I have several times alluded to the filthy mishla drink, which is the universal appliance of the Sambos for getting up the “big drunk.” I never witnessed the disgusting process of its preparation, but it has been graphically described by Roberts, who was a trader on the coast, and who, twenty years before, had been a witness of the “rise and progress” of a grand debauch at Sandy Bay.
“Preparations were going on for a grand feast and mishla drink. For this purpose the whole population was employed—most of them being engaged in collecting pineapples, plantains, and cassava for their favorite liquor. The expressed juice of the pine-apple alone is a pleasant and agreeable beverage. The mishla from the plantain and banana, is also both pleasant and nutritive; that from the cassava and maize is more intoxicating, but its preparation is a process exceedingly disgusting. The root of the cassava, after being peeled and mashed, is boiled to the same consistence as when it is used for food. It is then taken from the fire, and allowed to cool. The pots are now surrounded by all the women, old and young, who, being provided with large calabashes, commence an attack upon the cassava, which they chew to the consistence of a thick paste, and then put their mouthsful into the bowls, until the latter are filled. These are then emptied into a canoe which is drawn up for the purpose, until it is about one third filled. Other cassava is then taken, bruised in a kind of wooden mortar, until it is reduced to the consistence of dough, when it is diluted with cold water, to which is added a quantity of Indian corn, partly boiled and masticated, and then all is poured into the canoe, which is filled with water, and the mixture afterward frequently stirred with a paddle. In the course of a few hours it reaches a high and abominable state of fermentation. The liquor, it may be observed, is more or less esteemed, according to the health, age, and constitution of the masticators. And when the chiefs give a private mishla drink, they confine the mastication to their own wives and young girls.”
After fermentation, the mishla has a cream-like appearance, and is to the highest degree intoxicating. The drinking never ceases, so long as a drop can be squeezed from the festering dregs that remain, after the liquid is exhausted.
Chapter XII.
Cape Gracias à Dios, was so called by Columbus, when, after a weary voyage, he gave “Thanks to God” for the happy discovery of this, the extreme north-eastern angle of Central America. Here the great Cape, or Wanks River, finds its way into the sea, forming a large, but shallow harbor. It was a favorite resort of the buccaneers, in the olden time, when the Spanish Main was associated with vague notions of exhaustless wealth, tales of heavy galleons, laden with gold, and the wild adventures of Drake, and Morgan, and Llonois. Here, too, long ago, was wrecked a large slaver, destined for Cuba, and crowded with negroes. They escaped to the shore, mixed with the natives, and, with subsequent additions to their numbers from Jamaica, and from the interior, originated the people known as the “Mosquito Indians.” Supported by the pirates, and by the governors of Jamaica, as a means of annoyance to the Spaniards, they gradually extended southward as far as Bluefields, and at one time carried on a war against the Indians, whom they had displaced, for the purpose of obtaining prisoners, to be sold in the islands as slaves.
But with the suppression of this traffic, and in consequence of the encroachments of the semi-civilized Caribs on the north, their settlement at the Cape has gradually declined, until now it does not contain more than two hundred inhabitants. The village is situated on the south-western side of the bay or harbor, not far from its entrance, on the edge of an extensive, sandy savannah.
Between the shore and the village is a belt of thick bush, three or four hundred yards broad, through which are numerous narrow paths, difficult to pass, since the natives are too lazy to cut away the undergrowth and branches which obstruct them. The village itself is mean, dirty, and infested with hungry pigs, and snarling, mangy dogs. The huts are of the rudest description, and most of them unfitted for shelter against the rain. The only houses which had any pretensions to comfort, at the time of my visit, were the “King’s house,” another belonging to a German named Boucher, and that of my new friend H. The latter was boarded and shingled, and looked quite a palace after my experience of the preceding two months, in Mosquito architecture. Mr. H. made us very comfortable indeed. In addition to the numerous native products of the country, he had a liberal supply of foreign luxuries. As a trader he had, for many years, carried on quite a traffic with the Wanks River Indians, in deer skins, sarsaparilla, and mahogany, and with the Sambos themselves in turtle-shells. And whatever nominal authority may have existed previously at the Cape, it was obvious enough that he was now the de facto governor.
Thoroughly domesticated in the country, he had no ambitions beyond it, and had made several, although not very successful, attempts to introduce industry, and improve the condition of the natives. At one time he had had a number of cattle on the savannah—which, although its soil is too poor for cultivation, nevertheless affords abundance of good grass—but the Sambos killed so many for their own use, that he sold the remainder to the trading vessels. He had now undertaken their introduction again, with better success, and had, moreover, some mules and horses. The latter were sorry-looking beasts; since, for want of proper care, the wood-ticks had got in their ears, and caused them not only to lop down, but also, in some instances, entirely to drop off.