of accomplishing any great and useful work which might have remained as their memorial to future ages.”

In consequence of the want of leadership, the Carib tribe, once the greatest, and perhaps the origin of all the Guianan tribes, is steadily decreasing, and, valiant as they may be, they are no longer the terror of the other tribes, as they used to be. Indeed, during their feud with the Acawaios, in which they have been engaged for a long time, the Caribs have by no means been the winners. They have even been obliged to quit their own district, and settle themselves near the missionary stations for protection.

The same author who has just been quoted mentions several instances which show the failing power of the Caribs. On one occasion a Carib chief came to live at the mission station because he had found that a party of Acawaios, painted and equipped for war, were lurking near his home in the forest. Even in his place of refuge he was not safe from his enemies. One evening the village was disturbed by loud outcries, and it was found that a son-in-law of the chief had been seriously hurt, and was lying in his hammock, writhing with the pain of a blow which he had received. He had wandered to some little distance from the house, when he caught sight of an Acawaio behind him. He turned round, sprang upon the enemy, and threw his arms round him; but the man was too strong, hurled him to the ground, and, as he fell, struck the blow which had caused him to take to his hammock.

The whole Carib party was in great confusion and terror for some time, but at last it turned out that the attack was in consequence of a personal feud with the wounded man. Two years before, his father had been assassinated by the Acawaios, and he very naturally used his bow and arrows in a vain attempt to save his father’s life. This act drew upon him the vengeance of the Acawaios, who marked him for death whenever they could find an opportunity of killing him. He had fled from the Essequibo to Pomeroon, but uselessly, and was advised by the missionary to go to the coast and procure employment on one of the sugar estates, where his enemies would not be likely to follow.

Sometimes a blood feud is caused by a superstitious practice called Kanaima. A person dies, and the medicine man decides that the death has been caused by some one who has used sorcery for the purpose of taking away his life. The supposed wizard is then doomed to die, and a near relative of the deceased is set apart for the purpose of carrying out the sentence. He is supposed to be possessed by a wandering spirit called Kanaima, and is called by that name until the deed of vengeance is accomplished. During the time of possession, the Kanaima has to suffer many privations, so that the mere wish to be restored to his ordinary life acts as an incentive to the fulfilment of his office.

The mode of killing a victim according to the Kanaima superstition is a very cruel one. He is approached from behind (as was the case with the young Carib above-mentioned); and if the slayer can come within reach, the victim is struck down with a blow on the back of his neck. This blow is not meant to be fatal, and is only hard enough to cause insensibility for a time. The Kanaima then forces open his victim’s mouth, and presses through his tongue the fangs of a venomous serpent. The tongue immediately swells to such an extent as to prevent the unfortunate wretch from speaking, and in the course of a day or two to end his life. Sometimes the Kanaima is said to substitute for the serpent’s fangs a poisonous powder, made for the express purpose, and kept in a little tube made of the wing-bone of a bird. The preparation of this powder is a secret, handed down from father to son.

The task of the Kanaima is not yet ended. Three days after the burial of the victim, the murderer must visit the grave and go through some ceremony, before the Kanaima spirit departs and allows the man to return to his friends. The natives are very chary of their knowledge on this subject, but, as far as can be ascertained, the Kanaima presses a pointed stick through the body, tastes the blood, and by that act is relieved from the spirit of murder.

The friends of the victim, therefore, always endeavor to conceal the place of burial, and it is the duty of the murderer to hover about the place so that they shall not be able to inter the body without his knowledge. Should the friends be successful, the vengeance is reversed, for the unfortunate Kanaima is obliged to wander through the woods until he is afflicted with madness, or some other form of vengeance whereby the spirit of murder punishes those who have not carried out his wishes.

Mr. Brett witnessed several instances of this dreadful mode of punishment, and in one case had little doubt that he had come upon a Kanaima who had been unable to find the body of his victim. “An Indian, reduced almost to a skeleton, and in a dreadful state of exhaustion, was picked up in the forest by some Arawâk, and brought to the Pomeroon mission. He had lost a portion of his scalp, and had his lower lip torn down at each corner. This he said had been done by a small ‘tiger,’ which had sprung on him while lying in the forest....

“The Acawaios at the mission, whose language he spoke, took much care of him at first, but afterward judged, from his refusing certain kinds of food and other signs, that he was a devotee and victim of unappeased Kanaima, and the murderer of a man killed some time before. From this, and his savage, ungrateful demeanor (though Mr. M’Clintock aided by myself, cleansed and dressed his sores to encourage them), we had some difficulty in getting him nursed till his strength had returned, as they feared lest they should become his future victims.”

If the friends of the murdered man fear that they will not be able to conceal the body effectually, they remove the liver, and put in its place a redhot axe-head, under the belief that when the Kanaima tastes the blood of his victim, the heat which was in the axe-head will pass into his body and consume him.

Putting aside private feud, the Caribs have of late been beaten by the other tribes in open war. They had been partially successful against the Arawâks, who had been driven into the swampy district near the Waini. Here, however, the fugitives made a stand, and placed themselves under the supreme command of a well-known and tried warrior. Expecting that the Caribs would soon follow them into their place of refuge, their leader placed his men in ambush among the islands, and awaited the coming of the enemy.

On came the Caribs in their great war canoes, following each other in single file through the narrow creeks which separate the “wet savannah” into islands. They were allowed to pass unhurt, until they rounded one of the islands, when a deadly shower of arrows from both banks disabled or killed every man on board. The second canoe pushed on, only to meet the same fate, while the others, not being able to see the carnage that was taking place, hurried onward toward the spot whence the cries proceeded, and were in their turn overwhelmed with the deadly shower. The victorious Arawâks then jumped into the water, seized the canoes, and killed every one of the warriors with the exception of two. These were sent home by the victors on the promise of a large ransom, to be paid in the cotton hammocks for the manufacture of which the Caribs are so famous; and an insulting message was also sent by them, requesting the Caribs to send another expedition.

On land the Caribs fared as badly against the same foes as they had done by sea. Being determined to resist the continual attacks of the Caribs, the Arawâks made up their minds to fly no more to the swamps for safety, but to boldly face their enemies. They therefore built a large house on the banks of a rivulet, surrounded it with trees laid with their branches outward—in fact, the abattis of modern engineering—and stored the house with as many arrows as they could make. Moreover, they made broad wooden shields, which were used on this occasion for the first and probably for the last time.

As had been anticipated, the Caribs were not very long in making their attack. Seeing a small party of men among the trees, they gave chase and pursued them as far as the house, which they immediately attacked. The defenders did not return the fire of the Caribs, but contented themselves with receiving on their shields the arrows of the enemy. When they judged that the arrows of the foe were nearly exhausted, they made use of their own stores, and poured volley after volley on the invaders, being supplied by the women and boys with arrows as fast as they could shoot. The Caribs were unable to withstand such an attack, and were obliged to beat a retreat, during which they lost many more of their number by the pursuing Arawâks.

The two last decisive battles between these great tribes ended again in favor of the Arawâks. The latter established themselves on the banks of a branch of the river Moruca, a stream which is thickly wooded on both sides. The name of this branch is Haimara-Cabura. Across this stream the Arawâks sank a tree trunk at such a depth that it would allow small canoes to pass over it, while the large and heavily-laden war-canoes must inevitably strike upon it.

The invaders came, as had been expected, but found nothing except empty houses. They then descended the Moruca, looking about for their prey, and at last caught sight of several canoes and gave chase. The fugitive canoes, on reaching the mouth of the Haimara-Cabura, darted into it as if for shelter, and were followed by the invaders, yelling and shouting with excitement. Suddenly, their canoes struck violently against the sunken boom, jerked the paddles from their places, became entangled with each other, and caused inextricable confusion. In the midst of their perplexity, showers of arrows were hurled upon them, and very few of the invading force escaped.

Among them, however, was the Carib chief Manarrawa, who was incensed at the repulse with which he had met, returned to the Orinoco, organized another force, and again attacked the Arawâks. This time he was less fortunate, being wounded and taken prisoner. On being brought before the council of chiefs, Manarrawa promised that, if his life was spared, he would cause his people to cease from further attacks. The Arawâks, more lenient than the Caribs, granted his request, gave him a canoe, and sent him home. He, on his part, performed his promise, and from that time there has been no regular war between the Caribs and Arawâks, although there have been private blood feuds of the kind described.

(1.) LAKE DWELLERS OF THE ORINOCO.
(See [page 1269].)

(2.) A WARAU HOUSE.
(See [pages 1245], [1251], [1268].)

CHAPTER CXXXII.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA—Continued.
ARCHITECTURE AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

ARCHITECTURE — THE ORDINARY GUIANAN HOUSE — THE MACOUSHIE AND INLAND HUTS — CHOICE OF THE SITE — MATRIMONIAL ARRANGEMENTS — POLYGAMY AND ITS RESULTS — A BREACH OF PROMISE CASE — JEALOUSY AND ITS RESULTS — FORBIDDEN DEGREES AMONG THE ARAWÂKS — THE GUIANAN MOTHER AND CHILD — A SINGULAR CUSTOM — POLYANDRY — MAKING CASSAVA — THE MANIOC TREE AND ITS ALLIES — THE GRATER, THE BOWL, AND THE COLANDER — THE PRESS, OR TIPITI — USE MADE OF THE POISONOUS JUICE — MAKING SUGAR — PIWARRI DRINKING — THE MAQUARRI DANCE — CONSTRUCTION OF THE WHIPS — ENDURANCE OF PAIN.

We will now examine the domestic life of the Guianan natives.

Their architecture differs considerably according to the district. As a rule, the climate is so warm that houses are but little needed, all that is required being a simple roof above the head. The ordinary kind of hut is nothing more than a mere shed, a sort of barn without the walls, supported on posts and thatched with leaves. From the posts and rafters are hung the personal goods of the natives, such as fans, paddles, clubs, blow guns, bows and arrows, and similar articles, while from one or two of the cross-beams is sure to be hanging the singular cassava press, which will be presently described. Such a house is [represented] on the preceding page.

Between the upright posts, and sometimes from the transverse beams, are suspended the hammocks, some of which are almost invariably occupied, as the master has a natural genius for lying in his hammock when he is not absolutely obliged to be on his feet. The number of hammocks under a single roof is almost incredible. They are hung in tiers, one above another, like the berths on board a passenger ship, and when thirty or forty of them are occupied at once, it seems rather wonderful that the building should be able to withstand such a strain.

As the inhabitants move about, or get into and out of their hammocks while replenishing the nightly fires, whose smoke is the only defence against the mosquitoes and other winged pests, the whole building rocks, the joints creak, and the house seems on the point of coming down. But the junctions of the beams and posts are so firmly tied that they are far stronger than they look, and however fragile the shed may seem, it is quite equal to any strain they may have to endure.

In the interior, however, the huts are more of a complicated character, and have walls as well as a roof. Their form is invariably round, and their roofs pointed in the centre. Some are shaped almost exactly like single-poled tents, having a circular upright wall, some five or six feet in height, and from that wall a tolerably high conical roof ending in a sharp point. Their general shape much resembles that of the Makololo house, seen on page 329. The roof, however, is neater, and the central pole, by which it is supported, rises to some height above the top, looking like the ornamental spikes with which English builders are fond of decorating some of their villas.

Other houses, though built on the same principle, are not quite conical. They have no distinction between the wall and roof, and, instead of being circular, are octagonal. They may be very well imitated by cutting out eight isosceles triangles from cardboard, the larger sides being about four times the length of the shortest, and sewing them together. A knitting needle through the centre will act as a support, and look very much like the centre pole of the edifice.

These huts are used by the Macoushies, the makers of the very long blow guns which have already been described, and from projections in the upright poles the weapons are suspended when not in use. It need scarcely be said that the task of house building belongs to the women, inasmuch as it pertains to the category of heavy work, which is beneath the character of a man to undertake. Indeed, with these people, as with many other uncivilized nations, the rooted disinclination of the men to labor, and the consequent falling of all the work upon the women, is one of the most serious obstacles to their progress in civilization; and even polygamy is not so much a drawback as the inferior condition of the women.

Treating of the native houses, Mr. Brett remarks that the builders, simple as may be the house itself, carefully select a site which must combine several requirements. In the first place, it must be near a stream, so that the women may not have more trouble than needful in fetching water for the use of the household, and that the canoe may be within easy reach of the house when the owner wishes to set out upon one of the frequent migrations which take place among these tribes.

It must be a spot which is rather out of the way. The native Guianan likes peace and quietness, and has a strong objection to being disturbed, the apathy of his nature being supplemented by an inveterate shyness, which makes him keep aloof from strangers. It must also be a spot where the ground is light and sandy, and where the very slight cultivation needed in this land can be easily carried on.

The house being built, the next business is to prepare a field for the cultivation of yams and cassava, and this is the only hard work which the men will condescend to do. The ground is already occupied by trees, but this is of no consequence to the native agriculturist. Having selected a convenient spot, he cuts down the trees, ingeniously contriving that the fall of one shall bring down several others. This is done at the beginning of the hot season, i. e. somewhere in August. The tropical sun soon dries the fallen trees, and when they are sufficiently parched for the purpose, the Indian sets them on fire, a process which rapidly consumes all but the trunks and the largest branches. He has now done his share of the work, and leaves the rest to the women, who have to clear away the débris as far as they can, and to do all the digging, planting, and weeding that is needed.

Among these people polygamy, though not always the rule, is often the case, and a man’s greatness is partly estimated by the number of his wives. It is not, however, carried out to such an excess as is the case with many other peoples, inasmuch as one chief was looked upon with the greatest respect because he had the unusual number of nine wives. This chief, a Warau, was very jealous of his establishment, and was said to have shot one of his wives, and severely wounded another with his cutlass. As a rule, however, a man has one wife only, the exceptions being rarer in proportion to the number of wives.

The Caribs appear to carry out the principle of proprietorship in their women to the fullest degree, as is exemplified by an amusing anecdote related by Mr. Brett. It must be premised that, as is usual among nearly all uncivilized natives, the wife is purchased from her father or oldest male relative, who has absolute power over and can sell her as he would sell his bow, and with as much regard for the feelings of one article of property as the other.

“A high-spirited Caribi girl, indignant at being given in marriage to an elderly man, who had already other wives (one being her own sister), ran away from him, and bestowed her hand on one of the Essequibo Caribs, a younger man whom she liked better. After a while, the old man visited that quarter—not, however, to exercise his undoubted right to bring her back and beat her, but to claim compensation for her services. It was willingly allowed, and for a gun, a barrel of salt, or some article of like value, the woman was left with the man of her choice, who perhaps thought himself secure, and the business ended.

“But the next year the old man, who well knew what he was doing, paid them another visit, still, as he said, in quest of compensation. On being reminded by the husband that he had already been paid for the woman, he replied, ‘Yes—for the woman; but she has since borne you a child—you must now pay me for that.’ The unwritten law of Caribi usage was decidedly in the old man’s favor, and he received compensation for that child. For each succeeding birth he could, if he chose, reappear, like an unquiet spirit, make a similar demand, and be supported therein by the custom of his nation.”

Sometimes the second wife is purchased while still a child, and brought up together with the family of the first wife, and a prudent chief will thus provide himself with a succession of wives, each attaining marriageable years as her predecessors become too old to suit the taste of their proprietor. Now and then, the first wife successfully resists the introduction of a sharer of her household. In one such case, the first wife, after trying to commit suicide, and being prevented, took a more sensible course. She was an Arawâk, one of three sisters, all living with their respective husbands at one settlement. One day, the husband of the eldest sister, having been on a visit to some friends, brought home another wife, a full-grown young woman. The first wife, after her unavailing attempt at suicide, made an onslaught upon the intruder, aided by her two sisters, whose husbands stood quietly looking on. The end of the business was, that the woman was sent back to her friends, and the first wife was left in the undisturbed rule of her household.

The Arawâks have a curious and praiseworthy regulation concerning marriage. Their tribe is divided into a number of families, each descending in the female line, and being known by its own name. No one is allowed to marry into the family bearing the same name as himself or herself, and this principle is carried out in a rather curious manner.

As the succession falls in the woman’s line, her sons and daughters, and the children of her daughters, bear the same name as herself, but not so the children of her sons, who will take the names of their respective mothers. The Arawâks are very tenacious of this rule, and think an infraction of it to be a great crime.

As is the case with most uncivilized nations, the Guianan mothers think but little of the event which lays a civilized European woman on the bed of sickness for weeks. Mr. Brett saw one Warau woman, only two hours after the birth of her child, tie up her hammock, and carry it, together with her newly born infant, from one house to another. When the child is very young, it is laid in a small hammock, but when it gains a little strength, a rather curious cradle is provided for it.

The body of the cradle is made of the ever-useful itirritti reed, which is split into slips about the tenth of an inch in width, and then woven so as to make a kind of basket, open at one end and down one side. The edges are strengthened by a rod of flexible wood lashed firmly to them, and the cradle is brought into shape by means of a framework consisting of tolerably strong sticks. The opening in front is much narrower than the body of the cradle, so that the child can be easily secured in it. The length of my [specimen], drawn on page 1238, is exactly twenty inches, and width at the back thirteen inches, while that of the opening is only seven inches. This cradle is very strong, very elastic, and very light—three great requisites in such an article. When the mother wishes to carry her child, she only takes a broad plaited belt, the two ends of which are united, passes it over the crossbars at the top of the cradle, and then brings the belt across her forehead.

The parents are very kind to their children, and can seldom bring themselves to chastise them, except in a sudden fit of anger. The natural consequence of this treatment is, that they have scarcely any control over the children, though, when they grow up, the respect shown by sons and daughters to their parents of either sex is worthy of all praise.

Connected with this subject, the Guianan natives have a very singular custom, which, according to our ideas at the present day, entirely reverses the order of things. With us, when a wife expects to be a mother, she often thinks it necessary to abstain from certain articles of food, and from too much exertion. With the Guianan Indians, the wife eats exactly what she chooses, and works as hard as ever, while the husband thinks himself bound to abstain and to rest. For example, the Acawaios and Caribs will not eat the flesh of the agouti, lest the future offspring should be thin and meagre; the haimara fish, lest it should be dim-sighted; or the maroudi, lest it should be still-born, the cry of this bird being held as an omen of death. The reader may remember that a Macoushie excused himself from making wourali by reference to this custom. This custom does not stop with the child’s birth, but extends to several weeks afterward.

As soon as her child is born, the Indian wife washes the baby, rolls it in the cradle hammock, and goes about her business as usual. But the Indian husband is pleased to consider himself very ill, and straightway takes to his hammock, where he is waited upon by the women with the most solicitous attention. In some districts the sick husband has not a very pleasant part to play, being obliged to take nauseous drinks, and to go through a course of very unpleasant medicine. Generally, however, he does nothing but lie in his hammock for a week or two, during which time he is kept amply supplied with the daintiest food, and petted as if he were recovering from a dangerous sickness.

This custom has gradually expired in the vicinity of the mission stations, but it occasionally revives. Mr. Brett mentions an instance where a large influx of strangers reintroduced it into the station. It so happened that a young Christian Indian had become a father, and was violently importuned by his female relatives to take to his hammock according to ancient custom. He resisted for some time, but was so persecuted that he fairly ran away, and went to work at a distance for three weeks, at the expiration of which time he thought he might be considered as convalescent. Strange as this custom may seem to be, it is one which has prevailed through a very considerable portion of the globe, and even in Europe has not been extinct until comparatively late years.

Not only is polygamy practised among these tribes, but the strange custom of polyandry exists. On one occasion, when a missionary was arguing with a native against the practice of polygamy, he used an argumentum ad hominem, and with the bad results that usually follow such an argument. Finding that he could not prove to his interlocutor that a man ought not to have two wives, the missionary asked how it would be liked by the men if one wife were to have two husbands. To his astonishment, the man replied that the plan answered very well, and that he knew a woman who at that time had three husbands.

It has been already mentioned that the natives of Guiana depend chiefly for their food upon the beasts, birds, and fishes which they capture. Vegetable food is not so important to them as it is generally to inhabitants of warmer climates, probably because the almost perpetual moisture of the country forces the inhabitants to partake of a comparatively generous diet.

The staple vegetable food is the cassava, which is prepared in rather a curious manner. Strange to say, it is obtained from a plant belonging to the natural order Euphorbiaceæ, plants which are celebrated for containing most poisonous juices.

Some of them are trees of the largest size, while others are little herbs that only exist for a few weeks. All of them, however, secrete an acrid juice, more or less poisonous. A familiar example of these plants may be found in the common spurge, or wart-wort of our gardens (Euphorbia helioscopa), the white, acrid, milky juice of which is employed in destroying warts. Several of these Euphorbiaceæ produce, beside the poisonous juice, a farinaceous substance, from which the poison can be separated, and which is then useful as human food.

The chief plant which produces the cassava is the Jatropha manihot, though there are others from which the farina can be obtained. The juice of this plant is so poisonous that a very small dose will produce death. Fortunately, the venomous principle is exceedingly volatile, and can be driven off by heat, so that the very substance which in its raw state is a deadly poison becomes, when cooked, a wholesome article of food.

The mode of preparing the cassava is as follows: Taking on her back the quake, which has already been described, the Guianan woman digs up a quantity of the cassava root, puts it into the quake, and brings it to her hut. She next peels it by tearing off the outer covering with her teeth, and then proceeds to scrape it into very fine shavings. This is done by means of the native grater, which, rude as it looks, is a very effective machine. It consists of a thick board about a yard in length and half as much in width. Into the upper surface of this board are driven in regular rows a number of fragments of sharp stones, which are further secured in their places by a sort of vegetable glue obtained from the juice of a tree.

By being drawn over this surface, the cassava roots are soon reduced to thin shavings, much like those of the horse radish, which are collected into a basket. One of these baskets is shown in [fig. 2], on page 1231. It is made much like the cradle already mentioned, but is of closer texture, and the strips of cane are wider. It is about two feet in diameter, and is capable of containing a considerable quantity of the grated root.

When the native cassava maker does not possess one of these graters, she uses as a substitute the acrid root of a species of Ireartia palm, which is covered with hard protuberances, and answers the purpose tolerably well, though it does not work so smoothly or neatly as the regular grater.

Sometimes a further process of grinding is employed, though not always. In such cases, the grated root is placed on a flat, sloping stone, and rubbed with another, just as is done by the Araucanians. See [page 1203].

The next process is to rid it of its poisonous juices, and in this part of the operation there is also considerable variation. Among some tribes, the scraped cassava is taken out of the dish and pressed tightly into a sieve or colander. This instrument is very ingeniously made. It is of basket work, but instead of being made of flat strips of cane or reed, round twigs are used, about as thick as ordinary drawing pencils. The natives have an ingenious mode in which the shape of the vessel is preserved while the interstices are not allowed to diminish or increase in size. This is done by beginning with a comparatively few twigs at the apex of the colander, and inserting fresh twigs at regular intervals as the vessel increases in size.

Into this colander the cassava is pressed and kneaded with water, until a considerable amount of the juice is expressed. It is then left in the sieve to undergo a partial drying, and is soon ready for another process, that of the press; and it is remarkable that, though presses of various descriptions have been sent from Europe, none of them seem to answer so well as the native Guianan press called the “tipiti.” This press is a long, cylindrical basket, from six to seven feet in length, and about four inches in diameter, made of the bark of the Jacitara palm, a species of Desmoncus. The lower part of the tipiti is closed, and brought nearly to a point, while the upper part is left open, each end terminating in a very strong loop. Owing to the mode in which the tipiti is made, the central portion is highly elastic, while the mouth and tip are comparatively stiff. [One of these] is represented on the following page.

(1.) TIPITI AND BOWL.
(See [pages 1248], [1251].)

STOPPER OUT

(2.) TWIN BOTTLE.
(See [page 1251].)

(3.) SPATHE.
(See [page 1258].)

(4.) FEATHER APRON.
(See [page 1255].)

BEAD APRON.
(See [page 1256].)

Several of these tipities generally hang to the roof or the cross-beam of the hut, so as to be ready for use when wanted. One of them is then filled with grated cassava, which is thrust into the elastic tube as tightly as possible, so as to cause it to become very much shorter, and very much thicker in the middle. Underneath the tipiti is placed an earthenware bowl to receive the juice. Vessels such as these are made by the natives, and although they are very fragile, as the clay is never thoroughly kneaded, and the baking is insufficient, they can endure the fire well enough for cooking purposes. The [vessel] which is represented in the illustration is of a deep brown color, striped and spotted with black.

Besides these soft and fragile bowls, the natives make bottles for the purpose of carrying water. Some of these clay bottles are really elegant in form, and show evidences of artistic feeling on the part of the potter. A [figure] of a double water bottle, with its earthenware stoppers, is given on page 1249.

A heavy weight is then fastened to the bottom of the tipiti, which is consequently elongated and narrowed, so as to compress the contents forcibly, and squeeze out the juice that remains in the cassava. After a while a still stronger pressure is obtained by means of the lever. A pole is passed through the loop at the bottom of the tipiti, and the shorter end of it is lashed to one of the upright posts of the house. The heavy weight—usually a large stone—is then hung to the longer end of the pole, so as to produce a powerful leverage on the tipiti, and compress the cassava still further.

When the process has arrived at this state, the cassava maker often adds her own weight to that of the stone, by sitting on the end of the lever, and with her baby slung in its cradle on her back, occupies herself in some of the lighter feminine occupations.

The cassava is now fit for baking, for which purpose it is placed on circular iron plates, which are laid over the fire like the “girdles” on which oat cakes are baked. Although little known in this country under its proper name, cassava is largely used under the name of semolina, which is nothing more than the cassava roughly ground to a coarse sort of grain.

Nothing of this useful plant is thrown away. We have seen that the farinaceous matter can be rendered wholesome by being deprived of its poisonous juice, and we shall now see that even this juice itself can be rendered useful. If man or beast were to drink it as it pours from between the interstices of the tipiti, they would swell, and die in great agony. But by means of boiling the poisonous principle is driven off and the juice changes to a deep brown liquid, which is well known under the name of cassareep, and extensively used as a sauce. It is the foundation of the “pepper-pot” of the West Indies, and when used by natives is so highly impregnated with red pepper, that when they hospitably serve a white stranger with cassava bread and cassareep sauce, the mouth of the stranger is excoriated by the quantity of capsicum.

If the reader will refer to the illustration representing a [Warau house], on page 1244. he will see the various processes of cassava-making. On the right hand is seen a woman kneeling before the grater, and scraping the cassava into the dish or basket. Hanging to the cross-beams of the hut are two of the tipiti presses, one filled ready for the weight and the lever, and the other stretched nearly to its full extent. A woman is sitting on the lever, and so expressing the last drops from the cassava into the bowl. The baking of the cassava cake is shown in the background on the right hand.

A few little episodes of Guianan life are shown in the same [illustration]. On the left hand is seen a man armed with his bow and long arrows, and having slung on his shoulders the little bag which serves as a pocket. Another man is lying asleep in his hammock, and nearly in the middle is shown a mother with her two children, one of them dragging a huge spider tied to a string. The spiders of this country are sometimes as large as a man’s outspread hand, and, unpleasant playfellows as they appear to us, they are used in this light by the children, as was seen by Mr. Bates.

The natives can also make sugar, though of a rather coarse character. Some of the tribes employ a machine with small wooden rollers, for the purpose of crushing the sugar-cane and expressing the juice, but the plan followed by the Caribs is the most simple, and at the same time the most remarkable. They carve the upper part of a stout post into the rude semblance of a human bust, the post being as nearly as possible as large as a man. The part that answers to the collar-bone projects considerably, and a hole is bored through the middle of the neck under the chin.

When the Caribs wish to make their sugar, they put one end of a long and stout lever, into the hole in the neck, and lay the cane horizontally upon the collar-bones. One man then takes the end of the lever, and by pressing it down crushes the cane so that the juice flows down the breast of the image into the vessel, while another man shifts the cane so as to bring every portion successively under the lever.

As for drink, the Guianan natives have from time immemorial made an intoxicating liquor called piwarri, which is almost exactly like the mudai of the Araucanians. A number of cakes of cassava bread are toasted brown, thrown into a large vessel, and boiling water poured over them. The remainder of the cakes are masticated and mixed with the others in the vessel. Fermentation then takes place very rapidly, and in a short time the liquor is fit to drink. The natives are immoderately fond of this disgusting preparation, and often brew and drink great quantities at a time. A canoe is no uncommon vessel to be filled with piwarri, and every one who joins in the revel is presumed to become intoxicated as soon as possible. Mr. Brett mentions an amusing instance of native feeling on this subject.

The Arawâks of the Mahaiconi district having begged that a missionary might be sent to them, the bishop determined on visiting them personally. In honor of his arrival, the Arawâks had got up a great festival, including a canoe full of piwarri, and the curious Maquarri dance, of which we shall presently learn. Most of them were intoxicated, but they apologized to the bishop for their shortcomings in politeness, and said that if they had known sooner of his visit, they would have had two canoes full of piwarri instead of one.

Piwarri feasts vary in detail according to the tribe which holds them. They are, however, always accompanied by a dance, and by some ceremonies practised by the piaman or conjurer. An interesting account of a piwarri feast is given by Messrs. Spix and Martius, in their “Travels in Brazil:”—

“By degrees, those residing at a greater distance arrived in single troops, each with his whole family, and with bag and baggage, as if they were going to migrate; the men who had not yet secreted their bows and arrows in the neighboring woods hid them here; the women put down their baskets, took the children on their shoulders, and looked for the drinking-cup (cuja). Without conversing with each other, each member of the family examined the surrounding company with an unsteady look; the men approached each other, and saluted their neighbors, at most, by pouting out their lips, and a scarcely audible nasal tone.

“In the middle of the assembly, and nearest to the pot, stood the chief, who, by his strength, cunning, and courage, had obtained some command over them, and had received the title of captain. In his right hand he held the maracá, the above-mentioned castanet, which they call gringcrina, and rattled with it, beating time with his right foot. We did not find any traces among the Indians of the oracles of the maracá, mentioned in the accounts of earlier travellers. Rather walking than dancing, he advanced slowly, with his body bent forward, round the pot, toward which his eyes were constantly turned. The dance, the measure of which was in triple time, was accompanied by him with a low monotonous singing, which was more strongly marked when he stamped with his foot. The oftener the song was repeated, the more solemn and animated was the expression of his voice and features. All the rest stood motionless round the pot, stared at him without speaking, and only now and then, when the words of the dancer, which seemed to be extempore, moved them, they broke out into immoderate cries.

“After this measured circular dance, by which, probably, it was intended to conjure and keep off evil spirits, the leader approached the pot, took from the hand of his neighbor the drinking-vessel which he held ready, gravely dipped it into the pot, and took a sip. The rattling of the gringerina and the monotonous music became general, and more and more noisy the longer the cup went round. We, too, had a full cuja presented to us, and though filled with disgust, we were obliged to follow the advice of our guide to empty it, in order not to give the Indians any reasons for distrust.

“The beverage resembles in taste our malt liquor, and when taken in a large quantity is intoxicating, an effect which was but too manifest toward the end of the feast, by their leaping and noisy singing of, ‘Hi! ha! ha!’ Hopes had been given us that we should see on this occasion the dances of the Coroados; but toward evening, after their stomachs and heads were full, one party slipped away after the other, as if by previous agreement.”

The same authors give an account of a melancholy sort of dance performed by another tribe of natives, the Puris:—

“When they had been made familiar, and treated with plentiful draughts of brandy, of which, like all Indians, they are passionately fond, they began their dance by night, on an open spot not far from the fazenda of Guidowald. If the compact low stature, the brown-red color, the jet-black hair hanging down in disorder, the disagreeable form of their broad angular countenances, the small, oblique, unsteady, blinking eyes, and, lastly, the tripping, short, light step of these savages had excited in us the most sorrowful feelings at the debasement of humanity in them, these were further increased by the melancholy expression of their festivity in the darkness of the night. The men placed themselves close together in a line, and behind them the women, also in a line. The male children, sometimes two or three, took hold of each other and of the fathers round the waist, as the female children did their mothers. In this position they begin their melancholy ‘Háu—jo—há—ha—há.’ It is remarkable that the melodies which Lery noted above two hundred years ago among the Indians in the neighborhood of Rio Janeiro very much resemble those observed by us.

“The song and the dance were repeated several times, and the two rows moved slowly forward in a measured triple time. In the first three steps they put the left foot forward, and bent the left side; at the first and third step they stamped with the left foot, and at the second with the right; in the following three steps they advanced the right foot at the first and last, bending on the right side. In this manner they advanced a little alternately, in short steps. As soon as the song was concluded, they ran back in disorder, as if in flight—first the women with their daughters, and then the men with their sons. After this they placed themselves in the same order as before, and the scene was repeated. A negro, who had lived a long time among the Puris, explained to us the words sung to this dance as a lamentation, the subject of which was, that they had attempted to pluck a flower from a tree, but had fallen down. Ho interpretation of this melancholy scene could have appeared to us more appropriate than that of the loss of Paradise.”

The most curious of all the Guianan dances is that which is called the Maquarri dance, from the implement which forms its principal element. The Maquarri is a whip, and the object of the dance is giving and receiving blows from the maquarri. The form of this whip varies in different districts. The form usually employed, is made of silk grass fibre, bound together so as to form a stiff and elastic whip. The handle is strengthened by being bound strongly with a strip of dark cane wound spirally around it, and is ornamented by a tuft of fibres, which hang from the butt. Several tufts of white cotton wool adorn the transition between the handle and the lash, the latter of which tapers gradually to a point. The whole whip including the lash, is nearly five feet in length, and is a most formidable instrument of torture, capable of cutting into the bare skin like a knife, and causing the blood to spirt from the wound which it makes. The other form is scarcely so terrible a whip to the eye, though it may inflict quite as much pain when skilfully handled. It is entirely covered with cane, and, as it is swung about, it gives a crackling sound with every curve. The length of this whip is three feet four inches.

The maquarri dance is conducted in the following manner. The young men and boys, decorated with all the fantastic feather work which native art can supply, range themselves in two rows opposite each other, the dancers being all armed with their maquarri whips, which they wave in the air, uttering at the same time cries which are intended to imitate the notes of birds.

Presently two of the dancers from opposite sides challenge each other, leave the ranks, and dance opposite each other in the open space between the ranks. After dancing for a while, one of them stops, and stands firmly on one leg, thrusting the other forward, and remaining perfectly firm and steady. See [illustration] on page 1260.

His opponent, or partner, whichever he may be called, stoops down, takes deliberate aim at some part of the projecting leg, and then leaping into the air, in order to give force to his stroke, delivers a blow with all his strength. A practised maquarri dancer is sure to cut deeply into the skin and to draw blood by the stroke; but the receiver does not shrink from the blow, gives no sign of pain, and only smiles contemptuously as he executes the dance. Presently his opponent holds out his leg in turn to be struck, and after a few lashes have been exchanged, they retire to the piwarri vessel, drink some of its contents, and return to their places in the ranks.

The greatest good humor prevails during this strange contest, though when a couple of powerful and experienced dancers have met, they have often scarcely been able to walk from the severity of the blows which they have received. Sometimes, after a hard day’s dancing and drinking, when their legs are stiff and sore from the blows which they have received, and their heads are aching from the liquid they have drunk, they declare that they will abandon the dance for ever. But, as soon as their legs get well and their heads are clear again, they forget all their promises, and join in the next maquarri dance with unabated zest.

During one of these dances, which was performed in Mr. Brett’s presence, a stout little Warau came to the encampment, when the dance was nearly over, evidently with the idea of getting some piwarri without undergoing the previous salutation of the maquarri whip. The young men at once divined his intention, and quietly passed the word among themselves to frustrate his design. Accordingly, he was challenged in rapid succession by the young men, and subjected to more than ordinary castigation before he obtained any piwarri. However, he bore his punishment manfully, and did his best to look pleasant, although he soon perceived the trap into which he had fallen.

On that occasion the dance was given in honor of a woman who had been buried in the house. A broad plank lay upon her grave, and on it, among other articles, was a bundle of silk grass being the remainder of the material from which the maquarri whips had been made, these articles having somewhat of the sacred character about them. After going through a few ceremonies, two or three men, armed with long knives, dashed in among the dancers, snatched the whips from them, cut off the lashes, and flung them into the grave. The owners of the whips pretended to be very savage at surrendering the whips, leaping, throwing somersaults, and going through all kinds of evolutions, so that it was great matter of surprise that any of them escaped injury.

On another occasion, when the maquarri dance had been got up in honor of the bishop, all the dancers, before they went into the large house, laid their whips on a board which had been placed there expressly for their reception.

With regard to this dance, Mr. Brett was much struck with the apparent indifference to pain manifested by the natives, and asked them how they could endure such tortures without seeming to feel them. The Indians replied that their insensibility to pain was partly produced by the piwarri, and was partly owing to the presence of the women, who would scoff at any one who showed the least symptom of suffering.

Giving both these reasons their full value, there are two others of much greater importance. One is the natural apathy of the native, who requires a very strong stimulus for exertion. This apathy extends to the nerves of sensation as well as to those of volition, and the real fact is, that a blow which would cause the most horrible agony to a white man is scarcely felt by the native Guianan. The other is the effect of exposure and perfect health of body. All those who have gone into training for any athletic contest will remember how different is the pain-bearing capacity of the trained and untrained man, the former scarcely seeming to be aware of an injury which would have prostrated him for weeks had he been untrained. Now these natives are always in the state of body to which the civilized athlete occasionally brings himself, and the result is, that external injuries have but little effect on them.

Another and a rather picturesque dance is described by Mr. Brett. This is an Arawâk dance, and is performed in the following manner:—Twelve young men step forward, and arrange themselves in parallel rows; but instead of carrying maquarri whips, they bear slender rods, about twelve feet in length, decorated with strips of silk grass stained red, and having at the tips little gourds with stones in them. They dance backward and forward, striking the ends of their rods against the ground, and keeping time with the measure. From time to time the young women go up to the dancers, seize their arms, and dance with them, and then, as the men clash the rattling ornaments of beetles’ wing cases with which their wrists and legs are decorated, the women loose their hold, and run back to their companions like frightened deer.

A Warau dance is described by the same missionary who witnessed the maquarri dance. “It was little more than a measured series of steps, accompanied with stamping, while the persons advanced or receded, sometimes in single rank, sometimes in two ranks facing each other, throwing their right arms over their right-hand neighbor’s shoulders, and their left arms round their left-hand neighbor’s waist, swaying their bodies to and fro. Occasionally the women would run, and, inserting themselves between the men, join in the dance.

“The effect was somewhat heightened by a monotonous chant sung in unison, and by the clatter of beads and anklets made of hard seeds and the wings of beetles. The dance was intended to represent the antics of a herd of kairounies, or bush hogs, and the chant was a succession of mocking or jeering expressions.”

CHAPTER CXXXIII.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA—Continued.
DRESS—AMUSEMENTS.

FEATHER HEADDRESSES AND THEIR STRUCTURE — THE FEATHER APRON — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE KIMISA AND QUEYU — MODE OF MANUFACTURE — HARMONY OF COLOR — MR. BAINES’ THEORY — A SINGULAR PURCHASE — THE SAPURU OR GARTER OF THE CARIBS — PAINT AND TATTOO — THE SPATHE CAP AND APRON — PETS AMONG THE NATIVES — SKILL IN FISHING AND CAYMAN CATCHING — MR. WATERTON’S ADVENTURE — THE INGENIOUS HOOK — GAMES AND SPORTS — SHIELD WRESTLING — CANOE SLAKING — NAVIGATING THE FALLS.

During their dances the natives display all their best feather ornaments. Two of their headdresses are shown on [page 1238]. The foundation of these is a circlet made of thin dark cane, cut into strips. One of them ([fig. 2]) is made of parrots’ feathers, beautifully shaded from dark blue to brilliant green, and being topped with three long straight scarlet feathers from the tail of the macaw. The general effect of this beautiful headdress is heightened by a row of white downy feathers by which it is surrounded. This specimen was made by the Macoushie tribe.

The other headdress ([fig. 1]) is called Arok, and, though very handsome in point of color, does not possess the beauty of form which characterizes the other. The greater part of the headdress is bright yellow, but just on either side of the top are two broad bands of scarlet. The feathers in this specimen are arranged four deep.

The reader may remember that, in many portions of the uncivilized world, aprons are made of thongs depending from the waist. This principle is carried out by many of the African tribes, who use thongs or strips of leather, as well as in several of the islands of Polynesia, where vegetable materials are used. We have at [fig. 4], on page 1249, an example of the same principle carried out in Tropical America, feathers being employed instead of skin, grass, or bark. The length of this apron is one foot nine inches, and its depth one foot three inches. It is made of feathers, blue at the base and tip, and scarlet in the middle. As may be seen by the smaller figure at the side, the feathers are fastened on the string that binds the apron on the waist by doubling over the quill, and tying the doubled end over the string.

It is on such occasions as the Arawâk and Warau dances, of which a description was given in the last chapter, that the women produce their best apparel. Generally, as long as none but their own people are in sight, they are not particular about wearing clothes of any kind, but since they have mixed with the white people they have learned to be more fastidious. When a white stranger comes to a native settlement, the men and women are mostly independent of clothing, but the latter, as soon as they distinguish the color of their visitor, run off to their homes to put on their dresses.

Those settlements that are tolerably near civilization usually employ the “kimisa,” i. e. a sort of petticoat passing round the waist, and suspended by a string over one shoulder. These dresses are considered merely a concession to the peculiar notions of the white man, and, though worn while he is present, are taken off as soon as he departs, and carefully put away until the next white visitor comes.

The native dress of ceremony is, however, the little apron called the queyu, or keu. At the present time it is made of beads, but before beads were procurable it was simply of cotton, decorated with shells, beetles’ wings, and similar ornaments. Several of these odd little aprons are in my collection. The best and most elaborate of them is that which is represented at [fig. 5], on page 1249, and was presented to me by H. Bernau, Esq.

This beautiful specimen of native art is eight inches in length and four in depth, including the large beads that serve as a fringe. It is made entirely of “seed” beads, threaded on silk grass in such a manner that the thread is scarcely visible. The principle on which the maker has gone is, that she has woven a sort of framework of perpendicular threads or strings, set exactly wide enough apart to allow two beads to be placed between them. By this plan she has regulated the arrangement of the beads requisite to form the pattern, while the beads themselves are strung upon fine silk-grass threads that run at right angles to the others.

The colors are blue, yellow, green, and carmine, in transparent beads, and chalk-white and vermilion in opaque beads, not counting the larger beads used to form the fringe. The principle of the pattern is that of the square standing on an angle, or the “diamond,” as it is more familiarly termed. First, three diamonds have been worked in yellow beads, a line of green beads running down the centre of the yellow, and a rather broad line of carmine beads passing along the inner and outer edge of each diamond.

The dark pattern in the centre of each diamond is made of blue beads, and the square patterns in each angle of the diamond are made of chalk-white beads with a centre of vermilion. The entire apron is edged with the chalk-white beads. The fringe at the bottom is made of a treble row of much larger beads, one of which is represented of the full size, and at either end of each bead is a small scarlet cylinder, like coral.

On looking at the form of the apron, the reader will notice that it is much wider at the bottom than at the top. This is intentional. The thick perpendicular strings only extend as far as the upper corners, the others being thin threads. The consequence of this structure is, that when the apron is held up by two loops, the middle of it is nearly flat, while the two ends fall into heavy folds.

There is a positively startling boldness about the coloring of this apron; such, for example, as the placing green beads next to the yellow. Still, the whole arrangement of the colors is so admirable, that in spite of the brilliant hues of the beads, which are of the brightest possible blue, yellow, carmine, and vermilion, they are so well harmonized, that in no case does one hue seem to predominate over another, or to interfere with another.

Some few years ago, I was discussing the coloring of this very apron with Mr. T. Baines, the celebrated traveller, and asking if he had any theory by which he could account for the artistic harmony of color which is invariably displayed in the aprons. He said that he had long thought that the natives unconsciously imitated the coloring on the wings of the gorgeous butterflies which are so plentiful in that land, and, from specimens in his collection, showed that the very collocation of hues which produced harmony of coloring in the bead apron was also to be found in the wings of Guianan butterflies. Perhaps the splendid plumage of many Guianan birds may also afford hints for the native artist.

Another queyu in my collection is made of similar materials, and on the same principle, but is of a totally different pattern. In this case, the maker has evidently possessed a preponderance of the chalk-white beads, and comparatively few of the red, blue, and yellow beads. She has accordingly made the body of the apron of the white beads, and enlivened it by two patterns, of red, blue, and yellow, formed much like those which occupy the centre of the diamond in the apron which has been just described. In shape the two aprons are identical, but the latter is very much smaller in size, being only four inches in length and two in depth.

The third specimen of the queyu in my collection is much larger, being made of large beads, and really may take rank as an article of dress and not a mere ornament. It is thirteen inches in length by nine in depth, and, though not possessing the brilliant colors of the two queyus which have been described, is yet a handsome article of costume. The white beads of which the groundwork of this apron is made are as large as ordinary peas, so that the whole work is of a much coarser character than that which distinguishes the two other aprons. Those which form the pattern are deep garnet color, so dark that except in particular lights it looks black. The woman who made this apron has ingeniously selected the beads of such a size that two of the garnet beads occupy exactly the same space as one white bead, and exactly fill the interval between the perpendicular strings of the framework.

The most remarkable point in this apron is the pattern, which is exactly like that which is found on old patterns, and which has come into modern use under the name of the Greek fret. I have seen several queyus of different sizes and colors made with this pattern. The lower edge of the apron is made of six rows of topaz colored beads, as large as the white beads, and it is further decorated with a fringe made of tufts of cotton strings, one such tuft being fixed to every alternate bead.

As may be imagined from the description, the beads employed in making the apron are very heavy, the whole article weighing nearly a pound and a half, so that in this case the owner has good reason for not wearing it except on occasions of ceremony. Owing to the material of which these aprons are made, none of them put forth their full beauties unless they are held between the spectator and the light.

One of these aprons was procured by a friend of mine in a manner which shows that they are considered rather as ornaments than dress. He happened to be in one of the civilized coast towns, and met a woman wearing a queyu of remarkable beauty. He stopped her and tried to induce her to sell the apron; but all his exertions were in vain, and for no amount of money could he purchase it. At last a brilliant thought struck him. He had in his pocket one of the common printed handkerchiefs containing the flags of all nations, and, as a last resource, he offered the kerchief in exchange for the queyu.

The woman could not withstand such a temptation. The gorgeous patterns on the handkerchief were far superior to the best examples of native art, and might afford new ideas for the future. Accordingly, she then and there took off the queyu, handed it to the purchaser, and received in exchange the kerchief, which she tied round her head, and then pursued her walk in all the dignity of the best-dressed woman in Guiana.

The strangest article of dress to be found in Guiana is undoubtedly the Carib sapuru, or garter, an ornament which can compete with the compressed foot of a Chinese beauty, or the wasp-like waist of an European belle, both for inconvenience and ugliness. While the Carib girl is young a band of rattan is bound tightly under the knee and another above the ankle. To give them an ornamental appearance they are stained with a red dye, but in fact they are instruments of torture, which entirely alter the form of the human limb and convert it into a mere spindle thicker in the middle than at each end.

There are now before me a number of photographic portraits of Carib women, and it is scarcely possible to imagine anything more hideously ludicrous than the effect of the sapuru. Deprived of its natural powers of extension, the limb has to expand itself as it can, and the consequence is, that it is obliged to develop itself in the comparatively narrow space between the two bandages.

If the reader should wish to obtain an accurate idea of a Carib belle’s leg from the ankle to the knee, he can easily do so. Let him take an ordinary broomstick, eighteen inches in length, and push it through the middle of a rather small Stilton cheese; then let him wrap the stick above and below the cheese with a red bandage, adorn the cheese with a number of blue spots, and he will have a very good idea of the extraordinary shape which is assumed by the leg of a Carib female.

The women are inordinately fond of the sapuru, and are as scornful respecting those of their own sex who do not wear it as are the Chinese women respecting those who do not wear the “golden lilies.”

These women have a variety of ornaments, but little clothes. Necklaces of various kinds are highly esteemed among them, especially when they are made of the teeth of the jaguar and alligator, inasmuch as such ornaments indicate the prowess of their admirers. The appearance of a Carib woman in full dress is not very attractive. These people are short, thick necked, and awkward looking, and in those respects the women are much worse than the men. Of the ten portraits there is not one that can bear comparison with the female inhabitants of Southern Africa, such as have been figured in the first part of this work. Their short necks are cumbered with row upon row of necklaces, their only dress is a narrow strip of blue cloth, and they have done their best to make themselves entirely hideous by the abominable sapuru.

Then, by way of adding to their attractions, they perforate the under lip, and wear in it one or several pins, the heads being within the mouth and the points projecting outward. Some of the women smear their whole bodies and limbs with the annatto dye, which gives them the appearance as if blood were exuding from every pore; and the reader may well imagine the appearance of such women, with pins sticking through their lips, their bosoms covered with row upon row of necklaces, their reddened limbs variegated with blue spots, and their legs swollen and distorted by the effects of the sapuru.

The Carib men wear an article of dress which is almost exactly like that which is worn by the inhabitants of the Nicobar Islands. It is a narrow but very long scarf, woven from cotton fibre. After passing round the waist and between the legs, it is tucked into the girdle, and then is so long that it can be hung over the shoulder like a Highlander’s plaid. The men are very proud of a good girdle, and adorn it plentifully with cotton tassels, beetles’ wings, and similar ornaments.

Of all the Guianan tribes, the Waraus are least careful respecting dress. Even the women wear nothing but a triangular piece of bark, or a similarly shaped article of apparel formed from the spathe of the young palm leaf. This spathe is also used for a head dress by several tribes. In order to understand the structure of this article the reader must remember that the palm tree is an endogenous plant, and that all the leaves spring from a central shoot. From this same spot there also starts a conical shoot, which contains the flowers. In its earlier stages of development this shoot is covered with a membranous envelope, called a spathe, which bursts in order to allow the enclosed flower-stalk to develop itself. Before it has attained its full development, the spathe is drawn off the flower-stalk and soaked in water for a time, until all the green substance becomes decomposed, and can be washed away from the fibrous framework. The well-known skeleton leaves are prepared in exactly the same manner.

When decomposition is complete, the spathe is carefully washed in running water, so that the whole of the green matter is removed and nothing is left but the tougher fibres. These are tangled together in a very remarkable manner, so as to be very elastic, and to allow the fabric to be stretched in different directions without causing any interstices to appear between them.

In this state the spathe is conical, of a yellow-brown color, and extraordinarily light. A specimen in my possession, though measuring twenty-seven inches in length, weighs barely half an ounce.

When the native wishes to convert the spathe into a cap, he doubles the open end twice, and then makes a deep fold within eight or nine inches of the tip, thus causing it to assume the shape which is seen in the [illustration] on page 1249. Slight as is the texture of this odd cap, it forms an excellent defence against the rays of the sun, which is the only object of the headdress in such a climate.

The reader will see that the shape, as well as the lightness of the spathe, conduces to its usefulness as an apron as well as a headdress. Such at all events is the only dress for which the Waraus care; and whether on account of the perpetual exposure of their skins, or whether from other causes, the short, stout, sturdy Waraus are much darker than the other tribes—so dark, indeed, that they have been said to approach the blackness of the negro. Mr. Brett thinks their want of cleanliness is one cause of this deeper hue. They are the best native laborers that can be found, and, when they can be induced to shake off their national apathy and fairly begin work, they will do more than any other tribe. Neither do they want so much wages as are required by the other natives, preferring liberal rations of rum to actual wages.

Living as do the Guianan natives in the forests, amid all the wealth of animal life which is found in them, and depending chiefly for their subsistence on their success in hunting, they attain an intimate knowledge of the habits of the various animals, and display considerable skill in taking them. They capture birds, monkeys, and other creatures, not for the sake of killing them, but of domesticating them as pets, and almost every hut has a parrot or two, a monkey, or some such pet attached to it.

The women are especially fond of the little monkeys, and generally carry them on their heads, so that at a little distance they look as if they were wearing a red or a black headdress, according to the species and color of the monkey. They carry their fondness for their animals to such an extent that they treat them in every respect as if they were their children, even allowing them to suck at their breasts in turn with their own offspring.

Dreading the venomous snakes most thoroughly, they have no fear of the non-poisonous kinds, and capture them without difficulty. Mr. Brett saw one of them catch a young coulacanara snake by dropping a noose over its head by means of a forked stick, and then hauling it out and allowing it to coil round his arm. Although a very young specimen, only five feet or so in length, the reptile was so strong that the man was soon obliged to ask some one to release his arm.

Sometimes this snake grows to a great length, and, as it is extremely thick-bodied, is a very dangerous reptile to deal with. Mr. Waterton succeeded in taking a coulacanara fourteen feet long, after a fierce struggle, which is amusingly told in his “Wanderings.” I have seen the skin of this snake in the collection which then adorned Walton Hall.

The skill of these natives is well shown by their success in capturing a cayman with a hook. Mr. Waterton had tried to catch the reptile with a shark hook, but his efforts were unavailing, the reptile declining to swallow the bait, and at last contriving to get it off the hook, though it was tied on with string. After more than one failure, he showed the hook to a native, who shook his head at it, and said that it would not answer the purpose, but that he would make a hook that would hold the cayman.

Accordingly, on the following day he returned with a very remarkable hook. It consisted of four pieces of hard wood about a foot in length, curved, and sharpened at the ends, which were slightly barbed. These barbs, if we may so call them, were tied back to back round the lower end of a rope, a knot in the rope preventing it from dropping through the barbs, which were forced to diverge from each other by four pegs driven between them and the rope. The so-called hook, indeed, was very like a four-pronged Fijian spear, supposing the shaft to be cut off below the prongs, a hole bored through the centre of the cut shaft, and a rope passed through the hole and knotted below the prongs. It is evident that if such an instrument as this were taken into a cayman’s throat, the diverging prongs would prevent it from coming out again, and as long as they remained unbroken, so long would the cayman be held.

(1.) THE MAQUARRI DANCE.
(See [page 1253].)

(2.) SHIELD WRESTLING OF THE WARAUS.
(See [page 1261].)

This curious hook was then taken to the river side, and baited with an agouti. The end of the rope was made fast to a tree, and the barbed hook suspended about a foot from the water by means of a short stick driven into the bank. The native then took the empty shell of a tortoise, and struck it several blows with an axe, by way of telling the cayman that its meal was ready. The result of the operation justified the Indian’s promise. The cayman could not get at the bait without lifting itself well out of the water, and securing it by a sudden snap; while the resistance offered by the stick caused the projecting barbs to be driven into the reptile’s throat as it fell back into the water.

How the cayman was dragged out of the water, and how Mr. Waterton jumped upon its shoulders, and disabled it by seizing its fore-paws and twisting them on its back, is matter of history. The tale was generally disbelieved at the time, and gave rise to no small amount of banter; but it is a perfectly true one, and the objections to it have long died away. Indeed, one of Mr. Waterton’s men, who was then little more than a mere lad, was, as an old man, in the service of one of my friends, and corroborated every word of the story.

As might be inferred from the natural apathy and indolence of the natives, they have but few games. They only work by fits and starts, and spend a very large proportion of their time in their hammocks, caring little for those contests of skill and strength which are so absorbingly interesting to the inhabitants of cooler and more bracing climates. There is, however, one such game which is played by the Waraus, who have already been mentioned as the stoutest and strongest of the tribes. This game is well described by Mr. Brett:—

“There is also a kind of wrestling, or trial of strength, practised by the Waraus at their drinking-bouts, in which each of the antagonists is furnished with a sort of shield, (see [illustration] on page 1260), made of the light branches of the itá, cut into equal lengths, and firmly lashed across a frame three or four feet in height, somewhat less in width, and slightly bending outward.

“The front of each shield is painted in various colors, and with some peculiar device, according to the fancy of the owner. From its upper edge arise elastic stems, generally three in number, adorned with colored tassels, and surmounted with streamers made of the same material as the maquarri whips, and not much unlike them. It has altogether a picturesque appearance.

“Each champion grasps the edges of his shield firmly with both hands, and, after various feints and grimaces to throw his opponent off his guard, a clash is heard, as one springs forward, and his shield strikes that of his adversary. The contest is generally one of mere strength, the shield being pushed forward by the whole force of the body, and supported by one knee, while the other leg is extended behind. Sometimes one of the players is able to push the other off the ground, or, by a dexterous slip and thrust on the flank, to send him rolling on the ground. More frequently they remain pressing, panting, and struggling, till exhausted, when the contest ceases by mutual consent.

“It is then a point of Warau etiquette to shake the shields at each other in a jeering manner, with a tremulous motion of their elastic ornaments, and to utter a very peculiar and ridiculously defying sound, something like the whinnying of a young horse. This is generally followed by a hearty, good-humored laugh, in which the bystanders join. Another couple then step forward to engage.”

The itá palm, of which the Warau shields are made, will be briefly described when we come to that singular branch of the Warau tribe which lives in dwellings raised above the surface of the water. It has already been mentioned that the Waraus are celebrated for the excellence of their canoes. They are universally recognized as the chief canoe builders of the whole country, and to them the other tribes resort from considerable distances. Some of these canoes are large enough to hold fifty men, so that very considerable skill is needed in building them without the instruments and measures by which our own boat builders ensure the regularity of their craft.

There are several forms of these canoes. The most important is that which has just been mentioned. It is hollowed out of the trunk of a tree, and is forced into the proper shape partly by means of fire, and partly by wedges and cross planks. The largest of the canoes have the sides made higher by a narrow plank of soft wood, which is laced upon the gunwale, and the seam well caulked. The canoe is alike at both ends, the stem and stern being pointed, curved, and rising well out of the water. There is no keel, and it draws but a few inches of water. This formation would be very awkward in our own rivers; but in those of Guiana, such as the Essequibo, there are so many falls and rapids, that the canoe must be especially adapted for them. This kind of canoe is called a curial, or corial.

The perils of the rapids have been well told by Mr. Brett:—“Advantage is taken of the eddies which are found at the base of the huge rocks that interrupt the stream. The Indians pass from rock to rock by wading, leaping, or swimming, and by means of a hawser haul the boat through the rushing water from one resting point to another, the steersman meantime keeping his seat, and sometimes lashed to it, striving with his large paddle to guide in some degree her course. The waters dashing and foaming amidst the surrounding rocks render this operation as exciting as it is difficult. Still more exciting and dangerous is the task of descending these rapids. The safety of all then depends on the perfect steadiness of those in the canoe, and on the bowman and steersman acting in concert and with instant decision.

“The canoe is kept in the very centre of the current, one of her best hands kneeling, with quick eye and ready paddle, in the bow, and the rest of the men exerting their strength to give her headway. Darting swiftly along, she arrives at the edge of the fall, and, pointing downward, shoots into the surf below it, dashing it up on either side, and leaving her crew alone visible. If all be well, rising above the fall, she obeys the guiding paddles in stem and stern, and dances over the tumbling waves, while her excited crew with a triumphant cry exult at their success.”

Sometimes even the skill of the natives fails to overcome all the difficulties, and the canoe is upset, the crew barely escaping with their lives. It was in descending one of these falls that Mr. Waterton’s canoe was upset, and flung into the Essequibo the precious store of materials from which the wourali is made.

The simplest kind of boat, called by the colonists a “woodskin,” is nothing more than the flexible bark of the purple-heart trees stripped off in one piece, forced open in the middle, tied together at the ends, and so left until dry. In order to prevent these bark canoes from taking in water at the ends, a large lump of clay is pressed firmly into the end, so as to make a barrier against the water. This mode of caulking is necessarily but temporary, and the “back-dam,” as it is called by the colonists, is sure to be washed away sooner or later, according to the state of the river. The reader will remember that a similar appliance of clay is found among the Australian savages.

CHAPTER CXXXIV.
THE TRIBES OF GUIANA—Concluded.
RELIGION—BURIAL.

BELIEF IN ONE CHIEF DEITY AND MANY DEMI-GODS — THE SORCERER OR PIAI-MAN, AND HIS TRAINING — THE SACRED RATTLE — DUTIES AND PRIVILEGES OF THE PIAI-MAN — CURING DISEASE AND DRIVING OUT THE EVIL SPIRIT — MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS — THE WATER-MAMMA — THE ORIGIN OF THE CARIB RACE — A WILD LEGEND — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD — THE LAKE-DWELLING WARAUS — THE ITÁ PALM AND ITS USES — AN AËRIAL HOUSE — THE LAKE-DWELLERS OF MARACAIBO.

We will conclude this history of the Guianan tribes with a few remarks on their religion.

As far as is known of their religious ideas as they were before they became intermixed with those taught to them by the white man, the Guianan natives believe in one supreme Deity, and a vast number of inferior divinities, mostly of the evil kind. All pain is said to be caused by an evil spirit called Yauhahu, and is said to be the Yauhahu’s arrow.

As it is necessary that these evil beings should be propitiated when any calamity is feared, a body of sorcerers, called piai men, are set apart in order to communicate between their fellow men and the unseen world. In order to qualify themselves for the task, the piai men are obliged to go through sundry strange ceremonies, under the charge of some venerable professor of the art. The neophyte is taken to a solitary hut, and there compelled to fast for several days before his spirit is fit to leave his body and receive the commands of the Yauhahu.

For this purpose a quantity of tobacco is boiled, and the infusion drunk by the aspirant to priestly honors. The natural effect of this dose is to exhaust the already weakened body, and to throw the recipient into a state of fainting, during which his spirit is supposed to leave his body, and receive a commission from the Yauhahu. Indeed, he undergoes a civil death, he is proclaimed as dead, and his corpse is exposed to public view.

He recovers very slowly from the terrible state of prostration into which he has been thrown, and when at last he leaves his hut, he is worn almost to a skeleton. As a mark of office, he is solemnly presented with the marakka, or sacred rattle. This is nothing more than a hollow calabash, some eight inches in diameter, having a stick run through it, and a few white stones within it, so as to make a rattling sound when shaken. The calabash is painted red, and a few feathers are generally hung to the sticks. It is two feet in length, and adorned with scarlet and blue feathers. These rattles are held in the greatest veneration by the uninitiated, who will not venture to touch them, and are chary even of entering a house in which a marakka is hung. In consequence of the value set upon these instruments, the natives can scarcely be induced to part with them, and the few which have been sent to England have in nearly every case been procured from sorcerers who have been converted to Christianity, and, as a proof of their sincerity, have given up the emblems of their order.

The piai man is called in on almost every occasion of life, so that his magic rattle has but little rest. He is present at every piwarri feast, when he decorates himself with feather plumes, the skins of snakes, and similar ornaments, and shakes his rattle over the bowl before the contents are drunk.

Chiefly is he needed in times of sickness, when, by virtue of his rattle, he is supposed to be capable of driving away the evil spirit whose curse has caused the malady. When a piai man is called to a case of sickness, he sends all the women away, and even keeps the men at a respectful distance. His exercises then begin, and are continued for hours, chants to the evil spirit being accompanied with sundry rattlings, until in the depth of night the Yauhahu manifests himself to the sorcerer, and tells him how to extract the “arrow” which he has aimed at the sick man. Of course it is incumbent on the sorcerer to produce the arrow in question, which is done by sucking the affected part, and producing from the mouth a little pebble, a bird’s claw, a snake’s fang, or something of the kind.

If the reader will refer to [illustration No. 5], on page 1265, he will see a very complicated and rather elegantly formed rattle. The hollow gourd forms part of the rattle, but it is very small, and depends from a series of three hoops, which are strung with beetle wings. The noise which this simple instrument makes is really wonderful, and the slightest movement of the string by which it is held sets all the wings clattering against each other. This interesting object was brought from Guiana by H. Bernau, Esq.

Even accepting the marakka and the beetle wing rattle as musical instruments, we find that the Guiana natives have but little variety in music. The only instruments which are really worthy of the name are pipes or flutes made of different materials. One of these instruments is in my collection. It is made of the ever-useful bamboo, and includes one internode, i. e. the space between two knots.

The mouthpiece is narrow and oblong, and the maker has possessed sufficient knowledge of sound to cut out a large scooped piece from the middle of the instrument. The owner seems to have prized this flute exceedingly, as he has covered it with elaborate patterns. It is blown like our own flute, and the sound which it produces is loud, full, but, if musical, is melancholy also, and much resembles the wailing sound produced by blowing into the mouth of a soda-water bottle. The length of this flute is fourteen inches.

The natives also make a flute of the leg bone of the jaguar, which is very much prized, the spoils of the jaguar having a very high value among them. [One of these] is shown on the next page. The Caribs once used human bones for this purpose, but at the present time are content with jaguar bones, as equally indicative of courage and skill.

To return to the superstition of the Guianan natives. One of the beings which they most dread is the water mamma, or Orehu. This is an unfortunate being who inhabits the water, and occasionally shows herself, though in different forms, sometimes even assuming that of the horse, but often taking that of the manati. The Orehu is a female spirit, and is generally, though not always, malicious, and, when she is in a bad temper, is apt to rise close to the canoes, and drag them and their crews under water.

The legends told by the various tribes respecting their origin are very curious, as showing a great similarity with those of other parts of the world with whom there could have been no geographical connexion. For example, the legend of the earth submerged under water, through the disobedience of some of its inhabitants, and repeopled by a few who were placed in a safe spot until the waters subsided.

One of the strangest of their legends is told by Mr. Brett. It concerns the origin of the Warau and Carib tribes.

Originally the Waraus lived in a country above the sky, where they had all they could desire. One day a young hunter shot an arrow into the air, and when he came to search for it, found a deep hole through which it had fallen. Looking down through the aperture, he saw another world opened out beneath him, and was seized with curiosity to visit it. Accordingly, he made himself a sort of ladder of rattan, which grows abundantly in the upper world where he lived, and descended to the world below.

Here he remained for some time, revelling on the flesh of animals hitherto unknown to him. After a while, he climbed up the ladder with great trouble, and told his friends the wonders which he had seen. Struck with surprise at his narrative, and eager to partake of the luxuries which he described, the whole of his friends determined on paying a visit to these wondrous regions. Accordingly, they descended the ladder in safety, except the last of their number, a very fat man, who, in trying to squeeze himself through the aperture, became fixed in it, and could not escape, thus shutting off all communication between the two worlds.

Nothing was left for them but to make the best of a bad business, and first of all to beseech the Great Spirit to send them some water. He listened to their entreaties, created the Essequibo, the Demerara, and other rivers, and made for the special use of the Waraus a small lake of the purest water, of which they were to drink, but in which they were forbidden to bathe.

Now it happened that there was a Warau family of four brothers and two sisters, the latter beautiful, but wilful maidens. They rebelled against the prohibition, plunged into the lake, swam to a pole that was planted in its midst, and shook it. The presiding genius of the lake was a male spirit, who was kept prisoner as long as the pole was untouched, but as soon as it was shaken the spell was broken, and the spirit of the lake pounced on the offending maiden and carried her off. After a while he allowed her to rejoin her friends, but the indignation of her brothers was very great when they found that their sister was about to become a mother, and they determined to kill the child when it was born. However, it was exactly like any other Warau child, and so they allowed it to live.

(1.) MEXICAN STIRRUPS.
(See [page 1272].)

(2.) IRON AND STONE TOMAHAWKS.
(See [page 1285].)

ANOTHER KIND
OF
ORNAMENT

(3.) JAGUAR BONE FLUTE.
(See [page 1264].)

(4.) SHIELD AND CLUBS.
(See [page 1282].)

(5.) RATTLE.
(See [page 1264].)

Though living among her own friends, the girl could not forget her strange lover, and went off again to him. A second child was born, but this time the upper parts of the body were those of a child, and the lower parts were developed into a water snake. The mother, though terrified at the appearance of her offspring, carried it off into the woods and cherished it, but it was discovered by her brothers, who pierced it with their arrows, and left it for dead. Her attention, however, restored it to life, and it grew to a formidable size. The brothers held a consultation, and at last surrounded it, transfixed it with showers of arrows, and, to make sure of its death cut it to pieces.

“The unhappy Korobona carefully collected the remains into a heap, which she kept continually covered with fresh leaves, and guarded with tender assiduity. After long watching, her patience was rewarded. The vegetable covering began to heave and show signs of life. From it there slowly arose an Indian warrior of majestic and terrible appearance. His color was of a brilliant red, he held bow and arrows in his hand, and was otherwise equipped for instant battle.

“That warrior was the first Carib, the great father of a powerful race. He forthwith commenced the task of revenge for the wrongs suffered in his former existence. Neither his uncles, nor the whole Warau race whom they summoned, could stand before him. He drove them hither and thither like deer, took possession of such of their women as pleased him, and by them became the father of brave and terrible warriors like himself. From their presence the unhappy Waraus retired, till they reached the swampy shores of the Atlantic, forsaking those pleasant hunting grounds which they had occupied on their first descent from heaven.”

The Waraus are wonderfully inventive with regard to legends; and have one which is worthy of notice, if only for the fact that it attributes all the learning of the white men to a Warau origin. This is the legend of Aboré. “Once upon a time,” there was a very ill-conditioned female spirit, named Wowtá, who usually preferred the form of a frog, but who changed herself into a woman for the purpose of stealing a very beautiful little boy called Aboré. In the form of a woman she obtained access to the house of Aboré’s mother, whom she induced to leave the child under her care. No sooner was she alone with Aboré than she pulled and stretched him to such a degree that in a few hours he grew as much as he would have done in several years, so that his mother repudiated him on her return.

As he grew to manhood, Aboré became the slave of his captor, whom he thought to be his mother, until he was undeceived by a friendly spirit who met him in the forest. After trying several plans for escape, and failing in them all, he hit upon the design of making a canoe of wax. He was aided in this task by the fondness of Wowtá for honey, in search of which the unfortunate Aboré passed nearly the whole of his time. Wowtá received the combs with croaks of delight, and as she threw them away after eating the honey, Aboré laid the wax aside, until he had enough for a canoe.

As soon as he had collected a sufficiency of wax, Aboré called his mistress to look at a hollow tree filled with bee-comb. She crept into the tree to regale herself on the honey, and was imprisoned by the crafty Aboré, who fastened up the aperture so that the sorceress could not escape, loaded his canoe with provisions, and set off for a land of refuge. He sailed far away until he came to a strange country where the people were white, naked, uneducated, and utterly barbarous. He taught them the elements of civilization, showed them how to forge iron, and initiated them into the arts and sciences, for which the white man was now so distinguished.

In that far land he still lives, and, remembering the wants of his fellow countrymen, he continually sends them shiploads of the things which they most need. But in consequence of the bad faith of those to whom they are delivered, the poor Waraus are obliged to pay for everything that he sends. The moral which is derived from this legend is, that all the white men who visit the Waraus ought to make up for the dishonesty of their countrymen, and give them as many beads, knives, and guns as they can procure.

When Mr. Brett first heard this tale, he thought that it was simply an ingenious invention framed for the purpose of unlimited begging, especially as the narrator asked for a shirt as soon as he had finished the story, and then proceeded to request a whole series of other articles. He found, however, by questioning different natives, that the legend was really a national one, and not a mere invention of an ingenious native.

There is evidently a distinction to be drawn between the two portions of the legend. The first part, containing the adventures of Aboré, is evidently ancient, while the second part is as evidently modern, and has been introduced since the coming of white men into Guiana.

In the disposal of the dead there is some little variation. The mode which was most prevalent before the missionaries introduced Christian burial among them was as follows: The body was placed in a net and sunk in the river, where the whole of the flesh was quickly eaten from the bones by the pirai and other voracious fish. If the dead man were a person of distinction, the skeleton was then removed from the water, dried, painted red, and suspended under the roof of the house.

In the fifth book of Herodotus, chap, xv., occurs the following passage, which was long thought to be a mere invention on the part of the historian. After enumeration of the various nations that Megabazes subdued, he mentions that the Persian monarch also endeavored to conquer “those who live upon the Lake Prasias in dwellings contrived after this manner.

“Planks fitted on lofty piles are placed in the middle of the lake, with a narrow entrance from the mainland by a single bridge. These piles that support the planks all the citizens anciently placed there at the common charge; but afterward they established a law to the following effect: ‘Whenever a man marries, for each wife he sinks three piles, bringing wood from a mountain called Orbelus,’ but every man has several wives.

“They live in the following manner. Every man has a hut on the planks, in which he dwells, with a trap-door closely fitted in the planks, and leading down to the lake. They tie the young children with a cord round the feet, fearing lest they should fall into the lake beneath. To their horses and beasts of burden they give fish for fodder, of which there is such abundance, that when a man has opened his trap-door, he lets down an empty basket by a cord into the lake, and, after waiting a short time, draws it up full of fish.”

In these words the old historian describes with curious exactitude the mode of life adopted by some branches of the Waraus and Caribs. These have been described at some length by Humboldt, in his “Personal Narrative.” The large tract of land which forms the delta of the Orinoco possesses some very remarkable characteristics. It is always wet, but during several months in the year it is completely inundated, the river rising to an astonishing height, and covering with water a tract nearly half as large as England. This seems to be as unpropitious a spot as could be adopted for human habitations, and yet the Waraus (or Guarános, as Humboldt spells the word) have established themselves there, and prefer it to any other locality, probably because their strange mode of life enables them to pass an existence of freedom.

Varying much in the height to which it rises, in some places exceeding fifty feet, the Orinoco has the quality of rising year after year to the same height in the same place, so that when a mark is made to designate the height to which the water rose in one year, the same mark will answer year after year with scarcely the slightest deviation. It is evident that in such a spot, where the soil is in the dry season nothing but mud, and in the wet season is forty or fifty feet under water, only a very peculiar vegetation can live. This is the Itá (pronounced Eetáh) palm, belonging to the genus Mauritia, a plant which, like the mangrove of Africa, requires plenty of heat and moisture to enable it to develop itself fully. The native name for this tree is Murichi.

A brief description of the itá palm must be given before we proceed further, or the reader will not understand the peculiar conditions under which these water dwellers live. When full grown, it resembles a tall, cylindrical pillar, with a fan of ten or twelve vast leaves spreading from its extreme top. Each leaf is some ten feet in width, and is supported upon a huge stem about twelve feet in length, looking more like a branch than a leaf-stem. Indeed, a complete leaf is a heavy load for a man. At regular intervals the whole fan of leaves falls off, and is replaced by another, the tree adding to its height at every change of leaf, until the stem is nearly a hundred feet high, and fifteen in circumference.

Myriads upon myriads of these marvellous trees rise amid the waters of the Orinoco delta, sometimes clustered into solid masses of vegetation, sometimes scattered, and sometimes drawn up in devious avenues, according to the windings of the muddy channels that even in the dry seasons traverse the country. Whether grouped or scattered, the itá flourishes in this delta to such an extent that only the experienced canoe men of the place can navigate their barks among the tall stems, the narrow and winding channels which form the natural paths being completely obliterated by the waste of water. Any stranger who tried to thread this aquatic forest without the aid of a native guide would soon lose himself among the armies of itá palm, and perish miserably of hunger. Yet this very tree supplies to the Waraus of the Orinoco not only all the necessaries, but the luxuries of life, and were the whole tribe to be cut off from the mainland, they could support themselves without the least difficulty, the itá palm supplying house, food, drink, clothing, and furniture.

First, as to the house. The Warau requires for a house nothing but a floor and a roof. In the [example] seen on page 1244, the floor is supplied by the earth, but it is evident that in a house built in a locality where the ground is for many months together thirty or forty feet beneath the surface of the water, an artificial flooring is needed. The Warau architect, therefore, proceeds to construct his house in the following manner.

Selecting four itá trees that grow near each other in the form of a square, and, cutting away any of the intervening trees, he makes use of these four as the corner posts of his house. He knows by marks left on the trunks the precise height to which the water will rise, and some three feet or so above this mark he builds his floor, cutting deep notches in the trunk. In these notches are laid beams made from the stems of the felled itá palms, and lashed tightly in their places by ropes made of itá fibre.

On these beams are laid a number of cross-pieces, sometimes made from the split trunks, but usually being nothing more than the gigantic leaf-stems which have been already mentioned, and which are when dry very light, very tough, and very elastic. These cross-pieces are tied firmly together, and constitute the essential part of the floor. On them is placed a layer of palm leaves, and upon the leaves is a thick coating of mud, which soon dries under the tropical sun, and forms a smooth, hard, and firm flooring, which will bear a fire without risk of damage to the wooden structure below. Ten or twelve feet above the floor the Warau constructs a roof of palm leaves, the corners of which are supported by the same trees which uphold the house, and then the chief labors of the native architect are over. An [illustration] on page 1244 shows the scenery of the Orinoco delta and the architecture of these lake dwellers. So much for the house furnished by the itá palm.

Food is supplied by it in various forms. First, there is the fruit, which, when ripe, is as large as an ordinary apple, many hundreds of which are developed on the single branch produced by this tree. Next, there is the trunk of the tree and its contents. If it be split longitudinally at the time when the flower branch is just about to burst from the enveloping spathe, a large quantity of soft, pith-like substance is found within it. This is treated like the cassava, and furnishes a sort of bread called yuruma.

Drink is also obtained from the itá palm. From the trunk is drawn a sap, which, like that of the maguey or great American aloe, can be fermented, and then it becomes intoxicating in quality. Another kind of drink is procured from the fruit of the itá, which is bruised, thrown into water, and allowed to ferment for a while. When fermentation has proceeded to a sufficient extent, the liquor is strained through a sieve made of itá fibre, and is thus ready for consumption.

The small amount of clothing required by the Warau is also obtained from the itá, the membrane of the young leaf being stripped off and woven into a simple fabric.

From the same tree the Warau obtains all his furniture. Bows, arrows, and spears are made from its leaf-stems, the canoe in which he goes fishing is made from a hollow itá trunk, and the lines and nets are both furnished from the same tree, as is also the string of which his hammock is made. That the one single tree should be able to supply all the wants of an entire population is the more extraordinary, because in former days the Warau had no iron tools, and it is not easy to find a tree that will at the same time furnish all the necessaries of his life, and be of such a character that it can be worked by the rude stone implements which the Warau had to use before he obtained iron from the white men.

It may readily be imagined that the Waraus who inhabit this strange region are lower in the scale of civilization than those who live on dry land, and, to use the words of Humboldt, “in the lowest grades of man’s development we find the existence of an entire race dependent upon almost a single tree, like certain insects which are confined to particular portions of a flower.”

The Waraus are not the only lake dwellers of Southern America. At the extreme north of this half of the continent there is a province which derives its name from the mode of life adopted by the savage tribe which dwells upon the waters of a lake. On the north-western coast of Venezuela there is a large gulf, called the Gulf of Maracaibo, the name having been given to it by the Spanish discoverers in honor of a native chief whom they met on its shores. Close to the gulf, and only separated from it by a narrow, is a vast fresh-water lake, fed by the streams that pour from the mountains which surround it. The shape of this lake has been well compared to that of a jews-harp, with a rather elongated neck, and the depth of its water varies in a most remarkable manner.

From the sides the bottom of the lake shelves almost imperceptibly for a great distance, so that at a distance of two or three miles from the shore, a man would be able to walk with his head above the surface. Suddenly, and without the least warning, the bed of the lake dips into almost unfathomable depths, so that, though a man might be barely submerged above his waist, a single step will plunge him into water so deep that the tallest spire ever built would be plunged far below the surface.

Over the surface of this lake dwell numerous human beings, and, even at the present day, when the number of the inhabitants has been much decreased, upon its waters are no less than four large villages, beside numerous detached dwellings formed in the various bays which indent its shores.

The reason for thus abandoning the dry land and taking to the water is a very curious one, and may be summed up in a single word—mosquitoes. These tiny but most annoying insects are found in clouds around the edge of the lake, some species flying by night and others by day, so that at no hour is there the least respite from their attacks. Fortunately, they need the protection of the luxuriant vegetation that fringes the shore of the lake, and not being very enduring of wing, are obliged to rest at intervals in their flight. They therefore keep to the shore, and do not venture to any great distance over the water. Knowing this characteristic of the insect, the natives manage to evade them by making their dwellings behind the range of the mosquito’s flight.

In building these curious habitations, the lake dweller of Maracaibo is forced to employ a greater skill in architecture than is needed by the Waraus of the Orinoco delta. In that muddy delta, formed by the alluvium washed down by the river, the itá palm abounds, and forms natural pillars for the house; but the Lake Maracaibo furnishes no such assistance, and the native architect is therefore obliged to drive piles into the bed of the lake in order to raise his floor above the level of the water.

It is evidently needful that these piles should be made of wood which will not perish by the action of the water, and upon the shores of the lake grows a tree which supplies precisely the kind of timber that is required. It is one of the numerous iron-wood trees, and its scientific name is Guiacum arboreum. It is a splendid tree, rising to the height of a hundred feet or so, and having wood so hard that it will turn the edge of an axe. The natives, however, manage to fell these trees, to cut them into proper lengths, and to drive them firmly into the bed of the lake, where they become even stronger by submersion, being covered in course of years with an incrustation of lime, which makes them look as if they had been actually converted into stone.

On these piles are laid cross-beams and planks of lighter wood, and when a strong roof and light walls have been added, the house is complete. All the parts of the house are lashed together with green sipo, which contracts when dry, and binds the various portions as with bands of iron.

As has been already mentioned, numbers of these houses are gathered together into villages. When the Spaniards first entered the Gulf of Maracaibo, and came within view of the lake, they were struck with amazement, at these habitations, and called the place Venezuela—i. e. Little Venice—a name which has since been extended to the whole of the large province which is now known by that title.

It is on this lake that the gourd system of duck catching is carried to the greatest perfection. Great quantities of ducks frequent its waters, but they are shy of man, and will not allow him to come near them. The natives, however, manage to catch them by hand, without even employing a snare. They take a number of large gourds, scrape out the inside, and set them floating on the lake. At first the timid birds are afraid of the gourds and avoid them, but after a while they become accustomed to them, and allow them to float freely among their ranks.

The Indian then takes a similar gourd and puts it over his head, having previously cut a couple of holes through which he can see. He slips quietly into the water, and makes his way toward the duck, taking care to keep the whole of his body submerged. As soon as he gets among them, he grasps the nearest duck by the legs, jerks it under water, and ties it to his girdle, where it is soon drowned. He then makes his way to another duck, and, if an experienced hand, will capture as many as he can carry, and yet not alarm the survivors.

CHAPTER CXXXV.
MEXICO.
HISTORY—RELIGION—ART.

MEXICO AS IT IS, AND WAS BEFORE THE SPANISH CONQUEST — WHY THE EMPIRE FAILED — CONTRADICTORY ACCOUNTS OF THE ANCIENT MEXICANS — THE RUINS OF THEIR BUILDINGS — HUMAN SACRIFICES — THE SACRIFICIAL KNIFE — MEXICAN ART — MOSAIC WORK AND FEATHER PICTURES — CAPABILITIES OF THE COUNTRY.

Before passing to the North American tribes, a brief notice must be taken of Mexico.

At the present day this land is possessed of a sort of civilization which presents no features of interest. It is inhabited chiefly by a mixed people, the descendants of the Spanish conquerors having contracted alliances with the natives, and so produced a hybrid race, which is continually retrograding from the white parentage, and assuming more of the aboriginal type.

The failure in establishing a Mexican empire was entirely due to the question of race. Those inhabitants who were either pure whites, or in whom the white blood predominated, were naturally desirous to have a ruler of their own kind, thinking that an empire was the only mode of civilizing the land, and of putting an end to the constant civil wars and repeated changes of dynasty which kept back their most prolific and fertile land from developing its full capabilities. But in the great bulk of the people the Indian blood predominated, and in consequence an empire founded on the principles of European civilization was as irreconcilable to them as would be the rule of an Indian cacique in Europe. Such an empire could only be held by force of arms, and as soon as the bayonet was withdrawn the empire fell. We must, however, confine ourselves to Mexico as it was before the Spaniard crushed out her civilization and destroyed her history.

The accounts of ancient Mexico are most perplexing. If the narratives of the Spanish conquerors could be implicitly trusted, nothing would be simpler than to condense them into a consecutive history. But it is quite certain that these accounts were very much exaggerated, and that the reality fell very far short of the romantic tales of the Spanish conquerors.

The following is an abstract of the narratives put forth by the Spaniards. The capital was situated on an island in the midst of a large lake. It contained twenty thousand houses, which were of great magnificence. In the midst was the emperor’s palace, built of marble and jasper, and of prodigious extent. It was adorned with fountains, baths, and statues, and the walls were covered with pictures made of feathers. Not only the palace, but the houses of the caciques, possessed menageries filled with all the animals of the country, together with museums of various natural curiosities.

One of the greatest beauties of Mexico was a large square, daily filled with merchants, who came to buy and sell the various works of art in gold, silver, and feathers for which the Mexicans were famous. Between the city and the borders of the lake a hundred thousand canoes were continually passing; besides which mode of transit three vast causeways were built on the lake. The capital was not the only city of the waters, for more than fifty large cities and a multitude of villages were built on the same lake.

The dress of the nobles was most gorgeous, and their persons were adorned with gold and jewels in profusion. Their treasuries were filled with the precious metals, and gold was as plentiful in Mexico as copper in Europe.

That these statements were much exaggerated is not to be doubted, but they were not pure inventions, and had all some foundation in fact. For example, the architecture of the ancient Mexicans was of a Cyclopean vastness, as is proved by the ruins which are now almost the sole memorials of a vanished system of civilization. There is a strong resemblance between the architecture of Mexico and that of Egypt, not only in its massiveness, but in the frequent use of the pyramid.

One of these pyramids has the sides exactly twice as long as those of the large pyramid of Egypt. This is the great pyramid tower of Cholula, which had eight stories, each forming a platform on which rested the one above it, so that it closely resembled the Temple of Belus as described by Herodotus. The interior of these pyramidal structures was pierced with chambers, galleries, and flights of stairs, probably the habitations of the priests who served the temples and performed those terrible human sacrifices which formed an important part of their religious system. Viaducts which crossed deep valleys, bridges, and roads, remains of which are still in existence, testify to the vanished civilization of the Mexicans, or, as some ethnologists think, of a race that preceded them.

Specimens of the artistic skill of the ancient Mexicans may be seen in the magnificent Christy Collection. There is, for example, one of the sacrificial knives with which the priests laid open the breast of the human victim in order to tear out the heart and offer it to the blood-loving deity of the temple. The blade of this instrument is obsidian, and its handle is a marvellous piece of mosaic work, made of lapis lazuli, ruby, and other precious stones. Then there are masks made of similar materials, one being a most ghastly imitation of a human skull.

The skill in feather working still survives, and even at the present day pictures are made so exquisitely from humming-birds’ feathers that they seem, at a little distance, to be admirable specimens of enamel.

The courage of the ancient Mexicans was very great. They opposed their naked breasts to the mail-clad invaders, and their comparatively feeble weapons to the dreaded fire-arms. Even the horse, which at first struck terror into them as a supernatural being, soon ceased to be an object of dread, and there is a story that they captured a horse in battle, stabled it in a temple, and treated it as a god, feeding it with daintily dressed chickens and similar dishes, until the poor beast was starved in the midst of plenty.

The conduct of the Aztecs in destroying their once venerated Emperor Montezuma, because he yielded to the Spaniards, and the calm endurance of his warlike successor Guatemozin, when stretched on the fiery rack, are sufficient instances of the courage possessed by the Mexicans when Cortez came into the country.

The real prosperity of Mexico is to come. There is every capability in the country, which is fertile in many valuable productions,—cattle and horses, for example, both of which, importations from Europe, have multiplied in an astonishing manner, and may at some time supply half Europe with cheap food, hides, and beasts of burden.

Insect life is almost as valuable as that of the higher and larger animals. The cochineal insect reproduces itself in vast numbers, and, large as is the trade in this valuable insect, it could be extended almost indefinitely. There is no trouble in breeding the insect, no risk, and scarcely any capital required. It feeds upon the prickly pear, a plant which springs up luxuriantly if but a leaf be stuck in the ground.

It is indeed so luxuriant, that riders are forced to employ a peculiar kind of stirrup, in order to prevent their feet from being riddled with the needle-like thorns with which the plant, the leaf, and fruit are covered. One of these curious stirrups is shown in [illustration No. 1], page 1265, drawn from my own specimens, which was brought from Mexico by Sir F. Wetherell.

It is cut from a solid block of wood, and is therefore exceedingly heavy. A hole is cut in the back of the stirrup, into which the foot can be thrust nearly half way. Owing to the size and weight of this curious implement, the prickly pears are pushed aside as the rider passes among them, and thus the foot and ankle are protected from the slender but formidable thorns with which they are armed. The stirrup is sometimes put to another use, and employed as a rough and ready drinking cup. The front of the implement is covered with bold and graceful patterns, the effect of which is often heightened by means of color. In my own specimen they are colored with blue, scarlet, and black.

As to the vegetable products of Mexico, they are too numerous to mention, but the principal are the indigo, the chocolate, and the vanilla.

Then it is as prolific in mineral as in animal wealth, and in the hands of an energetic and industrious people, the yield of copper, iron, gold, silver, and other metals might be almost indefinitely extended. In all these productions comparatively little labor is required. Nature gives almost gratuitously those privileges which in other lands cannot be obtained without the expenditure of time, labor, and money.

The past civilization of Mexico has vanished never to return. Its present is a comparative failure. The future is yet to be seen, but it may even eclipse the vanished glories of the past if guided by those who understand the epoch, the country, and the race.

CHAPTER CXXXVI.
THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.
GOVERNMENT—CUSTOMS.

GENERAL NOTICE OF THE TRIBES — THEIR COLOR AND FEATURES — CATLIN’S DESCRIPTION OF A CROW CHIEF — LONG HAIR OF THE MEN — SILVER HAIR OF THE MANDAN TRIBE — GOVERNMENT OF THE TRIBES — THE HEREDITARY AND ELECTED CHIEFS — THEIR LIMITED POWERS — THEIR DISTINCTIVE DRESS — COSTUME THE RECORD OF DEEDS — THE SCALP-LOCKS, PAINTED ROBES, AND CLAW COLLAR — PRESERVATION OF SKINS — THE FEATHER PLUMES — THE HORNS, AND THEIR SIGNIFICATION — INDIAN DANDIES — ESTIMATION IN WHICH THEY ARE HELD — THE PORTRAIT PAINTER BAFFLED — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — BISON SKIN ROBES — WAMPUM, AND ITS SIGNIFICATION.

It has already been mentioned that, with the exception of the shore districts, America is inhabited from the extreme south to extreme north by the same race.

The various tribes into which that race is divided are naturally varied according to the locality and climate of the spot which they inhabit. Those, for example, who live in the perpetual snow and ice of either the extreme north or south are naturally different in manners and customs from those who inhabit the tropical centre of America. Then, even in similar climate, there is very definite modification according to locality. The inhabitants of the mountains, for example, differ materially from the dwellers of the plain, while those tribes who live in the forests differ from both.

Yet they are all members of one and the same great race, and whether in the Esquimaux of the north, the Amazonian of the tropics, or the Patagonian of the extreme south, all display the same race characteristics.

The color of the skin is deep copper red, the cheek-bones are prominent, the nose mostly aquiline, the forehead rather receding, and the eyes apparently small, this latter characteristic being due to the continual exposure to the sun, and to the smoky atmosphere of the huts. The beard is very deficient, and even those few hairs that make their appearance are carefully eradicated with tweezers. Sometimes an old man who is careless about his personal appearance allows his beard to grow, but in that case it is very scanty, thin, and never reaches any great length.

The hair of the head contrasts strongly with that of the face, being very long and fine, in some of the tribes attaining an almost incredible length. The Crow tribe are remarkable for the extraordinary development of their hair, which in some of the warriors actually trails on the ground as they walk. They pride themselves so much on this peculiarity, that in 1833 their chief received both his name of Longhair and his office from his wonderful tresses. The hair of this man was carefully measured by some white travellers, who had lived in his lodge for months together, and was found to be ten feet seven inches in length.

He did not allow it to hang at its full length except on occasions of ceremony, but kept it carefully wound with a broad leather strap, and made up into a bundle weighing several pounds. Usually this bundle was carried under his arm or in the bosom of his robe, but on great occasions the hair was let down to its full length, and carefully smoothed with bear’s grease, and allowed to trail on the ground several feet behind the owner as he proudly stalked along.

Several other tribes, such as the Blackfeet (so called from the dark moccasins which they wear), have very long hair, of which they are exceedingly proud, and those individuals whose locks do not reach the standard of beauty are in the habit of splicing false hair to their own tresses.

The Mandans, of whom we shall hear much in the course of this narrative, the Sioux, and the Minatarees, are all distinguished by this peculiarity, though none of them possess it so abundantly as the Crows. When Mr. Catlin was staying among the Minatarees, a party of Crows came to visit them, and excited the admiration of their hosts by their magnificent hair. One of them possessed so picturesque an appearance that the artist traveller transferred him at once to canvas, and the engraver has reproduced the [sketch] for the reader on the 1284th page. The following is Mr. Catlin’s account of this splendid specimen of the North American Indian:—

“I think I have said that no part of the human race could present a more picturesque and thrilling appearance on horseback than a party of Crows rigged out in all their plumes and trappings—galloping about and yelling in what they call a war parade, i. e. in a sort of tournament or sham fight, passing rapidly through the evolutions of battle, and vaunting forth the wonderful character of their military exploits. This is an amusement of which they are excessively fond; and great preparations are invariably made for these occasional shows.

“No tribe of Indians on the continent are better able to produce a pleasing and thrilling effect in these scenes, not any more vain, and consequently better prepared to draw pleasure and satisfaction from them, than the Crows. They may be justly said to be the most beautifully clad of all the Indians in these regions, and, bringing from the base of the Rocky Mountains a fine and spirited breed of the wild horses, have been able to create a great sensation among the Minatarees, who have been paying them all attention and all honors for some days past.

“From amongst these showy fellows who have been entertaining us, and pleasing themselves with their extraordinary feats of horsemanship, I have selected one of the most conspicuous, and transferred him and his horse, with arms and trappings, as faithfully as I could to the canvas, for the information of the world, who will learn vastly more from lines and colors than they could from oral or written delineations.

“I have painted him as he sat for me, balanced on his leaping wild horse, with his shield and quiver slung on his back, and his long lance, decorated with the eagle’s quills, trained in his right hand. His shirt and his leggings, and moccasins were of the mountain-goat skins, beautifully dressed; and their seams everywhere fringed with a profusion of scalp-locks taken from the heads of his enemies slain in battle. His long hair, which reached almost to the ground while he was standing on his feet, was now lifted in the air, and floating in black waves over the hips of his leaping charger. On his head, and over his shining black locks, he wore a magnificent crest, or headdress, made of the quills of the war eagle and ermine skins, and on his horse’s head was another of equal beauty, and precisely the same in pattern and material.

“Added to these ornaments there were yet many others which contributed to his picturesque appearance, and amongst them a beautiful netting of various colors, that completely covered and almost obscured the horse’s head and neck, and extended over its back and its hips, terminating in a most extravagant and magnificent crupper, embossed and fringed with rows of beautiful shells and porcupine quills of various colors.

“With all these picturesque ornaments and trappings upon and about him, with a noble figure, and the bold stamp of a wild gentleman on his face, added to the rage and spirit of his wild horse, in time with whose leaps he issued his startling though smothered yelps, as he gracefully leaned to and fro, leaving his plume and his plumage, his long locks and his fringes, to float in the wind, he galloped about; and felt exceeding pleasure in displaying the extraordinary skill which a lifetime of practice and experiment had furnished him in the beautiful art of riding and managing his horse, as well as in displaying to advantage his weapons and ornaments of dress, by giving them the grace of motion, as they were brandished in the air and floating in the wind.”

Although the hair is generally black, it sometimes takes various colors, the Mandan tribe being the most remarkable for this peculiarity. Some of them, even though quite young, have the hair of a bright silver gray, or even white. The men dislike this kind of hair in their own sex, and when it occurs try to disguise it by a plentiful use of red or black earth mixed with glue. The women, on the contrary, are very proud of such hair, and take every opportunity of displaying its beauties. Generally a woman wears the hair in two plaits, which are allowed to fall down the back over on each side of the head; but when they wish to appear to the best advantage, they rapidly unplait it, pass their fingers through it in the manner of a comb, and spread it as widely as possible over the shoulders. They always part it in the middle and fill the line of parting with red paint.

The silver gray hair is remarkable for its coarseness, in which respect it seems like a horse’s mane, while the dark colored hair is quite soft. Among the Mandans almost every shade of hair is found between white, brown, and black, but there is never the least tinge of red in it.

The Mandan men have a curious habit of dividing their long hair into flat tresses, two inches or so in width, and filling each tress at intervals of an inch with vermilion and glue, so as to keep them separate. These patches of glue and earth become very hard, and are never removed. The hair thus treated is drawn tightly over the top of the head, and allowed to fall down the back in parallel tresses, which mostly reach to the knee, and in some cases to the ground.

The government of these tribes is of a similar character throughout. Each tribe has at its head a chief, whose office is usually, but not always, hereditary. Provided the eldest son of a chief be tolerably well qualified for the post, he is suffered to assume the leadership when his father dies, or becomes too old for work. Should the tribe be dissatisfied with him, they elect a leader from among the sub-chiefs. There is often a double system of government, two chiefs of equal power being appointed, one of whom manages all matters of war, and the other effects the administration of domestic policy.

It often happens that, although the head chief of the tribe is nominally the ruler, and holds the first place, the real power lies in the second or third chief, who pays to his superior every deference which is due to his position, but is practically the leader and commander of the tribe. This was the case among the Mandans when Mr. Catlin visited them. The head chief, though a man of abilities and courage, and therefore respected and feared by the people, was by no means loved by them, on account of his haughty and overbearing demeanor. The real leader of the tribe was the second chief, named Mah-to-toh-pa, i. e. the Four Bears, a name which he got from an exclamation of the enemy, who said that he came at them “like four bears.” Some of the adventures of this extraordinary man will be mentioned in the course of the following pages.

Great as is the power of the chief, it is much more limited than that which is enjoyed by the chiefs of the African tribes. The American chief has no control over life, or limb, or liberty. He takes the lead in council, and if an offender be cited before the councillors, his voice carries great weight with it, but nothing more. Should he be the war chief, he cannot compel a single man to follow him to battle, nor can he punish one of his followers for deserting him. Any of the warriors, even the very youngest, may follow or desert his chief as he pleases, the principal check against desertion being the contempt with which a warrior is sure to be regarded if he leaves a chief who is worthy of his office.

The chiefs have, as a rule, no advantage over the other members of the tribe in point of wealth. A chief would soon lose the popularity on which his influence depends if he were to amass wealth for himself. By virtue of his office, he has a larger house or tent than the rest of the tribe, and he generally possesses a few more wives. But he is often actually poorer than most of the warriors, thinking himself bound in honor to distribute among the tribe the spoils that he takes in war. Many chiefs even dress worse than the warriors under their command, so as not to excite envy, and only assume their splendid dress of office on great occasions.

The question of dress is really an important one. Varying as it does among the different tribes, there is a general character which runs through the whole.

Every man without distinction wears a scanty dress much like the “cheripa” which has already been described, but is very much smaller. In battle or hunting, and in all cases in which exertion is required, he contents himself with this single garment; but when he is enjoying himself at home, he assumes his full costume. He wears a pair of leggings reaching to the hips, and falling as low as the ankles, sometimes spreading well over them. These leggings are mostly adorned with little bells, bits of fur, or similar decorations; and if the wearer be a successful warrior, he fringes them along the sides with tufts of hair taken from the head of a slain enemy.

He has also a loose coat descending to the knees, and ornamented in a similar manner with feathers or scalp-locks, and, when the owner has performed any conspicuous feat of valor, he makes a rude painting of the event. This answers the same purpose as the Victoria Cross among ourselves. Although it is conferred by the man himself, it is equally valuable. No man would dare to depict on his robe any deed of valor which he had not performed, as he would be challenged by the other warriors to prove his right to the decoration, and, if he failed to do so, would be utterly scorned by them. The chief Mah-to-toh-pa represented on his robe a series of events in which he had killed no less than fourteen of the enemy with his own hand. Sometimes, when the tribe uses skin huts or wigwams, the warriors also paint their adventures upon the walls of their dwellings.

From a similar spirit the scars and wounds received in war are kept covered with scarlet paint, and when a man has succeeded in killing a grizzly bear he is entitled to wear its skin, claws, and teeth. The usual mode of so doing is to string the claws into necklaces and bracelets, and to make the skin into robes. Sometimes they dress the skin without removing the claws, and wear it in such a fashion that the claws are conspicuously seen. Owing to the extreme ferocity, strength, and cunning of the bear, to kill one of these animals is considered equivalent to killing a warrior, and the claw necklace is as honorable an ornament as the much prized scalp. Some of the most valiant hunters have killed several of these animals, and it is a point of honor with them to appear on great occasions with all their spoils, so that they have to exercise considerable ingenuity, and display some forty huge claws about their persons in a sufficiently conspicuous manner.

All the dress of a North American Indian is made of skin, mostly that of the deer, and in dressing it the natives are unrivalled, contriving to make a leather which is as soft as silk, is nearly white, and which may be wetted and dried any number of times without becoming harsh.

The skin is first washed in strong lye, made of wood-ashes and water, so as to loosen the hair, which is then scraped off. The hide is next stretched tightly upon the ground upon a frame, or by means of a number of wooden pegs driven firmly into the ground. In this position it remains for several days, the brains of the animal being spread thickly upon it, and rubbed into it. The next process is to scrape it carefully with a blunt knife made of the shoulder-blade of the bison, the native tanner pressing heavily upon it, and scraping every portion of the hide.

The process by which it is made capable of resisting the effects of water has yet to be undergone. A hole is made in the ground, and a quantity of rotten wood is piled in it, so that when lighted it will continue to smoulder for a long time, and produce smoke, but no flame. Around the hole are stuck a number of sticks, which are then tied together at the top, so as to make the framework of a sort of tent. The wood is then set on fire, the hides are placed within the tent, and over the sticks are wrapped other hides carefully fastened together, so as to prevent the smoke from escaping. For several days the hides are left in the smoke, and at the expiration of that time they have assumed the peculiar quality which has been described. The whole of the processes are conducted by women, manual labor being beneath the dignity of a man and a warrior.

The headdress of a North American Indian deserves some attention. Variable as are the modes of dressing the hair, no warrior ever wears his hair short. By so doing he would be taking an unfair advantage of an adversary. When a warrior is killed, or even totally disabled, the successful adversary has a right to take his scalp, in which he would be much impeded if the hair was short. Moreover, he would lose the honorable trophy with which he is entitled to fringe his garments. So for a warrior to wear his hair short would be a tacit acknowledgment that he was afraid of losing his scalp, and all the men therefore always leave at least one lock of hair attached to the crown of the head.

The process of scalping will be presently described, when we treat of war.

A great chief always wears, in addition to the ordinary headdress of the warrior, a plume of eagle feathers, by which he is made as conspicuous as possible, so that the enemy shall have no difficulty in recognising him. The form of plume varies according to the different tribes. That of the Crows may be seen in an [illustration] on page 1284. That of the Mandans is [represented] on the following page. It is made of a long strip of ermine, to which are fastened the quill feathers of the war eagle, so as to form a crest beginning at the back of the head and descending to the feet. These quills are so valuable that a perfect tail of the war eagle is considered to be worth a first-rate horse.

In the present instance two horns may be seen projecting from the headdress. This is a decoration very rarely seen, and only conferred by the chief and council upon the most distinguished warriors. Even the head chief will not be able to assume them unless by the general vote of the council, and in the case of the Mandans the second chief wore them, while the head chief was not privileged to do so.

Even a brave may wear them, though he be below the rank of chief.

They are made from the horns of the bison bull, divided longitudinally, scraped nearly as thin as paper, and highly polished. They are loosely attached at the base, so that they can be flung backward or forward by the movement of the head, and give a wonderful animation to the action of the wearer when he is speaking.

This elaborate headdress is very seldom worn, and is only assumed on occasions of special state, such as public festivals, war parades, or the visits of other chiefs. In battle the wearer always assumes the headdress by way of challenge to the enemy. There is good reason for not always wearing this dress. I have worn the dress formerly used by Mah-to-toh-pa, and found it to be hot, heavy, and inconvenient.

As a contrast to the dress of a noted warrior, we may take that of a mere dandy, a few of whom are sure to be found in every tribe. They are always remarkable for elegance of person and effeminacy of nature, having the greatest horror of exposing themselves to danger, and avoiding equally the bear, the bison, and the armed enemy. Consequently they may not deck themselves with the plumage of the war eagle, every feather of which signifies a warrior slain by the warrior’s own hand. Neither may they adorn their necks with the claws of the grizzly bear, their robes with scalp-locks and paintings, nor their bodies with the scarlet streaks that tell of honorable wounds received in battle.

THE MANDAN CHIEF MAH-TO-TOH-PA AND WIFE.
(See [pages 1276], [1286], [1287].)

Such ornaments would at once be torn from them by the indignant warriors of the tribe, and they are forced to content themselves with mountain goat, doe, and ermine skins, swans’ down, porcupine quills, and similar articles—all more beautiful than the sombre eagle quills, bears’ claws, and scalp-locks that mark the brave.

They spend their whole lives in idleness, and do not even join the athletic games of which the Americans are exceedingly fond, but devote their whole energies to the adornment of their persons. They will occupy four of five hours in making their toilets, being fastidious as to the arrangement of every hair of their eyebrows, and trying by the mirror the effect of various expressions of countenance.

Having spent the whole morning in this occupation, they sally out on their horses, seated on white and soft saddles, beautifully ornamented with porcupine quills and ermine, and lounge about the village for an hour or two, displaying their handsome persons to the best advantage. They then saunter, still on horseback, to the place where the young warriors are practising athletic exercises, and watch them for an hour or two, plying all the while their turkey-tail fans. Fatigued with the effort, they lounge home again, turn their horses loose, take some refreshment, smoke a pipe, and fan themselves to sleep.

These men are utterly despised by the warriors, as Mr. Catlin found. He was anxious to procure a portrait of one of these men:—

“Whilst I have been painting, day by day, there have been two or three of these fops continually strutting and taking their attitudes in front of my door, decked out in all their finery, without receiving other information than such as they could discover through the seams and cracks of my cabin. The chiefs, I observed, passed them without notice, and, of course, without inviting them in; and they seemed to figure about my door from day to day in their best dresses and best attitudes, as if in hopes that I would select them as models for my canvas. It was natural that I should do so, for their costume and personal appearance were entirely more beautiful than anything else to be seen in the village.

“My plans were laid, and one day, when I had got through with all of the head men who were willing to sit to be painted, and there were two or three of the chiefs lounging in my room, I stepped to the door, and tapped one of these fellows on the shoulder, who took the hint, evidently well pleased and delighted with the signal and honorable notice I had at length taken of him and his beautiful dress. Readers, you cannot imagine what was the expression of gratitude which beamed forth in this poor fellow’s face, and how high his heart beat with joy and pride at the idea of my selecting him to be immortal alongside of the chiefs and worthies whose portraits he saw ranged around the room; and by which honor he undoubtedly considered himself well paid for two or three weeks of regular painting, and greasing, and dressing, and standing alternately on one leg and the other at the door of my premises.

“Well, I placed him before me, and a canvas on my easel, and chalked him out at full length. He was truly a beautiful subject for the brush, and I was filled with enthusiasm.

“His dress from head to foot was made of the skins of the mountain goat, dressed so neatly that they were almost as soft and white as Canton crape. Around the bottom and the sides it was trimmed with ermine, and porcupine quills of beautiful dyes garnished it in a hundred parts. His hair, which was long and spread over his back and shoulders, extending nearly to the ground, was all combed back, and parted on his forehead like that of a woman. He was a tall and fine figure, with ease and grace in his movements that were worthy of better caste. In his left hand he held a beautiful pipe, in his right hand he plied his fan, and on his wrist was attached his whip of elk-horn and his fly-brush, made of the buffalo’s tail. There was nought about him of the terrible, and nought to shock the finest and chastest intellect.”

Unfortunately, the portrait was never taken, for the chiefs were so exceedingly offended that so contemptible a being should be put on the same level as themselves by being painted, that they left the hut in angry silence, and sent a message to the effect that, if Mr. Catlin painted the portrait of so worthless a man, he must destroy all the portraits of the chiefs and warriors. The message was also given to the obnoxious individual, who at once yielded the point, walked consequentially out of the hut, and took up his old station at the door as if nothing had happened to disturb his equanimity.

On their feet the American Indians wear moccasins, i. e. shoes made of soft leather, the sole of which is no thicker than the upper part. To an European walking in moccasins is at first very fatiguing, on account of the habit of turning out the toes. When, however, the white man learns to walk as the natives do, with his toes rather turned in, he soon finds that the moccasin is a better preservative of the feet than the European shoe, with its thick and almost inflexible sole.

The dress of the women is made of the same materials as that of the men, and differs chiefly in its greater length, reaching nearly to the ankle. It is generally embroidered in various patterns with colored porcupine quills, as are the leggings and moccasins. The women are fond of tattooing themselves, and produce blue and red patterns by the use of charcoal and vermilion rubbed into the punctures. Both sexes are furnished with large robes made of bison skins, and the inner side of these robes is often painted in curious patterns. One of these robes in Mr. Catlin’s collection, had a most elaborate figure of the sun in the centre, around which were figures of men and animals, showing the prowess of the owner both in war and hunting.

Beads and such like ornaments, obtained from the white men, are much in fashion; but, long before a glass or porcelain bead was introduced into America, the natives had an ornament of their own manufacture. This is the celebrated wampum, an article which is now almost extinct. It is made of fresh water shells, which are found on the borders of the lakes and streams. The thick part of the shell is cut into cylinders an inch or so in length, and then bored longitudinally, like the “bugles” that are worn by European ladies. Indeed, when the shell is, as is mostly the case, a white one, the piece of wampum looks almost exactly like a fragment of clay tobacco-pipe stem.

The wampum is either strung like beads and worn round the neck, or is formed into war belts for the waist. It answers several purposes. In the first place, it acts, like the cowries of Africa, as a substitute for money, a certain number of hand breadths being the fixed value of a horse, a gun, or a robe. It is also the emblem of peace when presented by one chief to another, and, when war has ceased between two hostile tribes, a wampum belt is presented as a token that the two tribes are at peace.

There is no particular beauty about the wampum. If the reader will break a tobacco-pipe stem into pieces an inch in length and string them on a thread, he will produce a very good imitation of a wampum necklace. Its only value lies in the labor represented by it; and, as the white men have introduced tons of imitation wampum made of porcelain, which looks rather better than the real article, and is scarcely one-hundredth part of the value, the veritable wampum is so completely extinct among many of the tribes that, if one of the natives should wish to see a string of wampum, he must go to a museum for that purpose.

CHAPTER CXXXVII.
THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS—Continued.
WAR—WEAPONS.

MARTIAL CHARACTER OF THE TRIBES — THEIR MODE OF FIGHTING — DECLARATION OF WAR, AND APPLICATION FOR VOLUNTEERS — WEAPONS — THE PLAIN AND THE SPIKED CLUB — THE SHIELD, AND THE INGENIOUS MODE OF MAKING IT — THE LONG SPEAR — THE BOW AND ITS CONSTRUCTION — MODE OF SHOOTING — THE STONE AND IRON TOMAHAWKS — THE SCALPING-KNIFE — MODE OF SCALPING — USE MADE OF THE LOCKS — THE SCALP DANCE — THE EXPLOITS OF MAH-TO-TOH-PA — SHAM BATTLES OF THE BOYS — THE TORTURE OF PRISONERS — TWO WONDERFUL ESCAPES — HOW THE CAMANCHEES FIGHT — SMOKING HORSES.

The North American Indians are essentially a warlike people, measuring their respect for a man almost entirely by his conduct in battle and the number of enemies which he has slain.

The very constitution of the tribes, which prevents any leader from enforcing obedience upon his followers, as is done with civilized armies, entirely precludes the possibility of such military manœuvres as those which are employed in civilized countries, where bodies of men are wielded by the order of one individual. The leader can only give general orders, and leave his followers to carry them out in the way that best suits each individual. Consequently, war among these tribes is much of the guerilla kind, where each combatant fights almost independently of the other, and the moral effect of mutual defence and support is therefore wanting.

A few very simple manœuvres are known to them, and practised by them from infancy, but they lead to nothing more than skirmishing, the chief being merely the leader of his men, and expected to be in the post of danger. The idea of a general directing the battle from a place of comparative safety is unknown to them.

Declaration of war is made in the full council of chiefs and doctors, the majority deciding the question. The chief who is to lead the expedition then asks for volunteers by sending his reddened war pipe through the tribe by means of his messengers, and each warrior who draws a puff of smoke through its stem by that act enlists himself.

After the pipe has gone its round and a sufficient number of men have volunteered, a grand war dance is got up in front of the chief’s house, where has been set up a post covered with red paint, the sign of war. The newly enlisted warriors make their appearance with all their weapons, and execute a solemn dance, each man in succession dancing up to the reddened post and striking his axe into it as a public ratification of his promise. As has been mentioned, the leader always wears every decoration to which he is entitled, so as to make himself as conspicuous a mark as possible, while the braves and warriors wear scarcely any clothing, and have their faces so disguised with black and red paint that even their most intimate friends can scarcely recognize them.

As among us, white and red are the signs of peace and war, and each leader carries with him two small flags, one of white bison’s hide, and the other of reddened leather. These are kept rolled round the staff like a railway flag-signal, and only produced when required.

At the present day fire-arms have superseded the original weapons of the American Indians, and much changed the mode of warfare. We will, however, contemplate the warfare of these tribes as it was conducted before the introduction of these weapons, when the bow, the club, the axe, the spear, and in some districts the lasso, were the only weapons employed.

In [illustration No. 4], on page 1265, are seen examples of the clubs and shield, drawn from specimens in the Christy Collection. The clubs are short, seldom exceeding a yard in length, and mostly eight or nine inches shorter. They are almost invariably made upon one or other of two models, examples of which are seen in the illustration. The primitive idea of a club is evidently derived from a stick with a knob at the end, and that is the form which is most in vogue. In the common kind of club the whole of the weapon is quite plain, but in many specimens the native has imbedded a piece of bone or spike of iron in the ball or bulb at the end of the club, and has decorated the handle with feathers, bits of cloth, scalps, and similar ornaments.

The second kind of club is shaped something like the stock of a gun, and has always a spike projecting from the angle. In most cases this spike is nothing more than a pointed piece of iron or the head of a spear, but in some highly valued weapons a very broad steel blade is employed, its edges lying parallel with the length of the weapon. Such a club as this is often decorated with some hundreds of brass headed nails driven into it so as to form patterns, and is besides ornamented so profusely with strings and feathers, and long trailing scalp-locks five or six feet in length, that the efficacy of the weapon must be seriously impeded by them.

I have handled both kinds of clubs, and found this latter weapon to be most awkward and unwieldy, its thick, squared, sloping handle giving scarcely any power to the grasp, while the abundant ornaments are liable to entanglement in the other weapons that are carried about the person.

The shield is made by a very ingenious process from the thick hide which covers the shoulders of the bull bison. Making a shield is a very serious, not to say solemn, business, and is conducted after the following manner.

The warrior selects a piece of hide at least twice as large as the intended shield, and from the hoof and joints of the bison prepares a strong glue. He then digs in the ground a hole the exact size of the shield, and almost two feet in diameter, and makes in it a smouldering fire of decayed wood. These arrangements being completed, his particular friends assemble for the purpose of dancing, singing, and smoking round the shield maker, and invoking the Great Spirit to render the weapon proof against spears and arrows.

The fire being lighted and the glue heated, the skin is stretched above the hole by means of numerous pegs round the edge, which keep it a few inches above the ground. As soon as the skin is thoroughly heated, the glue is spread over it and rubbed carefully into the fibres. This operation causes the skin to contract forcibly, and at the same time to become thicker. As it contracts, the family of the shield maker busy themselves in loosening the pegs, and shifting them inward, so as to yield with the contraction of the skin, and at the same time to keep it on the full stretch. This goes on until the skin has absorbed all the glue which it is capable of receiving, and has contracted to the very utmost. By this time it is only half as wide, though twice as thick, as it was when first placed on the fire, and is allowed to cool slowly, after which it is carefully trimmed into shape, furnished with a strap, painted with the “totem” or symbol of the owner, and decorated with the usual ornaments.

The completed shield is rather flexible, but is so strong that it will resist the direct blow of a spear or arrow, and if turned a little obliquely will throw off even a pistol bullet. The specimen shown in the [illustration] is painted light green with a white pattern. Above it is a cover made of very thin and soft leather, which is thrown over it in case of rain. The long strap is for the purpose of throwing the shield when not in use over the shoulders, where it hangs, together with the bow and quiver.

The spear presents nothing especially worthy of remark, except that the blade is leaf-shaped, long, and narrow, and the shaft is often so covered with feathers and scalp-locks that there is barely enough space for the hand of the wielder. It sometimes measures fourteen or fifteen feet in length.

Next come the bows and arrows. The bow is always a very short and apparently insignificant weapon, being mostly used on horseback. It scarcely ever exceeds three feet in length, and is mostly six inches shorter, so that it looks more like a child’s toy than a weapon fit for a warrior’s hand. Yet, with this apparently feeble bow, the American Indian can drive an arrow completely through a man, and some of their best hunters are known to have sent their arrows fairly through the body of a bison, so that the missile fell on the ground after passing through the huge animal.

These bows are made of wood, horn, or bone. Ash is considered the best wood for bows, and it is strengthened enormously by having the wet sinews of the bison or deer fastened along the back, and so worked and kneaded into it that they appear to be of one substance with the wood. Several layers of sinews are often used, so that, in spite of its small size, the bow is a very powerful one. Some of them are made of the horn of the mountain or big horn sheep, and a few which are the most valuable are made of bone, probably obtained on the Pacific coast from the spermaceti whale, and sent inland by the traders. The owners of these bows do not like to have the material questioned, and check the interrogation with a remark of “Hush! that is medicine.” One of these bows is in the Christy Collection. I have tried several of the bows in Mr. Catlin’s collection, and found them to be very elastic, and, in spite of their small size, very stiff.

(1.) CROW CHIEF.
(See [page 1274].)

(2.) AMERICAN INDIANS SCALPING.
(See [page 1285].)

The arrow is headed with flint or bone, and when used against the enemy is usually poisoned. The feathers are taken from the wing of the wild turkey. (See [page 1290].) When a warrior is fully armed, he has a hundred or so of these arrows in a neat quiver made of deer or cougar skin, and tastefully decorated with patterns woven in stained porcupine quills.

In an [illustration] on page 1318, the reader may see the usual costume of the Indian when equipped for battle. The portrait is that of Ee-a-chin-che-a (the red thunder) son of Black Moccasin of the Minatarees. He was at this time one of the bravest and most desperate warriors of this tribe. He has on his war-dress, with quiver slung, and shield upon his arm. “In this plight,” says Mr. Catlin, “sans headdress, sans robe, and sans everything that might be a useless encumbrance,—with the body chiefly naked, and profusely bedaubed with red and black paint, so as to form an almost perfect disguise, the Indian warriors sally forth to war.” The chief only plumes himself, and loaded with his ornaments and trophies renders himself a conspicuous target for the enemy.

The Indians are not celebrated for their skill in marksmanship, which indeed is scarcely required, as they never shoot at long ranges, like the old English bowmen. But they are wonderfully skilled in discharging a number of arrows in rapid succession, a practised archer being able to throw twenty or more in a minute while galloping at full speed.

There is a game much practised by the various tribes, by means of which this peculiar modification of skill in archery is kept at the highest pitch. The young men assemble with their bows and arrows, and each brings several articles of property which he is willing to stake on his skill, and throws one of them on the ground. When every one has thrown down his stake, the first archer advances with his bow and ten arrows clenched in his left hand. He then draws the arrows and shoots them upward as rapidly as he can, the object being to throw as many arrows as possible into the air before the first arrow has reached the ground. He who gets the greatest number simultaneously in the air wins the stakes. Some archers are so skilful that they will discharge the eighth arrow before the first has touched the ground.

We now come to the axe or tomahawk. The two figures in [illustration No. 2], page 1265, afford excellent examples of the principal forms of this weapon; namely, that which is made entirely by themselves, and that which is partly made in Europe and finished by themselves. The most primitive tomahawk is that which is made of a stone fixed to a wooden handle. Fig. 2, on the above mentioned page, shows how the head is fixed to the handle, exactly as a blacksmith fixes his punches. The stone axe-heads which are found so abundantly as relics of a bygone age, were fastened on their handles in precisely the same manner. This kind of weapon is now so rare that it is scarcely possible to procure a specimen.

The steel-headed tomahawk has in most tribes superseded that which is made of stone. Vast numbers of these steel axe-heads are made in Birmingham, and sold at a very high price to the Indians.

The form which is most valued is that which is shown in [fig. 1], page 1265. It is a “pipe-tomahawk,” the upper part of the head being formed into a pipe-bowl, and the smoke drawn through the handle, which is plentifully decorated with porcupine quills and feathers. This is specially valued by the American Indians, because it saves them the trouble of carrying a separate pipe, and is most formidable as a weapon, and in time of peace is an efficient axe for chopping firewood and similar purposes. The tomahawk is used both in close combat and as a missile, in which latter capacity it is hurled with wonderful force and accuracy of aim.

Beside these weapons, every warrior carries the scalping knife, which, with the poniard of early English times, is equally useful for war and domestic purposes. Almost without an exception every scalping knife used in North America is nothing more than a common butcher’s knife, made in Sheffield for sixpence, and sold to the Indians at the price of a horse. After all, it is perhaps the very best instrument that they could use. One of my friends, an experienced hunter, said that he discarded all his elaborate and costly hunting knives, and preferred the Sheffield butcher’s knife, which combines the advantages of strength, lightness, and the capability of taking an edge like a razor.

Every one has heard of the custom of scalping as practised by these tribes, a custom which takes the place of the preserved heads of the Dyak, and Mundurucú. When an American Indian slays an enemy, he removes the scalp as a proof of his victory. The scalp is a piece of skin, with the hair attached to it, taken from the very crown of the head, so as to exhibit that portion of the skin where the hair radiates from a centre. The size of the scalp is of no importance, provided that it only contain this indispensable mark.

Generally, the piece of skin secured is almost as large as the palm of the hand, and it is taken in the following manner. The enemy being fallen, the victor sits behind him on the ground, seizes the scalp-lock with his left hand, and with the knife makes two semicircular incisions in the skin, cutting it completely down to the bone. He then twists the scalp-lock round both his hands, puts his feet on the victim’s shoulders, and with a violent pull drags off the circular piece of skin with the hair adhering to it.

This whole scene ([illustrated] on page 1284) is enacted in much less time than it has taken to write, the Indians being well practised in their sham fights before they come to taking scalps in actual battle. Brandishing the scalp in one hand and the knife in the other, the exultant conqueror utters the terrible “scalping yell,” which even when given in a mock battle seems as if it were uttered by a demon rather than a man.

The scalped man is always supposed to be dead or dying, and, as the scalp is always accepted as a proof of death, the native warrior would never scalp a man whom he thought likely to recover. There have, however, been many instances, where in the heat of battle a man has been scalped while stunned, though without a mortal wound, and has afterward recovered and lived for many years.

When the battle is over and the warrior returns to his home, he dresses the scalp for preservation. This is usually done by stretching it in a sort of battledore, made by bending a flexible stick and lashing the ends together, and it is then solemnly “danced” before it takes its place with the other valuables of the owner. Some of the scalps are quite small, not larger than a penny, and are hung on the bridles of the horses, or the handles of clubs.

Generally, however, they are, when quite dry, painted on the inside so as to resemble a human face, and hung to the end of a long, slight pole. On a fine day, the head chief of an encampment mostly orders that the scalps should be hung out, and sets the example, by protruding from the top of his own hut the pole on which are hung the scalps which he has taken. All the warriors at once follow his example, so that by walking round the village and counting the scalps, a stranger can learn the standing of every warrior.

It has been mentioned that many of the scalps are very small. Their limited size is thus accounted for. If a warrior be hurried, as is mostly the case when scalping a fallen man in the heat of battle, he contents himself with the scalp alone. But, if he should have leisure, he removes the whole of the hair-bearing portion of the skin, and treats it as follows. He first cuts out a small circular piece containing the crown of the head, this being the actual scalp. The remainder of the hair he divides into little locks, and with them he fringes the seams of his leggings, the arms and edges of his coat, the shaft of his spear, the handle of his club, etc., etc. The whole of Mah-to-toh-pa’s dress was covered with fringes made from the hair of those whom he slew in battle.

A dress thus ornamented is valued beyond all price, and there is scarcely any price sufficiently high to tempt a warrior to part with these trophies of his valor.

The “scalp dance” is a ceremony quite in keeping with the custom of securing the trophy. A scalp dance of the Sioux is thus described by Mr. Catlin:—“Among this tribe, as I learned whilst residing with them, it is danced in the night by the light of their torches, just before going to bed. When a war party returns from a war excursion, bringing home with them the scalps of their enemies, they generally dance them for fifteen nights in succession, vaunting forth the most extravagant boasts of their wonderful prowess in war, whilst they brandish their war weapons in their hands.

“A number of young women are selected to aid (though they do not actually join in) the dance, by stepping into the centre of the ring and holding up the scalps that have been recently taken, while the warriors dance, or rather jump, around in a circle, brandishing their weapons, and barking and yelping in the most frightful manner, all jumping on both feet at a time, with a simultaneous stamp, and blow, and thrust of their weapons, with which it would seem as if they were actually cutting and carving each other to pieces. During these frantic leaps and yells, every man distorts his face to the utmost power of his muscles, darting about his glaring eyeballs, and snapping his teeth as if he were in the heat—and actually breathing through his nostrils the very hissing death—of battle.

“No description that can be written could ever convey more than a feeble outline of the frightful effects of these scenes enacted in the dead and darkness of night, under the glaring light of their blazing flambeaux; nor could all the years allotted to mortal man in the least obliterate or deface the vivid impression that one scene of this kind would leave upon his memory.”

Mr. Catlin suggests, with much reason, that these dances are propitiatory of the spirits of the slain men, showing how highly their valor was prized by the conquerors, and the great respect and estimation in which they were held, though the fortune of war had gone against them.

A good example of the war career of an American Indian chief may be gained by the exploits of Mah-to-toh-pa, as displayed on his robe, and explained by him to Mr. Catlin. It was covered with twelve groups of figures, which will be briefly described.

His first exploit was killing a Sioux chief, who had already killed three Riccarees. This feat entitled him to wear eagles’ quills on his lance, and in the second group he is shown as killing with this lance a Shienne chief, who challenged him to single combat. The third scene represents a combat in which Mah-to-toh-pa was forsaken by his party, and yet, though badly wounded, killed a Shienne warrior in the presence of some thirty of his fellows.

The fourth scene shows a great chief of the Shiennes killed by this warrior, whose splendid headdress was assumed by his slayer. The fifth picture represents a strange episode in a battle. Mah-to-toh-pa was travelling with a party of Riccarees, when they were fired upon by a war party of Sioux. The Riccarees fled, leaving Mah-to-toh-pa, who sprang from his horse, faced the Sioux on foot, killed one of them, and secured his scalp.

The sixth drawing illustrates a most remarkable piece of personal history. A Riccaree brave, named Won-ga-tap, shot the brother of Mah-to-toh-pa with an arrow, drove his well-known spear into the body of the fallen man, and left it there, as a challenge to the surviving brother. The challenge was accepted. Mah-to-toh-pa found the body, recognized the spear, and vowed that he would slay the murderer of his brother with the same weapon. Four years passed without an opportunity to fulfil the vow, when he could no longer brook delay, but dashed out of his house with the fatal spear in his hand, and a small wallet of parched corn at his belt. He told the Mandans to mention his name no more unless he returned victorious with the scalp of Won-ga-tap.

Amid the awe-struck silence of his people he left the village, and disappeared over the grassy bluffs. For two hundred miles he travelled alone and by night, always concealing himself by day, until he reached the Riccaree village, which he boldly entered, mixing with the inhabitants as if he were a friendly stranger. He knew the position of Won-ga-tap’s hut, and after having seen that the intended victim and his wife had smoked the evening pipe and were in bed, he walked gently into the hut, sat down by the fire, took some meat out of the cooking-pot, and began to eat in order to strengthen himself for the fulfilment of his task. This was according to the hospitable custom of the American Indians. If a man be hungry, he need not ask for food, but has only to go to the nearest hut and help himself.

The repast being ended, Mah-to-toh-pa took the still warm pipe, filled it with tobacco, and began to smoke it, breathing, with every curl of smoke, a prayer for success in his undertaking. Once or twice the wife of Won-ga-tap asked her husband who was eating in their hut, but he replied that some one must be hungry, and was helping himself.

When the last smoke-wreath had ascended, Mah-to-toh-pa turned toward the bed, and with his foot pushed an ember on the fire, so as to make a blaze by which he might see the exact position of his victim. In an instant he leaped toward the bed, drove the spear through the heart of Won-ga-tap, tore off his scalp, snatched the spear from his heart, and darted out of the hut with the scalp of his victim in one hand, and in the other the fatal spear, with the blood of Won-ga-tap already drying over that of the man he had killed four years before. The whole village was in an uproar, but Mah-to-toh-pa succeeded in making his escape, and on the sixth day after leaving the Mandan village, he re-entered it with the scalp of his enemy. A [portrait] of this celebrated chief is given on the 1277th page.

Another of these pictures records a single combat fought with a Shienne chief in presence of both war parties. They fought on horseback, until Mah-to-toh-pa’s powder-horn was shattered by a bullet. The Shienne chief flung away his gun, horn, and bullet pouch, and challenged the foe with bow and arrow. Both parties were wounded in the limbs, but kept their bodies covered with their shields.

Presently Mah-to-toh-pa’s horse fell with an arrow in its heart. The Shienne chief immediately dismounted, and proceeded with the fight until he had exhausted his arrows, when he flung the empty quiver on the ground, challenging with his knife, the only weapon which he had left. The challenge was accepted, and they rushed on each other, but Mah-to-toh-pa had left his knife at home, and was unarmed. He closed with his antagonist, and a struggle ensued for the knife. Mah-to-toh-pa was dreadfully wounded in the hands, but at last wrested the knife from his adversary, drove it into his heart, and in silence claimed the scalp of his fallen foe.

On another occasion he alone faced sixty Assineboins, drove them back, and killed one of them. It was in this battle that he earned the name of “Four Bears,” by which must be understood the grizzly bear, the most terrible quadruped of North America. This is a sample of the mode in which warfare is conducted by the North American Indians—a strange mixture of lofty and chivalrous nobility with cunning and deceit. In fact, in contemplating these interesting tribes, we are thrown back to the time of Ulysses, whose great fame was equally derived from his prowess in battle and his skill in deceiving his foes, or, in other words, of being a most accomplished liar.

The men are taught the operations of war from a very early age. Every morning, all the lads who are above seven years old and upward, and have not been admitted among the men, are taken to some distance from the village, where they are divided into two opposing bodies, each under the command of an experienced warrior. They are armed with little bows, arrows made of grass stems, and wooden knives stuck in their belts. In their heads they slightly weave a plaited tuft of grass to represent the scalp-lock.

The two parties then join in sham combat, which is made to resemble a real fight as much as possible. When any of the combatants is struck in a vital part, he is obliged to fall as if dead, when his antagonist goes through the operation of scalping with his wooden knife, places the scalp in his belt, utters the wild yell, and again joins in the battle. As no one may fight without a scalp-lock, the fallen adversary is obliged to withdraw from the fight. This goes on for an hour or so, when the mock fight is stopped, and the lads are praised or rebuked according to the skill and courage which they have shown, the number of scalps at the belt being the surest criterion of merit.

It is well known that after a battle the American Indians torture their prisoners, and that they display the most diabolical ingenuity in devising the most excruciating torments. Still, there has been much exaggeration in the accounts of this custom. They do not torture all their prisoners, selecting only a few for this purpose, the others being absorbed into the tribe by marriage with the widows whose husbands have been killed in battle, and enjoying equal rights with the original members of the tribe.

Neither is the torture practised with the idea of revenge, though it is likely that vengeful feelings will arise when the victim is bound to the stake. Superstition seems to be at the root of the torture, which is intended to propitiate the spirit of those members of their own tribe who have suffered the like treatment at the hands of their adversaries. The doomed warrior accepts his fate with the imperturbable demeanor which is an essential part of a North American Indian’s character, and, for the honor of his tribe, matches his endurance against the pain which his enemies can inflict.

Tortures too terrible even to be mentioned are tried in succession; for when the victim is once bound to the stake, the Indian never has been known to relent in his purpose, which is to extort acknowledgments of suffering from the captured warrior, and thereby to disgrace not only himself but the tribe to which he belongs. He, in the meanwhile, prides himself on showing his enemies how a warrior can die. He chants the praises of his tribe and their deeds, boasts of all the harm that he has done to the tribe into whose power he has fallen, ridicules their best warriors, and endeavors to anger them to such an extent that they may dash out his brains, and so spare him further torture. He will even laugh at their attempts to extort cries of pain from a warrior, and tell them that they do not know how to torture.

One remarkable instance of endurance in a captured Creek warrior is told by Mr. Adair. The man had been captured by the Shawnees, and forced to run the gauntlet naked through all the tribe; he had been tied to the stake, and was horribly tortured with gun-barrels heated redhot. All the efforts of his enemies only drew from him taunts and jeers, to the effect that the Shawnees were so ignorant that they did not even know how to torture a bound prisoner. Great warrior though he was, he had fallen into their hands through some fault in addressing the Great Spirit, but that he had enough virtue left to show them the difference between a Creek and a Shawnee. Let them only unbind him, and allow him to take a redhot gun-barrel out of the fire, and he would show them a much better way of torturing than any which they knew.

His demeanor had excited the respect of the Shawnees, and they unbound him and took him to the fire, in which were lying the redhot tubes. Unhesitatingly, he picked up one of them with his bare hands, sprang at the surrounding crowd, striking right and left with this fearful weapon, cleared a passage through the astonished warriors, and leaped down a precipice into the river. He swam the river amid a shower of bullets, gained a little island in its midst, and, though instantly followed by numbers of his disconcerted enemies, actually succeeded in getting away. In spite of the injuries which he had suffered, and which would have killed an ordinary European, he recovered, and lived for many years, the implacable foe of the Shawnees.

A somewhat similar adventure occurred to a Katahba warrior, who was pursued by a band of Senecas, and at last captured, though not until he had contrived to kill seven of them. A warrior of such prowess was guarded with double vigilance, and he was brought to the Seneca village for the torture, after having been beaten at every encampment through which the party had passed.

As the torturers were taking him to the stake, he, like the Creek warrior, burst from his captors, and flung himself into the river, swimming across in safety. He paused for a moment on the opposite bank to express emphatically his contempt for the pursuers who were crowding down the bank and into the river, and then dashed forward so fast that he gained nearly a day’s journey upon the foremost of the pursuers.

Five of the enemy pressed upon him, and, though naked and unarmed, he deliberately waited for them. At night, when they were all asleep, not having thought a sentry needful, he crept up to the party, snatched one of their tomahawks, and killed them all before they could wake. He scalped them, clothed and armed himself, invigorated his wasted frame with food, and set off to the spot where he had slain the seven foes as he was first pursued. They had been buried for the sake of preserving their scalps, but he found the place of burial, scalped them all, and not until then did he make for his home, which he reached in safety.

When the rest of the pursuers came to the place where the five had been killed, they held a council, and determined that a man who could do such deeds unarmed must be a wizard whom they could not hope to resist, and that the best course that they could pursue was to go home again.

The reader will not fail to notice the great stress that is here laid on the possession of the scalp. A war party of Indians care comparatively little for the loss of one of their number, provided that they conceal his body so that the enemy shall not take his scalp. Here we have an instance of a man pursued by numbers of infuriated and relentless foes deliberately going back to the spot where he thought his slain enemies might be buried, and a second time risking his life in order to secure the trophies of victory. He knew that his intention would be foreseen, and yet the value set upon the scalp was so incalculable that even the risk of undergoing the torture was as nothing in comparison.

On more than one occasion, a warrior who has been struck down, and felt himself unable to rise, has saved his life by feigning death, and permitting his victorious foe to tear off his scalp without giving the least sign of suffering. He must lose his scalp at any rate, and he might possibly contrive to save his life.

Several of the tribes are remarkable for the use which they make of the horse in war, and their marvellous skill in riding. The most celebrated tribe in this respect are the Camanchees, the greater part of whose life is spent on horseback. As is often the case with those who spend much of their time on horseback, the Camanchees are but poor walkers, and have a slouching and awkward gait. No sooner, however, is a Camanchee on the back of a horse, than his whole demeanor alters, and he and the animal which he bestrides seem one and the same being, actuated with the same spirit. “A Camanchee on his feet,” writes Mr. Catlin, “is out of his element, and comparatively almost as awkward as a monkey on the ground without a limb or branch to cling to. But the moment he lays his hand upon his horse, his face becomes handsome, and he gracefully flies away like a different being.”

There is one feat in which all the Camanchee warriors are trained from their infancy. As the man is dashing along at full gallop, he will suddenly drop over the side of his horse, leaving no part of him visible except the sole of one foot, which is hitched over the horse’s back as a purchase by which he can pull himself to an upright position. In this attitude he can ride for any distance, and moreover can use with deadly effect either his bow or his fourteen-foot lance.

One of their favorite modes of attack is to gallop toward the enemy at full speed, and then, just before they come within range, they drop upon the opposite side of their horses, dash past the foe, and pour upon him a shower of arrows directed under their horses’ necks, and sometimes even thrown under their bellies. All the time it is nearly useless for the enemy to return the shots, as the whole body of the Camanchee is hidden behind the horse, and there is nothing to aim at save the foot just projecting over the animal’s back.

To enable them to perform this curious manœuvre, ([illustrated] on the 1291st page) the Camanchees plait a short and strong halter of horse hair. This halter is passed under the horse’s neck, and the ends are firmly plaited into the mane, just above the withers, so as to leave a loop hanging under the animal’s neck. Into this loop the warrior drops with accurate precision, sustaining the weight of his body on the upper part of the bent arm, and allowing the spear to fall into the bend of the elbow. Thus both his arms are at liberty to draw the bow or wield the spear; and as in such cases he always grasps a dozen arrows in his left hand, together with the bow, he can discharge them without having recourse to his quiver.

Sometimes the Camanchees try to steal upon their enemies by leaving their lances behind them, slinging themselves along the sides of their steeds, and approaching carelessly, as though they were nothing but a troop of wild horses without riders. A very quick eye is needed to detect this guise, which is generally betrayed by the fact that the horses always keep the same side toward the spectator, which would very seldom be the case were they wild and unrestrained in their movements.

Every Camanchee has one favorite horse, which he never mounts except for war or the chase, using an inferior animal on ordinary occasions. Swiftness is the chief quality for which the charger is selected, and for no price would the owner part with his steed. Like all uncivilized people, he treats his horse with a strange mixture of cruelty and kindness. While engaged in the chase, for example, he spurs and whips the animal most ruthlessly; but as soon as he returns, he carefully hands over his valued animal to his women, who are waiting to receive it, and who treat it as if it were a cherished member of the family.

It need scarcely be added that the Camanchees are most accomplished horse stealers, and that they seize every opportunity of robbing other tribes of their animals. When a band of Camanchees sets out on a horse stealing expedition, the warriors who compose it are bound in honor not to return until they have achieved their object. Sometimes they are absent for more than two years before they can succeed in surprising the settlement which contains the horses on which they have set their hearts, and they will lie in ambush for months, awaiting a favorable opportunity.

The value set upon horses by the equestrian tribes cannot be better illustrated than by the singular custom of “smoking horses,” which prevails in some parts of the country. The reader will find this [illustrated] on the following page.

When one of these tribes determine on making war, and find on mustering their forces that they have not sufficient horses, they send a messenger to a friendly tribe to say that on a certain day they will come to “smoke” a certain number of horses, and expect the animals to be ready for them. This is a challenge which is never refused, involving as it does the honor of the tribe.

On the appointed day, the young warriors who have no horses go to the friendly village, stripped and painted as if for war, and seat themselves in a circle, all facing inward. They light their pipes and smoke in silence, the people of the village forming a large circle around them, leaving a wide space between themselves and their visitors.

Presently in the distance there appears an equal number of young warriors on horseback, dashing along at full gallop, and in “Indian file,” according to their custom. They gallop round the ring, and the foremost rider, selecting one of the seated young men, stoops from his saddle as he passes, and delivers a terrible blow at his naked shoulders with his cruel whip. Each of his followers does the same, and they gallop round and round the smokers, at each circuit repeating the blow until the shoulders of the men are covered with blood. It is incumbent upon the sufferers to smoke on in perfect calmness, and not to give the slightest intimation that they are aware of the blows which are inflicted on them. When the requisite number of circuits have been made, the leader springs off his horse, and places the bridle and whip in the hands of the young man whom he has selected, saying at the same time, “You are a beggar; I present you with a horse: but you will always carry my mark on your back.” The rest follow his example.

Every one is pleased with this remarkable custom. The young men are pleased because they get a horse apiece; and as to the flogging, in the first place they really care very little for pain, and in the next place they have enjoyed an opportunity of showing publicly their capability of endurance.

Those who give the horses are pleased because they have been able to show their liberality, a trait which is held in great estimation by these people, and they have also the peculiar satisfaction of flogging a warrior with impunity. Both tribes are also pleased, the one because they have gained the horses without which they could not have made up their forces, and the other because they have shown themselves possessed of superior wealth.

Section
Full Size.

FLINT-HEADED ARROW.
(See [page 1285].)

(1.) CAMANCHEES RIDING.
(See [page 1289].)

(2.) SMOKING HORSES.
(See [page 1290].)

CHAPTER CXXXVII.
THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS—Continued.
HUNTING—AMUSEMENTS.

NORTH AMERICAN HUNTERS — BISON OR BUFFALO HUNTING — THE CHASE ON HORSEBACK — USE OF THE GUN — BISON DRIVING — THE SNOW SHOE, AND ITS USE IN BISON HUNTING — THE DISGUISE IN WOLF SKINS — HORSE CATCHING — MODES OF USING THE LASSO — HOW HORSES ARE TAMED — “CREASING” HORSES — THE BUFFALO DANCE — CREDIT OF THE BUFFALO DANCE RESTORED — A SINGULAR MASK — INVARIABLE SUCCESS OF THE DANCE — HOW THE DANCERS ARE RELIEVED — AN INGENIOUS DECEPTION.

As might be expected from a migratory people like the North American Indians, all the tribes excel in hunting, though some are notable above the others. Next to Africa, this country presents the finest hunting grounds in the world, the game varying according to the locality, and giving the hunter an almost unrivalled scope of action.

First and most important of the North American game is the bison, popularly but erroneously called the buffalo. This animal exists in countless myriads, and in spite of the continual persecutions to which it has been subjected, and the utterly reckless manner in which it has been destroyed, it still blackens the plains with its multitudes.

Before the horse came into use, the North American Indians were obliged to chase the bison on foot, and even at the present day there are many celebrated hunters who are able to run down a bison on foot and kill it with the lance. The mode, however, which is generally adopted is the chase by mounted hunters, a chase which offers the greatest results, and exhibits the wildest enthusiasm and excitement. Armed merely with his tiny bow and flint-headed arrows, the native hunter mounts his horse, and goes off in chase of the bison.

When he comes up with the animals, he selects one, usually a fat and well-conditioned cow, presses his horse to her and prepares his bow and arrow. The well-trained horse needs no guiding, but keeps close to the right shoulder of the bison, and a little behind it, so that it may not run upon the horns of the animal if it should happen to stop suddenly and turn its head. This plan, moreover, just brings the rider into the proper position to deliver his arrow in the most deadly manner, i. e. directing it just behind the shoulder. When an arrow is discharged by a practised hand, the bison falls mortally wounded, and, tenacious of life as the animal is, soon breathes its last. Leaving the arrow in the wound in order to mark the owner of the dead animal, the successful archer dashes on in pursuit of another animal, and does not cease until he has expended all his store of arrows. An [illustration] on page 1299 shows a herd of bisons, and the Indians on horseback engaged in the exciting sport.

It is the pride of the native hunter to kill a bison with every arrow, and not to shoot twice at the same animal. The younger hunters are fierce and anxious rivals in this sport, knowing that the result of the day’s hunt will be the talk of the whole village, and that on their success or failure will much depend the estimation in which they are held. So each successive hunt produces its eager competitors for honor, some being desirous of wiping off past disgrace by present success, and others equally anxious to maintain the reputation which they have gained on former occasions.

Even in those parts of the country where the bow has been almost entirely superseded by fire-arms, it is equally a point of honor to kill the bison with a single shot, and to claim a slain bison for every bullet. In such cases, the hunter takes little pains in loading his gun. He carries the powder loose in his pocket or bag, scoops hastily a random quantity into the gun, drops upon it, without any wadding, a bullet wetted in the mouth, and the loading is complete. The muzzle of the gun is kept uppermost until the moment for firing, when the gun is dropped, aimed, and fired simultaneously, without being brought to the shoulder.

The skill displayed in managing the horse is the more remarkable, as these Indians use no bit by which the animal can be guided. They have nothing but a slight hide halter tied round the lower jaw of the horse, the only use of which is to cause it to halt when required. This is popularly called the “lariat,” a corruption from the French word, l’arêt.

The excitement caused by this chase is indescribable, though Mr. Catlin gives a very graphic idea in a few words:—“I have always counted myself a prudent man, yet I have often waked, as it were, out of the delirium of the chase, into which I had fallen as into an agitated sleep, and through which I had passed as through a delightful dream—where to have died would have been to have remained, riding on, without a struggle or a pang.”

Sometimes the bison is destroyed in a much less sporting manner, the precipice and the pound being the two modes which are usually followed. The reader may probably be aware that, in those parts of North America inhabited by the bison, the surface of the plain is frequently interrupted by ravines with precipitous sides and of tremendous depth. When a hunting party see a herd of bisons within several miles of one of these ravines, they quietly separate, and steal round the herd, so as to place the bisons between themselves and the ravine.

They then gently move forward, and the bisons, retreating from them, draw nearer and nearer to the ravine, at the same time becoming packed closer and closer together. Suddenly the hunters raise a shout, and dash forward at the bisons. The affrighted animals take to flight at their best speed, and run on until they reach the edge of the ravine. Here the foremost bisons try to check themselves, but to no avail, as they are pressed forward by their companions behind, and thus almost the whole of the herd are forced over the precipice, and killed by the fall. Even those in the rear, which at last see their danger, and try to escape, have to run the gauntlet of their enemies, who allow but very few of them to escape.

A somewhat similar plan is adopted with the pound, into which the bisons are driven by the hunters. The pound is an enclosure made of felled trees and branches, with an opening which gradually widens. The bisons are driven toward the enclosure, a task which often occupies several weeks, and, when they arrive within the fatal arms of the entrance, are urged forward by means of little fires, which are lighted on either side. Instinct urges the animals to escape from an element which sweeps over vast districts of country, and kills every living thing in it, and in their haste they run toward the pound, in which they are at once shut up. It is fortunate for the hunters that the bisons do not know their own strength. They could easily break through the walls of the pound, but they mostly content themselves with turning round and round, and passively await the arrival of the destroyer. So foolish are they in this respect, and in such numbers are they killed, that pounds have been built of the bones of slaughtered bisons.

In the winter another plan of hunting the bison is followed. At this time of the year the fur or “pelt” of the bison is the thickest and warmest, and the skin is of the most value. It is from these skins that the “buffalo” rugs and robes are made, without which out-of-door life would be scarcely endurable in the more northern parts of this vast continent.

During the winter months the prairies assume a new aspect. They are not only covered with snow, so that the ordinary landmarks are obliterated, but the snow is blown by the wind into the most fantastic shapes, raised in some places into long and sharply scarped hills where no hills were, forming level plains where the ground is really cut up by hollows, and leaving only the tops of eminences bare, whence the snow is blown away by the tempestuous winds that sweep across the vast expanse. On these hills the bison congregate for the purpose of grazing, shovelling away with their broad noses the snow which still clings to the herbage.

The animals instinctively keep clear of the small but treacherous plains and valleys, knowing that the hidden crevices may at any time swallow them up. Into these valleys the hunters try to drive them, so that they may be helplessly entangled in the snow, and fall easy victims to the spear. Were it not for some invention whereby the hunters are enabled to skim over the surface of the snow, the bisons would be in perfect safety, but the snow shoe lays the poor animals at the mercy of their pursuers. It is necessary first to describe this ingenious implement.

The best form of [snow shoe] is seen on the next page. The shape is that of a fish, and its framework is made of ash-wood, kept in form by two cross-bars, one in front and one behind. It is slightly turned up in front. The whole of the space within the framework is filled in with a close and strongly made netting of hide thongs, much like those of a racquet—indeed, the French Canadians use the word “raquet” to represent the snow shoe. As the snow shoe is about five feet in length and eighteen inches or more in breadth, it is evident that the weight of the wearer is distributed over a large surface, and that a heavy man wearing these shoes can pass with impunity over snow in which a child would sink if only supported on its feet.

SNOW SHOE.
(From my collection.)

Just behind the opening is a triangular space crossed by parallel thongs. When the shoe is to be worn, the foot is placed on it so that the heel rests on the parallel thongs, and the centre of the foot is supported by the thick cross-thong, called the “bimikibison,” the toes passing into the square opening, which is called the eye of the shoe. In order to keep the foot in its place, two leathern loops (not shown in the figure) are attached to the bimikibison, one of which passes over the instep and the other comes round the heel.

As, therefore, the wearer moves along, the feet play freely on the bimikibison, the heels coming down at each step on the parallel thongs, while the toes move up and down through the “eye” of the shoe, which is dragged over the snow by the instep thong, the heel strap being only useful in keeping the foot from slipping out backward.

After some practice, the wearer is able to skim over the snow with astonishing speed, but to a novice the first attempt is not only awkward, but causes excruciating pain. The unaccustomed movement of the foot, together with the pressure of the instep strap, produces a pain peculiar to the snow shoe called by the Canadians “mal du raquet.” Not only does blood stain the snow as the excoriated foot drags the heavy shoe over the surface, but a pain pervades the whole foot, as if all the little bones were dislocated, and rubbing against each other. Perseverance is the only cure for the “mal du raquet,” and after a few days the wearer is able to proceed with perfect comfort.

The most ingenious part of the snow shoe is the mode by which it is fitted to the foot. It is evident that if it were fastened firmly to the foot, like the sole of a shoe, the wearer would be unable to stir a step. The movement of a snow-shoe wearer is somewhat analogous to that of a skater, the shoe being slid over the snow, and not raised and depressed like shoes in ordinary walking. If the reader will refer to the [illustration], he will see that in the middle and toward the forepart of the shoe there is a square opening, edged by thongs, very much stronger than the others.

It often happens that heavy snow storms fall before the people are able to replace the shoes, which are generally damaged in the course of the summer months, and in this case they are obliged to extemporize snow shoes out of flat boards. These are shorter and wider than the regular snow shoes, but are used in much the same manner, the “eye” being cut out of the board, and the necessary thongs being fixed across the opening. These simple instruments are called by a name which signifies “bear’s-paw” shoes. Some of the prairie tribes use very long and comparatively narrow skates, turned up in front, and precisely resembling the “skidor” of Northern Europe.

Upborne on the snow shoe, the American Indian has the bison at his mercy. He drives the herd from the eminences into the valleys, and while the poor animals are floundering about in the deep snow, he deliberately selects those which have the largest and softest “robes,” and kills them with his spears. Thousands are annually slain in this manner, their skin removed, and with the exception of the tongue and the hump, which are the best parts of the bison, the whole of the carcass is left to the prairie wolves and birds of prey.

On these shoes the native hunters capture the huge moose. They select a time when there has been a partial thaw followed by a frost, so as to leave a thin crust of ice upon a substratum of soft snow. As the moose plunges through the snow, it breaks through this icy crust at every step, cutting its legs frightfully with the broken edges, and so falls an easy victim.

Another mode of bison hunting presents a curious analogy with the ingenious method of ostrich hunting which is practised by the Bosjesmans of Southern Africa.

Upon the vast plains of North America the so-called wolves prowl in numbers. They will follow the hunter for weeks together for the sake of the offal of the beasts which he kills. They will not venture to harm him, but follow him by day at a distance of half a mile or so, and at night, when he lies down to sleep, they will couch also at a respectful distance.

Should he wound a bison and not be able to secure it, the wolves are sure to have that animal sooner or later, and if they manage to detach a single bison from the herd, they will fairly persecute the wretched animal to death. But they will never venture to attack a herd of bisons, and, being instinctively aware of the protection afforded by mutual support, the bisons allow the wolves to approach quite close to them, and, indeed, to wander freely among the herd. Of this fact the hunters take advantage in the following manner. They remove the skin of a large wolf, and put it upon themselves, so that when they go on all fours the head of the wolf projects just above their own head, and their arms and legs are partly covered by the skin belonging to the corresponding members of the wolf.

Thus disguised, they creep slowly and cautiously toward the herd, bearing their bow and arrows in their left hands. The bisons, whose eyes are none of the best, being overshadowed by the masses of black hair that overlap them, think nothing of the supposed wolves, and allow them to come quite close. Even if an animal more wary than his comrades does suspect the ruse, the disguised hunter has merely to turn in another direction, as if the creature he represents has no business with the herd. By degrees, he contrives to creep close to the bison which he prefers, and drives the flint-headed arrow to its heart. No report attending the discharge of the arrow, the wounded bison runs for a few paces, and sinks on the ground, mostly without alarming any of its companions. The hunter leaves his dying prey, goes off after another victim, and slays it in a similar fashion. Thus a skilful hunter will manage to exhaust the whole of his stock of arrows, killing a bison with each arrow, and yet not alarm the rest of the herd.

Both in hunting and in warfare the equestrian warriors always carry the lasso attached to the saddles of their horses. It is not, however, kept coiled, as is the case in Mexico, but is allowed to trail on the ground behind their horse. The object of this custom is easily understood. It often happens that, whether in the hunt or warfare, the rider is thrown from his horse. In such a case, as soon as he touches the ground, he seizes the lasso, stops his well-trained horse with a jerk, leaps on its back, and is at once ready to renew the combat or the chase.

The mode in which the natives supply themselves with horses is worth a brief description. In various parts of the country the horses have completely acclimatized themselves, and have run free for many years, so that they have lost all traces of domestication, and have become as truly wild as the bison and the antelope, assembling in large herds, headed by the strongest and swiftest animals. It is from these herds that the natives supply themselves with the horses which of late years have become absolutely necessary to them; and in most cases the animals are captured in fair chase after the following manner:—

When an American Indian—say a Camanchee—wishes to catch a fresh horse, he mounts his best steed, and goes in search of the nearest herd. When he has come as near as he can without being discovered, he dashes at the herd at full speed, and, singling out one of the horses, as it gallops along, hampered by the multitude of its companions, flings his lasso over its neck.

As soon as the noose has firmly settled, the hunter leaps off his own steed (which is trained to remain standing on the same spot until it is wanted), and allows himself to be dragged along by the affrighted animal, which soon falls, in consequence of being choked by the leathern cord.

When the horse has fallen, the hunter comes cautiously up, keeping the lasso tight enough to prevent the animal from fairly recovering its breath, and loose enough to guard against its entire strangulation, and at last is able to place one hand over its eyes and the other on its nostrils.

The animal is now at his mercy. He breathes strongly into its nostrils, and from that moment the hitherto wild horse is his slave. In order to impress upon the animal the fact of his servitude, he hobbles together its fore-feet for a time, and casts a noose over its lower jaw; but within a wonderfully short period he is able to remove the hobbles, and to ride the conquered animal into camp. During the time occupied in taming the horse, it plunges and struggles in the wildest manner; but after this one struggle it yields the point, and becomes the willing slave of its conqueror. Those who have seen the late Mr. Rarey operate on a savage horse can easily imagine the scene that takes place on the prairie.

The rapidity with which this operation is completed is really wonderful. An experienced hunter is able to chase, capture, and break a wild horse within an hour, and to do his work so effectually that almost before its companions are out of sight the hitherto wild animal is being ridden as if it had been born in servitude.

The native hunter, cruel master though he generally is, takes special care not to damp the spirit of his horse, and prides himself on the bounds and curvets which the creature makes when it receives its master upon its back.

There is only one drawback to this mode of hunting. It is impossible to capture with the lasso the best and swiftest specimens. These animals always take command of the herd, and place themselves at its head. They seem to assume the responsibility as well as the position of leaders, and, as soon as they fear danger, dart off at full speed, knowing that the herd will follow them. Consequently, they are often half a mile or more in advance of their followers, so that the hunter has no chance of overtaking them on a horse impeded by the weight of a rider.

A rather strange method of horse taking has been invented since the introduction of fire-arms. This is technically named “creasing,” and is done in the following manner. Taking his rifle with him, the hunter creeps as near the herd as he can, and watches until he fixes on a horse that he thinks will suit him. Waiting till the animal is standing with its side toward him, he aims carefully at the top of the neck, and fires. If the aim be correct, the bullet just grazes the neck, and the horse falls as if dead, stunned for the moment by the shock. It recovers within a very short time; but before it has regained its feet the hunter is able to come up to the prostrate animal, place his hands over its eyes, breathe into its nostrils, and thus to subdue it.

This is a very effectual mode of horse catching; but it is not in favor with those who want horses for their own riding, because it always breaks the spirit of the animal, and deprives it of that fire and animation which the native warrior prizes so highly. Indeed, so careful is the Camanchee of his steed, that he will not mount his favorite war horse except in actual warfare, or in the hunt. When he is summoned by his chief, he attends muster, mounted on a second horse, or hack, and leading his war horse by the bridle.

The wild horses of North America are a small and neat-limbed, though powerful, breed of animal. Mr. Catlin says that their value has been much overrated, as even those which belong to the Camanchees, and are thought to be equal to the best Arab horses, are on the average worth some twenty pounds each. The chiefs have generally one or two horses of very superior quality; but as far as the average goes, the Camanchee horse is not worth more than the above mentioned sum.

The horses that are generally brought into the market are those that are obtained by “creasing.” Experienced purchasers, however, do not care much about such animals. Creasing is, moreover, liable to two disadvantages. The hunter is equally in danger of missing his mark altogether, in which case the whole herd dashes off, and gives no more chances to the hunter; or of striking too low, in which case the horse is killed on the spot.

In accordance with their usual custom, some of the tribes perform a sacred dance as a means of bringing the bison within their reach. The most characteristic of these performances is the Buffalo Dance as practised by the Mandans.

Sometimes it happens that the supplies of fresh meat fail. During the greater part of the year the bisons are scattered with tolerable evenness throughout the land, so that the hunters are able to find a sufficiency of game within a few miles of their village, to supply them with food. Indeed, large herds of bisons can often be seen from the village itself, their black masses being conspicuous against the verdure of the ground over which they range.

At certain seasons of the year, however, the animals are sure to withdraw themselves further and further from the villages, so that the hunters, in order to procure meat, are obliged to venture so far from their own ground that they are in danger of meeting with war parties of an inimical tribe. At last the hunters report to the council of chiefs and medicine men that they can no longer find game. A solemn conclave is at once held, and if, after a few days of patient waiting, during which every adult throughout the community is reduced to a state of semi-starvation, no bisons are found, the buffalo dance is ordered. This remarkable dance is a sort of homage to the Great Spirit, acknowledging that He can send the animals to them, and praying that He will do so; and, as we shall presently see, it is a remedy that never fails.

Among the Mandans every man is obliged by law to have a buffalo mask, i. e. the skin of the head, with the horns added to it. Usually to the head is added a strip of skin some four or five inches wide, extending along the whole length of the animal, and including the tail. When the wearer puts on his mask, the strip of skin extends down his back, and the tufted tail drags on the ground behind him.

I have worn one of these strange masks, and found it much less inconvenient than might have been supposed. It is not nearly so cumbrous as the chief’s dress of state, described on [page 1276]. The buffalo mask is kept by each man at the head of his bed, a circumstance which gives a strange wildness to the interior of the hut, or lodge, as it is called, especially if several young warriors sleep in the same lodge.

As soon as the mandate for the buffalo dance is given, the men repair to their lodges and bring out their masks, together with the weapons which they are accustomed to use in the hunt. Ten or fifteen of them arrange themselves in a circle, while the medicine men seat themselves on the ground, beating their sacred drums and shaking their rattles to a rhythmical sort of movement which guides the steps of the dancers.

These move continually in a circle, stamping, yelping, grunting, bellowing, and imitating in various ways the movements of the bison. The dance goes on day and night without cessation, and as it never ceases until bisons are seen, the reader will understand that it is absolutely effective in bringing them. A spirited [sketch] of such a dance is given on the following page.

The mode in which it is kept up is rather amusing. The medicine men who beat the drums and encourage the dancers are relieved from time to time by their companions. But for the dancers there is supposed to be no relief but death. This difficulty, however, is surmounted by a sort of legal fiction. When one of the performers has yelped, stamped, bellowed, and leaped until he can dance no longer, he stoops down and places his hands on the ground. Another dancer, who is armed with a very weak bow and arrows with large blunt heads, fits an arrow to his bow, and shoots him. The wounded dancer falls to the ground, and is seized by the bystanders, who drag him out of the ring, go through the movements of skinning him and cutting him up, when he is allowed to retire and rest from his labors. As soon as he is dragged out of the ring, another dancer leaps into his place, and in this way the dance may go on for weeks without cessation.

Meanwhile scouts are posted on all the hills within range, and as soon as one of them sees the bisons, he gives the signal by tossing his rope in the air in the direction of the game. Mr. Catlin relates a remarkable instance of the buffalo dance and its sequel.

Game had been scarce, the dance had been going on for days, and the village was in a state of increasing distress, when the welcome signal was seen from the hills. The dance ceased, the young men flew to their arms, sprang on their horses, and dashed off into the prairie toward the signal.

“In the village, where hunger reigned and starvation was almost ready to look them in the face, all was instantly turned to joy and gladness. The chief and doctors, who had been for seven days dealing out minimum rations to the community from the public crib, now spread before their subjects the contents of their own private caches (i. e. hidden stores), and the last of everything that could be mustered, that they might eat a thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for His goodness in sending them a supply of buffalo meat.

“A general carouse of banqueting ensued, which occupied the greater part of the day, and their hidden stores, which might have fed them on an emergency for several weeks, were pretty nearly used up on the occasion. Bones were half picked, dishes half emptied, and then handed to the dogs. I was not forgotten in the general surfeit. Several large and generous wooden bowls of pemmican and other palatable food were sent to my painting room, and I received them in this time of scarcity with great pleasure.”

When the feast was over, songs and dances set in, and the whole village was filled with sounds of revelry. Suddenly, in the midst of their mirth, two or three of the hunters dashed in among the feasters, one having in his hands a still bleeding scalp, another sitting wounded on his horse, whose white coat was crimsoned with the fast-flowing blood of the rider, while another was, though unwounded, totally unarmed, having flung away his weapons in the hurry of flight.

Their fatal story was soon told. The bisons, after whom the hunters had gone were nothing more than empty skins, within which a party of Sioux warriors had hidden themselves, and were imitating the action of the animals which they personated. Inveterate enemies of the Mandans, they had reconnoitred their village by night, and ascertained that they were executing the buffalo dance. Several of them procured bison skins, and enacted the part of the animals, while their comrades were concealed behind the bluffs.

Fortunately for the Mandans, their leader became suspicious of the supposed bisons, and halted his troop before they had quite fallen into the trap, and, when some eighty or ninety mounted Sioux dashed at them from behind the bluff, they were just starting homeward. As it was, however, eight of them fell, a loss which was but ill compensated by one or two Sioux scalps secured by the Mandans in the hurry of flight. Even under such untoward circumstances, the buffalo dance did not lose its reputation, for within two days a large herd of bisons passed near the village, and afforded an abundant supply of meat.

(1.) BISON HUNTING.
(See [page 1293].)

(2.) BUFFALO DANCE.
(See [page 1298].)

CHAPTER CXXXVIII.
THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS—Continued.
RELIGION—SUPERSTITION.

THE TERRIBLE ORDEAL OF THE MANDANS — LEGEND OF THE FLOOD — APPROACH OF THE FIRST MAN — THE GREAT MEDICINE LODGE, AND ITS CONTENTS — APPROACH OF THE CANDIDATES, AND DEPARTURE OF THE FIRST MAN — BUFFALO DANCE, AND THE BIG CANOE — APPROACH OF THE EVIL SPIRIT — POWER OF THE MEDICINE PIPE — COMMENCEMENT OF INITIATION — TRIAL BY SUSPENSION — SWOON AND RECOVERY — THE LAST RACE — TWO COURAGEOUS INITIATES — LOOKING AT THE SUN — RAIN MAKING — THE WHITE BUFFALO HAIR, AND HIS PROWESS — THE MEDICINE BAGS AND THE TOTEMS — THE MEDICINE MAN AT WORK — THE WOUNDED MAN AND SICK GIRL — INITIATION OF THE MIDÉ ORDER — THE PIPES OF PEACE AND WAR — SACRIFICES.

We now come to the religious ceremonies of these remarkable tribes, and will begin with the terrible ordeal through which the youths have to pass before they can be acknowledged as men. Among the Mandans, this ordeal, for length and for severity, throws into the shade all the various ordeals of which we have read. Even the terrible gloves of the Mundurucú are mild when compared with the horrors of the Mandan initiation.

Until late years this ceremony was quite unknown. Every one who knew the people was aware that the Mandan youths had to pass through some terrible scenes of torture before they could take their place, among the warriors, but the details of the whole ceremony were kept a profound secret, and were never betrayed until Mr. Catlin, in his character of medicine man (which he had gained by his skill in painting), was permitted to be present. It is most fortunate that he did so, for the Mandan tribe has utterly perished, and thus the records of a most extraordinary superstition would have vanished. The ceremony is a very long and complicated one, and the following is a condensed account of it.

The ceremony has a religious aspect, and is, in fact, performed for the sake of propitiating the Great Spirit in favor of the young men who undergo it, so that he may make them valiant warriors and successful hunters. It has also another important object. Being conducted in the presence of the great chief and medicine man, it enables the leader of the tribe to watch the behavior of the young men who pass through the ordeal, and to decide upon their ability to sustain the various privations of Indian warfare.

The reader must first be told that among the Mandans there survived the legend of a flood which covered the earth, and from which only one man escaped in a large canoe. In the centre of the village there is a large open space, in which is a conventional representation of the “big canoe,” in which the First or Only Man escaped. It is not the least like a canoe, and in fact is nothing more than a sort of tub standing on one end. It is bound with wooden hoops, and is religiously preserved from injury, not the least scratch being allowed to defile its smooth surface.

The ceremony only takes place once in the year, the time being designated by the full expansion of the willow leaves under the banks of the river. The Mandans possess the legend of the bird flying to the big canoe with a leaf in its mouth, only with them the leaf is that of the willow, and not of the olive. The bird itself is held sacred, and, as it may not be injured, it may often be seen feeding on the tops of the Mandan huts.

Early on the morning of the appointed day, a figure is seen on a distant bluff, approaching with slow and stately steps. As soon as he is seen, the whole village becomes a scene of confusion, as if the enemy were attacking it. The dogs are caught and muzzled, the horses that are feeding on the surrounding pastures are driven into the village, the warriors paint their faces for battle, seize their spears, string their bows, and prepare their arrows.

In the midst of the confusion the First Man, or Nu-mohk-muck-a-nah, as he is called in the Mandan tongue, stalks into the central space, where the chief and principal warriors receive him and shake hands. He is a strange object to the eye. His nearly naked body is painted white, a white wolf-skin mantle is thrown over his shoulders, his head is decorated with plumes of ravens’ feathers, and in his left hand he bears his mystery pipe, which he treats with the greatest veneration.

After greeting the chief, he proceeds to the great medicine lodge, which is kept closed during the year, and has it swept and the floor strewn with fresh green boughs and aromatic herbs. Several skulls of men and bisons are laid on the floor, a number of new ropes are thrown over the beams, a quantity of strong wooden skewers are placed under them, and in the centre is built a slight platform, on the top of which is laid the chief medicine or mystery of the tribe. This is so sacred that no one is allowed to approach it except the conductor of the ceremony, and none but he ever knows what it is.

He next goes to every hut in succession, stands before the gate, and weeps loudly. When the owner comes out, the First Man narrates the circumstances of the flood and of his own escape, and demands an axe or a knife as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit. Every hut furnishes an edged tool of some kind; and when the tale is completed, they are carried into the medicine lodge. There they rest until the last day of the ceremonies when they are thrown into a deep pool in the river. No one is allowed to touch them, and there they lie until at some future day they will be discovered, to the great bewilderment of antiquarians.

From the moment that the First Man enters the village a dead silence reigns, a circumstance quite in opposition to the usual noisy habits of a native village. Where he sleeps no one knows, but at dawn of the following morning he again enters the village, as he had done before, and walks to the medicine lodge, whither he is followed by the candidates for initiation walking in Indian file, and each painted fantastically, and carrying his bow and arrows, his shield, and “medicine bag.” Of this article we shall learn more in a future page. In silence they seat themselves round the lodge, each having his weapons hung over his head.

Here they have to sit for four days, during which time they may not communicate with those on the outside of the hut, and are not allowed to eat, drink, or sleep. When they have taken their places, the First Man lights his pipe from the fire that is kept burning in the centre of the lodge, and makes an oration to the candidates, exhorting them to be courageous and enduring, and praying that the Great Spirit may give them strength to pass satisfactorily through the ordeal.

He then calls to him an old medicine man, and appoints him to be master of the ceremonies, handing him the mystery pipe as a symbol of office. Addressing the assembled company, he takes leave of the chiefs, saying that he will return in another year to re-open the lodge, and stalks slowly out of the village, disappearing over the bluffs whence he came. The master of the ceremonies then takes his place in the centre of the lodge, and relights the pipe, uttering with every whiff of smoke a petition to the Great Spirit in behalf of the candidates. For three full days they sit silently round the lodge, but outside it a strange series of ceremonies takes place.

Chief among them is the buffalo dance, in which the eight actors wear the entire skins of bisons, and carry on their backs a large bundle of slight twigs. They also carry a mystery rattle in one hand, and a slender staff in the other. They arrange themselves in four pairs round the Big Canoe, each pair corresponding with one of the cardinal points of the compass. Between each group dances a young man, two of them painted black and covered with white stars, so as to represent the night, and the other two painted red, to represent the day.

Beside the Big Canoe sit two medicine men, wearing the skins of grizzly bears, and threatening to devour the whole village. In order to appease their hunger, the women bring continual relays of meat in dishes, which are at once carried off to the prairie by men painted entirely black, except their heads, which are white. They are thus colored in imitation of the bald-headed eagle. As they run to the prairie they are pursued by a host of little boys painted yellow, with white heads, and called antelopes. After a severe chase they catch the eagle-men, seize the food, and devour it.

These dances occur several times daily, the performers being summoned by the master of the ceremonies, who comes out of the medicine lodge, followed by his immediate assistants, and proceeds to the Big Canoe, against which he leans, and weeps aloud as if in dire distress. The dance takes place four times on the first day, eight times on the second, twelve times on the third, and sixteen times on the fourth; the sound of the old man’s wailing cry being the signal for the dancers to issue from the hut in which they dress.

During each performance, the old medicine men who are beating their drums address the bystanders, telling them that the Great Spirit is pleased with their invocations, and that he has given them peace; that even their women and children can hold the mouths of grizzly bears; and that the evil spirit who is challenged by these rites has not dared to make his appearance. Thirty-two times during the four days this vaunt is made, and no evil spirit appears; but after the last day he comes, and a horrible-looking object he is.

On a distant bluff the evil spirit makes his appearance, rushing toward the village in a wild and devious course. Presently he enters the circle, perfectly naked, with his body painted black and covered with white rings, his mouth decorated with white indentations like great teeth, and holding in his hand a long magic staff tipped with a red ball. As he runs along, he slides this ball before him on the ground, and suddenly makes a rush at the groups of women who are witnessing the ceremony.

They fall back on each other in terror, and shriek for aid, which is given by the master of the ceremonies. As soon as he hears their cries, he runs from the Big Canoe, where he has been weeping, and holds his magic pipe in front of the intruder. The demon is instantly checked by its wondrous influence, and he stands as if petrified, each limb remaining in the attitude which it had taken when the pipe was held before him.

“This check gave the females an opportunity to get out of reach, and when they were free from their danger, though all hearts beat yet with the intensest excitement, their alarm was cooled down into the most exorbitant laughter and shouts of applause at his sudden defeat, and the awkward and ridiculous posture in which he was stopped and held. The old man was braced stiff by his side, with his eyeballs glaring him in the face, whilst the medicine pipe held in its mystic chain his satanic majesty, annulling all the powers of his magical wand, and also depriving him of the power of locomotion.

“Surely, no two human beings ever presented a more striking group than these two individuals did for a few moments, with their eyeballs set in direst mutual hatred upon each other; both struggling for the supremacy, relying on the potency of their medicine or mystery; the one held in check, with his body painted black, representing, or rather assuming to be, O-kee-hee-de (the Evil Spirit), frowning everlasting vengeance on the other, who sternly gazed him back with a look of exultation and contempt, as he held him in check and disarmed under the charm of his sacred mystery-pipe.”

This scene is repeatedly enacted, until the powers of the magic pipe are proved against the assaults of the evil one, and the people have gained confidence in its protection. The women then begin in their turn to assail their persecutor with jeers and laughter, until at last one of them snatches up a handful of mud and dashes it in his face. He is at once vanquished by this attack, and begins to weep piteously. Emboldened by this confession of weakness, another woman snatches away his magic staff, and breaks it across her knee. The fragments are seized by the surrounding women, who break them to pieces and fling them at the head of the demon. Being now deprived of all his power, he runs off across the prairie, followed for half a mile or so by the women, who pelt him with sticks, stones, and mud, until at last he effects his escape, and the village is rid of the evil spirit for another year.

Now the remainder of the initiation may proceed.

The little scaffold with its mystic burden is removed from the centre of the great medicine lodge, the hide ropes are passed through apertures in the roof to men who stand outside, and the master of the ceremonies, and his assistants, together with the chiefs and braves of the tribe, re-enter the lodge, and take up their positions.

The first candidate is now called, and, wasted by four days of abstinence from food, drink, or sleep, places himself in front of two of the operators. One of these, who is armed with a double edged knife, purposely blunted and notched, pinches up an inch or so of flesh of the shoulder or breast, and pushes the knife through it, between his finger and thumb and the body of the candidate. The knife is then withdrawn, and one of the wooden skewers forced through the aperture. This operation is repeated on the other shoulder or breast, on each arm just below the shoulder and below the elbow, upon each thigh, and upon each leg just below the knee.

While this operation is being performed, the candidates do not allow the slightest symptom of pain to escape them, and they even invite the spectators to watch their countenances, so as to ascertain that they betray no signs of suffering. They may well do so, for upon the verdict of these chiefs depends the consideration in which they will be held in after life, and no man has a chance of being appointed the leader of a war party if he has been seen to flinch during the ordeal.

As soon as these preparations are completed, two of the hide ropes are lowered from the roof, and hitched round the skewers on the breast or shoulders. To the others are hung the weapons of the candidate, while to those of the lower arm and leg are suspended the skulls of bisons. A signal is then given, and the poor wretch is hauled up into the air, when he swings suspended only by the two skewers, and sustaining not only his own weight but that of the heavy skulls, his feet being some six or eight feet from the ground. In this terrible position he has to remain until nature finally gives way, and he faints. The artist has [represented] this stage of the fearful ordeal on the following page.

“Surrounded,” writes Mr. Catlin, “by imps and demons, as they appear, a dozen or more, who seem to be concocting and devising means for his exquisite agony, gather around him, when one of the number advances toward him in a sneering manner, and commences turning him round with a pole which he brings in his hand for that purpose. This is done in a gentle manner at first, but gradually increased, until the poor fellow, whose proud spirit can control its agony no longer, bursts out in the most lamentable and heart-rending cries that the human voice is capable of producing, crying forth a prayer to the Great Spirit to support and protect him in this dreadful trial, and continually repeating his confidence in his protection.

“In this condition he is continued to be turned faster and faster, and there is no hope of escape for him, nor the chance for the slightest relief, until, by fainting, his voice falters, and his strugglings cease, and he hangs a still and apparently lifeless corpse. When he is by turning gradually brought to this condition, which is generally done within ten or fifteen minutes, there is a close scrutiny passed upon him among his tormentors, who are checking and holding each other back as long as the least struggling or tremor can be discovered; lest he should be removed before he is, as they term it, entirely dead.”

When they are satisfied, a signal is given to the rope-holders, and the senseless man is lowered to the ground, the skewers which passed through his breast are removed, and the ropes attached to another candidate. Just as he falls, he is allowed to lie, no one daring to touch him, for he has put himself under the protection of the Great Spirit, and to help him would be a sacrilege.

When he recovers a little strength, he crawls to another part of the lodge, where sits a medicine man with a bison skull before him, and an axe in his hand. Holding up the little finger of his left hand as a sacrifice to the Great Spirit, the initiate lays it upon the skull, when it is severed by a blow from the axe. Sometimes the fore-finger of the same hand is also offered, so that there are only left the thumb and the two middle fingers, which are all that are needed to hold the bow.

It is a point of honor with the initiates to recover as quickly as possible from their swoon, and the chief warriors all watch them narrowly on this point, inasmuch as rapidity of recovery is a proof that the individual is strong, and capable of enduring the hardships which every war party is nearly certain to undergo before their return.

The final scene of the initiation is called the Last Race, and is, if possible, even a more dreadful trial than any which the candidates have yet undergone. An [illustration] of it is also given the reader on the next page.

The reader will remember that, although the skewers by which the young men were suspended are removed as soon as they are lowered to the ground, there yet remain eight more, two in each arm, and two in each leg. To each of these is attached a heavy weight, such as the bison skull, and none of them may be drawn out. They must absolutely be torn out through the flesh by main force, and that this object may be accomplished the Last Race is run. Hitherto the ordeal has been confined to the interior of the medicine lodge, but the Last Race is run in the open air, and the whole of the inhabitants are spectators.

The master of the ceremonies leaves the medicine lodge, goes to the Big Canoe, leans his head against it, and sets up his wailing cry. At the sound of his voice twenty young men issue from the dressing hut, all of the same height, and all wearing beautiful war dresses of eagle quills. Each carries in one hand a wreath of willow boughs, and on reaching the Big Canoe they arrange themselves round it in a circle, holding the wreaths as connecting links. They then run round the canoe, from left to right, screaming and yelping at the top of their voices, and going as fast as their legs can carry them.

The candidates are now brought out of the medicine lodge, each trailing the heavy weights attached to his limbs, and are placed at equal intervals outside the ring of runners. As each takes his place, he is given into the charge of two powerful young men, who pass round each of his wrists a broad leathern strap, which they grasp firmly without tying.

As soon as all are ready, a signal is given, and the candidates are set running round the Big Canoe, outside the inner circle, each man being dragged along by his supporters, until the skulls and other weights tear out the skewers to which they are fastened. The bystanders yell and applaud at the tops of their voices, so as to drown the groans of the sufferers, should the force of nature extract a sound from them, and to encourage them to endure this last trial. It often happens that the flesh is so tough that the skewers cannot be dragged out, and in such cases the friends of the sufferers jump on the skulls as they trail along the ground so as to add their weight to them.

The candidates mostly faint before they have run very far, but they are still dragged round the circle, and not released until the last weight has been torn away. As soon as this occurs, the two men who have dragged their senseless charge loosen their holds, and run away as fast as they can, leaving the body lying on the ground. No one may touch the poor wretch; and there he lies, a second time in the keeping of the Great Spirit. After a few minutes he recovers his senses, rises, and staggers through the crowd to his own hut, where his friends meet him, and do their best to succor him.

(1.) MANDAN ORDEAL OF SUSPENSION.
(See [page 1304].)

(2.) THE LAST RACE.
(See [page 1304].)

The rule is absolute that the man may not be released until the skewers have been fairly torn through the flesh. Mr. Catlin relates two remarkable anecdotes illustrative of this fact. In the one case the skewer had been unfortunately passed under a sinew. The poor lad was in vain dragged round the ring, and in vain did his friends throw themselves on the elk skull that was hung to him. At last the spectators set up a cry of distress, and the master of the ceremonies stopped the runners, leaving the senseless body lying on the ground. Presently the lad recovered himself, looked at the cause of his torment, and with a pleasant smile crawled on his hands and knees to the prairie, where he remained for three days longer without food or drink, until suppuration took place, and enabled him to release himself from his encumbrance. He crawled on his hands and knees to his home, and, in spite of his sufferings, recovered in a few days.

In the other case, two of the weights attached to the arms could not be removed. The unfortunate wretch crawled to the precipitous bank of the river, and drove a stake into the ground. To this stake he fastened the weights by two ropes, and let himself down half-way to the water. In this terrible position he hung for more than two days, until the too stubborn flesh at last gave way, and let him fall into the water. He swam to the side, made his way up the steep bank, and recovered.

Such instances as these, terrible as they are at the time, are never regretted by those to whom they occur, as they offer means of proving their valor and endurance, and any one who has overcome them is held in much consideration by the rest of the tribe.

Dreadful as is the whole scene of suffering, and sufficient to kill an ordinary white man, several of the warriors have undergone it more than once, and Mr. Catlin saw by the scars left on the body and limbs that some of the chief Mandan braves had submitted to the torture no less than five times. Some part of the estimation in which such men are held is owing to the belief of the Mandans that the annual supply of bisons depends on the proper fulfilling of these ceremonies, and that the Great Spirit is gratified in proportion to the number of times that the rites are performed. Thus those who have undergone them repeatedly are benefactors to the tribe in general, and as such receive their gratitude.

A somewhat similar system prevails among the Dacotah or Sioux Indians, as they are generally called. This, however, is a voluntary proceeding very rarely seen, and one which is intended simply to raise the candidate to the rank of medicine man. A tall and slender pole is set firmly in the ground, and to the top of it is fastened one end of a rope, the other being made into a loop. The candidate for mystic honors takes his place at the pole before dawn, painted gaily, and holding his medicine bag in his hand. Just before the sun rises, two skewers are passed through his breast, as is done by the Mandans, and the loop of the rope is passed over them.

The man now stands opposite the spot where the sun will rise, fixes his eyes upon it, and leans backward so as to throw the whole weight of his body on the rope, his feet serving more to balance than sustain him. As the sun passes over the heavens, he moves gradually round, never speaking nor taking his eyes from it; and if he can endure this torture from sunrise to sunset without fainting, he earns the rank to which he aspires, together with all the valuable presents which are laid at the foot of the pole by his admirers.

There is great risk attending this practice. Should the man faint in spite of the shouts and cheering cries of his friends, and the prayers and songs of the medicine men who sit around the pole, chanting and beating their magic drums, his reputation is lost, and he will ever afterward be held up to ridicule as one who had the presumption to set up for a medicine man, and had no power to sustain the character.

The Mandans have a curious mode of obtaining the rank of medicine man, resembling in many points the rain making ceremonies of Africa. As they depend much for their subsistence on the maize which they grow, a drought is always a great calamity, and must be averted if possible. When such an event occurs, the women, whose business it is to till the ground, come to the chiefs and doctors, and beg them to make rain, lest the corn should die. A council is then held, and the medicine men assemble in the council-house, and go through their preliminary ceremonies. No one is allowed to enter the house except the medicine men and those candidates who aspire to that rank.

There are generally ten or fifteen young men who prize that rank so highly that they are willing to run the risk of failure, and to lose all reputation in their tribe if they fail in drawing down the rain from the sky. They are called one by one out of the lodge, and take their position on the roof, when they go through the ceremonies which they think will produce the desired rain. They stand there from sunrise to sunset, and if no rain falls, they go to their houses disgraced, and debarred from all hope of being admitted into the Council of the tribe. Should, however, the rain descend, the reputation of the rain maker is assured, and he is at once admitted into the council among the chiefs and greatest braves.

Mr. Catlin relates a curious account of rain making of which he was a witness. There had been a drought for some time in the land, and the rain makers had been at work for three days. On the first day a man named Wah-kee, or the Shield, essayed his fortune, and failed. The same fate befell Om-pah, or the Elk, in spite of his headdress made of the skin of the raven, the bird that soars amid the storm. Wa-rah-pa, or the Beaver, also tried and failed; and on the fourth day Wak-a-dah-ha-hee, the White Buffalo Hair, took his stand on the lodge. He placed his chief reliance on the red lightnings with which he had painted his shield, and the single arrow which he carried in his hand.

He made an oration to the people, saying that he was willing to sacrifice himself for the good of the tribe, and either to bring rain or live with the dogs and old women all his life. He explained that one candidate had failed because the shield warded off the rain clouds; that the second failed because the raven was a bird that soared above the storm, and so did not care whether it rained or not; and the third failed because the beaver was always wet, and did not require rain. But as for himself, the red lightnings on his shield should bring the black thunder-cloud, and his arrow should pierce the cloud and pour the water on the fields.

Now it happened that just at that time a steamboat, the first that had ever been up the Missouri, fired a salute from a twelve-pounder gun, as she came in sight of the Mandan village. The sound of the gun was naturally taken for thunder, and the village was filled with joy. Valuable gifts were presented on all sides to the successful candidate, mothers were bringing their daughters to offer them as his wives, and the medicine men were issuing from their lodge in order to admit him formally among themselves.

Suddenly, from his elevated post, Wak-a-dah-ha-hee saw the steamboat ploughing her way up the river, and emitting the thunder from her sides. He turned to the chiefs and the assembled multitude, and told them that, though the sounds were not those of thunder, his medicine was strong, and had brought a thunder-boat to the village. The whole population thronged to the bank in silent wonder, and in the excitement of the time even the rain maker was forgotten. The passengers landed among the Mandans, and for the rest of the day all was turmoil and confusion. Just before sunset the White Buffalo Hair spied a black cloud creeping up from the horizon, unnoticed by the excited crowd. In a moment he was on the roof of the council-house again, his bow strung and the arrow brandished in his hand. He renewed his boastings and adjurations, and as the cloud came over the village, he bent his bow and shot his arrow into the sky. Down came the rain in torrents, drenching the fortunate rain maker as he stood on the roof, still brandishing his thunder shield and vaunting its power.

The storm continued during the night, but unfortunately a flash of lightning entered a lodge, and killed a young girl. Consternation reigned throughout the village, and no one was more frightened than the newly-made medicine man, who feared that the Council would hold him responsible for the girl’s fate, and condemn him to a cruel death. Moreover, he really considered that he was in some way responsible, as he had left the top of the council-house before he had brought rain.

So, early in the morning, he sent his friends to bring him his three horses, and, as the sun rose, he again mounted the lodge and addressed the people. His medicine was too strong, he said. “I am young, and I was too fast. I knew not where to stop. The wigwam of Mah-sish is laid low, and many are the eyes that weep for Ko-ka (the Antelope). Wak-a-dah-ha-hee gives three horses to gladden the hearts of those that weep for Ko-ka. His medicine is great. His arrow pierced the black cloud, and the lightning came, and the thunder boat also. Who says that the medicine of Wak-a-dah-ha-hee is not strong?” This ingenious address was received with shouts of applause, and from that time to his death Wak-a-dah-ha-hee was known by the honorable title of the “Big Double Medicine.”

We will now glance at the medicine bag, which plays so important a part among all the tribes of North America.

When a boy is fourteen or fifteen years old, he is sent into the woods to find his medicine. He makes a couch of boughs, and then lies without food or drink for several days, the power of his medicine being in proportion to the length of his fast. So severe is this discipline that instances have been known when the lad has died from the long abstinence to which he subjected himself. When he has endured to the utmost, he yields himself to sleep, and the first beast, bird, or reptile of which he dreams becomes his “medicine.”

He then returns home, and as soon as he has recovered a little strength, he goes out in search of his medicine, and, having killed it, preserves the skin in any shape which his fancy may dictate. It is mostly sewed up in the form of a bag, and contains one or two other charms. The reader will see that the size of the medicine bag is exceedingly variable, according to the size of the creature from whose skin it is formed. Sometimes it is three feet or more in length, and often it is so small that it can be concealed under the garments of the owner.

From the medicine bag the Indian never parts. He considers its presence absolutely indispensable to ensure success in any undertaking, and even carries it into battle, where he trusts to it for protection. Should he lose it in battle, he is utterly disgraced, and there is only one way of restoring himself to reputation. An Indian can only “make his medicine” once, so that he may not restore it by another probation of fasting and dreaming. But if he can slay an enemy in open battle, and take his medicine bag, his status in the tribe is restored, and he thenceforth assumes the medicine of the slain man in exchange for his own. If a man who has not lost his own medicine succeeds in capturing one from an enemy in fair battle, he is entitled to assume a “double-medicine,” and never loses an opportunity of displaying both the medicine bags as trophies of his prowess. Taking a medicine bag is as honorable as taking a scalp, and the successful warrior has the further advantage of being doubly protected by the two charms.

Very few instances have been known where an Indian has voluntarily parted with his medicine bag, and in such cases scarcely any display of valor will reinstate him in the opinion of his tribe. Sometimes he can be induced by the solicitation of white men to bury it, but he treats the grave as if it were that of a revered relation, hovering about it as much as possible, lying over the sacred spot, and talking to the bag as if it were alive. Sometimes he offers sacrifices to it; and, if he be a wealthy man, he will offer a horse.

Such a sacrifice as this takes rank as a public ceremony. A long procession goes to the prairie, the lead being taken by the owner of the medicine bag, driving before him the horse, which must always be the best he possesses. The animal is curiously painted and branded, and is held by a long lasso. When the procession arrives at the appointed spot, the sacrificer makes a long prayer to the Great Spirit, and then slips the lasso from the animal, which from that time takes its place among the wild horses of the prairie, and if at any time caught by the lasso, is at once recognized by the brand, and set free again. Such a sacrifice as this is appreciated very highly by the tribe, and gives the man the privilege of recording the circumstance on his mantle and tent. One Mandan chief sacrificed in this way no less than seventeen horses.

In connection with the medicine bag may be mentioned the “totem,” or mark by which each family is known. This is mostly an animal, such as a wolf, a bear, a dog, a tortoise, &c. If a chief wishes to show that he and his party have passed a given spot, he strikes with his axe a chip off a tree and draws on the white surface his totem. Or, if he sends an order to a distance, he draws his totem on a piece of bark, and gives it to his messenger as a token.

To return to the medicine man. He is best seen to advantage when exercising his art upon a sick person. He wears for this purpose one of the most extraordinary dresses which the mind of man ever conceived. No two medicine men wear a similar costume, but in all it is absolutely essential that every article shall be abnormal. Mr. Catlin saw one of these men called in to practise on a Blackfoot Indian, who had been shot through the body with two bullets. There was not the least chance of his recovery, but still the medicine man must be summoned. His strange, grotesque appearance, and the wild ceremony over the sick man are vividly [represented] on page 1311.

A ring was formed round the dying man, and a lane was preserved through them, by which the mystery man would make his appearance. In a few minutes a general hush-h-h ran through the assembly as the tinkling and rattling of his ornaments heralded the approach of the wise man. As he entered the ring, nothing could surpass the wild grotesqueness of his costume. By way of a coat, he wore the skin of a yellow bear—an article exceedingly rare in North America, and therefore in itself a powerful medicine. The skin of the head was formed into a mask, which entirely hid the features of the enchanter. The skins of various animals dangled from his dress, and in one hand he held his magic wand, and in the other the mystery drum, which contained the arcana of his order.

His actions were worthy of his appearance. He came in with a series of wild jumps and yells, accompanied with the rattling and beating of his magic drum as he approached the dying man. Having reached his patient, he began to dance round him to the accompaniment of his drum, to leap over him, to roll him from side to side, and in every imaginable way to render his last hours unendurable. In fact, the man might well die, if only to be rid of his physician. In a short time he did die; but the man, not in the least disconcerted at the failure of his efforts, danced out of the circle as he had entered it, and went off to his lodge to take off and pack up his official dress.

A somewhat similar scene was witnessed by Mr. P. Kane, in which the mode of manipulation was almost identical, though the medicine man, instead of disguising himself in a strange dress, went just to the opposite extreme. The story is narrated in Mr. Kane’s “Wanderings of an Artist,” being as follows:—

“About ten o’clock at night I strolled into the village, and on hearing a great noise in one of the lodges, I entered it, and found an old woman supporting one of the handsomest Indian girls I had ever seen. She was in a state of nudity. Cross-legged and naked, in the middle of the room, sat the medicine man, with a wooden dish of water before him; twelve or fifteen other men were sitting round the lodge. The object in view was to cure the girl of a disease affecting her side. As soon as my presence was noticed, a space was cleared for me to sit down.

“The officiating medicine man appeared in a state of profuse perspiration, from the exertions he had used, and soon took his seat among the rest, as if quite exhausted; a younger medicine man then took his place in front of the bowl, and close beside the patient. Throwing off his blanket, he commenced singing and gesticulating in the most violent manner, whilst the others kept time by beating with little sticks on hollow wooden bowls and drums, singing continually. After exercising himself in this manner for about half an hour, until the perspiration ran down his body, he darted suddenly upon the young woman, catching hold of her side with his teeth, and shaking her for a few minutes, while the patient seemed to suffer great agony. He then relinquished his hold, and cried out he had got it, at the same time holding his hands to his mouth; after which he plunged them in the water, and pretended to hold down with great difficulty the disease which he had extracted, lest it might spring out and return to its victim.

“At length, having obtained the mastery over it, he turned round to me in an exulting manner, and held something up between the finger and thumb of each hand, which had the appearance of a piece of cartilage; whereupon one of the Indians sharpened his knife, and divided it in two, leaving one in each hand. One of the pieces he threw into the water and the other into the fire, accompanying the action with a diabolical noise, which none but a medicine man can make. After which he got up perfectly satisfied with himself, although the poor patient seemed to me anything but relieved by the violent treatment she had undergone.”

Mr. Mulhausen relates an amusing anecdote of a native doctor’s practice upon himself. He had suffered so much in a long march that he was at last compelled to ask for a day’s rest. One of his companions, a medicine man, immediately tried the effect of his art. First he kneaded the body, and especially the stomach, of the prostrated traveller with all his force. This was to drive out the evil spirit; and, in order to effectually exorcise him, he procured his drum, and seated himself on the ground.

Placing the drum close to the ear of his patient, he kept up a continual rub-a-dub for two whole hours, singing the magic chant the while, until, in spite of his wounded feet, Mr. Mulhausen crawled out of the tent in sheer despair. The triumphant doctor wiped his streaming brows, and, declaring that no evil spirit could withstand such a medicine as that, gave the signal for resuming the march.

Among the Ojibbeways there is a remarkable ceremony by which an infant is received into the order of the Midés, a society in some degree resembling the Freemasons, the members of which consider themselves as related to each other, and addressing each other by the names of uncle, aunt, brother, sister, cousin, &c.

A temple, forty feet in length, was constructed for the express purpose, and built of boughs, like the bowers of the Feast of Tabernacles. It was built east and west, and had the entrance door at the eastern end, and the exit door at the western. In the middle sit the great Midés, each with his mystery bag, and opposite them sits the father of the child, dressed in his full paraphernalia of feathers, furs, and scalp-locks, and holding in his arms the child, lying tied on its board after the manner of Indian babies. On either side of him are the witnesses of the reception, and eastward of the chief Midés lies a large rough stone, which prevents the evil spirit.

The ceremony begins with an address of the principal Midé, and then the chiefs rise, and after walking in procession, each of them runs at one of the guests, presenting his medicine bag at him, and yelling in quickening accents, “Ho! ho! hohohoho! O! O! O! O! O!” As he presents the bag, the breath proceeding from it is supposed to overcome the person to whom it is presented, who falls down and lies there motionless. Having struck one person down, the Midé runs round the temple, to allow the medicine bag to recover its strength, and then presents it to another victim. This process is repeated until all the inmates of the hut, with the exception of the officiating Midés, are lying prostrate on the ground, where they lie until a touch from the same bag restores them to life and activity. This ceremony is repeated several times during the day, and is intended to show the virtue of the medicine bag.

The father then presents his child to the Midés, after which there is another speech from the chief Midé, and then follows a curious dance, consisting of two leaps to the right and two to the left alternately. After this, every one produces his medicine bag, and tries to blow down everybody else. And, as the bags are covered with tinkling bells, bits of metal, and shells, and the principal Midés are beating their drums and shaking their rattles with all their might, it may be imagined that the noise is deafening.

(1.) THE INDIAN BALL PLAY.
(See [page 1324].)

(2.) THE MEDICINE MAN AT WORK.
(See [page 1309].)

This completed the first part of the ceremony. In the next act, a pile of boughs covered with a cloth lay in front of the evil stone, and the chief Midé summoned all the initiated. They formed a procession of men, women, and children, and walked round the lodge, each stooping over the cloth as he passed, and looking at it. The second time they stooped closer, and the third time they were seized with convulsive movements as they approached the cloth, and each ejected from the mouth a little yellow shell upon the cloth. By the ejection of the shell (which typifies the sinful nature of man) the convulsions are healed, and, after going once more round the lodge, each performer takes one of the shells and places it in the medicine bag.

The last scene was a general feast, and gifts of amulets and charms presented by the chief Midés to the child.

One of the most pleasing traits in the character of these tribes is the strong religious feeling which pervades the general tenor of their lives, and which has raised them above the rank of mere savages. However imperfect may be their ideas on this subject, they are not idolaters, and give all their worship, either directly or indirectly, to one Great Spirit, whose aid and protection they continually invoke.

They believe in future existence and a future recompense according to their character in this life. Whatever their superstitions and ignorance, the mysteries enveloping their belief, there is running clearly through them all, these great doctrines accepted by the civilized Christian races.

To the Great Spirit they ascribe the possession of all the necessaries and pleasures of life, and to him they offer their prayers and return their thanks on almost every occasion. For example, the bisons, on which many of the tribes depend for food, clothing, and lodging, are held to be direct gifts of the Great Spirit to the red men, and asked for accordingly. The same is the case with the maize, or Indian corn, and religious ceremonies are held both at the planting and at the harvest time.

Tobacco is placed in the same category, and the smoke of the plant is considered to be a sort of incense, which is offered to the Great Spirit whenever a pipe is lighted, one wreath of smoke being blown silently to each quarter of the heavens, and to the sun, as an acknowledgment that the tobacco is a gift of the Great Spirit. Indeed, to the Indian mind there is something peculiarly sacred about tobacco smoke, probably on account of the soothing, and at the same time exhilarating, properties which have caused its use to extend to every portion of the globe.

Every religious ceremony is begun and ended with the pipe; war is declared, volunteers enlisted, negotiations conducted, and peace concluded, by its means. The character of the pipe varies with the occasion, the most valued being the sacred calumet, or medicine pipe, by which are settled the great questions of war and peace.

Among the Cree Indians the calumet is borne by a man who is solemnly elected to the office, and who has to pay rather dearly for the honor, from fifteen to twenty horses being the usual fee which each pipe bearer presents to his predecessor on receiving the insignia of office. These, however, are of considerable intrinsic value. They include a bear skin, on which he lays the pipe-stem when uncovered, a beautifully painted skin tent, in which he is expected to reside, a medicine rattle of singular virtue, a food bowl, and other articles so numerous that two horses are needed to carry them.

During his term of office, the pipe bearer is as sacred as the calumet itself. He always sits on the right side of the lodge, and no one may pass between him and the fire. He is not even allowed to cut his own food, but this is done by his wives, and the food placed in the official bowl which has just been mentioned. The pipe, with its innumerable wrappers, hangs outside the lodge, and is finally enclosed in a large bag, embroidered with the most brilliant colors which native art can furnish.

When it is uncovered, great ceremony is shown. No matter how severe may be the weather,—sometimes far below zero,—the bearer begins his operations by removing all his garments with the exception of his cloth, and then pours upon a burning coal some fragrant gum, which fills the place with smoke. He then carefully removes the different wrappers, fills the bowl with tobacco, and blows the smoke to the four points of the compass, to the sky, and to the earth, at each puff uttering a prayer to the Great Spirit for assistance in war against all enemies, and for bison and corn from all quarters. The pipe is replaced with similar ceremonies. No woman is allowed to see it, and if during the beginning of the ceremony a single word is spoken, it is looked upon as a very bad omen, and all the ceremony has to be begun again.

The bowl of the calumet is made of a peculiar stone, found, I believe, only in one place in the world, namely, in the Great Pipe-stone Quarry. This is situated in the Côteau des Prairies, about three hundred miles west of the Falls of St. Anthony, on the southern summit of the dividing ridge between the Minnesota and Missouri rivers, in the very middle of the Sioux territory. On this sacred spot the Great Spirit is said to have stood in the ancient times, and to have called together all the Indian nations. He broke from the rock a piece of stone, moulded it in his hands into a huge pipe bowl, and smoked it toward the four quarters of the compass. Then he told them that the ground was sacred, and that no weapon of war should be raised in it, for the red stone was their flesh, and belonged equally to them all. At the last whiff of the pipe the Great Spirit disappeared in the cloud, and the whole ground was melted, and became polished as at the present time.

In consequence of this legend, the Indians have the greatest reverence for this place. They will not allow any white man to touch the stone, or even to approach the place, if they can keep him away, saying that the stone is their flesh, and that if a white man takes the red men’s flesh, “a hole will be made in their flesh, and the blood will never stop running.”

Even the natives themselves never take a piece without asking permission of the Great Spirit, depositing tobacco in the hole whence they dug it, and promising that it shall be made into a pipe. When Mr. Catlin succeeded in reaching this sacred spot, one of the chief obstacles lay in the fact that a native had once given a piece of the red stone to a white man in order to be made into a pipe, and he had made it into a dish, thereby offending the Great Spirit, and “making the heart of the Indians sick.”

Mr. Catlin’s opinion is, that the red pipes, found among almost every tribe of Indians on the continent, were obtained at this place. His reasons are that every tribe he visited alleged this as their source; and furthermore, the stone from which they are made is different from any mineral yet discovered in America or Europe. He expresses the conviction substantiated by striking proof that the various tribes had for centuries visited this quarry, laying aside the war club and scalping knife, and smoking together in amity upon this neutral ground by command, as they thought, of the Great Spirit.

This stone is of a soft, creamy red color, rather variable in point of tint, and taking a peculiar polish. It has been analyzed, and is said to be a kind of steatite. It is cut into various fanciful shapes, those shown in the [illustration] on the next page being ordinary examples, though in some cases the bowls are adorned with figures of men and various animals. Some of these pipe heads have two bowls, one in front of the other.

These bowls are fitted with stems worthy of their sacred character. They are generally made of the stalk of the young ash, and are often adorned in the most elaborate manner. They are mostly flat, and sometimes are twisted spirally and perforated with open patterns in such a way that the observer cannot but marvel how the aperture for the smoke is made. After all, the mode of boring is simple enough. As every one knows who has cut a young ash sapling, the centre is occupied with pith. This is easily burned out with a hot wire, or bored out with a piece of hard wood, and the aperture is completed.

Afterward the wood is cut away on two sides, so as to leave only a flat stem, with the bore occupying the centre. The perforated patterns are next cut at either side of the bore, being carefully kept clear of it; and if the stem be then softened in boiling water, it can be made to assume almost any shape. One valued but rather rare form is a screw, or spiral, and several of the pipes in Mr. Catlin’s collection have this form.

The stems are very seldom left bare, but are almost invariably decorated with colored porcupine quills, woven into various patterns, sometimes representing the forms of men and animals. The calumet is always decorated with a row of eagle feathers, sometimes stained scarlet, and being tufted at their ends with slight plumes of hair. Indeed, this portion of the calumet is formed on exactly the same principle as the headdress of the chief, of which a [drawing] is given on page 1277. An example of this kind of pipe is shown in the [upper figure], on page 1315. Many pipes, instead of feathers, have long tufts of hair dyed scarlet. This hair is taken either from the tail of a white horse or that of a white bison, as in the lower figure of the same illustration. The woodpecker furnishes many ornaments for these pipes, and sometimes the stem passes through the preserved skin of a bird, or through that of a particularly beautiful ermine. But whatever may be the ornament of a medicine pipe, it is always the very best and most valuable that can be procured. The stem of the pipe varies from two to four feet.

The natives do not restrict themselves to tobacco, but smoke many narcotic vegetables, whether leaves, roots, or bark. These are generally mixed with tobacco, and go by the general name of k’neck-k’neck.

The custom of sacrifice obtains among all Indian tribes and is performed in various ways and upon many occasions. Cruel as the Indian is reputed to be, none of the tribes, except the Pawnees, have ever made human sacrifices; and these many years since abandoned the inhuman custom.

Their offerings to the Great Spirit must consist of the best of their possessions: the choicest piece of buffalo meat, the finest arrow, the most costly piece of cloth, the favorite horse or dog, and sometimes their own fingers. Such offerings are erected over the great medicine lodge in the centre of the village. When Mr. Catlin was among the Mandans there was placed there beside other gifts a beautiful skin of a buffalo, the history of which he gives as follows:—“A few weeks since a party of Mandans returned from the mouth of the Yellow Stone with information that a party of Blackfeet were there on business with the American Fur Company, and that they had with them a white buffalo robe. Such a robe is a great curiosity, even in the country of buffaloes, and will always command an incredible price. Being the most costly article in the region it is usually converted into a sacrifice, being offered to the Great Spirit as the rarest and most acceptable gift that can be procured. Among the vast herds of buffaloes there is not one in a hundred thousand, perhaps, that is white; and when such is obtained it is considered a great medicine or mystery.

“Receiving the intelligence above mentioned the chiefs convened in council and deliberated on the propriety of procuring this valuable robe. At the close of their deliberation eight men were fitted out on eight of their best horses, who took from the Fur Company’s store, on the credit of the chief, goods exceeding the value of the horses. They arrived in due time, made the purchase, and leaving their horses and all the goods carried, returned on foot, bringing the coveted robe, which was regarded as vastly curious and containing (as they express it) something of the Great Spirit. This wonderful anomaly lay several days in the chief’s lodge, till public curiosity was gratified; then it was taken by the high priests, and with a great deal of ceremony consecrated and raised on the top of a long pole over the medicine lodge, where it stands and will stand as an offering to the Great Spirit, until it decays and falls to the ground.”

2. Openings.

INDIAN PIPES. (From my collection.)
(See [pages 1313], [1314].)

CHAPTER CXXXIX.
THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS—Continued.
SOCIAL LIFE.

MARRIAGE — AN ENTERPRISING BRIDEGROOM, AND HIS SUDDEN ELEVATION TO RANK — TREATMENT OF WOMEN — TREATMENT OF CHILDREN — PORTRAIT OF PSHAN-SHAW — OF INDIAN BOY — THE CRADLE — THE FLAT-HEADED TRIBES — AFFECTION OF THE MOTHERS — THE COUCH OF MOURNING — ABANDONING THE SICK AND OLD — DANCES OF THE TRIBES — GAMES — THE SPEAR AND RING GAME — PAGESSAN, OR THE BOWL GAME — THE BALL PLAY — THE BALL DANCE — STARTING THE GAME, AND EXCITING SCENES — THE WOMEN’S BALL PLAY — HORSE-RACING — CANOE-MAKING — THE CANOE RACE — PRIMITIVE SAILS — SWIMMING — THE LEAPING ROCK — QUILL ORNAMENTS — BARK-BITING — WIGWAMS — MUSIC — PLEDGE OF FIDELITY — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD — BURIAL OF BLACKBIRD — REFLECTIONS UPON CHARACTER AND DESTINY OF THE INDIANS.

The ordinary social life of these interesting tribes now comes before us. As to marriage, there is little to distinguish it from the same ceremony among other uncivilized tribes, the girl being in fact purchased from her father, and her affections not necessarily, though generally, considered. A man may have as many wives as he can afford to keep, and when he can purchase four or five, their labor in the field is worth even more to the household than his exertions in the hunting field.

Mr. Catlin relates one rather amusing wedding.

There was a young lad, the son of a chief, whom his father started in life with a handsome wigwam, or tent, nine horses, and many other valuable presents. On receiving these presents, the young man immediately conceived a plan by which he could perform an act which would be unique. He went to one of the chiefs, and asked for the hand of his daughter, promising in return two horses, a gun, and several pounds of tobacco. The marriage was fixed for a certain day, but the transaction was to be kept a profound secret until the proper time. Having settled the business, he went to three other chiefs, and made exactly the same bargain with each of them, and imposed silence equally upon all.

On the appointed day, he announced to the tribe that he was to be married at a certain hour. The people assembled, but no one knew who was to be the bride, while each of the four fathers stood proudly by his daughter, inwardly exulting that he alone was in the secret. Presently the young bridegroom advanced to the chief to whom he had made the first offer, and gave him, according to his promise, the two horses, the gun, and the tobacco. The other three fathers immediately sprang forward, each denouncing the whole affair, and saying that the offer was made to his daughter, and to his alone. In the midst of great confusion, which was partially quelled by the chiefs and doctors, the young bridegroom addressed the assembly, saying that he had promised each of the claimants two horses, a gun, and a certain amount of tobacco in exchange for his daughter, and that he expected them to fulfil their part of the contract. There was no gainsaying the argument, and in the sight of the admiring spectators, he delivered the stipulated price into the hands of the parents, and led off his four brides, two in each hand, to his wigwam.

The action was so bold, and so perfectly unique, that the doctors immediately determined that a lad of nineteen who could act in this manner must have a very strong medicine, and was worthy to be ranked among themselves. So they at once installed him a member of their mystery, thereby placing him on a level with the greatest of the tribe, and by that bold coup the lad raised himself from a mere untried warrior to the height of native ambition, namely, a seat in the Council, and a voice in the policy of the tribe.

(1.) EE-A-CHIN-CHE-A.
(See [page 1285].)

(2.) A BLACKFOOT BOY.
(See [page 1319].)

(3.) PSHAN-SHAW.
(See [page 1319].)

The Indian women are the slaves of their husbands. They have to perform all the domestic duties and drudgeries of the tribe, and are never allowed to unite in their religious ceremonies or amusements.

That the reader may form a better idea of the appearance and dress of the women, I have given on the preceding page the [portrait] of a beautiful girl of the Riccarees (a part of the Pawnee tribe), whose name is Pshan-shaw (the Sweet-scented Grass). “The inner garment, which is like a frock, is entire in one piece, and tastefully ornamented with embroidery and beads. A row of elk’s teeth passes across the breast, and a robe of young buffalo’s skin, elaborately embroidered, is gracefully thrown over her shoulders, and hangs down to the ground behind her.”

On the same page the reader may find, as illustrative of Indian childhood, a [portrait] of the grandson of a chief of the Blackfeet, a boy of six years of age. He is represented at full length, with bow and quiver slung, and his robe of raccoon skin thrown over his shoulder. This young chief, his father dying, was twice stolen by the Crows, and twice recaptured by the Blackfeet, and then placed in the care of a Mr. M’Kenzie until he should be old enough to assume the chieftainship of his tribe, or be able to defend himself against his foes.

The Indian mothers do not have many children, possibly owing to the early age at which they marry. For example, the ages of the four brides just mentioned ranged from twelve to fifteen. Two or three is the average, and a family of five is considered quite a large one.

The children are carried about much in the same way as those of the Araucanians. A sort of cradle is made by bandaging the infant to a flat board, the feet resting on a broad hoop that passes over the end of the cradle. Another hoop passes over the face of the child, and to it are hung sundry little toys and charms; the one for the amusement of the infant, and the other for its preservation through the many perils of infantile life. When the mother carries the child, she hangs the cradle on her back by means of a broad strap that passes over her forehead. Both the cradle and band are ornamented with the most brilliant colors which native art can furnish, and are embroidered in various patterns with dyed porcupine quills.

Among the tribes which inhabit the banks of the Columbia River, and a considerable tract that lies contiguous to it, the cradle is put to a singular use, which has earned for the tribes the general title of Flat-heads. To the upper part of the cradle is fastened a piece of board, which lies on the child’s forehead. To the other end of the board are fastened two strings, which pass round the foot or sides of the cradle. As soon as the infant is laid on its back, the upper board is brought over its forehead, and fastened down by the strings. Every day the pressure is increased, until at last the head is so flattened that a straight line can be drawn from the crown of the head to the nose. One of these cradles with a child undergoing this process of head flattening, is illustrated below. The mother’s head is a type of its permanent effect.

THE FLAT-HEADED WOMAN.

This is perhaps the most extraordinary of all the fashionable distortions of the human body, and the wasp waist of an European belle, the distorted leg of the female Carib, and even the cramped foot of the Chinese beauty, appear insignificant when compared with the flattened head of a Chinnook or Klick-a-tack Indian. Mr. Catlin states that this custom was one far more extended than is the case at present, and that even the Choctaw and Chickasaw tribes of Mississippi and Alabama were accustomed to flatten their heads, their burial-places affording incontrovertible evidence that such must have been the case, and at no very distant date.

The reader, especially if he dabble in phrenology, might well imagine that such a practice must act injuriously upon the mental capacities of those who are subjected to it. Let us, for example, fancy a skull which has been so ruthlessly compressed that it only measures an inch and a half, or at the most two inches, in depth, at the back; that it is in consequence much elongated, and forced outward at the sides, so that it is nearly half as wide again as it would have been if it had been permitted to assume its normal form. The hair, combed down in one place, and expanding in others, would seem to have its natural capabilities much altered, even if not in many cases destroyed. Yet those who have mixed with the Flat-headed tribes say that the intellect is in no way disturbed, much less injured, and that those members of the tribe who have escaped the flattening process are in no way intellectually superior to those who have undergone it. Indeed, as Mr. P. Kane observes, in his “Wanderings of an Artist,” the Chinnooks despise those who retain the original shape of their heads. They always select their slaves from the round-headed tribes, the flattened head being the sign of freedom.

There is another point about the head flattening which deserves attention. Seeing that it is begun almost in the same hour that the infant is born, and is continued for eight months to a year or more, it might naturally be imagined that it would cause considerable pain to the child, and in many cases be dangerous to life. This, however, is not the case; and that it should not be so is one of the many proofs of the extent to which the human frame may be distorted without permanent injury. Mr. Kane’s remarks are as follows:—

“It might be supposed, from the extent to which this is carried, that the operation would be attended with great suffering to the infant, but I have never heard the infants crying or moaning, although I have seen the eyes seemingly starting out of the sockets from the great pressure. But on the contrary, when the lashings were removed, I have noticed them cry until they were replaced. From the apparent dulness of the children while under pressure, I should imagine that a state of torpor or insensibility is induced, and that the return to consciousness occasioned by its removal must be naturally followed by the sense of pain.”

Should a child die before it is old enough to be released from the cradle, the mother is not released from her maternal duties, but, on the contrary, continues to perform them as assiduously as if the little creature were living.

After the child is buried, she makes a “mourning-cradle,” i. e. in the place which the child had formerly occupied she places a large bundle of black feathers, by way of representative of the deceased infant, and treats it in all respects as if the little one still occupied the cradle. She carries it on her back wherever she goes, and when she rests, stands it upright against a tree or the side of the hut, and talks to it as if to a living child. This custom is continued for at least a year, and in many cases is extended even beyond that period. And, though a bereaved mother may be so poor as scarcely to have sufficient clothing for herself, she will contrive to decorate the cradle of her lost child with the appropriate ornaments.

As a rule, the North American Indians are affectionate parents. Mr. Catlin mentions an instance where he had painted a portrait of a married woman, the daughter of a chief. Some time afterward she died, and the father, happening to see and recognize the portrait of his lost daughter, offered ten horses—an enormous price for an American Indian to pay. Of course the portrait was presented to him at once.

Parental affection is fully reciprocated by the children, and the greatest respect paid by the younger to the elder men. Yet we find even among them, as among so many tribes which lead a semi-nomad existence, the custom of abandoning the sick and aged when they are obliged to make a forced march of any distance.

This is generally done at the instance of the victims themselves, who say that they are old and useless, and can be only an encumbrance to the rest of the tribe. Accordingly, a rude shelter is formed of a bison hide stretched over four upright rods, under which the sick man is laid; a basin of water and some food are placed by his side; and he is left to perish, if not by privation or disease, by the ranging flocks of wolves that roam the prairies.

We will now pass to a more agreeable phase in the life of these tribes, and take a glance at their dances and games.

It has been the prevalent impression that the Indian is taciturn, unsocial, and morose. Mr. Catlin, whose testimony cannot be impeached, takes considerable pains to correct this opinion; and states as the result of his travels among the Indian tribes, that “they are a far more talkative and conversational race than can easily be seen in the civilized world. No one can look into the wigwams of these people, or into any little momentary group of them, without being at once struck with the conviction that small talk, garrulity, story-telling and amusements, are leading passions with them.” To watch their games, and hear their shouts of exultation, in any of their villages, to sit down in their lodges and listen to their jokes, repartee, anecdote and laughter, would effectually banish this erroneous opinion so generally held in regard to the Red Men. With no anxieties for the future—no necessities goading them, it is natural that they should be a merry people, and most of their life be spent in sports and games.

(1.) BIRCH BARK CANOE.
(See [page 1326].)

(2.) DANCE TO THE MEDICINE OF THE BRAVE.
(See [page 1323].)

(3.) THE SNOW SHOE DANCE.
(See [page 1323].)

The Indian fondness for amusement is shown in the great variety of their dances, most of which are very fanciful and picturesque, though some of them have a religious significance. There are the ball-play dance, pipe dance, buffalo and scalp dances (already described), beggar’s, bear, and dog dances. But the most pleasing of all are the eagle dance, dance of the braves which is peculiarly attractive, and the green corn and snow-shoe dances. The latter is exceedingly picturesque, and the artist has [represented] it on the preceding page.

Before the first snow shoe hunt, the Indians always perform a dance by way of thanksgiving to the Great Spirit for sending the snow which will enable them to live in plenty so long as it lasts. Several spears are stuck upright in the snow covered ground, on one of which are tied a pair of snow shoes, and on the others sundry sacred feathers and similar objects. The dancers, clad in hunting dress, and wearing snow shoes, go round and round the spears, imitating the while all the movements of the chase, and singing a song of thanksgiving.

Nearly all the tribes, however remote from each other, have a season of festivity annually, when the ears of corn are large enough for eating. Green corn is regarded a great luxury, and is dealt out with most improvident profusion—the festivities lasting eight or ten days. The whole tribe feast and surfeit upon it so long as it lasts, making sacrifices, singing songs of thanksgiving to the Great Spirit, and celebrating the green corn dance. Every occupation is suspended during these festivities, and all unite in the carnival of gluttony and merriment. Mr. Catlin thus describes this dance:—“At the time when the corn is thought to be nearly ready for use, several of the old women, who have fields or patches of corn (the men disdain such degrading occupations as cultivating the field or garden), are appointed by the medicine men to examine the cornfields at sunrise every day, and bring to the council house several ears of corn, which they must on no account break open or look into. When the doctors, from their examination, decide that the corn is suitable, they send criers to proclaim to every part of the village or tribe that the Great Spirit has been kind, and they must meet next day to return thanks to Him. In the midst of the assembled tribe, a kettle filled with corn is hung over a fire. While this corn is being boiled, four medicine men, each with a stalk of corn in one hand and a rattle in the other, their bodies painted with white clay, dance around it chanting a thanksgiving to the Great Spirit, to whom the corn is to be offered. In a more extended circle around them, a number of warriors dance, joining in the same song. During this scene, wooden bowls are laid upon the ground, in which the feast is to be dealt out.”

When the doctors decide that the corn is sufficiently boiled, the dance assumes a different form, and a new song is sung, the doctors in the meantime placing the corn on a scaffold of sticks built over the fire, where it is consumed. This fire is then removed, the ashes are all buried, and a new fire is originated on the same spot, and in the same way as by the Hottentots, described on page 100. Then corn is boiled for the feast, at which the doctors and warriors are seated. An unlimited license is given to the whole tribe, who mingle excess and amusement until the fields of corn are stripped, or it has become too hard for eating.

The dance of the braves is beautiful and exciting in the highest degree:—“At intervals the dancers stop, and one of them steps into the ring and vociferates as loudly as possible the feats of bravery which he has performed during his life.... He boasts of the scalps he has taken, and reproduces the motions and actions of the scenes in which his exploits were performed. When his boasting is concluded, all assent to the truth of his story, and express their approval by the guttural ‘waugh!’ Then the dance commences again. At the next interval another makes his boast, and so another and another, till all have given a narrative of their heroic deeds, and proved their right to be associated with the braves of the nation.”

The dog dance, though a favorite with the Sioux, is not an attractive one.

The hearts and livers of two or more slain dogs are placed entire and uncooked upon two crotches, about as high as a man’s head, and are cut into strips so as to hang down. The dance then commences, which consists in each one proclaiming his exploits in loud, almost deafening gutturals and yells. At the same time the dancers, two at a time, move up to the stake, and bite off a piece of the heart and swallow it. All this is done without losing step or interrupting the harmony of their voices. The significance of the dance is that none can share in it but the braves who can boast that they have killed their foe in battle and swallowed a piece of his heart.

Among the Sacs and Foxes there are several singular dances, besides some already mentioned, viz: the slave dance (a very curious one), dance to the Berdashe, which is an amusing scene, and dance to the medicine of the brave. There is a tender and beautiful lesson conveyed in this latter dance. In the [illustration] of it on page 1322, a party of Sac warriors are represented as returned victorious from battle, with the scalps they have taken as trophies. Having lost one of their party, they appear and dance in front of his wigwam fifteen days in succession, about an hour each day, the widow having hung his medicine bag on a green bush, which she erects before her door, and under which she sits and cries whilst the warriors dance and brandish the scalps they have taken. At the same time they recount the heroic exploits of their fallen comrade, to solace the grief of his widow, and they throw her presents as they dance before her, that she may be kept from poverty and suffering.

There is little in these dances that resembles the “light fantastic toe” and giddy maze of the dance among the civilized. The former consist very much of jumps and starts—oftentimes the most grotesque, and even violent exertions—united with songs and yells, sometimes deafening by their sound or fearful by the wildness and intense excitement that are manifested.

To a looker on not familiar with the peculiar significance of these displays, they seem only a series of uncouth and meaningless motions and distortions, accompanied with harsh sounds, all forming a strange, almost frightful medley. Yet Mr. Catlin says “every dance has its peculiar step and every step has its meaning. Every dance has also its peculiar song, which is so intricate and mysterious oftentimes, that not one in ten of the young men who are singing know the meaning of the songs. None but medicine men are allowed to understand them.” There are dances and songs, however, not so intricate, which are understood and participated in by all the tribe.

The beating of drums, the yells, stamping, and bellowing, the noisy demonstrations forming so great a part of Indian amusements, will remind the reader of similar manifestations among some of the African tribes, recorded in the first part of this work.

The game which is perhaps the most popular and widely spread is almost unintelligible to an uninstructed bystander. Its title is Tchung-chee, that being the name of the spear which will be presently described. It is played with a ring about three inches in diameter, made of bone or wood wrapped with cord, and a slight spear, on which are several little projections of leather. The players roll the ring along the ground, and as it is about to fall, project the spear so that, as the ring falls, it may receive within it one of the pieces of leather. If it does so, the player scores one or more points, according to the particular projection which is caught in the ring, and the mode in which it flies.

Another variation of this game, called Al-kol-lock, has the spear without the leathern projections, but in their stead six colored beads are fixed inside the ring. At each end of the smooth clay course, which is about fifty feet in length, a slight barrier is erected. The players bowl the ring from one end of the course, run after it, and as it falls after striking the barrier, throw their spears as described above, the points being reckoned according to the color of the bead which lies on them.

The absorption of the players in this game is beyond description. They will play at it all day, gamble away their horses, their tents, their clothes, and, when they have lost all their property, will stake themselves, the loser becoming the slave of the winner.

Another game, called Pagessan, or the bowl game, is very popular, though it is a sedentary one, and lacks the graceful action that gives so great a charm to the preceding game. It is played with a wooden bowl, containing a number of pieces of wood carved into various forms; some, which we may call the pieces, having round pedestals on which to stand, and others, which we will term the pawns, being round, and painted on one side and plain on the other. The players take the bowl alternately, give it a shake, and set it in a hole in the ground. The contents are then examined, and the points are scored according to the number of pieces which stand on their pedestals. If the pawn has its colored side upward, the player scores one point; if it has the plain side uppermost, he deducts a point from his score. The position of the pawns is entirely a question of chance, but considerable skill is exerted in getting the pieces to stand on their pedestals.

The game which is most characteristic of the American Indians is the celebrated ball game, a modification of which has been introduced into England under the name of La Crosse. The principle on which it is played is exactly that of foot-ball and hockey, namely, the driving of a ball through a goal defended by the opposite party. We will first take the game as it is played by the Choctaws. The reader will find it [illustrated] on page 1311.

A ball is carefully made of white willow wood, and ornamented with curious designs drawn upon it with a hot iron. The ball-sticks, or racquets, are much like our own racquets, but with larger and more slender handles, and with a very much smaller hoop. Each player carries two of these sticks, one in each hand. The dress of the players is very simple, being reduced to the waist-cloth, a tail made of white horsehair or quills, and a mane of dyed horsehair round the neck. The belt by which the tail is sustained may be as highly ornamented as possible, and the player may paint himself as brilliantly as he likes, but no other article of clothing is allowed, not even moccasins on the feet.

On the evening of the appointed day, the two parties repair to the ground where the goals have been already set up, some two hundred yards apart, and there perform the ball-play dance by torchlight. Exactly in the middle between the goals, where the ball is to be started, sit four old medicine men, singing and beating their drums, while the players are clustered round their respective goals, singing at the top of their voices, and rattling their ball-sticks together. This dance goes on during the whole of the night, so that the players are totally deprived of rest—a very bad preparation, as one would think, for the severe exertion of the ensuing day. All the bets are made on this night, the article staked, such as knives, blankets, guns, cooking utensils, tobacco, and even horses and dogs, being placed in the custody of the stakeholders, who sit by them and watch them all night.

About nine o’clock on the next morning the play begins. The four medicine men, with the ball in their custody, seat themselves as before, midway between the goals, while the players arrange themselves for the attack and defence. At a given signal, the ball is flung high in the air, and as it falls, the two opposing sets of players converge upon it. As there are often several hundred players on each side, it may be imagined that the scene is a most animated one.

“In these desperate struggles for the ball,” writes Mr. Catlin “where hundreds are running together, and leaping actually over each other’s heads, and darting between their adversaries’ legs, tripping, and throwing, and foiling each other in every possible manner, and every voice raised to its highest key, in shrill yelps and barks, there are rapid successions of feats and incidents that astonish and amuse far beyond the conception of any one who has not had the singular good luck to witness them.

“In these struggles, every mode is used that can be devised to oppose the progress of the foremost, who is likely to get the ball; and these obstructions often meet desperate individual resistance, which terminates in a violent scuffle, and sometimes in fisticuffs. Then their sticks are dropped, and the parties are unmolested, whilst they are settling it between themselves, except by a general stampedo, to which those are subject who are down, if the ball happen to pass in their direction. Every weapon, by a rule of all ball players, is laid by in the respective encampments, and no man is allowed to go for one; so that the sudden broils that take place on the ground are presumed to be as suddenly settled without any probability of much personal injury, and no one is allowed to interfere in any way with the contentious individuals.

“There are times when the ball gets to the ground, and such a confused mass is rushing together around it, and knocking their sticks together, without a possibility of any one getting or seeing it for the dust that they raise, that the spectator loses his strength, and everything but his senses; when the condensed mass of ball sticks and shins and bloody noses is carried around the different parts of the ground, for a quarter of an hour at a time, without any one of the masses being able to see the ball, which they are often scuffling for several minutes after it has been thrown off and played over another part of the ground.

“For each time that the ball was passed between the goals of either party, one was counted for their game, and they halted for about one minute; when the ball was again started by the judges of the play, and a similar struggle ensued; and so on until the successful party arrived at 100, which was the limit of the play, and accomplished at an hour’s sun, when they took the stakes.”

In this game the players are not allowed to strike the ball with their sticks, or catch it in their hands; though to do so between the netted ends of the sticks, and then to run away with it, is a feat which each player tries his best to accomplish. Ball-play among the Sioux is exactly the same in principle as that of the Choctaws, but the players only carry one stick, which is wielded with both hands.

Sometimes the men are kind enough to indulge the women with a ball-play, and to present a quantity of goods as prizes, hanging them across a horizontal pole, in order to stimulate the players by the sight. Such inferior beings as women are not, however, allowed to use the ball and racquet of their superiors, the men, but play with a couple of small bags filled with sand, and attached to each other by means of a string about eighteen inches in length. Each of the players is furnished with two slight sticks, about two feet in length, and with these sticks they dexterously catch the sand bags, and fling them toward the goals. The women play with quite as much enthusiasm as the men, and the game often assumes the appearance of a general battle rather than of a pastime.

Since the introduction of horses, the American Indians have become very fond of horse racing, and bet so recklessly on the speed of their animals that they often lose everything which they possess. In these races neither the horse nor the rider are allowed to be costumed in any way, not even a saddle or a girth being allowed. They also have boat races, in which the spectators take as much interest as those who witness the Oxford and Cambridge races. The canoes are mostly propelled by one man only.

The canoes are of various forms and materials, according to the tribe to which they belong. For example, the Mandans have an odd, circular vessel, made from a bison hide, stretched over a wooden framework. This is called a “bull boat,” and is propelled in a very singular manner. A woman is the usual paddler, and she stands or kneels with her face toward the direction in which she intends to proceed, and, thrusting the paddle into the water as far forward as she can reach, draws it smartly toward her, and thus propels the boat with considerable speed.

On one occasion, Mr. Catlin and two companions were desirous of crossing the river, and were packed into one of these bull boats by the wife of a chief. She then went into the water, and swam across the river, towing the boat after her. As, however, she neared the opposite bank, a number of young girls surrounded the canoe, took it into their own management, and kept it in mid-stream, until the passengers, utterly powerless in such a craft, ransomed themselves with bead necklaces and other decorations. Then there is another kind of canoe, which is simply a hollowed tree-trunk, and which is graphically called a “dug-out.” No very particular care is taken about the shaping of this simple boat, which is more like a punt than a canoe.

The best and most characteristic form of native canoe is that which is made of the bark of the birch tree. The mode of making these canoes is briefly as follows. Canoe building is a work in which both sexes take a part. The men first select the largest and finest birch trees, with the smoothest skins, and strip off large pieces of the bark. The women then take charge of the bark, and, while it is still fresh and moist, clean and scrape it as if it were leather, and then sew the pieces together, so as to make the “cloak” of the future canoe.

While the women are at this work, the men are busily preparing the skeleton of the canoe. This is made of the white cedar, the ribs being cut and scraped until they are quite thin and light, and held in their places by smaller cross-pieces, and a long thin piece of wood, which runs round the entire edge of the boat, and is, in fact, the chief support of the canoe. This is technically called the “maître.” No nails are used, the whole of the junctions being effected by means of thongs of bass, obtained from the inner bark of the white cedar.

The skeleton being completed, it is laid upon the cloak, which is brought over the ribs, firmly lashed to the “maître,” and then by degrees brought into its proper shape. A strengthening piece, called the “faux maître,” is next tied along the whole of the gunwale in order to protect it from injury, and the interior is lined with cedar boards, scarcely thicker than pasteboard. When the canoe is finished and dry, the holes through which the lashings have passed, as well as all the junctions of the bark, are carefully stopped with pitch obtained from the pine or fir-tree, and the weaker parts of the bark are also strengthened with a coat of pitch.

The bark canoe of the Chippeways is, unquestionably, the most beautiful model of all the water crafts ever invented. It is usually made complete, from the rind of one birch tree, and so ingeniously formed and put together, that it is water-tight, and will ride upon the water with singular grace and swiftness.

These canoes are wonderfully light, as indeed is necessary for the navigation of the rivers. The many rapids would effectually prevent a boat from passing up the river, were it not for the plan called “portage.” When the canoe arrives at the foot of a rapid, it is taken ashore, the crew land, take all the goods out of the canoe, and carry them to the opposite side of the rapid. They then go back for the canoe itself, launch it in the smooth water above the rapid, and load it, and proceed on their journey. The [figure] at the head of page 1322 will give the reader a good idea of the form of the birch bark canoe.

These vessels can be propelled with wonderful speed, as they sit on the surface like ducks, and, when empty, scarcely draw two inches of water. The number of paddlers varies according to the size of the boat, but the course is regulated by the two who sit respectively in the bow and stern, whom we may for convenience call the “bow” and “stroke.” It is the duty of the “bow” to look carefully ahead for any rocks or any other obstacles, and, by movements well understood, to indicate their presence to the “stroke,” who, with a sweep of the paddle, brings the canoe round in the direction indicated by the “bow.”

The canoes which are used in races are made of birch bark, and are almost always of small size—so small, indeed, that a man can easily carry his canoe on his head from his house to the water’s edge, and then launch it without assistance. Mr. Catlin gives a very animated description of a canoe race, the competitors being accompanied by large canoes, full of their respective friends, who yell encouragements to the antagonists, fire guns in the air, and render the scene a singularly exciting one, even to a stranger.

Toward the right hand of the [illustration] which depicts the canoe race, on the following page, the reader may see a curious mode of propelling canoes, which is often adopted when there is no necessity for speed and the wind is favorable. The man who acts as “bow” stands up in the front of the canoe, extends a robe or a blanket in his two hands, and then he presses the two other corners at the bottom of the boat with his feet. The robe thus becomes an extemporized sail, of which the man is the mast. In this manner a canoe is often carried for a considerable distance, to the great relief of the paddlers.

An European would instantly upset the fragile canoe if he tried to stand erect in it; but the natives are absolutely perfect masters of their little vessels, and seem to move about in them as easily and firmly as if on dry land. They will load a canoe within an inch and a half of the water’s edge, and paddle it for a whole day, without dreaming of danger. And an accomplished canoe man will take a fish spear in his hand, place a foot on each gunwale of the boat, and, propelled by a friend in the stern of the boat, dart down rapids, spearing fish as he shoots along, hauling the struggling fish out of the water, and shaking them into the boat behind him.

(1.) CANOE RACE.
(See [page 1326].)

(2.) ESQUIMAUX DWELLINGS.
(See [page 1335].)

Among most Indian tribes, when mourning for the death of relatives, the women are required to cut their hair entirely off, and the period of mourning is until it has grown to its former length. As long tresses are so highly valued by most of the tribes this is no small sacrifice. But long hair being of much more importance to the men they cut off only a lock or two, to indicate grief or affliction for their departed kindred.

There is a game which has in it somewhat of a religious aspect. On the border of the Great Pipe-stone Quarry a solitary rock rises from the plain. It resembles a large pillar, being only a few feet in diameter, though more than thirty feet in height. It is situated within a short distance from the edge of the precipice, and the Indians who come to procure red stone for their pipes often try to leap upon it and back again. The mere leap to the rock is comparatively easy, but there are two terrible dangers which threaten the leaper. In the first place, the small, flat surface of the rock is so polished and smooth, that if the leaper should exert too much power, he must slip off, and be killed on the sharp rocks below. Should he retain his foot-hold he has still a difficult task in regaining the spot whence he sprang, as he can take no run, and the slippery surface of the rock affords but a slight fulcrum from which he can take his spring.

Before an Indian essays this terrible leap, he offers up many prayers to the Great Spirit for help and protection, and he has at all events the satisfaction of knowing that, if he should fail, his body will be buried in the sacred ground of the nation. Those who succeed leave an arrow sticking in the rock, and have a right to boast of it at every public meeting when they are called upon to speak. No man would dare to boast of this feat without having performed it, as he would at once be challenged to visit the Leaping Rock and to point out his arrow.

If the reader will refer to the figure of [the canoe] on page 1322, he will see that its sides are decorated with a pattern. This is made by fastening dyed porcupine quills to the sides of the little vessel. Porcupine quills are used very largely for ornaments, and, even though they have been partly superseded by beads, are still in use for decorating the dresses and utensils of the natives.

These quills are never so long or thick as those of the porcupine of the Old World, and are naturally white or gray, so that they can easily take any desired dye. They are first sorted very carefully into their different sizes, the largest rarely exceeding three inches in length, while the smaller are quite thread-like, and can be passed through the eye of an ordinary needle. Both ends are sharp. When the native artist desires to produce a pattern, the design is first drawn on the right side of the bark or leather; the two ends of the quill are then pushed through the fabric, and fastened on the wrong side, the quill acting both as needle and thread.

Perhaps the most ingenious mode of making ornaments is that which is practised by the Ojibbeway women, and called Bark-biting. The following description of this curious art is given by Mr. Kohl in his “Kitchi-Gami:”—

“This is an art which the squaws chiefly practise in spring, in their sugar plantations. Still, they do not all understand it, and only a few are really talented. I heard that a very celebrated bark-biter resided at the other side of St. Mary’s River, in Canada, and that another, of the name of Angélique Marte, lived in our cataract village. Naturally, I set out at once to visit the latter.

“Extraordinary geniuses must usually be sought here, as in Paris, on the fifth floor, or in some remote faubourg. Our road to Angélique Marte led us past the little cluster of houses representing our village far into the desert. We came to morasses, and had to leap from stone to stone. Between large masses of scattered granite block, the remains of the missiles which the Indians say Menaboju and his father hurled at each other in the battle they fought here, we at length found the half-decayed birch-hut of our pagan artiste, who herself was living in it like a hermit.

“The surrounding landscape seemed better adapted for a renversi than for an atélier. When we preferred our request for some specimen of her tooth carving, she told us that all her hopes as regarded her art were concentrated in one tooth. At least she had only one in her upper jaw properly useful for this operation. She began, however, immediately selecting proper pieces of bark, peeling off the thin skin, and doubling up the pieces, which she thrust between her teeth.

“As she took up one piece after the other, and went through the operation very rapidly, one artistic production after the other fell from her lips. We unfolded the bark, and found on one the figure of a young girl, on another a bouquet of flowers, on a third a tomahawk, with all its accessories, very correctly designed, as well as several other objects. The bark is not bitten into holes, but only pressed with the teeth, so that, when the designs are held up, they resemble, to some extent, those pretty porcelain transparencies made as light-screens.”

The mode of constructing the wigwam is very much the same among the various tribes. Generally it is made of dressed buffalo skins sewed together and arranged in the form of a tent, with a score or more of poles about twenty-five feet in height, as a support, and with an opening at the apex for the escape of smoke or the admission of light. The Crows, however, excel all others in the style of their lodge. They dress the skins almost as white as linen, embellish them with porcupine quills, and paint them in various ways so as to make their tents exceedingly beautiful and picturesque.

The Indian lodges may be removed in a few minutes. The taking down and the transportation is the work of the squaws. A tribe will generally remove six or eight times in a summer in order to find good hunting grounds among the herds of buffaloes.

The Indian tribes judging from their musical instruments, have little taste or skill in music. These are very rude, and consist of rattles, drums, the mystery whistle, war whistle and deer skin flute. The war whistle is from six to nine inches in length, made of the bone of the deer’s or turkey’s leg, with porcupine quills wound around it. The chief wears this to battle under his dress. It has only two notes—one, produced by blowing into one end of it, is shrill, and is the summons to battle; and the other sounds a retreat. Even in the noise of battle and amid the cries and yells of their fierce conflicts, this little instrument can be distinctly heard.

The chief pledge of friendship among these tribes, is a dog feast. If we consider that the dog is an object of special affection with the Indians; that he is more valued by them than anywhere else on the globe;—we can understand the significance of this feast. This sacrifice of what is dearest to them is therefore the very strongest evidence of friendship. On their coats of arms, on the rocks, they carve the image of the dog, and everywhere and always, he is the emblem of fidelity. Accordingly, to ratify friendship, to give the most unquestionable proof of honor and devotion, the Indian will take his beloved companion of the chase and wigwam, and offer it as the sacrifice to hospitality and affection.

These feasts are conducted in the most solemn and impressive manner, as if with the conviction that the pledge of friendship is a sacred thing. Those were tender words which Catlin gives at the conclusion of an Indian chief’s address to him and other white guests, to whom such a feast had been given: “we offer you to-day not the best we have got, for we have plenty of good buffalo hump and marrow—but we give you our hearts in this feast—we have killed our faithful dogs to feed you, and the Great Spirit will seal our friendship. I have no more to say.”

We come now to consider the customs of the Indians in regard to death and the disposal of the dead.

The Mandans take the body of the deceased, clothe it in his best robes and ornaments, furnish it with food, pipes, tobacco, and arrows, and wrap it up in skins previously soaked in water, so as to render them pliant, and cause them to exclude the air as much as possible. The body is then placed upon a slight scaffold, some seven feet in height, and left to decay. In process of time, the scaffold gives way and falls, when the relations of the deceased bury the whole of the remains, with the exception of the skull, which they place on the ground, forming circles of a hundred or more, all with the faces looking inward, and all resting on fresh bunches of herbs. In the centre of each circle is a little mound, on which are placed the skulls of a male and female bison, and on the mound is planted a long pole, on which hang sundry “medicine” articles, which are supposed to aid in guarding the remains of the dead.

No people are more fond of swimming than the Indians, the youth of both sexes learning the art at a very early age. Such knowledge is indispensable to them, especially liable as they are to accidents with their light canoes, and in their marches compelled to cross the widest rivers. The squaws will fasten their children to their backs, and easily cross any river that lies in their way.

The Indian mode of swimming, however, is quite different from ours. They do not make a horizontal stroke outward from the chin, but throw the body alternately from one side to the other, and raising one arm out of the water, reach as far forward as possible, while the other arm having made the same motion, goes down and becomes a propelling power. And this, though an apparently awkward, is yet a most effective mode of swimming, and less likely to be attended with injury to the chest, or with fatigue.

The relatives constantly visit the skull circles, and the women may often be seen sitting by the skulls of their dead children for hours together, going on with their work, and talking to the dead skull as if it were a living child. And, when tired, they will lie down with their arms encircling the skull, and sleep there as if in company with the child itself. The Sioux and many other tribes lodge their dead in the branches or crotches of trees, enveloped in skins, and always with a wooden dish hanging near the head of the corpse, for the purpose, doubtless, to enable it to quench its thirst on the long journey they suppose awaits it after death. The Chinnooks place them in canoes, which, together with the warrior’s utensils accompanying the dead, are so shattered as to be useless.

The most singular funeral of which a record has been preserved was that of Blackbird, an Omaha chief. The artist has reproduced the [strange scene] on page 1341.

Upon the bank of the Missouri, and in the district over which he ruled, there is a lofty bluff, the top of which can be seen for a vast distance on every side. When the chief found that he was dying, he ordered that he should be placed on the back of his favorite war horse, and buried on the top of the bluff.

The request was carried out to the letter. On the appointed day, the whole tribe, together with a vast concourse of spectators, repaired to the bluff, leaving an open space in the middle, where the chief was to be buried.

Presently, the body of the dead chief was borne up the sides of the bluff, and after him was led his war horse, a noble milk-white steed which he had valued exceedingly. When the funeral procession reached the top of the bluff, the dead chief was clothed in full panoply of war, the feather plumes on his head, the strung bow, quiver, arrows, shield, and medicine bag slung on his back, his scalps, which no other man might take, hung to his horse’s bridle and to his weapons, and his favorite spear in his hand. He was also furnished with food and drink, to sustain him in his passage to the spirit land, and with his pipe and filled tobacco pouch, flint, and steel, so that he might solace himself with the luxury of smoking.

This done, he was mounted on the back of his horse, and all the chiefs advanced in their turn to make their farewell speeches to their dead leader. Each, after delivering his address, rubbed his right hand with vermilion, pressed it against the white coat of the horse, and left there the scarlet imprint of his hand. Then began the burial. The warriors brought in their hands pieces of turf, and with them began to raise a huge mound, in the middle of which the chief and his horse were to be enclosed. One by one they placed their turves around the feet of the devoted horse, and so, by degrees, they built the mound over the animal while yet alive.

The mound, when completed, rose high above the head of the chief thus strangely buried in its centre, and there he and his horse were left to decay together. On the top of the mound a cedar post was erected; and this mound has been, ever since it was built, a familiar landmark to all the surrounding country. This green, flower spotted mound is visited by great numbers of travellers, both white and red. The former ascend the bluff partly out of curiosity to see so strange a tomb, and partly for the sake of the magnificent view from its summit, while the latter visit it for the sake of paying their respects at the burial-place of one of their most renowned chiefs and greatest medicine men.

The custom of burying wives and other victims with the deceased husband seems now to be extinct among the North American tribes, but such an event has happened within comparatively late years. There was a Nachez chief, called the Stung Serpent, who died; and as he was the head chief of the tribe, a considerable number of victims were devoted for sacrifice. The French, however, remonstrated, and induced the friends of the dead chief to limit the number to eight or ten. Among them was a beautiful girl, who, though not his wife, had loved him greatly, and desired to share his grave.

On the day appointed a procession was formed, in which the victims were led in great state, accompanied by eight relatives of the deceased, who were to act as executioners, and who bore the fatal cord, the deer-skin which was thrown over the head of the victim, the tobacco pills which were to be taken before the ceremony, and the other implements required. When they were all placed at the grave, the chief wife made a speech, in which she took leave of her children; and the victims, after being strangled, were deposited in the grave.

As the object of this work is to present the manners and customs of tribes and races in their primitive state, and not those semi-civilized, it will be enough to merely introduce the names of the Cherokees, Choctaws, Creeks, Chickasaws, Senecas, Delawares, etc. Nor is it necessary to consider those, now extinct, that occupied the country when first settled by white men. For the same general characteristics, now presented, pertain to all the North American races. The Indian tribes are rapidly retreating or vanishing before the steady, irresistible march of civilization, and the growing grandeur of the great Republic in North America. The line, where the echoes of the Indian’s yell blends with the shout of advancing pioneers and the sound of the wood-chopper’s axe, is continually moving westward. In a few years we have seen it pass from the Mississippi River, to the base of the Rocky Mountains. The settler’s cabin is unceasingly encroaching upon the wigwams of the Red Men. With sadness, having smoothed the graves of their fathers, and taken a last look of their hunting grounds, they retreat before a power which they vainly strive to resist. Pressed backward in two centuries and a half, across three-quarters of the continent, from Massachusetts Bay almost to the Pacific, except a few decaying remnants of tribes, their history and doom cannot but awaken sympathy for an unfortunate and overpowered race.

Even though we do not form our estimate of the Indian from the romantic creations of Cooper, every right-thinking person will accord them the tribute of many qualities that constitute a real grandeur of character. Their marvellous bravery, their ardent rage, their steadfast, fiery enthusiasm in the fight or in the chase, their manly sports, their grave, philosophic demeanor in the council, their stern, stoical endurance in misfortune, their disdain of death, are traits that have given to the Indian a character unique and noble, a character and history that the annalist, poet, and novelist, have transferred to their immortal pages, and over which multitudes of old and young alike have bent with eager, breathless interest. As Mr. Mangin in his “Desert World” says:—“There was poetry in their faith, in their customs, in their language, at once laconic and picturesque—and even in the names they bestowed on each tribe, each chief and warrior, on mountain and river. One can hardly suppress a feeling of regret that so much of wild romance and valor should have been swept from the face of the earth, unless we call to mind the shadow of the picture—the Indian’s cruelty, perfidiousness and savage lust. Even then, our humanity revolts from the treatment to which he has been subjected by the white man.” Tracked and hunted like wild beasts, driven from their hunting grounds and the territory of their ancestors, imbruted by drink, decimated and dying by epidemics and vices contracted from white men, the poor Indians vainly struggling to avert their doom of extermination have elicited the sympathy and commiseration of the civilized world. The theory advocated in the preceding part of this work, (see page 790), in regard to the decay and extinction of savage races, does not forbid regrets that such a people should have suffered so grievously at the hands of the United States Government, by the greed of its agents, the frauds of traders and the fatal contagion of the vices of a civilized people. What with American rifles and American whiskey, their extinction has been rapid, and their doom certain.

These tribes, contending in a most unequal strife with the forces of modern civilization, more readily falling victims to the vices of white men than accepting their virtues, are entitled to the just consideration and protection of the government, as its wards, from whom, or their ancestors, have been taken their soil and their homes.

It is gratifying to know that a more humane policy is about being inaugurated, and though the wrongs of the past may not be redressed, that their rights in future may be recognized and maintained. Major-General Thomas, of the U. S. army, whose name and history are the guarantee of candid and wise judgment, says, in respect to an instance of cold-blooded, unprovoked, unpunished outrage upon an Indian boy (it is given only as a representative fact of many more and bitter wrongs):—“I see no better way than to extend civil authority over the Indians and enable them to appear as witnesses in all cases affecting their own status and that of the whites toward them. This is a fair instance of the cause of the Indian troubles; and until white murderers and robbers of the Indians are punished, a large force of troops will be necessary to protect peaceful white settlers from Indian avengers.” And Gen. Sherman, in whose opinion the utmost confidence can be reposed, makes the following indorsement to General Thomas’ view:—“This case illustrates the origin of most of the Indian wars on the frontier. A citizen may murder an Indian with impunity, but if the Indian retaliate, war results, and the United States must bear the expense.”

Here we have the secret of many of the barbarities of the Indian tribes. Inflamed and imbruted by the whiskey sold them, their ignorance imposed upon by the greed of traders and even government agents, having little or no chance for securing justice in their real or imagined injuries, there is certainly some extenuation if this wild son of the forest go forth with tomahawk and scalping knife, as the self-appointed avenger of his own and his people’s wrongs. This is not the place, if there were room, for a thorough discussion of the wrongs of the Red Men, but I cannot forego the duty, in treating of the manners, customs and character of tribes so interesting, so noble and superior, by many traits, to most savage races, of recording at the same time, this tribute and testimony. It will unquestionably be the verdict of the future, as coming generations shall study the memorials and character of the North American Indians.[1]

[1] These reflections, with much relating to the customs of the Indians, have been introduced into the work by the American editor.

CHAPTER CXL.
THE ESQUIMAUX.
APPEARANCE—DRESS—DWELLINGS.

APPEARANCE OF THE PEOPLE — THEIR COMPLEXION, AND DIFFICULTY OF SEEING IT — AN ESQUIMAUX CHILD WASHED AND COMBED — BODILY STRENGTH — DRESS OF THE MEN — THE TAILED COAT — “MILLING” BOOTS — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE LARGE HOOD AND BOOTS — THE TATTOO, AND MODE OF PERFORMING IT — HAIR-DRESSING — PREPARING SKINS — THE SNOW HOUSES, AND MODE OF BUILDING THEM — CAPTAIN LYON’S DESCRIPTION — INTERNAL ARRANGEMENTS OF THE HUT — ICE AND BONE HOUSES — THE TUPIC, OR SUMMER DWELLING — FOOD OF THE ESQUIMAUX — A WISE TRAVELLER.

We now come to those extraordinary people, called by Europeans the Esquimaux (their own name being Innuit), who, placed amid perpetual ice and snow, have bent those elements to their own purposes, and pass as happy lives in their inclement country as do the apparently more favored inhabitants of the tropics amid their perpetual verdure. Indeed, the Esquimaux has a perfect yearning for his beloved country, should he be away from it. Captain Hall relates the circumstances attendant upon the “death of Kudlago, a singularly intelligent man, who had visited the United States, and fully learned to appreciate the advantages of the high civilization which he saw there. But all his wishes were for home, and he was taken back. As the ship neared his native land, he fell ill and died, his last words being the eager inquiry, ‘Do you see ice? Do you see ice?’”

In appearance, the Esquimaux are a peculiar people. Their stature is short, when compared to that of an ordinary European, the average being about five feet three inches for the men, and two or three inches less for the women.

The complexion is in some cases rather dark, but, as a rule, is not much darker than that of the inhabitants of Southern Europe. It looks, however, many shades darker, in consequence of the habits of the Esquimaux, who never wash from their birth to their death. It is not that they neglect their ablutions, but the very idea of washing never enters the mind of an Esquimaux, who, unless he has met with white men, has not even heard of such an operation. When, however, an Esquimaux has been induced to allow his skin to be cleansed, he is found to lose many shades of his original darkness. There is an amusing passage in the journal of Captain Hall, given in his “Life with the Esquimaux,” a work to which frequent reference will be made in the next few pages.

“Kimnaloo has just been Americanized. Captain B——’s good wife had made and sent to her a pretty red dress, a necktie, mittens, belt, &c.

“Mr. Rogers and I, at a suggestion from me, thought it best to commence the change of nationality with soap and water. The process was slow, that of arriving at the beautiful little girl, whom we at length found, though deeply imbedded layer after layer in dirt. Then came the task of making her toilet. With a very coarse comb I commenced to disentangle her hair. She had but little, the back part from behind her ears having been cut short off on account of severe pains in her head. How patiently she submitted to the worse than curry-comb process I had to use! This was the first time in her life that a comb had been put to her head. Her hair was filled with moss, seal and reindeer hairs, and many other things, too numerous to call them all by name. Poor little thing! Yet she was fat and beautiful, the very picture of health. Her cheeks were as red as the blown rose; Nature’s vermilion was upon them.”

The skin is smooth, soft, and yet wonderfully tough, with a sort of unctuous surface, probably occasioned by the enormous amount of oil and fat which forms the principal part of their diet. The features are not very pleasing, the face being broad, and the cheek-bones so high that in many cases, if a flat ruler were laid from cheek to cheek, it would not touch the nose. As is the case with the Chinese section of this vast race, the eyes slope rather downward, and the face is often covered with wrinkles to a wonderful extent, extending from the eyes down each cheek.

In bodily strength, the Esquimaux present a great contrast to the Andamaners, who, though short, are possessed of gigantic muscular powers. Captain Lyon found that the natives could not raise burdens that were easily lifted by his sailors, whereas an ordinary Andamaner is often a match for two powerful sailors. The neck is strangely thin and feeble, however well-proportioned the chest may be, and it is a curious fact that the Esquimaux are almost wholly ignorant of running and jumping. There is but little beard, and the hair is black, coarse, straight, and lanky.

The general character of the dress is alike in both sexes, so that at a little distance it is not easy to tell whether the spectator be looking at a man or a woman, both sexes wearing trousers, and jackets with a large hood, which can either be drawn over the head or allowed to fall on the shoulders. The jacket of the man is made something like a broad-tailed dress coat, hanging behind as far as the middle of the calf, and cut away in front just below the waist. It is mostly made of deer-hide, and the hood is lined and turned up with white fur, which forms a curious contrast to the dark, broad face within it. The edge of the coat is generally bordered with a lighter-colored fur, and is often decorated with little strips of fur hanging like tassels.

Under this coat is another of similar shape, but of lighter material, and having the furry side turned inward. The legs are clothed in two pairs of trousers, the outer pair being often made of strips of differently colored deer-skins arranged in parallel stripes, and having the fur outward, while the other has the fur inward, as is the case with the coats. They only come as low as the knee, so that the joint is often frost-bitten; but nothing can induce the Esquimaux to outrage fashion by adding a couple of inches to the garment.

The boots are made of the same materials as the other parts of the dress. In winter time the Esquimaux wear first a pair of boots with the fur inward, then slippers of soft seal-skin so prepared as to be waterproof, then another pair of boots, and, lastly, strong seal-skin shoes. In the summer time one pair of boots is sufficient protection. The soles are made of thicker material than the rest of the garment, and it is the duty of the women to keep the soles flexible by chewing or “milling” them, an operation which consumes a considerable part of their time.

Mittens are made of various skins, the hairy side being inward; and if the wearer be engaged in fishing, he uses mittens made of watertight seal-skin. During the summer, light dresses are worn, made of the skins of ducks, with the feathers inward. Over all there is sometimes a very thin and light waterproof garment made of the intestines of the walrus.

The jackets worn by the women have a much longer and narrower tail than those of the men, and a tolerably deep flap in front. The hood is of enormous size, being used as a cradle as well as a hood, in which a child of nearly three years old is carried. The trousers, or rather leggings, are tied to a girdle that passes round the waist, and are so cut away at the top, that they allow a portion of the skin to be visible between them and the sides of the jacket, an exposure from which the wearers do not seem to suffer. The oddest article of the female apparel is, however, the boots, which more resemble sacks or buckets than boots, and are simply tied to the girdle by a broad strap that passes up the front of the leg. The boots are used as receptacles for all kinds of portable property, food included, and in consequence impart a most singular walk, or rather waddle, to the wearers, who are obliged to keep their feet widely apart, and, as they walk, to swing one foot round the other, rather than to use the ordinary mode of walking.

The Esquimaux women use the tattoo, called by them the kakeen, and in some places cover their limbs and a considerable portion of their persons with various patterns. There are some who mark the forehead, cheeks, and chin, these being mostly proof that the woman is married, though they are sometimes worn by unmarried females. The mode in which the kakeen is performed is amusingly told by Captain Lyon, who courageously submitted to the operation.

“My curiosity determined me on seeing how the kakeen was performed, and I accordingly put myself into the hands of Mrs. Kettle, whom I had adopted as my amama, or mother.

“Having furnished her with a fine needle, she tore with her teeth a thread off a deer’s sinew, and thus prepared the sewing apparatus. She then, without a possibility of darkening her hands beyond their standard color, passed her fingers under the bottom of the stove pot, from whence she collected a quantity of soot. With this, together with a little oil and much saliva, she soon made a good mixture, and taking a small piece of whalebone well blackened, she then drew a variety of figures about my arm, differing, as I easily saw, from those with which she herself was marked; and, calling her housemates, they all enjoyed a good laugh at the figures, which perhaps conveyed some meaning that I could not fathom.

“I had, however, only determined on a few strokes, so that her trouble was in some measure thrown away. She commenced her work by blackening the thread with soot, and taking a pretty deep but short stitch in my skin, carefully pressing her thumb on the wound as the thread passed through it, and beginning each stitch at the place where the last had ceased. My flesh being tough, she got on but slowly, and, having broken one needle in trying to force it through, I thought fit, when she had completed forty stitches, or about two inches, to allow her to desist; then, rubbing the part with oil in order to stanch the little blood which appeared, she finished the operation. I could now form an idea of the price paid by the Esquimaux females for their embellishments, which for a time occasion a slight inflammation and some degree of pain. The color which the kakeen assumes when the skin heals is of the same light blue as we see on the marked arms of seamen.”

The dress of the children is alike in both sexes. None at all is worn until the infant is nearly three years old, up to which age it is kept naked in its mother’s hood. A dress is then made of fawn skin, having the jacket, trousers, boots, and hood in one piece, the only opening being at the back. Into this odd dress the child is put, and the opening being tied up with a string, the operation of dressing is completed. The hood or cap is generally made in the shape of the fawn’s head, so that the little Esquimaux has the strangest appearance imaginable, and scarcely looks like a human being.

As to the hair, the men cut it short over the forehead, and allow the side locks to grow to their full length, tying them, when very long, over the top of the head in a large knot projecting over the forehead. The women part the hair in the middle, and make it into two large tails. A piece of bone or wood is introduced into each of the tails by way of a stiffener, and they are then bound spirally with a narrow strip of deer-hide, with the fur outward. Those women who can afford such a luxury pass the hair through two brass rings, which are then pressed as closely as possible to the head.

The whole of the operations of preparing the skin and making the clothes are done by the women, the men having completed their task when they have killed the animals. The fat, blood, and oil are first sucked from the skins, and the women then scrape the inner surface with an ingenious instrument, sometimes furnished with teeth, and at other times plain, like blunt knives. The skins are then rubbed and kneaded, and are dried by being stretched by pegs to the ground in summer, and laced over a hoop in winter and exposed to the heat of the lamp, which constitutes the only fire of the Esquimaux.

Bird skins are prepared in a somewhat similar fashion, and are stripped from the bodies of the birds in a marvellously expeditious manner. With their knife, which exactly resembles a cheese cutter, they make an incision round the head and round the outer joint of each wing. The cut part is then seized between the teeth, and with a pull and a jerk the skin comes off in one piece, and turned inside out. These skins are considered a great luxury by the Esquimaux, who bite and suck off the fat which adheres liberally to them.

In a country where the thermometer remains many degrees below zero for many months together, and in which ice and snow are the prevailing features, it is evident that houses cannot be built after the fashion of those in most countries. No trees can grow there, so that wooden houses are out of the question, and in a land where ice has been known to choke up the iron flue of a stove always kept burning neither clay could be made into bricks, nor stones cemented with mortar. There is only one substance of which houses can be made, and this is frozen water, either in the form of snow or ice, the former being the usual material. These snow houses, called igloos, are made in a dome-like shape, and are built with a rapidity that is perfectly astonishing. The reader will find the form and mode of building these houses [illustrated] on page 1327.

The general appearance of these strange houses is thus described by Captain Lyon, in his “Private Journal.” “Our astonishment was unbounded, when, after creeping through some long passages of snow, to enter the different dwellings, we found ourselves in a cluster of dome shaped edifices, entirely constructed of snow, which, from their recent erection, had not been sullied by the smoke of the numerous lamps that were burning, but admitted the light in most delicate hues of verdigris green and blue, according to the thickness of the slab through which it passed.... There were five clusters of huts, some having one, some two, and others three domes, in which thirteen families lived, each occupying a dome or one side of it, according to their strength. The whole number of people were twenty-one men, twenty-five women, and eighteen children, making a total of sixty-four.

“The entrance to the building was by a hole about a yard in diameter, which led through a low arched passage of sufficient breadth for two to pass in a stooping posture, and about sixteen feet in length; another hole then presented itself, and led through a similarly shaped but shorter passage, having at its termination a round opening about two feet across. Up this hole we crept one step, and found ourselves in a dome about seven feet in height, and as many in diameter, from whence the three dwelling-places with arched roofs were entered. It must be observed that this is the description of a large hut; the smaller ones, containing one or two families, have the domes somewhat differently arranged.

“Each dwelling might be averaged at fourteen or sixteen feet in diameter, by six or seven in height; but as snow alone was used in their construction, and was always at hand, it might be supposed that there was no particular size, that being of course at the option of the builder. The laying of the arch was performed in such a manner as would have satisfied the most regular artist, the key piece on the top being a large square slab. The blocks of snow used in the buildings were from four to six inches in thickness, and about a couple of feet in length, carefully pared with a large knife. Where two families occupied a dome, a seat was raised either side two feet in height. These raised places were used as beds, and covered, in the first place, with whalebone, sprigs of Andromeda, or pieces of seal-skin; over these were spread deer-pelts and deer-skin clothes, which had a very warm appearance. The pelts were used as blankets, and many of them had ornamental fringes of leather sewed round their edges.

“Each dwelling-place was illuminated by a broad piece of transparent fresh-water ice, of about two feet in diameter, which formed part of the roof, and was placed over the door. These windows gave a most pleasing light, free from glare, and something like that which is thrown through ground glass. We soon learned that the building of a house was but the work of an hour or two, and that a couple of men—one to cut the slabs and another to lay them—were sufficient laborers.

“For the support of the lamps and cooking apparatus a mound of snow is erected for each family; and when the master has two wives or a mother, both have an independent place, one at each end of the bench.”

In the middle of the hut is erected a slight scaffold, which supports a rudely made net, and under the net is placed the one essential piece of furniture of the house, namely, the lamp. This is a very simple contrivance. It is merely an oval shaped dish of stone, round the edge of which is arranged a long wick made of moss. Oil is poured into it, and a quantity of blubber is heaped in the centre of the lamp, so as to keep up the supply. Over the lamp is hung the cooking pot, the size of each being proportioned to the rank of the possessor. It sometimes happens that two wives occupy the same hut. In this case, the chief or “igloo-wife” has the large lamp and the supporting scaffold, while the other has to content herself with a little lamp and a small pot, which she must support as she can.

The value of the lamp is simply incalculable, not so much for its use in cooking, as the Esquimaux like meat raw quite as well as cooked, but for its supply of warmth, for the water which is obtained by melting snow over it, and for its use in drying clothes. All garments, the snow being first beaten off them, are placed on the “dry-net” over the lamp, where they are gradually dried, and, after being chewed by the women, are fit for wear again: otherwise they become frozen quite hard, and are of no more use than if they were made of ice. Oil is supplied by chewing blubber, and the women, who always perform the task, have the curious knack of expressing the oil without allowing a drop of moisture to mix with it. In one minute a woman can obtain enough oil to fill a lamp two feet in length.

Sometimes, when snow is scarce, the igloo is made of ice. The walls are formed of this material, and are generally of an octagonal form, the ice slabs being cemented together with snow. The domed roof is usually made of snow, but the tunnel, or passage to the interior, is of ice. Such a house is, when first made, so transparent that, even at the distance of some paces, those who are within it can be recognized through its walls.

It may seem strange that such materials as snow and ice should be employed in the construction of man’s dwelling-place, as nothing seems more opposed to comfort; yet these houses, instead of being cold, are so warm that the inhabitants throw off the greater part, and sometimes the whole, of their clothes when within them; and the bed of snow on which they recline is, when covered with the proper amount of skins, even warmer than an European feather bed. In the summer time the Esquimaux prefer the skin hut, or “tupic.” This is a mere tent made of deer-skins thrown over a few sticks, though the supports are sometimes formed from the bones of whales.

The food of the Esquimaux is almost wholly of an animal character. In the first place, the country supplies scarcely any vegetation; and, in the next place, an abundant supply of animal food is required in order to enable the inhabitants to withstand the intense cold. The seal and the reindeer form their favorite food, and in both cases the fat is the part that is most highly valued.

In the reindeer, the fat of the hinder quarters, called by the Esquimaux “toodnoo,” is the portion that is most valued. Captain Hall, who very wisely lived as the Esquimaux while staying with them, says that it is as much superior to butter as is the best butter to lard; and when the deer is in good condition, the meat is so tender that a steak almost falls to pieces if lifted by its edge. Another part of the reindeer is almost as valuable as the fat. This is the contents of the deer’s paunch, eaten raw with slices of raw venison. It has a slightly acid flavor, like that of sorrel, and if the consumer were not to know what he was eating, he would be delighted with it.

This was the case with Captain Hall, while partaking of a deer feast in an igloo. He tried the deer flesh, and found it excellent; he then took a morsel of the unknown substance, and describes it as ambrosial. After eating the greater part of it, he took it to the light, and was horrified to find the nature of the feast. However, he soon came to the wise conclusion that epicurism of any kind was nothing but the effect of education, and that, in consequence, he would ignore his previous prejudices on the subject, and eat whatever the Esquimaux ate, and as they ate it. As to the quantity consumed, neither he nor any other white man would be a match for an Esquimaux, who will consume nine or ten pounds of meat at a sitting, and lie leisurely on his back, being fed by his wife with pieces of blubber when he is utterly unable to help himself. An Esquimaux finds a sort of intoxicating effect in utter repletion, which stands him in the stead of fermented liquors.

Putting aside the gourmandizing propensity of the Esquimaux, Captain Hall found that if he were to live with them, as he intended to do, he must sooner or later come to the same diet. He determined in making a bold plunge, and eating whatever he saw them eat. At first it was rather repugnant to his feelings to eat a piece of raw meat that had been carefully licked by a woman, in order to free it from, hairs and other extraneous matters. But he reflected that, if he had not known of the licking, he would not have discovered it from the flavor of the meat, and he very wisely ignored the mode in which it had been cleaned. Similarly, fresh seal’s blood just drawn from the animal seemed rather a strange kind of soup, and the still warm entrails a remarkable sort of after-dinner delicacy. But finding that the Esquimaux considered them both as very great dainties, he tried them, and pronounced that the Esquimaux were perfectly right, and that his preconceived ideas were entirely wrong.

1 2 4
3 FRONT OF HEAD LARGER
LOOSE
FAST

HARPOON HEAD. (From my collection.)
(See [page 1340])

CHAPTER CXLI.
THE ESQUIMAUX—Continued.
HUNTING—RELIGION—BURIAL.

MODES OF HUNTING — SEAL HUNTING IN THE SNOW — THE INFANT DECOY — THE SEAL’S IGLOO — AN IVORY FLOAT — SEAL “TALK” — THE HARPOONS AND SPEARS — SPEARING THE WALRUS — THE ICE RAFT — THE BOW AND ARROWS AND WRIST GUARD — DEER HUNTING — GROUSE SHOOTING — THE WOLF AND FOX TRAPS — THE BIRD SLING — BEAR HUNTING — THE MEN’S AND WOMEN’S BOATS — CONSTRUCTION OF THE KIA, AND MODE OF USING IT — AQUATIC FEATS — THE WOMEN’S BOAT AND ITS USES — THE SLEDGE — THE VARIOUS RUNNERS — SLEDGE DOGS AND THEIR TRAINING — EXAMPLES OF THEIR CLEVERNESS — BARBEKARK AND THE CAPELINS — MARRIAGE AND EDUCATION OF CHILDREN — GAMES AND DANCING — RELIGION — THE ANGEKO AND HIS MYSTERIES — “IN VINO VERITAS” — HONESTY — HOSPITALITY — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD.

Depending wholly upon the products of the chase for their food, the Esquimaux are most accomplished hunters, and in their peculiar way are simply unequalled by any other people on earth. Take, for example, their mode of seal catching. The reader is doubtless aware that the seal, being a mammal, breathes atmospheric air, and that in consequence it cannot remain very long under water, but is obliged to come up at certain intervals for the purpose of breathing. When it dives under the ice, it would therefore be drowned did it not form for itself certain breathing holes in the ice. These are very small, not more than an inch and a half, or at the most two inches, in diameter, and do not penetrate through the coating of snow that lies on the ice.

The hunter’s dog, which is specially trained for this purpose, detects the breathing hole, and the master then reverses his harpoon, which has a long, spindle shaped butt, and thrusts it through the snow in search of the concealed hole, which often lies under some two feet of snow. When he has found it, he seats himself by the hole, with his harpoon ready; and there he will sit until he hears the blowing sound of the seal, when he drives the harpoon into the hole, and invariably secures his prey. This is the more difficult, as, if the stroke be wrong by even a quarter of an inch, the seal will not be struck, and the man is often wearied with waiting and need of sleep.

The patience with which the Esquimaux hunter will watch a seal hole far surpasses that of a cat at a mouse hole. Captain Hall mentions one case, where an Esquimaux, a notable seal hunter, actually sat watching a seal hole for two and a half days and two nights without either sleep or food. Considering the nature of the climate, such a feat as this is almost incredible. The poor man, after all his trouble, failed to secure the seal, but was not disheartened, and, after taking some food, went off again to the seal hole to renew his watch.

Some of the Esquimaux seal hunters use a singularly ingenious instrument for enabling them to detect the approach of the animal. It consists of a very slender ivory rod, about twelve inches in length, pointed at one end, and having a round knob at the other. It is about as thick as a crow quill. When the hunter has found a seal hole, he ties to the upper end a very fine thread made of sinew, and lowers it into the seal hole, where it is allowed to dangle by the thread. When the seal comes to breathe, it takes no notice of so small an object, but rises as usual for air, pushing the little rod before it. As soon as the hunter sees the rod rise, he knows that the seal is there, and drives his spear down the hole. Even a larger float—if we may so call it—might be unseen by the seal, but it would interfere with the passage of the spear.

There is another mode of catching seals, in which the young acts as a decoy for its mother. The seal, when she is about to produce her young, scratches away the ice until she comes to the snow, which lies deep upon it. She then scratches away a quantity of the snow until she has made a dome-like chamber, in form exactly like the snow hut of the Esquimaux. The tunnel through the ice is just large enough to allow the passage of the seal, while the chamber is about five feet in diameter, so that a tolerably large platform of ice is left, on which the creature can rest. Here its young is produced, and here it remains until the sun melts away the snow covering of the chamber, or igloo, as it is called, by which time the young animal is able to take care of itself.

At the proper season, the Esquimaux set off in search of these seal igloos, and when they are detected by the dogs, the hunter flings himself on the snow, thus beating down the roof of the igloo. He then thrusts his sealing hook into the igloo, and drags out the young seal. It is remarkable, by the way, that the polar bear acts in precisely the same manner, crushing down the walls of the igloo, and dragging out the young one with its paws.

When the Esquimaux has secured the young seal, he ties a long line to one of the hind flippers, and allows it to slip into the sea through the tunnel, while he creeps into the igloo with his hook, in hopes of catching the mother as she comes to help her young one. The Esquimaux always kill young seals by putting the foot on their shoulders, and pressing firmly down, so as to suffocate it. This is done for the purpose of preserving the blood.

Sometimes the seal hunter actually stalks the wary animal on the ice. The seal has a strange way of sleeping when lying on the ice. It takes short naps of only a few seconds’ duration, and between them raises its head and looks round to see if any enemy be approaching. The Esquimaux takes advantage of this habit, and, lying down on the ice, he waits for these short naps, and hitches himself along the ice toward the animal, looking himself very much like a seal as he lies on the ice, covered with seal skin garments. Whenever the seal raises its head, the hunter stops, begins to paw with his hands, and utters a curious droning monologue, which is called “seal talk,” and is supposed to act as a charm. Certain it is, that the seal appears to be quite gratified by the talk, is put off its guard, and allows the hunter to approach near enough to make the fatal stroke.

The same kind of “talk” is used when the sealer goes out in his boat, and some of the hunters are celebrated for the magical power of their song. In seal hunting from a boat, a different kind of harpoon is employed. It is longer and slighter than that which is used for ice hunting, and is furnished with a float made of a leathern bag inflated with air. This is fastened to the shaft, and just below it one end of the harpoon line is secured, the other end being made fast to the head of the weapon.

When the seal is struck, the shaft is shaken from the head, so that there is no danger of its working the weapon out of the seal by its leverage, and it acts as a drag, impeding the movements of the animal, so that the hunter is able to overtake it in his boat, and to pierce it with another harpoon. When the seal is dead, the float serves another purpose. Seals, when killed in the water, almost invariably sink so rapidly that they cannot be secured. The float, however, remains at the surface, so that the successful hunter has only to paddle to it, take it into the canoe, and haul the seal on board. Perhaps the most curious part of the business lies in the skill with which the hunter carries the seal home. The boat in which he sits is entirely covered with skin, except a small aperture which admits his body, and yet he lays the body of the seal upon this slight platform, and manages to balance it as he paddles homeward, regardless of the waves upon which his light little canoe trembles like a cork.

Of these boats we shall presently see something, and will now merely look at the weapons which are employed by the Esquimaux in hunting.

It is worthy of remark that war is totally unknown among the Esquimaux, who are perhaps the only people in the world who possess no war weapons, and have no desire to do so. Generally, when a savage obtains for the first time possession of fire-arms, he uses them in warfare, and by the superiority of his weapons raises himself to eminence. The Esquimaux cares for none of these things. He is essentially a family man, and when he is fortunate enough to procure a musket, he simply uses it for hunting purposes, never wasting the precious powder and lead upon the bodies of his fellow-men. Of fame he is totally ignorant, except that sort of local fame which is earned by skill in hunting. He finds that all his energies are required to procure food and clothing for his household, and therefore he does not expend them upon any other object.

The weapon which is to the Esquimaux what the rifle is to the backwoodsman, the boomerang to the Australian, the sword to the Agageer, the lasso to the South American, and the sumpitan to the Dyak, is the harpoon, a weapon which undergoes various modifications, according to the use to which it is put, but is essentially the same in principle throughout.

The first example is the typical harpoon. It consists of a long wooden shaft, with a float attached to it, as has already been described on [page 1339]. Owing to the great scarcity of wood in Esquimaux land, the greater part being obtained from the casual drift-wood that floats ashore from wrecks, such a weapon is exceedingly valuable. The shaft is generally made of a number of pieces of wood lashed together in a most ingenious fashion.

The barbed head is but loosely fitted to the shaft, a hole in the base of the head receiving a point at the end of the shaft. It is held in its place by leathern thongs, so arranged that, as soon as the wounded animal darts away, the shaft is shaken from the head. The arrangement of the leathern thongs varies according to the kind of weapon. The [illustration] on page 1337, shows the head of the harpoon which is used for spearing the walrus.

It is about nine inches in length, and is made of ivory, either that of the walrus or the narwhal, probably the former, as it partakes of the curve of the walrus tooth. It consists of two pieces, which we call, for convenience’ sake the body and the head. The upper part of the body is slightly pointed and rounded, and is meant to be fixed to the shaft of the harpoon. About an inch and a half from the end two holes are bored, through which is passed a double thong of leather about as thick as a goose quill. Next comes the head, which is a triangular and deeply barbed piece of ivory, armed with a thin, flat plate of iron, almost exactly like the armature of the Bosjesman’s war arrow. Through this head is bored a hole, and through the hole passes the loop of the double thong already mentioned. At the butt of the head there is a hole, into which is fitted the conical termination of the body.

By reference to the [illustration], the reader will easily comprehend the arrangement. Fig. 1 shows the entire instrument, the head fitted on the body, and held in its place by the double thong. Fig. 2 shows the head disjointed from the body. The reader will now see what a perfect barb this instrument forms. When the harpoon is hurled at the walrus, the head penetrates through the tough skin, and, becoming disjointed from the body, sets at right angles across the little wound which it made on entering, and effectually prevents the weapon from being withdrawn. Fig. 3 shows the upper view of the head, and fig. 4 shows the hole at its base, into which the conical end of the body is loosely fitted.

The line attached to the shaft of this harpoon is very long and of great strength, and, when the hunter goes out to catch walrus, is coiled round and round his neck in many folds, very slightly tied together so as to prevent the successive coils from being entangled with one another. When the hunter launches his harpoon with the right hand, he with the left hand simultaneously jerks the coils of rope off his neck, and throws them after the harpoon. The jerk snaps the slight ligatures, and the animal is “played” like a salmon by an angler, until it is utterly wearied with pain, loss of blood, and its struggles to escape, and can be brought near enough to receive the fatal wound from a spear.

Casting off the rope in exact time is a most important business, as several hunters who have failed to do so have been caught in the coils of the rope, dragged under the ice, and there drowned. On the end of the harpoon line is worked a loop, and, as soon as the weapon is hurled, the hunter drives a spear deeply into the ice, slips the loop over it, and allows the walrus to struggle against the elastic rope until it is quite tired. He then hauls up the line until he has brought the animal to the ice, snatches up his spear, and with it inflicts a mortal wound. On the next page the reader may find an [illustration] showing the Esquimaux in his usual dress, and engaged in walrus hunting.

One mode of employing this harpoon against the walrus is singularly ingenious. When the Esquimaux hunters see a number of the animals sleeping on a sheet of ice, they look out for an ice fragment small enough to be moved, and yet large enough to support several men. Paddling to the ice, they lift their canoes upon it, bore holes in it, and make their harpoon lines fast to the holes. They then gently paddle the whole piece of ice, men, canoes, and all, to the spot where are lying the drowsy animals, who do not suspect any danger from a piece of ice floating by.

Having made their selection, the hunters tell off two men to each walrus, and, at a given signal, all the harpoons are hurled. The whole herd instantly roll themselves into the sea, the wounded animals being attached to the piece of ice by the harpoon lines. The hunters allow them to tow their ice craft about until they are exhausted, when they launch their canoes, and kill the animals with their spears. As soon as the walrus is dead, the hunters plug up the holes with little pegs of ivory, for the purpose of preserving the blood, which is so highly valued by the Esquimaux.

The Esquimaux have another kind of spear. The shaft is made of wood, but the point and the barbed projections are of ivory. This spear is chiefly used for catching fish, and is flung by means of a throwing stick, almost in the same manner as the spears of the Australians. The throwing stick is made of wood, flattish, and near one end has a hole, into which the butt of the spear is passed. This is altogether a much slighter and lighter weapon than that which has been described.

(1.) BURIAL OF BLACKBIRD.
(See [page 1330].)

(2.) SPEARING THE WALRUS.
(See [page 1340].)

Bows and arrows are also employed by the Esquimaux. The former are made of horn, bone, or wood, and are almost always composed of several pieces lashed firmly together. As is the case with the bows of the North American tribes, the chief strength is obtained, not so much from the material of the bow, as from a vast number of sinew strings which run down its back. There are often a hundred or more of these sinews, which are put on sufficiently tight to give the bow a slight curvature against the string. The shape of the bow is rather peculiar. And though the weapon is so powerful, it is seldom used at a greater distance than twelve, or at most twenty yards. The length of the bow is on an average three feet six inches.

The arrows are extremely variable. Some have wooden shafts tipped with bone, but the shafts of the best specimens are half bone and half wood, and the points are armed with a little piece of iron. The arrows are contained in a quiver, and the bow is kept in a case. This quiver and bow-case are generally made of seal skin, as being impervious to wet, though they are frequently made of other materials. My own specimen is formed from the hide of the reindeer. When the Esquimaux shoots, he always holds his bow horizontally. The bow-string is made of some fifteen or twenty sinew strings, which are loosely twisted, but not made into a cord.

The bow and arrows are chiefly used in the capture of the reindeer and in shooting rabbits, birds, and other small game. The mode of deer hunting is very ingenious. When the hunter sees some deer feeding on the level plain, he takes his bow and arrows, draws his hood well over his head, and creeps as close as he can to the spot where the deer are reposing. Here he begins to bellow in imitation of the cry with which the deer call each other, and thus attracts the animals within the short distance at which an Esquimaux archer shoots.

Even if he should not use the bellowing call, he has only to lie patiently on the ground to be sure that, sooner or later, some of the deer will come and look at him. They are most inquisitive animals, and when they see any strange object, they cannot resist satisfying their curiosity by inspecting it. Providing the object of their curiosity does not move after them, they approach in a series of circles which they gradually narrow, capering and tossing their heads capriciously, and at last will come within a yard or two of the motionless hunter, and so fall a victim to the arrow which he has already fitted to his bow.

Sometimes the deer hunters adopt an ingenious ruse. Two of them walk near the deer, and purposely show themselves. When the animals’ attention is fixed upon them, they walk slowly away, knowing that the innate curiosity of the deer will induce them to follow. They direct their course past some stone or similar object, when one of them quickly steps behind it, while the other walks onward as before. The deer do not notice that one of the men has disappeared, and so follow the other, thus coming within a yard or two of the deadly arrow.

The arrow is also used for shooting birds, which are always killed when sitting. The arctic grouse are killed in great numbers by the arrow. They pack closely together, so that an arrow shot at random among them can scarcely avoid hitting one of them; and the birds are so apathetic that, when the missile falls among them, they only fly a few yards further and then settle, so that the hunter can pick up his arrow and shoot it at them again, until he has shot the greater number of the covey.

In order to save the wrist from the recoil of the bow-string, the Esquimaux wears a very ingenious guard, composed of several pieces of bone tied together and fastened on the wrist by a bone button and loop. The pieces of bone are about four inches in length. Below the [wrist-guard], which is shown on the 1353d page, some curiously formed hooks are represented. No bait is required with them. They are simply moved up and down in the water so as to attract the attention of the fish, and then are jerked sharply upward, so as to catch the fish on one of the projecting points. There are many varieties of this curious hook, but those which are illustrated are the most characteristic.

There is also an instrument called the kakeeway, or little nippers, which is used in a similar manner by the Esquimaux boys. They take a model of a fish made of ivory, tie a string to it, and troll it about in the water in order to attract the fish, when they are struck with the kakeeway, and hauled out of the water. The artificial fish are about three inches long, and are very neatly made, with eyes of iron pyrites. This is a very slow process of fish catching, but the boys, to whom time is of no object, are very fond of it, and will sit on their heels all day for the chance of catching two or three little fish.

The foxes and wolves are generally taken in traps. There are several kinds of traps, but they are mostly made on one or the other of two principles. The usual trap is very like a common mouse trap, except that it is made of ice instead of wood. It is so long and narrow that a wolf cannot turn himself in it, but, if he wishes to retreat, must do so backward. The door is a heavy slab of ice, which moves up and down in two grooves. The door being raised, it is held in position by a line which passes over the top of the trap, through a hole at the end, and is then slightly hitched over a peg. A bait is then attached to the end of the line, and when the wolf pulls it, the door is released, and effectually secures the animal in the icy prison. A hole is then made in the side of the trap, and the wolf is speared where he lies.

Foxes are also taken in these traps, but the usual kind of fox trap is made on a different plan. It is built in a form somewhat resembling a lime-kiln, and the aperture is covered with a piece of whalebone, along which the animal must walk to get at the bait. As it steps on the whalebone, the elastic material gives way, lets the fox into the trap, and then resumes its former position, ready for another victim.

It has already been mentioned that birds are often shot with arrows as they are sitting. The Esquimaux have a singular instrument by which they can capture birds on the wing, provided that they do not fly at any great height from the ground. It consists of seven or eight pieces of bone or ivory, or stone, the latter being preferred on account of its weight. To each of the weights is attached a sinew cord about two feet six inches in length, and all the ends of the cords are tied together, their junction being usually ornamented by a tuft of feathers. When the Esquimaux sees a bird flying so that it will pass tolerably near him, he whirls the sling round his head and flings it at the bird. As it leaves his hand, all the weights fly apart, on account of the rotatory motion which has been communicated to them, so that the weapon covers a space of five feet. Should one of the weights or strings strike the bird, the whole of the sling becomes wrapped round it, and the bird falls helpless to the ground. The reader will doubtless see that this sling is in fact a modification of the Patagonian bolas.

In bear hunting the Esquimaux use either the walrus harpoon or the spear, and often both. They set their dogs at the bear, and while he is engaged in repelling their attacks, which are always made at his back and hind-quarters, the hunter drives the harpoon at him, and fastens the end of the line to the ice, so as to prevent the bear from escaping. He then attacks the animal with another harpoon and with his lance, and, avoiding skilfully the repeated attacks which the bear makes upon him, drives the sharp weapon into the animal’s heart.

The Esquimaux are always very careful not to kill a young bear without previously killing its mother. Should one of them, pressed by hunger, commit so rash an act, the whole party to which he belongs are obliged to take the strictest precautions lest they should be assailed by the mother, who will assuredly follow on their track. They therefore proceed for some five or six miles in a straight line, and then suddenly turn off at right angles, so that the bear may overrun their track as she presses eagerly forward. This manœuvre is several times repeated. When the houses are reached, the weapons are laid ready for use by the bedside, and the sledges are stuck upright outside the house. This is intended by way of a warning to the sleepers. The bear is suspicious about the erect sledge, and always knocks it down before attacking the house, so that the noise of the falling sledge awakens the sleepers, and puts them on their guard.

The two means of transport used by the Esquimaux are the boat and the sledge, both of which deserve description.

There are two kinds of boats, those of the men and those used by women. The man’s boat is called kajak or kia, according to the dialect of the people, and is a very remarkable piece of workmanship. It is shuttle shaped, both ends being sharply pointed. It is made of a very slight framework of wood and whalebone, over which is stretched a covering of skin. In the middle there is a hole just large enough to admit the body of the rower, and when he takes his seat, he gathers his skin together and ties it round his waist, so that the boat is absolutely impervious to water. The average length is twenty-five feet, and so light are the materials of which it is made, that a man can carry his kia on his head from the house to the water.

These slight canoes have no keel, and sit so lightly on the water that they can be propelled over, rather than through, it with wonderful speed. The paddle is a double one, held in the middle, and used in a manner which is now rendered familiar to us by the canoes which have so largely taken the place of skiffs. It is between nine and ten feet in length, small in the middle, which serves as a handle, and gradually widening to the blades, which are about four inches in width, and edged with ivory, not only for ornament but for strength.

The paddle acts much the same part as the balance pole to the rope-dancer, and by its aid the Esquimaux canoe man can perform really astonishing feats. For example, if two kias are out together, one of them will remain still, the canoe man keeping his boat exactly in the same place, by delicate management of his paddle. The other goes to a distance at right angles to him, and then, urging his kia to the utmost speed, drives it fairly over that of his friend. In performing this remarkable feat, the skill of both is equally tried, for it is quite as difficult to preserve the balance of the stationary kia as to drive the other over it.

There is one feat which is sometimes performed in order to show the wonderful command which an Esquimaux has over his little vessel. He does not, however, attempt it unless another kia is close at hand. After seeing that the skin cover is firmly tied round his waist, and that his neck and wrists are well secured, the man suddenly flings himself violently to one side, thus capsizing the kia, and burying himself under water. With a powerful stroke of his paddle he turns himself and canoe completely over, and brings himself upright again. A skilful canoe man will thus turn over and over some twenty times or so, almost as fast as the eye can follow him, and yet only his face will be in the least wet.

In the [illustration] on page 1347 both these feats are shown.

The paddler is so tightly tied to the kia, that he is unable to change his position without assistance, or even to lift a heavy weight, such as a seal. In such a case, he asks assistance from a companion. The two kias are placed near each other, and paddles are laid from one to the other, so that for the time they are formed into a double canoe, which cannot be upset. Small lines of whalebone are stretched across the end of the kia, and under them are thrust the points of the spears and harpoons, so that they cannot roll off the boat, and yet are always ready to hand. An inflated seal’s bladder is always attached to the canoe. When the kia is not in use, it is taken out of the water, and rested in a reversed position upon the snow houses, as is [seen] on page 1327.

The second kind of boat is that which is called the oomiak, and is used by the women. It is evident that the slight and fragile kia, useful as it is for hunting purposes, cannot be employed for the conveyance of baggage, or for the transport of more persons than one, and that therefore some other kind of boat must be made. This is a large, clumsy, straight sided, square ended, flat bottomed vessel, more like a skin trough than a canoe, to which it bears about the same analogy as a punt does to a racing skiff. The framework of the oomiak is made of wood and whalebone, and the covering is of seal skin, from which the hair has been removed. When wet, these skins are nearly transparent, so that the forms of the persons sitting in the boat can be indistinctly seen.

The sides of the boat are about three feet in height, and the weight which a well-made oomiak will carry is really wonderful. Captain Lyon mentions that in one of these boats, measuring twenty-five feet in length by eight in width and three in depth, more than twenty human beings were conveyed. There are two very clumsy paddles by which the boat is slowly propelled, and it is steered by another paddle in the stern. The post of steerer is usually occupied by an old man, who is unable any more to manage the kia, but is still capable of guiding the oomiak, and of flinging a knife, a harpoon, a seal hook, or anything that may come to hand, at the women, if they neglect their paddling.

To each oomiak there can be attached a very primitive mast, with its sail. The mast is but a short one, and is stepped in the fore-part of the boat. Toward the top it is pierced, and in the hollow is placed a sheave, or deeply grooved wheel of ivory, on which the halyards run. The sail is that simplest of all sails, the lug, and is made of the intestines of the walrus, split open so as to form strips of some four inches in width. These strips are sewed together, and produce a sail which is remarkable both for its strength and its extreme lightness. The reader will doubtless have noticed the singular contrast between the canoes of the hot and cold parts of the world. In the former, the canoe and sails are entirely of vegetable materials, without a particle of hide, sinew, or any animal product; while, in the latter, the animal world furnishes almost the whole of the materials.

We now come to the sledge, which is quite as important to the Esquimaux as the canoe. The materials and form of the sledge differ exceedingly, so that in these respects no two sledges are alike, while the principle is identical in all. A sledge is nothing more than two runners, connected with each other by a number of cross-pieces, on which the driver can sit and the goods be packed.

The best sledges are those in which the runners are made from the jaw-bone of a whale, sawn into narrow planks and cut into the proper shape. They are always shod with a strip of the same material. Others are made of wood, shod with bone, and in these cases the wooden part is usually in several pieces, which are lashed together with hide thongs. In the winter, the hide of the walrus is often used for runners. It is fully an inch in thickness, and, when frozen, is very much stronger than a board of the same thickness.

When neither wood, bone, nor walrus skin can be procured, the Esquimaux is still at no loss for runners. He cuts long strips of seal skin, and sews the edges of each strip together, so as to make two long tubes. The tubes are next filled with moss and earth, and water is then poured into them. In a minute or two they are frozen as hard as stone, and are then ready to form the runners of a sledge. The lower edge of the runner, whether it be of bone, wood, or skin, is always shod with a coating of ice, which is renewed as soon as it is worn off by friction, which not only causes the sledge to glide faster over the frozen surface, but preserves the valuable material of the runners from being rubbed to pieces.

The cross-bars of the sledge are generally of bone. They project a little beyond the runners on either side, and are so arranged that the sledge is narrower in front than behind. They are not lashed too tightly, as they are required to yield to the jerks and continual strain which the sledge undergoes in its travels.

The sledge is drawn by a team of dogs, varying from seven to ten, or even more, according to the weight to be carried. They are very simply harnessed to it by a strong cord, or trace, made of seal hide, the trace of the leading dog being considerably longer than that of any of the others. Being accustomed to the work of the sledge, as soon as they can walk, their training is very complete, and a good team will do almost anything but speak.

A team of seven dogs drew a heavy sledge, full of men, a mile in four minutes and a half; and Captain Lyon mentions that three dogs drew him the same distance in six minutes, the weight of the sledge being one hundred pounds. Several times, when returning to the ships, the sagacious animals brought him and his companions safely to the vessels, though the night was pitchy dark and the snow-drift blowing about in clouds. They kept their noses to the ground, and galloped on at full speed, in absolute certainty of their proper line.

The dogs are guided, not by reins, but by a whip, the lash of which is from eighteen to thirty feet in length, and the handle only one foot in length, much like the stock-whip of Australia. A skilful driver makes but little use of the whip when he has a good team of dogs, but guides the animals partly by his voice, and partly by flinging the lash of the whip on one side or other of the leader, who perfectly understands the signal. When they are required to stop, the driver gives a cry almost exactly like the “Woa!” of our own country. He then throws the lash gently over their backs, when they all lie down, and will remain couched in the snow for hours even, during their master’s absence.

The worst of these dogs is that they are very quarrelsome, and are apt to snap and snarl at each other as they gallop along. Sometimes a dog will be exasperated with a bite, and turn furiously on his assailant, when a general fight takes place, the whole of the dogs tumbling over each other, and entangling the traces in a manner that none but an Esquimaux could hope to disentangle. A plentiful application of whip is then made, which is always resented by the dog that receives the stroke. He chooses to think that his next neighbor has hurt him, and so bites his ear. Sometimes a dog is so unruly that the driver is obliged to use his last argument. Making a little hole in the snow with the toe of his boot, he presses the dog’s snout into it, and pounds away at it with the ivory handle of his whip. The dog never howls, nor tries to release himself, but only utters a low whine. Such a punishment never has to be repeated, and the dog always goes quietly for the rest of the day.

The endurance of these animals is wonderful. They are kept in the open air when the temperature is from thirty to forty degrees below zero. They are very ill fed, being forced to content themselves with the bones of fish and seals, scraps of hide, and such very few fragments as their masters cannot devour. Consequently they are always hungry, and can eat almost anything. Captain Hall mentions that in one night they ate a whiplash thirty feet long, and that on one occasion a single dog ate in seven seconds a piece of walrus hide and blubber six feet long and an inch and a half square.

Yet, in spite of all the hardships which they undergo, they can endure almost any amount of fatigue without appearing to be the worse for it, and a team has been known to eat nothing for at least forty-eight hours, to traverse some seventy miles of ground, and yet to return to their homes apparently as fresh as when they set out.

Many of them are possessed of singular intelligence, especially those which are trained to chase the seal, the bear, or the deer. One of these dogs, named Barbekark, belonging to Captain Hall, actually killed a deer himself, took one morsel from the neck, and then went home and fetched his master to the spot where he had left the dead deer. He had a brother that equally distinguished himself in seal catching. He was the leading dog in the team, and once, while drawing a sledge, he caught sight of a seal on the ice. He immediately dashed forward at full speed, and just as the seal was plunging into the water, caught it by the hind flippers. The seal struggled frantically to escape, but the dog retained his hold, and, aided by his fellows, dragged the seal firmly on the ice, when it was secured by his master.

A very amusing example of the intelligence of these dogs is related by Captain Hall. He fed the dogs on “capelins,” a small dried fish, and used to make them stand in a circle round him, so that each received a capelin in turn. “Now Barbekark, a young and shrewd dog, took it into his head that he would play a white man’s trick. So every time he received his fish he would back square out, move a distance of three or four dogs, and force himself in line again, thus receiving double the share of any other dog. But this joke of Barbekark’s bespoke too much of the game many men play upon their fellow-beings, and, as I noticed it, I determined to check his doggish propensities. Still, the amusing and the singular way in which he evidently watched me induced a moment’s pause in my intention.

“Each dog thankfully took his capelin as his turn came round, but Barbekark, finding his share came twice as often as his companions, appeared to shake his tail twice as thankfully as the others. A twinkle in his eyes as they caught mine seemed to say, ‘Keep dark; these ignorant fellows don’t know the game I’m playing. I am confoundedly hungry.’ Seeing my face smiling at his trick, he now commenced making another change, thus getting three portions to each of the others’ one. This was enough, and it was now time for me to reverse the order of Barbekark’s game by playing a trick upon him.

(1.) THE KAJAK AND ITS MANAGEMENT.
(See [page 1344].)

(2.) ESQUIMAUX SLEDGE DRIVING.
(See [pages 1345], [1346].)

“Accordingly, every time I came to him he got no fish, and though he changed his position three times, yet he got nothing. Now, if ever there was a picture of disappointed plans—of envy at others’ fortunes, and sorrow at a sad misfortune—it was to be found in that dog’s countenance as he watched his companions receiving their allowance. Finding that he could not succeed by any change of his position, he withdrew from the circle to where I was, and came to me, crowding his way between my legs, and looked up in my face as if to say, ‘I have been a very bad dog. Forgive me, and Barbekark will cheat his brother dogs no more. Please, sir, give me my share of capelins.’ I went the rounds three times more, and let him have the fish, as he had shown himself so sagacious, and so much like a repentant prodigal dog.”

Marriage among the Esquimaux is of the very simplest description, and is generally arranged by the parents of the bride and bridegroom, the latter having nothing to do with the affair. There is no marriage ceremony, the parties merely going to live in the same igloo. A man may, and often does, have several wives, and in this case one of them takes the position of the chief, or igloo wife, and is supreme under her husband. She has the largest lamp, the best bed, and the best provision. But she also has the entire management of the household, such as cooking the food, and drying the clothes on the “dry-net.” This is by no means a sinecure, as it forces her to rise many times in the night for the purpose of turning the clothes and drying them equally. She also has to see that the boots are properly “milled.”

After a child is born, the mother is obliged to confine herself to her own igloo for some months, and when the allotted time has expired, she throws off all the clothing which she has worn, and never wears it again. She then dresses herself in a totally new suit of clothes, and visits in succession the inhabitants of every igloo. If a second or third child be born, a separate igloo is always built for the mother, to which she repairs before the birth of the child, and in which she remains until the customary time has elapsed and she is able to call upon her neighbors.

The children begin their education at a very early age; the boys being taught to paddle the kia, to hunt and to fish, and to build igloos; while the girls learn to row the women’s boat, to dress skins, to manage the lamp, to cook, and perform the multitudinous tasks that fall to their lot. The carving of the Esquimaux women is wonderfully good. They make spirited, though conventional, imitations of fish, ducks, dogs, and various animals, from ivory, using in the manufacture nothing but a knife. In the earlier days, before white men visited them, the Esquimaux were obliged to rely entirely upon flint as a material for their knives, which were exactly like those of the ancient and perished races. In chopping the flakes off the flint, the Esquimaux employed a very simple instrument, the use of which showed an exact knowledge of the fracture-line of flint. It is made of bone and ivory, and is about six inches in length. Iron, indeed, is of so late introduction, that when Captain Lyon visited the natives, in 1821, he could purchase a complete harpoon, with its ivory head, float, and line, for a nail; while a knife would purchase a kia, or indeed anything that was asked in exchange for it.

As may be inferred from the climate, the games of the Esquimaux are but few. They are wonderful experts at a sort of “cat’s-cradle,” producing with a piece of string imitations of seals, reindeer, ducks, canoes, and other objects. The little ivory models of ducks and other animals, which have already been mentioned, are used in several of the native games.

Their dances are remarkable for their simplicity, the dancer inventing the steps according to his own taste. There is a dance in which a number of women stand in a ring, with their hands under the front flaps of their jackets, and sing, with half-closed eyes, the inevitable Amna-aya song: these are the band. The dancers are represented by one man, who takes his place in the middle of the ring, swings his head and arms from side to side, his long, lank hair flapping in the wind, while he utters sharp yells at intervals, and occasionally flings one leg as high as his thick garments permit.

The women have a special dance of their own, which consists in kneeling on the ground, leaping to their feet as fast as they can. This is really a difficult task when the heavy and clumsy boots are taken into consideration. Sometimes the men challenge each other to dance, and in that case the challenge is accepted by employing the “koonik,” or national salutation, which is given by rubbing the noses together, and inhaling strongly through the nostrils.

With regard to religion, the Esquimaux seem to have no very definite idea of the subject, except that they believe in a future existence, in a heaven and a hell—the latter being, according to their ideas, dark, full of ice, with snow-storms always blowing, and no seals. They have also a hazy description of a Supreme Being, and a secondary female divinity, the special protector of the Esquimaux.

By way of worship, they have sundry medicine men, or “angekos,” as they are called, who go through a series of strange ceremonies on various occasions, such as illness, or when a party is setting out on a hunting expedition. They make the people pay heavily for their services, and rule with a rod of iron, so that no Esquimaux is likely to retain possession of any valuable piece of property if an angeko should happen to be in the neighborhood. They act upon a very simple and intelligent principle, namely, that the amount of success in “ankooting,” or divining, is in exact ratio with the amount of pay.

Sometimes, in order to impress awe upon their victims, the angekos go through a series of imposing ceremonies, the performance of which infers a vast amount of practice. By the present of a knife and some beads, Captain Lyon induced a celebrated angeko, named Toolemak, to have an interview with a Tornga, or familiar spirit, in the cabin of the ship.

“All light excluded, our sorcerer began by chanting to his wife with great vehemence, and she, in return, answered by singing the Amna-aya (the favorite song of the Esquimaux), which was not discontinued during the whole ceremony. As far as I could learn, he afterward began turning himself rapidly round, and, in a loud, powerful voice, vociferated for Tornga with great impatience, at the same time blowing and snorting like a walrus. His noise, impatience, and agitation increased every moment, and he at length seated himself on the deck, varying his tones, and making a rustling with his clothes.

“Suddenly the voice seemed smothered, and was so managed as to sound as if retreating beneath the deck, each moment becoming more distant, and ultimately giving the idea of being many feet below the cabin, where it ceased entirely. His wife, now, in answer to my queries, informed me very seriously that he had dived, and that he would send up Tornga.

“Accordingly, in about half a minute, a distant blowing was heard very slowly approaching, and a voice which differed from that which we at first had heard was at times mixed with blowing, until at length both sounds became distinct, and the old woman informed me that Tornga was come to answer my questions. I accordingly asked several questions of the sagacious spirit, to each of which inquiries I received an answer by two loud slaps on the deck, which I was given to understand was favorable.

“A very hollow yet powerful voice, certainly much different from the tones of Toolemak, now chanted for some time, and a strange jumble of hisses, groans, shouts, and gabblings like a turkey succeeded in rapid succession. The old woman sang with increased energy, and, as I took it for granted that this was all intended to astonish the Kabloona, I cried repeatedly that I was very much afraid. This, as I expected, added fuel to the fire, until the form immortal, exhausted by its own might, asked leave to retire. The voice gradually sank from our hearing, as at first, and a very indistinct hissing succeeded. In its advance, it sounded like the tone produced by the wind upon the bass-cord of an Æolian harp; this was soon changed to a rapid hiss, like that of a rocket, and Toolemak, with a yell, announced his return. I held my breath at the first distant hissing, and twice exhausted myself; yet our conjuror did not once respire, and even his returning and powerful yell was uttered without a previous stop or inspiration of air.

“Light being admitted, our wizard, as might be expected, was in a profuse perspiration, and certainly much exhausted by his exertions, which had continued for at least half an hour. We now observed a couple of bunches, each consisting of two strips of white deer-skin and a long piece of sinew, attached to the back of his coat. These we had not seen before, and were informed that they had been sewed on by Tornga while he was below.” A similar exhibition has been seen by several travellers, and they have expressed their astonishment at the length of time during which an angeko can howl, hiss, and gabble without taking breath.

While he is below the earth, the angeko is supposed to visit the habitation of the particular spirit whom he is addressing, and sometimes gives a detailed account of the places in which he has been, and of their inhabitants. One female spirit, for example, is called Aywilliayoo. She commands all the bears, whales, seals, and walruses by means of her right hand. So, when there is a scarcety of provisions, the angeko makes a visit to Aywilliayoo and attacks her hand. If he can cut off her nails, the bears immediately are set free, the loss of one finger joint liberates the small seals, the second joint sends the large seals, the knuckles free the whole herds of walrus, while the entire hand liberates the whale.

In figure this spirit is very tall, and has only one eye and one pigtail, but this is as large as a man’s leg, and descends to her knee. Her house is a very fine one, but Toolemak did not venture to enter it, because it was guarded by a huge dog with black hind-quarters and no tail. Her father is no larger than a boy of ten years old, and he has but one arm, which is always covered with a large bear’s-skin mitten. His house is also handsome, but its entrance is guarded by troops of bears and walruses, who keep up a continual growling.

Unfortunately for his own credit, Toolemak got drunk one evening, as he might well be, having consumed in succession nearly ten glasses of rum, or “hot water,” as he was pleased to call it. During his intoxication he became very good-natured, and betrayed the secrets of his magic art, showing how he altered his voice by covering his face with his hands and then with his jacket, so as to make the voice appear as if it came from a continually increasing depth. He finished this singular exhibition by drinking in succession eleven pints and one gill of water, and within a few minutes became sober enough to leave the ship and walk to his sledge.

Sometimes the Esquimaux say that they are annoyed by spirits. On one occasion when a man nicknamed Kettle was eating in Captain Lyon’s cabin, he became uneasy, and frequently ceased eating, a very remarkable circumstance in a hungry Esquimaux. Presently he said that there was a spirit sitting on the opposite side of the cabin, making grimaces at him, and preventing him from eating. He asked leave to drive his tormenter away, which he did by raising a long, bellowing sound, and then blowing sharply on the ends of his fingers. He resumed his meal quietly, and nothing would induce him to blow on his fingers or raise the exorcising yell again, on the ground that the spirit was no longer to be seen.

The Esquimaux possess wonderful powers of drawing. They know scarcely anything of perspective, but they can make their sketches tell their own tale; while in drawing from memory a chart of a coast, their skill is really admirable. In Captain Hall’s book there are fac-similes of several native charts and sketches, the most curious of which is one which was not only drawn but engraved on wood by the native draughtsman. It represents a woman with a child nestling in the hood behind her back, and is quite equal in execution to wood-cutting in the earlier stages of the art. The point about it which most strikes a practised eye is the force and fidelity with which the artist has marked the texture of the different parts of the dress; the fur coat and trowsers edged with leather, and the white-edged, fur-lined hood, are most admirably managed.

Of music and musical instruments the Esquimaux know little. They have the Amna-aya song, which has already been mentioned, and they possess one national musical instrument, called the “keeloun.” This is something like a tambourine, being formed of a very thin deer skin, or the envelope of the whale’s liver, stretched over one side of a wooden hoop. A handle is attached to the hoop, and the instrument is struck, not upon the membrane, but upon the hoop.

As a nation they are remarkable for two good qualities, honesty and hospitality. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, and such is the case with the Esquimaux. But the early voyagers found that they might leave their knives and axes on shore, and that not one of them would be touched. Now, to an Esquimaux a steel knife or axe is more valuable than a box full of sovereigns would be to us, and the honesty of the Esquimaux was as much tried by the sight of these articles as would be that of our London poor if a heap of sovereigns were left lying on the pavement.

As to hospitality, their food is considered to be merely common property, so that if one of the Esquimaux should kill a seal, all his friends and neighbors assemble as a matter of course to assist in eating it; and even though the family of the successful hunter should be starving, he will nevertheless invite all his friends to partake of the food. In this way, it often happens that an entire seal barely affords a single meal to all who come to share it.

Funerals among the Esquimaux are rather variable in their forms. Generally, when a sick person is on the point of death, a new igloo is built, and carefully fitted with lamp, provisions, and other furniture. The dying person is carried in—not through the regular doorway, but through a breach in the wall—placed on the couch, the lamp lighted, and the provisions laid ready to hand. The attendants then leave the igloo, build up the openings, and never trouble themselves again about the sick person. The principal reason why the dying are left alone is, that if the relatives are in the igloo at the moment of death, they are obliged to throw away the dresses which they were wearing, and never to wear them again. None of them can tell the reason for this strange belief, but it is so strongly ingrained that no argument can induce them to abandon it.

Sometimes the body of a dead person is simply buried in a hole scooped in the snow, and sometimes it is laid upon a ledge of rock, accompanied by the lamp, kettle, knives, spears, and dresses which the deceased used while in life. When a child dies, all its toys are placed with it in the grave, that it may be supplied with them in the next world.

The demeanor of the Esquimaux with regard to their dead is a most extraordinary mixture of affection and unconcern. After having buried the body, whether alive or dead does not matter, they care nothing about it, and this strange insensibility is even displayed before the burial. For example, a man’s wife had died, leaving a child of a few weeks old, which in a short time followed its mother. The father was very sorrowful for his dying child, and was seen in the night lifting the curtains of its bed as it lay ill on board ship, and sighing deeply. But, on the next day, when he came to the ship, he made no scruple of laying his meat on the body of the child, and using it as a table at breakfast.

Once, when Captain Lyon visited the grave where an Esquimaux named Pekooya had been laid, he found that the wolves and dogs had uncovered the body, and had eaten a considerable portion of it. He was naturally shocked at the scene, but the natives treated it with absolute indifference, and though the father and a brother of Pekooya were witnesses of the desecration, they would not cover up the mangled body, and only laughed when Captain Lyon remonstrated with them. Moreover, when the body was buried, it was covered so slightly with snow that the first day’s thaw would melt off all the snow, and leave it to the mercy of the dogs.

Judging from such a fact as this, it might be thought that the Esquimaux have but little natural affection, and that they are indifferent to the loss of their nearest relatives. Such, however, is not the case. An Esquimaux never passes the grave of an acquaintance without depositing a piece of meat as an offering, and the surviving relatives often visit the burying-place of their dead, and sit there for hours, talking to them as if they were still alive. On comparing all the conflicting accounts respecting the Esquimaux and their dead, it seems likely that they consider the dead body as something that the deceased once possessed, but cast away at death, and that, as their departed friend abandoned the body, they need take no trouble about so worthless an article.

If the reader will refer to the [illustration] on page 1347, he will see that the horizon is illuminated by strange and wild-looking dashes of light. These represent the Aurora Borealis, as it often appears in those parts,—not pale and flickering as we see it in these comparatively southern regions, but blazing with all imaginable hues, and giving out a light that stands the natives in stead of the sun, which in those latitudes is absent for months at a time. The glory and magnificence of these displays can only be described by those who have seen them, and very inadequately even by such.

There is an account given by Captain Hall of one of these marvellous exhibitions:—“I had gone on deck several times to look at the beauteous scene, and at nine o’clock was below in my cabin, when the captain hailed me with these words, ‘Come above, Hall, come at once! The world is on fire.’

“I knew his meaning, and quick as thought I re-dressed myself, scrambled over several sleeping Innuits close to my berth, and rushed to the companion stairs. In another moment I reached the deck, and as the cabin door swung open, a dazzling and overpowering light, as if the world were really ablaze under the agency of some gorgeously colored fires, burst upon my startled senses. How can I describe it? Again I say, No mortal hand can truthfully do so. Let me however, in feeble, broken words, put down my thoughts at the time, and try to give some faint idea of what I saw.

“My first thought was, ‘Among the gods there is none like unto Thee, O Lord; neither are any works like unto Thy works!’ Then I tried to picture the scene before me. Piles of golden light and rainbow light, scattered along the azure vault, extended from behind the western horizon to the zenith; thence down to the eastern, within a belt of space, 20° in width, were the fountains of beams, like fire-threads, that shot with the rapidity of lightning hither and thither, upward and athwart the great pathway indicated. No sun, no moon, yet the heavens were a glorious sight, flooded with light. Even ordinary print could easily have been read on deck.

“Flooded with rivers of light! Yes, flooded with light; and such light! Light all but inconceivable. The golden hues predominated, but in rapid succession prismatic colors leaped forth. We looked, we saw, and trembled; for as we gazed, the whole belt of aurora began to be alive with flashes. Then each pile or bank of light became myriads; some were dropping down the great pathway or belt; others springing up, others leaping with lightning flash from one side, while more as quickly passed into the vacated space; some twisting themselves into folds, entwining with others like enormous serpents, and all these movements as quick as the eye could follow.

“It seemed as if there were a struggle with these blazing lights to reach and occupy the dome above our heads. Then the whole arch above became crowded. Down, down it came; nearer and nearer it approached us. Sheets of golden flame, coruscating while leaping from the auroral belt, seemed as if met in their course by some mighty agency that turned them into the colors of the rainbow, each of the seven primary colors 3° in width, sheeted out to 21°.

“While the auroral fires seemed to be descending upon us, one of our number could not help exclaiming,—

“‘Hark! hark! such a display! almost as if a warfare were going on among the beauteous lights above—so palpable—so near—it seems impossible without noise.’

“But no noise accompanied this wondrous display. All was silence....

“I would here make the remark that the finest displays of the aurora only last a few moments. Though it may be playing all night, yet it is only now and then that its grandest displays are made. As if marshalling forces, gaining strength, compounding material, it continues on its silent workings. At length it begins its trembling throes; beauty anon shoots out here and there, when all at once the aurora flashes into living hosts of powdered coruscating rainbows, belting to the heavenly dome with such gorgeous grandeur that mortals sometimes tremble to behold.”

These wonderful aërial phenomena are characteristic of the Arctic regions. One of the most extraordinary appearances in the sky is called the Parhelion, or Mock Sun. It assumes various and most astounding forms, the sun appearing in the middle, and being surrounded with dimmer imitations of itself, round which run circular bands of light. There seems, indeed, to be no end to the extraordinary modifications of aërial effects which take place in these regions. Captain Hall described many of them, among which may be mentioned a moon distorted beyond all recognition, its lower limb all crushed and shapeless, and the whole appearance of the planet like that of a man under the influence of liquor.

Then the refractive powers of the atmosphere produce most wonderful effects, destroying all perspective, and bringing into sight all kinds of objects which, by the ordinary laws of optics, are far out of sight. All sailors are familiar with the appearance of a vessel high in the air, sailing, as it were, through the sky with her keel in the clouds, and the tops of her masts pointing downward. In these regions the refractive powers are even terrible to accustomed eyes, so wonderful are the sights presented to them.

In one of these strange exhibitions, witnessed by Captain Hall, a vast white inverted pyramid seemed to form in the sky, and at every roll of the vessel to dip into the sea. Presently “some land that was seventy-five miles distant, and the top of it only barely seen in an ordinary way, had its rocky base brought full in view. The whole length of this land in sight was the very symbol of distortion.

“Pendant from an even line that stretched across the heavens was a ridge of mountains. Life hangs upon a little thread, but what think you of mountains hanging upon a thread? In my fancy I said, ‘If Fate had decreed one of the Sisters to cut that thread while I witnessed the singular spectacle, what convulsions upon the land and sea about us might not have followed!’ But Nature had an admirable way of taking down these rock-giants, hanging between the heavens and the earth. Arch after arch was at length made in wondrous grandeur from the rugged and distorted atmospheric land; and, if ever man’s eye rested upon the sublime, in an act of God’s creative power, it was when He arcuated the heavens with such a line of stupendous mountains.

“Between those several mountain arches in the sky were hung icebergs, also inverted, moving silently and majestically about as the sea-currents shifted those along of which they were the images. In addition to all this there was a wall of water, so it appeared, far beyond the apparent horizon. This wall seemed alive with merry dancers of the most fantastic figures that the imagination could conceive, and its perpendicular columns were ever playfully changing. Oh, how exquisitely beautiful was this God-made, living wall! A thousand youthful forms of the fairest outline seemed to be dancing to and fro, their white arms intertwined, bodies incessantly varying, intermixing, falling, rising, jumping, skipping, hopping, whirling, waltzing, resting, and again rushing to the mazy dance—never tired—ever playful—ever light and airy, graceful, and soft to the eye.”

Wrist-guard and Hooks.
(See [page 1343].)

Such, then, is a brief account of the remarkable and interesting Innuit people—a people which, according to the observation of Captain Hall, are gradually dying out, and in a few more years will cease to exist.

CHAPTER CXLII.
VANCOUVER’S ISLAND.
THE AHTS AND NEIGHBORING TRIBES.

DEFINITION OF THE AHT TRIBES — APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — STRENGTH OF GRASP — PECULIARITY OF THE LEGS — GAIT OF THE WOMEN — SPEED OF THE MEN — DANCE — THE LIP ORNAMENT OF THE WOMEN — CLOTHING — THE BOAT CLOAK AND HAT — WEAPONS — THE BOW AND ARROW — INGENIOUS CONSTRUCTION OF THE BOW — ITS BACKING OF ELASTIC STRINGS — THE ARROWS AND THEIR SPIRAL FEATHERING — THE FISH SPEAR AND HARPOON ARROWS — THE HALIBUT HOOK — VARIOUS MODES OF HUNTING — SALMON SPEARING BY TORCHLIGHT — THE HERRING RAKE — HOW TO KEEP THE BOAT FROM SINKING — THE WHALE FISHERY.

Before leaving this part of the world, we will cast a brief glance at the tribes which inhabit Vancouver’s Island. They are singularly interesting, inasmuch as they combine some of the habits which distinguish the Esquimaux with others of the North American tribes, and add to them several of the customs which have been already noticed among the Polynesians, their insular position and peculiar climate no doubt affording the cause for this curious mixture.

As a type of these tribes, we will take the Ahts, though other tribes will be casually mentioned. The Ahts may rather be called a nation than a tribe, being divided into some twenty tribes, the names of which all end in “aht,” as, for example, Ohyaht, Muchlaht, Ayhuttisaht, Toquaht, etc. Altogether they number about seventeen hundred. They do not, however, act together as a nation, and each tribe is perfectly distinct, and often at war with another.

They are not a tall people, the men averaging a little less than five feet six inches, and the women being just above five feet. Possibly, from the continual paddling which they practise almost from childhood, the upper limbs of an Aht are exceedingly strong, so strong, indeed, that a slight-looking native can carry with ease on his extended fingers a weight which a white man can scarcely lift. Their power of grasp, probably from the same cause, is more like the grip of a machine than the grasp of a man; and those who have had to fight with them have found that if once an Aht be allowed to seize either the clothing or the hair, the only way to loosen his grasp is to knock him down with a blow in the throat or in the ribs—he cares nothing for a blow on the head.

When he comes to such close quarters in a quarrel, he has an awkward habit of grasping the enemy with one hand, and using with the other a knife which he has kept concealed in his long hair. Fortunately for his white opponent, so extraordinary a proceeding as a blow from the fist, which deprives him for a time of breath, bewilders and alarms him to such an extent that he seldom risks its repetition.

The legs of the Aht tribes are, as a rule, short, ill-made, bowed, and apparently deficient in power. This peculiarity is especially noticeable in the women, whose legs are so bowed, and whose toes are so turned inward, that they waddle rather than walk, and at every step they are obliged to cross their feet as a parrot does. The legs of the inland tribes are, as a rule, better developed than those of the inhabitants of the coast. Yet these unsightly limbs are by no means deficient in power. An Aht, powerfully built above, will step out of his canoe, and exhibit a pair of legs scarcely as thick as his arms, and yet he will walk in the woods for a whole day without showing any signs of fatigue.

Owing to this form of limb, the natives, though enduring enough, are not swift of foot, and can be easily overtaken by a white man on the open ground, notwithstanding the impediments of clothing, and especially of shoes, which hinder the progress of the pursuer, the pursued usually throwing off the only garment that he wears. Should he once reach the woods, pursuit is useless, as no white man can follow a naked native in them.

The color of the Ahts is a dull, but not dark, brown. Their face is broad and flat, the nose tolerably well formed when it is not dragged out of shape by rings and other ornaments, and the cheek-bones are strongly marked and broad, but not high. There is very little hair on the faces of the men, but that of the head is long, straight, and is generally allowed to hang loosely over the shoulders, though it is sometimes gathered into a knot at the back of the head, merely covered by a cap or a wreath of grass. They are very proud of their hair, so that when an Aht has been guilty of some offence which is not very serious, the best punishment is to cut off his hair, inasmuch as he will be an object of constant ridicule until it has grown again. The women divide their hair in the middle, and tie it in two plaits, one of which hangs at each side of the face, and often has a piece of lead suspended to the end to keep it straight. Mr. Sproat thinks that the physical characteristics of the Ahts have been modified by means of a large importation of Chinese, which took place about the end of the last century, and remarks that the peculiar Chinese eye is sometimes seen among these natives. Still, even if this be the fact, the modification can be but slight, as both people are undoubtedly members of the same great race, though altered by the conditions in which they have respectively been placed.

Some of the women have a hideously ugly ornament which they wear in their under lip, just as do the Botocudos of Tropical America. This practice exists only among the northern tribes, where it is carried out to an enormous extent. As the size of the ornament is gradually increased from childhood, the lip of an old woman will contain an oval ornament three inches long by two wide. There is a shallow groove round the edge so as to keep it in its place, and both sides are slightly concave. Sometimes it is used as a spoon, the woman putting on it a piece of meat that is too hot, and, when it is cool, turning it into her mouth by a contraction of the lip.

The value that is set upon this horrible disfigurement is almost ludicrous, a woman’s rank being due to the size of her lip ornament. Possibly, on account of the long time which must be occupied in stretching the orifice in the lip to the required size, the opinion of a woman with a large lip is always held in respect; and, if she should be opposed by a younger person of her own sex, she will contemptuously decline to enter into argument with a woman who has so small a lip. Some of them wear a shell ornament, like the stem of a clay tobacco-pipe, one or two inches long, stuck through the lip and projecting forward at a considerable angle with the chin. This ornament is called the hai-qua.

As for clothing, the men wear a sort of robe made by themselves, for which they have in later days substituted an European blanket. They are not at all particular as to the disposal of this robe, and even if it should fall off do not trouble themselves. The women also wear the blanket, but always have a small apron in addition to it. In their canoes they wear a cape. It is made of cedar-bark string, and is woven in nearly the same manner as the mat of the New Zealander, which has already been described; namely, by stretching the warp threads parallel to each other on a frame, and tying them together at intervals with a cross-thread which represents the woof. A specimen in my collection has the cross-threads at intervals of half an inch.

It is shaped exactly like the cross section of a boat, straight above, and rounded below. It measures five feet three inches in width, and three feet six inches in depth in the centre. As is usual with such robes, the upper edge is adorned with a strip of marten fur a quarter of an inch wide, wound spirally round the selvage so as to form quite a thick rope of fur. These capes are the work of the women, who have the manufacture of all the clothing. Fur bags are made by the simple process of skinning the marten, the body being then extricated through a cut made across the abdomen just below the tail. As the skin comes off it is reversed, and when dry and properly dressed it is turned with the fur outward, and the bag is complete, the tail serving as a handle. One of these bags in my collection was presented to me by Lieut. Pusey.

The woof thread is also made of the white pine bark, and the needle is nothing more than a sharpened twig. The same useful materials are also employed for the curious hats which the natives wear in their canoes. These hats are made on the principle of the sailors’ “sou’-westers,” and are fashioned so as to shoot rain off the shoulders. The outside of the hat is made of cedar bark, and the inside of white pine bark.

Depending largely upon animal food for their nourishment, the Aht tribes are expert hunters, and make very ingenious weapons, some of which are shown in the [illustrations] on page 1357, drawn from my own specimens.

The bow and arrows used by these people are worthy of a brief description. The bow is an admirable specimen of savage art, and must be the result of long experience. It is four feet three inches in length, and made of one piece of wood. In general shape it resembles the bow of the Andamans, though it is not of such gigantic dimensions. In the middle the wood is rounded, so as to form a handle which is nearly four inches in circumference. From the handle to the tips, the wood is gradually flattened and widened for about fourteen inches, where it is just two inches wide. From this point it gradually lessens again to the tip, which is rounded and thickened, so as to receive the notch for the string.

Were no addition made to the bow it would still be a very powerful weapon, but the maker has not been satisfied with the simple wood, and has strengthened it with a wonderfully complex arrangement of strings made of twisted sinews. In my specimen there are rather more than fifty of these strings, which are laid on the bow and interwoven with each other in a manner so strong and neat, that the most skilful sailor might be envious of such a piece of handiwork. Each of these strings is double, the two strands being about as large as thin whipcord, and when seen against the light they are quite translucent.

They are put on in the following manner. Two deep notches, parallel to the line of the bow, are made at each lip, these notches serving two purposes: first, the reception of the bow-strings, and next the support of the strengthening strings. Eight of the strings, measuring about eleven feet in length, have been doubled, the loop passed over the tip of the bow, and the strings led along the back over the corresponding notch at the other tip, and brought back to the middle. These strings lie parallel to each other, and form a flat belt from one end of the bow to the other. About an inch below the tip, three other sets of strings are fastened in a somewhat similar manner, so that four distinct layers of strings run throughout the length of the weapon.

ARROWS.

Even these have not sufficed the maker, who has added six more layers starting from the widest and flattest part of the bow, so that nearly three feet of the centre of the weapon are strengthened by no less than twelve layers of sinew strings. By referring to the [illustration], the reader will perceive the extreme ingenuity with which the strings are laid on the bow, so that whether the weapon be bent or unstrung, they all keep their places. So firmly are they lashed to the bow, that even when it is unstrung they are all as tight as harp strings.

The string of the bow is made of the same material as those which strengthen the back, and in consequence of the very great strength of the material, it is much thinner than the string of an ordinary archer’s bow. It is made of two strands, each strand being about as large as the back strings.

By referring to [illustration No. 3], on the next page, a good idea can be gained of this singularly ingenious weapon. At first the bow is seen as it appears when strung, fig. 3 giving a section of the wood. At fig. 2 is an enlarged representation of one end of the bow, so as to show the manner in which the various sets of strings are fastened. At the upper part are seen the strings which form the first layer, passing over the end of the bow, and filling up the notch in which they lie. Just below the tip come the second and third sets, which pass down the bow, where they are met by, and interwoven with, the remainder of the strings, the whole of them being gathered in the rope with its spiral building. This beautiful weapon was added to my collection by Lieut. Pusey, R. N.

The arrows are of various kinds, according to the object for which they are intended. That which is used for ordinary occasions is shown in the uppermost figure of the [illustration]. It is two feet three inches in length, and is headed with bone.

There is a peculiarity about these arrows which is worthy of notice. Some time ago an arrow was patented in England, which had the feathers placed spirally upon the end of the shaft, so as to give it a rapidly revolving movement when discharged from the bow. The principle was exactly that of the screw which is applied to steam vessels; and those who used the arrow acknowledged that the spiral setting of the feathers not only increased the power of flight, but enabled the archer to drive his arrow through the wind with greater ease and certainty than could be obtained with the ordinarily feathered arrow. There is a very old saying that there is nothing new under the sun, and this is the case with the arrow in question, the savages of Northern America having adopted the same principle long ago. In their arrows the feathers are set spirally, with a bold curve, and there is really no difference between the weapon of the savage and the toy of civilization, than the greater neatness and higher finish of the latter.

(1.) AHT FISH-HOOK.
(See [page 1359].)

(2.) PIPES.
(See [page 1370].)

SECTION
BACK ENLARGED

(3.) BOW OF THE AHTS.
(See [page 1356].)

(4.) BEAVER MASK OF AHT TRIBE.
(See [page 1365].)

(5.) HEADDRESS.
(See [page 1365].)

SIDE VIEW

(6.) PADDLES.
(See [page 1363].)

The [lower figure] represents the arrow which is used for killing fish. In this weapon the point is also of bone, but is very much longer, and is double, the two halves diverging considerably from each other, and being barbed on the inner surface. It is firmly lashed to the shaft, and their divergence is given by means of two pegs, which are driven between the shaft and the two portions of the point. If a fish be struck by this ingenious weapon, it cannot possibly escape, the elastic points contracting violently and holding the fish between them.

It is worthy of notice that a police spear made exactly on the same principle is used by the Malays. It consists of a handle some seven feet long, from the end of which project two diverging points. The inner side of each point is armed with a row of very sharp barbs, all directed backward. Thorns are often used for this purpose. Should a criminal try to escape, the police officer has only to thrust his spear against the back of the man’s neck, when he is at once a prisoner, the barbed points effectually preventing him from escaping, even should the officer drop his weapon. The zoölogical reader will remember that the teeth of the snake and of many fish—the pike, for example—are set on exactly the same principle.

In some specimens the head is fitted loosely on the shaft, and connected with it by means of a string, which is wound spirally round it, and when the fish is struck the head is shaken off the shaft, which serves both as a drag to aid in tiring the fish, and as a float by which its presence may be indicated.

The most ingenious of these arrows is used for shooting seals and the larger fish, and is very elaborately constructed. It measures about four feet in length, and is almost deserving of the name of harpoon rather than arrow.

The shaft is made of very light wood, and is about as thick as a man’s finger. At the butt-end it is feathered in the usual manner, and at the other it is terminated by a pear-shaped piece of bone an inch in diameter at the thickest part. Into the end of this bone is bored a small conical hole, which receives the head. This is also made of bone, and is very small in comparison with the arrow, and is furnished with two deeply cut barbs. As is the case with all harpoon weapons, the head is connected with the shaft by a line, but in this case there is a peculiarity about the line and its mode of attachment.

Instead of being a mere double-strand string, it is made of a number of fibres arranged in three strands, and plaited, not twisted together, so as to form a flat line, which possesses enormous strength combined with great elasticity and small size. The mode of attachment is as ingenious as the method of manufacture. The line is a double one, measuring twelve feet in length. The line is first doubled, the loop is put through a hole in the point and over the head, so as to secure it, and the two halves of the line are then lashed together about eighteen inches from the point. One end is then fastened to the arrow just below the feathers, and the other to the shaft just above the bone tip. The object of this arrangement is evident. As soon as a seal is struck, it dashes off, shaking the shaft from the barbed head, which remains in its body. Were the line simply tied to the end of the shaft, the wounded creature would easily drag it through the water. But, as the line is fastened to each end of the shaft and to the head besides, when the latter transfixes a seal it is separated from the shaft, and the shaft is drawn crosswise through the water, presenting so great a resistance that the seal becomes exhausted with its unavailing struggles, and comes to the surface, where it is despatched with a second or third weapon.

Besides the harpoon and fish arrow, these people also use the [hook] (see page 1357), which is quite as ingenious in its way as the implements which have been described. The body of the hook is of wood, and is exactly in the shape of the capital letter U. The point bends slightly outward, and is charred at the tip to render it harder. It is also defended and strengthened by a band of very tough vegetable fibre, which covers it for about three inches. The barb is a piece of bone, about five inches in length, sharpened like a needle at the point. This barb is not attached to the point, as is the case with the generality of hooks, but is fastened to the shank, and is so long that its tip reaches to the middle of the hook.

At first sight this seems a very inadequate arrangement for securing fish, and looks as if the creature could easily slip off the unguarded point. If, however, the hook, which is a very large one, be tested, it will be found astonishingly efficacious. If the point be inserted between the fingers, as it would be inserted into the jaws of a fish, and then brought upward, it will be found that the sharp barb effectually prevents the hook from being withdrawn.

There is one effect of this mode of fixing the barb which may or may not have been intended. Should, by any accident, the line become entangled with the hook, and reverse it, the fish is quite as secure, the long, straight barb forming a second hook, to which it is transferred. The body of this hook is made of the Douglas pine, and it is brought into shape by steaming. The hook is chiefly used for catching the halibut, as, for some reason, the Ahts will not use a steel hook in the capture of this fish.

There is plenty of game, both large and small, in these regions, though the chase is in all cases a severe one, and tests not only the skill but the endurance of the hunter. There is, for example, the black bear, which is a most valuable animal, its fur being used for clothing, and its flesh for food. Bear hunting is not carried on at all times of the year, but is generally followed toward the end of autumn, when the bears are fat, and about to enter their winter quarters. Sometimes the Ahts wait until the bear has gone into retirement, and then spear it in its winter home. Traps are in great favor, because they do not spoil the skin. They are very simple; the trap consisting of a tree trunk heavily loaded with stones, and suspended at one end over the animal’s track. It is kept in position by a trigger, to which is attached a slight rope crossing the track. It is always placed in some spot where a large stump or the root of a fallen tree allows the trap to be set without disturbing the appearance of the track.

Then there are one or two deer, the largest of which is the wapiti, commonly but erroneously called the elk. The hunter generally takes it by following its track, and stalking it as it feeds, when the powerful bow drives an arrow to its heart. The skill of the hunter is shown as much after the deer is dead as during the actual chase. Captain Mayne mentions that he has seen a wapiti killed, and in a quarter of an hour it has been skinned, the whole of the flesh removed from the bones, and the skin converted into moccasins. The natives have rather a strange way of carrying the meat. At their first halt after killing a deer, they cut the meat into pieces two or three inches square, transfix them with a long stick, and carry the stick upon their shoulder, every now and then pulling off a piece and eating it as they go along. In this manner the flesh of a deer vanishes in a wonderfully short time. Very little meat is preserved, the Ahts generally eating it as soon as the animal is killed.

As to the fish, there are so many that only one or two can be mentioned. The salmon is the fish that seems to be the most valued by these fish-eating tribes, and it is caught, as with us, in a variety of ways. Sometimes the natives use a rather curious fish spear, about fifteen feet long in the shaft, and with a double head, made of wapiti bone. The head is only slightly fixed in the shaft, to which it is attached by a line, as in the harpoon arrow already described. Should the fish be a very heavy one, the hunter merely ties to the line a number of inflated bladders, and causes it to tire itself by useless struggles before he risks the fracture of the line or loss of the barbed head, one or both of which events would probably happen if he were to try to secure a fresh and powerful fish.

Sometimes, when the fish are plentiful, they are caught by dropping among them a stick armed with barbed points, and jerking it upward sharply, until it impales a fish on one or other of these points.

“Burning the water” is employed in catching salmon, and is carried on by two natives, one of whom paddles the canoe, while the other stands in the bow, where a torch is kept burning, and strikes the fish as they glide through the water. Mr. Sproat mentions that a single canoe has been known to bring back forty fine salmon as the result of a day’s fishing. Salmon traps are also employed. These are made after a fashion closely resembling that of the eel-traps used in this country. They are double baskets, externally cylindrical, and are set with their mouths directed down the stream. When the fish try to pass up the stream they enter the basket, and, as the inner basket is very much shorter than the other, shaped like a sugar-loaf, the salmon finds itself imprisoned between them. Some of these baskets measure as much as twenty feet in length, and five feet in diameter, so that they will contain a considerable number of fish.

One of the oddest fishing instruments is that by which the herring is caught. This is a pole about ten feet in length, flattened at one end like the blade of an oar, and armed along the edge with projecting spikes. When the fisherman gets among a shoal of herrings, he plunges his pole into the mass of fish, draws it through them with a peculiar movement of the arms, so as to transfix the herrings on the spikes, and then shakes them into his boat. By this mode of fishing, which is called “herring-raking,” great numbers of fish are taken, as well as by the net, which is ingeniously made from fibre obtained from a native nettle, which reaches eight or ten feet in height.

The Ahts are such keen fishermen that they will often endanger the safety of their canoes by the quantity of fish with which they will heap them, so that the gunwales are sunk within an inch or so of the water’s edge. In calm weather they can manage well enough, even with such a burden as this; but if the wind should get up before they can reach the shore, the danger is very great. Should such an event happen, these enterprising fishermen will not throw their cargo overboard to save the boat, but will fasten all the spare floats round the canoe, so as to keep it from sinking even if it be filled with water.

There is scarcely any end to the use which is made by the Ahts of these floats, and with their aid they will attack and conquer even the gigantic whale. The following account of their mode of whale fishing is written by Mr. G. M. Sproat:—“A whale-chase is an affair of some moment. The kind of whale commonly seen on the coast was described by an old whaling skipper as ‘finner,’ in which there is not much oil. The season for fishing whales commences about the end of May or in June. Many whales are killed every season by the Nitinahts, who live principally on the seaboard near Barclay or Nitinaht’s Sound. This tribe has a custom, which I have not observed elsewhere, of separating during spring and summer into small parties, each under a separate head, but all still continuing under the chieftaincy of the principal chief of the tribe.

“Months beforehand preparations are made for the whale fishing, which is considered almost a sacred season. I particularly noticed this circumstance from having, in my boyhood, heard of the Manx custom, in which all the crews of the herring fleet invoke a blessing before ‘shooting’ their herring-nets. The honor of using the harpoon in an Aht tribe is enjoyed but by few,—about a dozen in the tribe,—who inherit the privilege. Instances, however, are known of the privilege having been acquired by merit.

“Eight or nine men, selected by the harpooner, form the crew of his canoe. For several moons before the fishing begins, these men are compelled to abstain from their usual food; they live away from their wives, wash their bodies morning, noon, and night, and rub their skins with twigs or a rough stone. If a canoe is damaged or capsized by a whale, or any accident happens during the fishing season, it is assumed that some of the crew have failed in their preparatory offices, and a very strict inquiry is instituted by the chief men of the tribe. Witnesses are examined, and an investigation made into the domestic affairs of the accused persons. Should any inculpatory circumstance appear, the delinquent is severely dealt with, and is often deprived of his rank and placed under a ban for months.

“When the whales approach the coast, the fishermen are out all day, let the wind blow high or not. The canoes have different cruising grounds, some little distance apart. The Indian whaling gear consists of harpoons, lines, inflated seal-skins, and wooden or bone spears. The harpoon is often made of a piece of the iron hoop of an ale cask, cut with a chisel into the shape of a harpoon blade, two barbs fashioned from the tips of deer-horns being affixed to this blade with gum. Close to the harpoon the line is of deer sinews. To this the main line is attached, which is generally made of cedar twigs laid together as thick as a three-inch rope. Large inflated skins are fastened to this line about twelve feet from the harpoon. The weapon itself is then tied slightly to a yew handle ten feet long.

“On getting close, the harpooner, from the bow of his canoe, throws his harpoon at the whale with full force. As soon as the barb enters, the fastening of the wooden handle, being but slight, breaks, and becomes detached from the line. The natives raise a yell, and the whale dives quickly, but the seal-skins impede his movements. Very long lengths of line are kept in the canoes, and sometimes the lines from several canoes are joined. On the re-appearance of the whale on the surface, he is attacked from the nearest canoe; and thus, finally, forty or fifty large buoys are attached to his body. He struggles violently for a time, and beats and lashes the water in all directions, until, weakened by loss of blood, and fatigued by his exertions, he ceases to struggle, and the natives despatch him with their short spears. The whale is then taken in tow by the whole fleet of canoes, the crews yelling and singing, and keeping time with their paddles.

“Sometimes, after being harpooned, the whale escapes, and takes ropes, harpoons, seal-skins, and everything with him. Should he die from his wounds, and be found by another tribe at sea, or on shore within the territorial limits of the finders, the instruments are returned to the losers, with a large piece of the fish as a present. Many disputes arise between tribes on the finding of dead whales near the undefined boundaries of the tribal territories. If the quarrel is serious, all intercourse ceases, trade is forbidden, and war is threatened. By and by, when the loss of trade is felt, negotiation is tried. An envoy is selected who is of high rank in his own tribe, and, if possible, connected with the other tribe by marriage. He is usually a quiet man of fluent speech. Wearing white eagle feathers in his headdress as a mark of peace, he departs in a small canoe. Only one female attendant, generally an old slave, accompanies him, to assist in paddling, as the natives never risk two men on such occasions. The envoy’s return is anxiously awaited. As a general rule, the first proposition is rejected. Objections, references, counter proposals, frequently make three or four embassies necessary before the question can be settled. By that time the blubber must be very rancid.”

Canoe of the Ahts.
(See [page 1362].)

CHAPTER CXLIII.
VANCOUVER’S ISLAND—Continued.
THE AHTS AND NEIGHBORING TRIBES—Continued.

MANUFACTURE OF CANOES — CORRECT EYE OF THE NATIVE BUILDERS — MATERIAL AND SHAPE OF THE PADDLE — MODE OF USING IT — PATTERN WITH WHICH IT IS DECORATED — “CUTTING” THE WAVES — SKILL AND ENDURANCE OF THE PADDLERS — ESCAPE OF A NATIVE — FEASTS AMONG THE AHT TRIBES — METHOD OF COOKING — THE WOODEN POTS AND HEATED STONES — HOW “THE INDIANS DIED” — DISTRIBUTION OF PROPERTY, AND ITS CONSEQUENT DESTRUCTION — SACRED CHARACTER OF A FEAST — THE SACRED MARKS — THE ARTIFICIAL SNOW-STORM — THE DOCTOR’S DANCE — ADMIRABLE ACTING — SIMULATED MURDER AND RECOVERY OF THE CORPSE — THE ROOF DANCE.

The canoes in which the Aht tribes make their expeditions are carved out of solid wood. The tree which is employed for this purpose is a kind of cedar (Thuja gigantea), which flourishes by the sea. When a native wishes to make a canoe, he looks out for a good tree as near as possible to the water, and, with the assistance of a comrade, cuts it down. Now that he has European tools, he can fell a tree with some rapidity, but in the olden times, when his sole tool was a sort of chisel made of wapiti horn, it was a very slow process indeed. The only way of using this primitive instrument was by placing the edge of the chisel against the tree, and striking the butt with a heavy stone, shaped something like a dumb-bell.

The tree being felled, the bark is stripped off, and the trunk split lengthwise by wedges. The next process is to hollow out the inside, which is done entirely by hand, fire not being employed, as is the case with many savage tribes. The outside is then dubbed down to the proper thickness by means of an adze formed of a large mussel-shell fixed in a handle. In this work the natives use no measuring tools, but trust entirely to the eye; yet their work is so true that, when the boat is completed, it sits lightly on the water, and is well balanced. Any of my readers who have made even a toy boat will appreciate the difficulty of this task.

In about three weeks or so the canoe is roughly hewn and hollowed, and then comes a more difficult business, namely, the bringing it into the peculiar shape which the Ahts think to be the best. This is done by filling the canoe with water, and throwing redhot stones into it till the water boils. This part of the process is continued for a considerable time, until the wood is quite soft, and then a number of crosspieces are driven into the interior, so as to force the canoe into its proper shape, which it retains ever afterward.

While the canoe is still soft and comparatively pliant, several slight crosspieces are inserted, so as to counteract any tendency toward warping. The outside of the vessel is next hardened by fire, so as to enable it to resist the attacks of insects, and also to prevent it from cracking when exposed to the sun. Lastly, the bow and stem pieces are fixed to the canoe, and the interior is painted of some brilliant color, usually red. The outside is generally quite black and highly polished, this effect being produced by rubbing it plentifully with oil after the fire has done its work. Lastly, a pattern of some kind is generally painted on the bow and stern.

The [figure] on page 1361 will give the reader a good idea of the form of this canoe. It is drawn from a large model brought from Vancouver’s Island by Lieut. Pusey, and added by him to my collection. In this specimen the patterns at the bow and stem are red and blue. As is mostly the case with canoes made by savages, there is no keel to the boat.

The paddle by which the canoe is propelled is a singularly ingenious one, combining the three qualities of lightness, elasticity, and strength to a really remarkable extent. The paddle represented in fig. 1 of [illustration No. 6], on page 1357, is one of the specimens in my collection. It is four feet six inches in length, and the blade is about six inches wide at the broadest part. It is shaped with the greatest accuracy, the part where it is grasped by the left hand being nearly cylindrical, and then widening gradually until it forms the blade. At this part it is very thin—so thin, in fact, that it seems scarcely able to bear the strain that is put upon it when the paddler urges his canoe swiftly over the water.

The lightness of such a paddle is wonderful. The specimen which is figured in the [illustration] only weighs eighteen ounces, being hardly half the weight of a similarly sized New Zealand paddle. The reader will notice the peculiar handle. This is made in order to suit the mode of paddling. When the Aht gets into his canoe, he grasps the paddle with his left hand about eighteen inches from the end, and places his right hand upon the crosspiece that serves as a handle. The left hand thus acts as a fulcrum; upon the right hand works the leverage of the paddle. Beside this paddle is figured another from the Solomon Islands, in order to show how two totally distinct races of mankind have hit upon the same invention. There is even a similarity in the form of their canoes, as well as in the shape of their paddles.

The reader will observe that the blade of the paddle is covered with a pattern which extends some way up the handle. This is the work of the women, who take upon themselves the decoration of the paddles after their husbands have shaped them. The colors employed are generally black and red, the latter hue being obtained by a preparation of annatto. In this particular specimen, red is the chief color, the large oval marks on the side of the blade and on the handle being red, while the more intricate pattern on the blade is drawn in black.

No matter what may be the color of the paddle, the pattern is always of the same character. I have no doubt in my mind that it is really a conventional mode of depicting the human face, such as is seen upon the work of many extinct races of mankind; and although at a first glance the semblance may not be seen, it is evident to a practised observer, and is, moreover, quite in character with other works of art found of these people.

The broad, flat, sharp-edged blade of the paddle is often used for other purposes besides propelling the canoe. It has already been mentioned that the Ahts will not throw overboard their cargo of fish, no matter how high the waves may roll, or how deeply the canoe may be loaded. They watch carefully for the waves, and if one of them comes in such a manner that it would dash inboard, they have the art of cutting it in two with a blow from the edge of the paddle, and causing it to fly harmlessly over the little vessel.

Both in making canoes and in other work where holes have to be bored, the Ahts make use of a simple drill, formed from the bone of a bird, fixed in a wooden handle. When it is used, the shaft is taken between the two hands, the point placed on the object to be bored, and the hands moved swiftly backward and forward until the hole is made. In the same manner, by using a stick instead of a drill, fire is produced, precisely as is done by the Kaffirs.

The skill of the paddlers is wonderful. Mr. Sproat mentions the escape of an Aht Indian who had committed several murders, and had contrived to escape from custody. Finding the place where he had concealed himself, a party set out to recapture him, and discovered him running across the snow to gain the shelter of a wood. Had he reached it he would have been safe, so one of the pursuers chased him, and, notwithstanding the disadvantage of wearing shoes, which soon became clogged by the snow, succeeded in gaining on him, the Ahts being, as has already been remarked, very poor runners.

The man soon perceived that he was no match for his pursuer in running, and so, abandoning his intention of reaching the wood, he turned sharply off toward the river, flung off his blanket, and leaped into the stream. Presently he was seen making his way toward a canoe which was made fast to a drift tree in the river, and in a short time he reached it, looked eagerly into it to see if there were a paddle, scrambled into the boat, cast it off, and paddled away. Meanwhile two of his pursuers had got into a canoe, and were paddling after him, so that when he cast the boat loose they were not more than twenty yards from him. It was, however, quite enough for the fugitive, who forced his canoe up the stream with a power and rapidity which soon increased the distance between the two boats, and, in spite of all the efforts of his pursuers, he made his way to the bank nearly fifty yards ahead of them. As soon as he reached the shore, he jumped out of the canoe, and dashed into the wood, where it was useless to follow him.

Several times during the struggle Mr. Sproat had the man covered with his revolver, but the skill, grace, and strength of the fugitive were so admirable, that, much to the discontent of his companions, he would not fire. He remarks that in such a chase as this a white man has no chance with an Aht, but that in a long race on the sea the white man will win, his powers of endurance exceeding those of the savage.

The possession of a canoe is an object of much ambition among the Ahts, as it confers upon them a sort of distinction, and is looked upon much as is the possession of a carriage among ourselves. Each canoe is furnished with a baling instrument, which is always made of wood. It is, in fact, a large spoon, the bowl being angular, and shaped something like the gable of a house.

The domestic manners of the Ahts are, from Mr. Sproat’s account, very interesting, and, as he remarks, if any one only knew their strange language well, and had the stomach and the nose to live among them during the winter months, he would obtain copious information respecting them.

Winter is the time mentioned, because during the summer the men are generally dispersed in their pursuit of game, especially of salmon, which they dry and preserve for winter use. But about November they return to their homes, and a time of general feasting and enjoyment sets in. Cooking goes on all day, and the revellers are perpetually feasting, while during times of work they only eat twice in the day, namely, in the morning and evening, and even then do not eat much at each meal. Fish is the principal article of their diet, and dried salmon is the food which is most plentiful, though they also eat the flesh of the seal and the whale when they can get it. Of late years the Ahts have obtained rice and molasses, and apparently with a bad effect upon their health.

The pots in which the food is cooked are made of wood, the water being boiled, not by placing the pots on the fire, but by heating stones red hot and throwing them into it. Rude as this mode of boiling water may seem, it is much more rapid and effectual than might be imagined, which will account for the wide spreading of the custom. In more than one place, when the white man visited the natives for the first time, nothing impressed them so strongly as the fact that, when he boiled water, he put the vessel on the fire. The capability of making a vessel that would endure such treatment had, in their eyes, something of the supernatural.

An old native illustrated well the astonishment which they themselves felt when they saw a kettle placed on the fire for the first time. He narrated the story to Mr. Duncan in the following quaint but forcible language:—“The strangers landed, and beckoned the Indians to come to them and bring them some fish. One of them had over his shoulder what was supposed to be only a stick. Presently he pointed it at a bird that was flying past—a violent ‘poo’ went forth—down came the bird to the ground. The Indians died! As they revived, they questioned each other as to their state, whether any were dead, and what each had felt.

“The whites then made signs for a fire to be lighted. The Indians proceeded at once according to their tedious practice of rubbing two sticks together. The strangers laughed, and one of them, snatching up a handful of dry grass, struck a spark into a little powder placed under it. Instantly, another ‘poo’ and a blaze! The Indians died! After this, the new-comers wanted some fish boiled. The Indians therefore put the fish and some water into one of their square wooden buckets, and set some stones in the fire, intending, when they were hot, to cast them into the vessel, and thus boil the food. The whites were not satisfied with this way. One of them fetched a tin kettle out of the boat, put the fish and some water into it, and then, strange to say, set it on the fire. The Indians looked on with astonishment. However, the kettle did not consume, the water did not run into the fire. Then again the Indians died!”

Sometimes a man of consequence issues invitations for a solemn feast, and on such an occasion he seizes the opportunity of showing his wealth by the liberal distribution of presents, every individual present receiving a share of the property. Consequently, a feast always affords a scene of destruction. For example, Captain Mayne mentions that at one feast which he witnessed, he recognized three sea-otter skins, for one of which thirty blankets had been offered and refused. Yet, valuable as they were, they were cut up into little pieces about three inches by one, so that every guest might have a piece. As each blanket is to the Aht the equivalent of a sovereign among ourselves, the amount of waste may be imagined. Mr. Duncan, the successful missionary among these people, relates several instances of the waste of property which takes place both on these and other occasions. For example, a chief had just built a house, and issued invitations for a great feast. “After feasting, I heard he was to give away property to the amount of four hundred and eighty blankets, of which one hundred and eighty were his own property, and the three hundred were to be subscribed by his people.

“On the first day of the feast, as much as possible of the property to be given to him was exhibited in the camp. Hundreds of yards of cotton were flapping in the breeze, hung from house to house, or on lines put up for the occasion. Furs, too, were nailed up on the fronts of houses. Those who were going to give away blankets or elk-skins managed to get a bearer for every one, and exhibited them by making the persons walk in single file to the house of the chief. On the next day, the cotton which had been hung out was now brought on the beach, at a good distance from the chief’s house, and there run out at full length, and a number of bearers, about three yards apart, bore it triumphantly away from the giver to the receivers. I suppose that about six to eight hundred yards were thus disposed of.

“After all the property the chief is to receive has been thus openly handed to him, a day or two is taken up in apportioning it for fresh owners. When this is done, all the chiefs and their families are called together, and each receives according to his or her position. If, however, a chief’s wife is not descended from a chief, she has no share in this distribution, nor is she ever invited to the same feasts as her husband. Thus do the chiefs and their people go on reducing themselves to poverty. In the case of the chiefs, however, this poverty lasts but a short time; they are soon replenished from the next giving away, but the people only grow rich again according to their industry. One cannot but pity them, while one laments their folly.

“All the pleasure these poor Indians seem to have in their property is in hoarding it up for such an occasion as I have described. They never think of appropriating what they can gather to enhance their comforts, but are satisfied if they can make a display like this now and then; so that the man possessing but one blanket seems to be as well off as the one who possesses twenty; and thus it is that there is a vast amount of dead stock accumulated in the camp, doomed never to be used, but only now and then to be transferred from hand to hand for the mere vanity of the thing.

“There is another way, however, in which property is disposed of even more foolishly. If a person be insulted, or meet with an accident, or in any way suffers an injury, real or supposed, either of mind or body, property must at once be sacrificed to avoid disgrace. A number of blankets, shirts, or cotton, according to the rank of the person, is torn into small pieces, and carried off.”

Sometimes a feast assumes a sacred character, and such festivals are held during the latter half of the last month in the year, their object being to induce the demons who have charge of the weather to give them rain instead of snow. In one of these feasts, witnessed by Mr. Garrett, the principal part was performed by a female chief, who lay on her back in the middle of the house as if dead, while all the people assembled were making a hideous noise, howling, wailing, and beating with sticks the bench on which they sat, while a young man added to the hubbub by drumming upon a wooden box. After a while the prostrate woman began to show signs of life, and gradually assumed a sitting posture. In this attitude she contrived to jump round the room, and exhibited some extraordinary vagaries, the other occupants of the room alternating dead silence with deafening uproar at signals from her hand.

The costumes that are worn at such feasts are very remarkable articles, especially the head-dresses that are worn by the chiefs. They take the form of masks, and are cut out of solid wood, generally imitating the heads of various birds and beasts, though they sometimes are carved in the semblance of a grotesque human face. The [specimens] which are shown in the [illustrations] on page 1357 will give a good idea of these strange headdresses. One of them, which was presented to me by Lieut. Pusey, is carved in imitation of a beaver’s head, and is tied on the wearer’s head with strings. There are holes bored through the eyes, by means of which the wearer is enabled to see, and these holes are cleverly bored in a slanting direction, so as to coincide with the pupil of the eye. Some of these masks are made with great goggle eyes and large jaws. Both the eyes and the jaws are movable, and are worked by strings that pass down the back, so that the wearer can make the eyes roll and the jaws open and close without any apparent cause.

Sometimes the masks are made in the form of birds, and by a similar arrangement of cords, the birds can be made to turn their heads from side to side, and to flap their wings while the wearer speaks. There is a very remarkable specimen of these masks in the museum at Maidstone. It is double, one mask within another. The outer mask is divided by lines drawn from forehead to chin, down the centre of the nose, and across the face, so that it is in four distinct pieces. The pieces all work on hinges, and are so well fitted to each other that a spectator could not suspect that they were not one solid piece. Suddenly, while the wearer is dancing, he will fling all the pieces open, and discover a second and more hideous mask beneath.

When the chief wishes to pay an extraordinary compliment to a visitor, he puts on a mask that is fitted with a number of porcupine quills. Upon this head-dress he heaps a vast quantity of swan’s down, which is retained in its position by the quills. He then dances up to the visitor, and, as he retreats backward in the dance, gives a jerk with his head, and sends the down flying over him. It is a point of honor that the visitor should be kept enveloped in a shower of down, as if he were in a snow-storm, and this can only be done by perpetually dancing and nodding the head, which is kept well supplied with down by attendants.

White feathers and down always signify peace, and hence, when a man sets off on a mission of peace to a neighboring tribe with whom there has been a quarrel, he puts white down on his head, and knows that his person will be as sacred as that of the bearer of a flag of truce in civilized warfare.

One of the dances practised by the Ahts displays a really wonderful amount of ingenuity, and must take no little time to practise. It was witnessed by Mr. Sproat, who describes it in the following terms. The different dances are called Nooks in Aht language. This might be called the “Doctor’s (Ooshtukyu) Nook.” A fine [representation] of it by the artist is given on the following page.

“During the song and dance, which at first seemed to present nothing peculiar, a well-known slave (one, however, who was in a comparatively independent position, being employed as a sailor on board the steamer Thames), suddenly ceased dancing, and fell down on the ground apparently in a dying state, and having his face covered with blood. He did not move or speak, his head fell on one side, his limbs were drawn up, and he certainly presented a ghastly spectacle. While the dance raged furiously around the fallen man, the doctor, with some others, seized and dragged him to the other side of the fire round which they were dancing, placing his naked feet very near the flames.

“After this a pail of water was brought in, and the doctor, who supported the dying man on his arm, washed the blood from his face; the people beat drums, danced, and sang, and suddenly the patient sprang to his feet and joined in the dance, none the worse for the apparently hopeless condition of the moment before. While all this was going on, I asked the giver of the feast whether it was real blood upon the man’s face, and if he were really wounded. He told me so seriously that it was, that I was at first inclined to believe him, until he began to explain that the blood which came from the nose and mouth was owing to the incantations of the medicine man, and that all the people would be very angry if he did not afterward restore him.

“I then recalled to mind that in the early part of the day, before the feast, I had seen the doctor and the slave holding very friendly conferences; and the former had used his influence to get a pass for the latter to be present at the entertainment, to which, probably, he had no right to come. I feel sure that many of the Indians really believed in this exhibition of the doctor’s power. When the affair was over, many of the natives asked me what I thought of it, and referred to it as if it must set at rest for ever any possible doubts with regard to the abilities of their native doctors. The Indian, who explained this and other performances to me, said that the cure was not entirely owing to the doctor, but to the large body of dancers and singers, who all ‘exerted their hearts’ to desire the recovery of the sick man, and so procured the desired effect.”

This simulated production of blood forms an element in several of the Aht dances. In one of them a man, stripped even of his blanket, is bound with his hands behind him, and driven about at the end of long cords, while the spectators yell, shout, and hammer with sticks upon wooden dishes and drums made of bear-skin.

Suddenly the chief dashes among the people, brandishing a knife, and, on seeing the bound man, gives chase to him, and to all appearance drives the knife deeply into his back. Blood pours abundantly from the wound, and the man rushes wildly about in search of shelter, followed by the chief, who plunges his bloody weapon repeatedly into the man’s back. Exhausted by his wounds and loss of blood, the victim staggers, falls, and dies. His friends gather round the dead body, and carry it outside the house, when it washes itself, and puts on its blanket.

Mr. Sproat remarks of this dance that the illusion is absolutely perfect, and the acting so lifelike, that the performers would make the fortune of a minor theatre in London. The red liquid which simulates blood is a mixture of red gum, resin, oil, and water; and is, indeed, the material which is used for painting the inside of the canoes.

Another of these “nooks” is called the seal dance. The performers take off their blankets, and, though in the depth of winter, go into the sea, and crawl upon the shore, imitating the movements of the seals as they flounder along the ground. They proceed in the same manner until they reach the houses, which they enter, and crawl about the fires, which are purposely kept brightly blazing by being fed with oil. The dance is finished by jumping up and dancing round the house until the performers are tired.

There is one dance which belongs specially to the Sesaht tribe, and, absurd as it may seem, appears to have in it something of a religious nature. It is peculiar to that tribe, and may not be omitted. While the people are singing and dancing within the house, a number of the performers clamber up the posts, push some of the roof-boards aside, get on the roof, and dance there, making a noise like thunder. As the dancers become fatigued, they descend from the roof and others take their places, so that there is a constant stream of men ascending and descending the roof.

After the dance is over, an old man makes a speech to the owner of the house, saying that he is aware that the roof-boards are damaged by the dance, but at the same time the ceremony may not be omitted. A number of men then come forward, and each presents the owner of the house with a small stick, which is a token that the owner will redeem it with a new roof-board as soon as possible.

(1.) AN AHT DANCE.
(See [page 1366].)

(2.) INITIATION OF A DOG EATER.
(See [page 1371].)

CHAPTER CXLIV.
VANCOUVER’S ISLAND—Concluded.
THE AHTS AND NEIGHBORING TRIBES—Concluded.

ARCHITECTURE OF THE AHTS — SEMI-NOMADIC CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE — THE PERMANENT FRAMEWORK, AND MOVABLE WALLS AND ROOF — DIVISION OF THE HOUSE — RANK OF THE OCCUPANTS — OBJECT AND MODE OF MIGRATION — PIPES OF THE AHT TRIBES — LABOR EXPENDED IN THEIR MANUFACTURE — RELIGIOUS SYSTEM OF THE TRIBES — AN AHT PROMETHEUS — SOCIETY OF THE “ALLIED” — THE MEDICINE MEN AND THEIR EDUCATION — THE CANNIBALS AND DOG-EATERS — REVOLTING SCENES — THE TWO CANNIBALS — SACRED RATTLES — TERROR INSPIRED BY THE MEDICINE MEN — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD — RESPECT FOR THE CEMETERY.

From the account of the Roof-dance in the preceding chapter, it is evident that the houses are built very strongly, or they would not be able to endure the violent stamping and jumping which constitute the principal charms of the dance. The houses of the Ahts are constructed after a very peculiar manner, the posts and framework being stationary, and the roof and sides movable. The effect of this arrangement is to enable the people to shift from one place to another. At each of the spots to which they migrate they find the framework of their houses ready for them, and all that they have to do is to carry with them the roofs and walls. The mode of migrating will be presently described.

The framework of the houses consists of stout posts about twelve feet in diameter, and twelve feet or so in height, placed at distances of twenty feet from each other. The top of the post is hollowed so as to receive the cross pieces which connect them. A house is some eighty feet in length, and the ridgepole which supports the roof is made of a single tree trunk. The roof, which is gabled-shaped, but slopes gently from the back to the front of the house, so as to throw off the rain, is made of cedar boards, about five feet long and nearly two inches thick. The walls are made of similar boards lashed to small upright posts driven into the ground.

Just below the roof a rude framework is extended, on which the inhabitants keep their stores of food, their weapons, and similar articles. About six feet from the walls, a strong stockade is erected, so that each house becomes a sort of fortress. There are no windows, and the only chimney is formed by removing one of the roof-boards above the fireplace. In many of these houses, the large inside posts are ornamented by having great faces carved upon them, face-carving being an art in which these tribes excel, just as is the case with the New Zealanders. Mr. Sproat mentions, that he has seen a row of such houses extending for the third of a mile along a river’s bank, and that the depth of the houses varied from twenty-five to forty feet.

Inside the house, the earth is dug away for a foot or so in depth, in order to give additional height to the interior. Every house is partitioned off into several divisions, each of which is occupied by a family, which is thus separated from the other inhabitants by a sort of bulkhead about four feet high. These partitions are movable, so that on occasion of a great festival they can be taken away, and the whole of the space kept clear. There is a fire in the middle of each division, and around it are placed wooden couches, about nine inches from the floor, and covered with a whole series of mats by way of bedding.

There is to each building one main entrance, and other small doors, which are always in a corner of one of the divisions. The rank of the different occupants is marked by the position which they occupy in the house. For example, the chief of the house occupies the extreme end on the left of the building, the next in rank lives in the corresponding place at the other end, while the common people occupy the space between the two great men.

These houses are much more agreeable to the eye than to the nostrils. Having no windows, and all the stores of salt fish and other provisions being kept in them, the interior atmosphere is close, fishy, rank, and pungent, the last quality being due to the wood smoke of the several fires. Neither is the exterior air better than that of the interior, for the ground is covered with heaps of putrefying heads, tails, and bones of fish, decaying mollusks, and refuse of all kinds, which is simply flung into heaps and never removed, the nostrils of the natives being incapable of feeling any annoyance from the horrible odor that arises from the decomposing heaps.

The ownership of these houses is rather a complicated question. The framework of the house is generally considered as being in several divisions, each division being called after the name of the owner, while the planks are the common property of the inhabitants.

When the Ahts wish to move to another spot, which is done for the purpose of changing to better fishing, hunting, and fruit grounds, according to the time of year, they always migrate by water. They place two large canoes about five or six feet apart, and connect them together with the planks of the roof and walls, which thus form a platform on which can be placed the stores and household goods. Mr. Sproat remarks that he has seen this platform heaped to a height of fourteen feet, only just enough space being left for the passengers. As soon as they arrive at their destination, the travellers unpack the boats, and, assisted by the slaves who have been sent forward in readiness, fix the boards on the already existing framework, so that in a very short time the house is ready for the occupants.

These migrations have one beneficial effect. While the people have deserted their villages, the birds, aided by the elements, the only scavengers of Vancouver’s Island, clear away a considerable portion of the heaps of putrefying rubbish, which would otherwise become too much even for native endurance.

In the meetings which are held within these houses the pipe naturally plays an important part; and, as the pipes made by these tribes differ from those of any other part of the world, a short description is here given of them. Both in shape and material these pipes are most remarkable. They seem to have been made for the express object of expending the greatest possible amount of labor upon the clumsiest possible pipe. I have seen and tried many of these pipes, and, except that they draw the smoke very well, there is not a redeeming point about them.

In the first place, they are carved—stem and bowl—out of solid stone, a sort of very dark slate. The upper figure in [illustration No 2], on page 1357, which represents one of these pipes in my collection, shows the lightest and least cumbrous form of pipe. Although only eight inches in length, it weighs six ounces, no trifle for a pipe of that description. As is usually the case with these pipes, it is adorned with a human figure and a human head. The figure evidently represents a man seated in a canoe. On account of the details of dress, it seems likely that it is intended to represent a native—possibly the carver himself—in European costume, the features being of a strongly-marked Indian type, while the dress is European. This pipe was presented to me by Lieut. Pusey.

Sometimes the natives absolutely run riot in pipe making, and expend infinite labor in making pipes which look utterly unlike pipes, and which cannot be smoked without the very greatest inconvenience. The [lower specimens] represent two views of a pipe of this kind, belonging to T. W. Wood, Esq., which has apparently been made for the purpose of trying how many heads of men and birds could be compressed into a certain space. As the reader may observe, the whole character of this carving bears a very strong resemblance to the art of the ancient Mexicans, so strong, indeed, that it might almost be passed off as a specimen of that art.

In total length it is a very little more than eight inches, but from bowl to the mouth-piece it only measures five inches, the remaining three inches being simply superabundant material. The number of heads that the carver has contrived to introduce into this pipe is really wonderful, the ingenuity of combination, together with force of effect, being worthy of all praise, especially when the rudeness of the workmanship is considered. Taken as a work of art, it is admirable; taken as a pipe, it is detestable. It is so heavy that the mere exertion of holding it is fatiguing, and it is so thick and clumsy that it does not at all adapt itself to the lips. And, in so cold a climate, to grasp or to put to the lips such a piece of hard, cold stone, must involve very great inconvenience.

The religious ideas of the Aht tribes are, as may be expected, exceedingly vague, and are rendered still more so by the reticence which a savage always exhibits on such subjects. Mr. Sproat remarks that he lived for two years among the Ahts, with his mind constantly directed toward this subject, before he could discover whether the people believed in any overruling power, or had any idea of a future existence. He then proceeds to say that “a traveller must have lived for many years among savages, really as one of themselves, before his opinion as to their mental and spiritual condition is of any value at all.” How true this statement is, none know better than the missionaries, who find that even their most promising converts are almost as unwilling to give information on such subjects as they were during their state of heathenism.

It is, however, ascertained that the Ahts really have a belief in a deity and in a future state, and that they possess several legends on these subjects. Some of these legends treat of a certain Quawteaht, who made the earth and the animals, but would not give them fire, this being concealed in the body of the cuttle-fish. In those days they needed fire, because the Indians, who were afterward to people the earth, were hidden in their bodies. At last the deer succeeded in discovering the fire, and carried away some of it in the joint of his hind leg. The reader will doubtless perceive the similarity of this legend to the old myth of Prometheus.

As far as can be understood, this Quawteaht is the chief of their deities, but they have a whole host of minor divinities, who preside over the sea, the woods, and their inmates, as well as rule the elements. So, if a native sees a sudden breeze curl the surface of the sea, he thinks it signifies the approval of some spirit; and if he should hear a rustling in the woods for which he cannot account, or a sound which he does not recognize, he immediately puts it down to the presence of some demon or other.

As might be expected, there are plenty of medicine men, who have great power over the people, and are implicitly trusted by them. They have to go through a long and unpleasant ordeal before they can be admitted into the order of the “Allied,” as the medicine men call themselves. When their education is nearly finished, they go into the bush alone, and remain there for several days, fasting until they have received the spiritual gifts. The society of the Allied is encouraged by the chiefs, not from religious motives, but because they become enriched by it. No one can become an Allied unless he possesses considerable wealth, the whole of which he must give away before he can be admitted into the society. The act of giving away his property is done as ostentatiously as possible, the candidate being escorted by a large body of men, who shout and make as great a noise as they can. In front of them goes the candidate, with one end of a large rope round his waist, the other end being held by fifteen or twenty men, who pretend that all their strength is required in order to hold him back.

Captain Mayne relates a curious anecdote respecting the doings of these medicine men. He was called one evening to see a moon on the beach. On arriving at the spot he found that the men had made a flat disk of wax to represent the moon, and had painted a man upon it,—they having the belief, which is still prevalent among the illiterate of our own country, respecting a man who lives in the moon. They had lighted a torch and placed it behind the artificial moon, so as to illuminate it, and were supposed to be holding converse with its inhabitant, much to the awe of the surrounding crowd.

These medicine men seem to be divided into three parties, or sects. One of them does not appear to be particularly distinguished, but the other two gradually rise in circumstances of horror. The former sect is called the Dog-eaters, a portion of whose initiation is described by Mr. Duncan, and is [illustrated] on page 1367.

“Early in the morning the pupils would be out on the beach or on the rocks, in a state of nudity. Each had a place in front of his own tribe, nor did intense cold interfere in the slightest degree. After the poor creature had crept about, jerking his head and screaming for some time, a party of men would rush out, and, after surrounding him, would commence singing. The dog-eating party occasionally carried a dead dog to their pupil, who forthwith commenced to tear it in the most dog-like manner. The party of attendants kept up a low, growling noise, or a whoop, which was seconded by a screeching noise made from an instrument which they believe to be the abode of a spirit.

“In a little time the naked youth would start up again, and proceed a few more yards in a crouching posture, with his arms pushed out behind him, and tossing his flowing black hair. All the while he is earnestly watched by the group about him, and when he pleases to sit down, they again surround him and commence singing. This kind of thing goes on, with several little additions, for a time.

“Before the prodigy finally retires, he takes a run into every house belonging to his tribe, and is followed by his train. When this is done, in some cases he has a ramble on the tops of the same houses, during which he is anxiously watched by his attendants, as if they expected his flight. By and by he condescends to come down, and they then follow him to his den, which is signified by a rope made of red bark being hung over the doorway, so as to prevent any person from ignorantly violating its precincts. None are allowed to enter that house but those connected with the art: all I know, therefore, of their further proceedings is, that they keep up a furious hammering, singing, and screeching, for hours during the day.

Even this mode of initiation cannot be very pleasant, involving, as it does, the devouring of raw dog-flesh; but it is nothing in comparison to that of the most powerful and dreaded of the three sects, namely, the cannibals. Mr. Duncan was also a witness to part of the initiation of a cannibal Allied.

In order to give his assistance to the ceremony, a chief ordered one of his slaves, an old woman, to be killed, and her body flung into the sea. As soon as this was done, the whole of the uninitiated population left their houses and formed themselves into groups at a distance from the fatal spot, lest they should also become victims, a fear for which there was very good reason. Presently two bands of Allied men came rushing along, producing the most hideous sounds, each being headed by a candidate for membership.

The two candidates advanced with a long creeping step, waving their arms, and jerking their heads backward and forward, so as to make their long hair wave in the breeze. They pretended for some time to be seeking for the body, and at last they discovered it, and made a simultaneous rush at it. In a moment they were closely surrounded by their respective bands, but in a few minutes the crowd opened, and out passed the two men, each bearing half the body of the murdered woman, which they had actually torn in two with their hands and teeth alone. They then began devouring the body, when the spectator was unable to endure the sight any longer, and left the spot.

These cannibal medicine men are the dread of their country. At the cost of such revolting practices, as have been but very lightly touched, they gain such a complete influence over the people, that they can do exactly as they choose, no man daring to contradict them. Sometimes at a feast one of them will be taken with a fit of inspiration, and dash among the people, biting like a mad dog at every one whom he meets. On such occasions it is thought very manly and praiseworthy of the guests to welcome instead of repelling his attacks, and to offer their arms or shoulders for him to bite. The Allied cannibal responds to the invitation by biting at and swallowing a piece of the flesh, and the man who offers it thinks himself honored in proportion to the size of the piece that is removed. The wound thus made is not only productive of excruciating pain, but is also dangerous, many men having died from the effects of it. Yet they are willing to have both the pain and the danger for the sake of the honor which is conferred upon them.

The general public have very good reason for getting out of the way when one of these cannibals chooses to make an excursion in search of a human body. Should not one be found, the cannibal Allied who escort their companions would think themselves bound to provide a corpse for his eating, and would seize and kill the first person whom they might meet. Therefore, when the sound of the horrid cannibal songs is heard in the distance, the whole population of a village will desert their houses, take to their canoes, and remain at a distance from the shore until the danger is over for the time.

These medicine men are considered all-powerful in the cure of the sick, and are always called in when any one is ill. They almost invariably say that the malady is local, and that it is due to some object or other, which they can extract by their incantations. In the ceremonies which they employ, they make much use of a rattle, the material of which does not seem to be of much consequence, provided that it can only make a noise. For example, a favorite form is a hollow wooden case, carved like a bird or a frog, and containing a few stones. Some rattles, however, are made on totally different principles, and resemble the beetle-shell rattle of Guiana that is [figured] on page 1265. Captain Mayne saw one which was made of three or four dozen puffin-beaks strung loosely together.

Incisions are often made over the part affected, or the doctor uses the actual cautery by means of a moxa, made of a pledget of dried flax. These remedies often do have the effect of relieving pain, and when that is the case, the patient and his friends present the doctor with liberal gifts, all which, however, he is bound to return should a relapse come on and the patient die. They even say that, when they are violently excited by their incantations, they can see the soul of the patient, which they say is in the shape of a fly, with a long curved proboscis. One man, who had recovered from a dangerous illness, said that he had seen his own soul, which the medicine man had caught as it was escaping from the body, and had put back again.

The noise which these medicine men make at their incantations is almost indescribable. Mr. Sproat describes their howling as being perfectly demoniacal, and says that no wild beast could utter sounds so calculated to strike sudden horror into the heart. Even himself, though a white man, and in perfect security, has often shuddered at the savage yells of the mystery men. Indeed, their object is to keep up the dread in which they are held, and, in order to do this, they must ever be doing something to keep themselves before the eyes of the people.

Sometimes they will assemble together on the outskirts of the village, set up a furious howling, and then rush like a pack of wolves through the village, the cannibals and dog-eaters tearing to pieces with their teeth any corpses or dogs that they may find. Sometimes a single man will leave the place and bury himself in the woods, whence he will suddenly rush, quite naked, reduced to a skeleton through his long fast, with his body and limbs covered with wounds inflicted by himself in his mad violence, and with foam flying from his lips, while he utters wild yells and beats furiously his drum or shakes his magic rattle. As is the case in Africa, women as well as men can enter this sacred order, and exercise quite as powerful an influence over the people as do their male colleagues.

Sometimes a man will leap up in the night terrified, and crying that he sees a spirit. All within the house are at once in motion. The women begin to sing, while the visionary tears his blanket to pieces, snatches feathers from his pillow, eating some of them, and scattering the others over his head. His nearest relation then makes incisions in his legs and arms, receives the blood in a dish, and scatters it over the place where the spirit is supposed to be standing. Should the spirit withstand this exorcism, it is evident that he wants property. Accordingly the friends of the visionary throw his property on the fire; his clothes, his mats, and even the very boxes in which they were kept, go to make up the demands of the spirit, which will not take its leave until all the property has been destroyed.

The mode of disposal of the dead varies extremely among the different tribes, and even in the same tribe is not always uniform. The bodies of slaves and people of no consequence are simply taken to the burial-ground—which is usually a small island—wrapped in mats, and merely laid on the ground, covered with sticks and stones. The bodies of chiefs and young girls of rank are placed in boxes, and hoisted into the branches of trees, where they are allowed to remain. The rank of the person is indicated by the height to which the body is raised, that of a great chief or of his daughter being nearly at the top of the tree, while that of an inferior chief will be on one of the lowest branches.

Over the coffin are thrown blankets and mats, and similar articles are hung on the boughs of neighboring trees. They are always torn into strips, partly perhaps as a sign of mourning, and partly to guard them from being stolen. With the dead man is deposited all the property which he has not given away before his death, except his best canoe, his share of the roof and wall boards, his weapons, and his slaves, all of which belong by right to his eldest son. In some cases even his house is burned, and in others the posts are dug up, and the whole house transported to another position.

Near the bodies of chiefs are placed large wooden images intended to represent the dead man. One of them, seen by Mr. Sproat, held a skull in its hand, which it was grimly contemplating; another, which represented a deceased orator, had its hand outstretched as in the act of speaking; and a third was shown as if grasping a wolf. The relatives often visit their burial-places. They come about dark, light a great fire, and feed it with oil and other inflammable materials, while they wail loudly at intervals.

To the honor of these tribes, it may be said that they never disturb the relics of the departed, even if they occupy the burial-ground of a hostile tribe. In consequence of the mode of burial, nothing can have a more dreary or forlorn look than an island which has been selected as a burial-ground. On the branches of the trees are the mouldering bodies of the dead, and on their boughs flutter the tattered remains of their clothing. And on the ground the scene is no better, for it is occupied with decaying boards, broken boxes, shattered canoes, rotten paddles, and other emblems of decay.

When the dead chief has been a man of very great importance, his emblem or crest is either painted or carved. In the former case it is painted on the coffin, but in the latter it is generally placed on a post or a tree near the body. According to Mr. Duncan, if the crest should happen to be an eagle or a raven, it is carved as if in the act of flying, and fixed to the edge of the coffin with its wings spread, as if it were typical of the escaping and aspiring spirit of the dead chief.

CHAPTER CXLV.
ALASKA.
MALEMUTES—INGELETES—CO-YUKONS.

LARGE STATURE — THE TO-TOOK — ORNAMENTS — BAIDARRES — UNDERGROUND HOUSES — MALEMUTE DANCE — CHIEF ALEUYANUK — INGELETES — HOUSES — HONESTY — CO-YUKONS — DRESS — MOURNING FOR THE DEAD — WAKE — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD — APPEARANCE OF THE WOMEN — AFFECTION FOR CHILDREN — COMMUNITY OF GOODS — CHARACTER.

The United States Government having recently purchased the territory of Alaska, this work will be increased in value to the American public, by including some account of the uncivilized tribes which are its most numerous inhabitants.

At the mouth of the Unalachleet River is the most northern settlement on the coast, a Russian trading post. To the northwest of this post Mr. Whymper found a large village of Malemute and Kaveak Indians. They resemble the Esquimaux, except that they are a tall and stout race. It is not unusual to find men among them six feet in height, and some even taller than this. The men shave the crown of the head, and are fond of an ornament called the To-took. It is made by pieces of bone run through holes on either side of the face just below the mouth. The ornaments of the women, who are stout and good-humored, are a tattoo on the chin, beads hanging from their hair, and also leaden or iron bracelets. Both sexes wear skin clothing. The coat has a hood almost always, which is generally of wolf skin. Men and women alike wear pantaloons of seal or reindeer skin, the women having the socks attached and in one piece. The “baidarres” of these natives, similar to the Esquimaux kajak, are admirably made. The frames are light and strong, the skin covering being sewed with sinew, and the seams made water-tight by fat rubbed into them.

Their houses are usually underground, and have a tunnel, through which one must crawl to enter them. A hole in the roof—which is just above the surface of the ground—lets out the smoke. When there is no fire, this aperture is closely covered with a skin.

Mr. Whymper gives the following account of a dance to which he and his party were invited:—

“On arriving at the doorway, we found a subterranean passage, two and a half feet high, crawling through which we at last reached the room,—dimly lighted by blubber lamps. The Indians who were to take part in the dance, chiefly young men, were nude to the waist, and wore seal, deerskin or cotton pantaloons, with tails of wolves or dogs hanging behind, and feathers round their heads. The elders sat on a bench or shelf, running round the entire building, and looked on approvingly, while they consumed their own smoke, like the Tchuktchis, by swallowing it, and getting partially intoxicated thereby. The women brought in berries and fish in large ‘contogs,’ or wooden bowls.

“The performance commenced by the actors ranging themselves in a square, and raising these dishes of provisions to the four cardinal points successively, and once to the skies, with a sudden noise like ‘swish!’ or the flight of a rocket.

“Then came the feast; and that over, a monotonous chorus, with an accompaniment of gongs, was started. The words of the song commenced, ‘Yung i ya, i ya, i ya!’ and continued throughout, ‘Yung i ya!’ Then a boy sprang out on the floor; he was joined by a second, then a third, till a circle of twenty was formed. Now they appeared violently attracted together, and now as much repelled; now they were horrified at one another’s conduct, and held up their arms in warning gestures, and again all were friends and made pantomime of their happiness. In this performance there was nearly as much done by arms and bodies, as with feet. When there was a lull in the entertainment, small presents were given to all the strangers invited.”

The Malemutes and Kaveaks, though intermingling, and having similar habits, manners, and customs, yet speak different dialects and inhabit different parts of the territory. They are considered as superior to the other Indian tribes of that region. The Malemute chief “Aleuyanuk,” whom Mr. Whymper saw, “was a fine-looking old man, erect and soldierly, and, wearing a mustache and imperial, his manners would not have disgraced a civilized assembly.”

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