A German of tropical Bolivia and his “housekeeper.” Showing the mosquitero with which all beds or hammocks of this region are covered as a protection against the mosquitos and jejenes
Santiago de Chiquitos, above the gnat-line, backed by its reddish cliffs
San José de Chiquitos is the capital of a province so named because the early Spaniards found the doors of the native huts so small, as a protection against gnats and their tribal enemies, that they could only enter them by making themselves chiquitos (tiny) and crawling in on all fours. In 1560 Ñuflo de Chaves, ascending the Paraguay river, founded here the original Santa Cruz de la Sierra, the street plan of which may still be imperfectly traced in the jungle a league away at the foot of a rock-faced hill. This first settlement was later removed to its present site, but in 1695 the Jesuits established here, in what is to-day Bolivian territory, under the name of San José, one of their ten “reductions.” Not even the ruins of Paraguay, the republic most associated with the memory of the Loyalists, give a better notion of the establishments in which the Indian tribes “converted” by the good Fathers were gathered to toil for the safety of their souls and the filling of the coffers of the society in Paris. The mission remains much as it was when the order was expelled from Spanish territory, too isolated to be picked to pieces by visitors, its people too apathetic to make use of its cut-stone for their own buildings.
These “reductions” were all alike in plan,—a large central square was enclosed by a wall, a ditch, and a stockade, as much to keep the “converts” from escaping as to protect them from the wild Indians and the mamelucos of Brazil who came in quest of slaves. An immense church, in the building of which the Padres made use of their subjects as freely as the Pharaohs, stood high above all else. The enormous mission of San José, conspicuous in its grandeur amid the solitude of the jungle as are the monuments of Egypt in their desert setting, was built of brick and stone under Spanish artisans, the four-story tower bearing the date 1748, and a stone sun-dial in the center of the patio, by which we could still tell the hour, that of 1765. From the summit of the tower the town below looked like an oasis in a desert of dense green, stretching ocean-wide on every hand. The huge bells were still suspended by ropes of güembe, a vine used in place of nails in modern constructions, and so strong and durable that it has held these immense masses in place more than a hundred years. The tolling of church-bells, striking even amid the rumble of civilization, was solemn in the extreme above the utter silence of the trackless selva and savage tropical solitudes.
The evidence is convincing that the first Jesuits to arrive were self-sacrificing idealists, filled with a zeal for converts that made even trickery,—decoy Indians, abundance of food, dances and festivals—fair play. Conversion was absurdly simple. Catch an Indian, sprinkle him with holy water, and shut him up within the mission stockade, and his soul was safely on the road to heaven. But once these idealists had gathered the Indians together and won their confidence, they were superseded by astute, hard-headed men of keen business ability, less interested in “saving souls” than in winning temporal power and earthly riches for their society. The later Padres lived like the princes of medieval Europe, surrounded by every luxury the forced labor of the Indians could buy. With virtually a monopoly in trade, having neither wages nor taxes to pay, they were almost wholly free from individual competition. They gave each Indian the education they considered fitting to his place in life, taught as many trades as the society had need of, forbade intercourse with strangers or the learning of the Spanish language, made early marriage compulsory, often mating couples offhand, as did the Incas, and ruled over their subjects sternly, requiring all to rise, eat, work, and sleep in unison at the beating of a bell or drum; in short, they treated the “converts” like valuable domestic animals. From the cradle to the grave the Indian lived in complete submission to the Padres. In church and at work there was a complete segregation of the sexes under the old régime. But by night all were gathered together, often several families under the roof of a single galpón, with all the degeneration of customs thereby suggested. Thanks to the careful fostering of the race, there is said to have been 100,000 “converts” in the “reductions” at the height of Jesuit power. San José is doubly notable historically, for it was here, rumor has it, that the Loyalists were planning to build the capital of a kingdom of their own when they were overtaken by the decree banishing them from Spanish dominions.
The last census in Jesuit days credited San José with more than 2000 inhabitants. To-day it has barely a fourth as many, drowsing through life in low, mud huts scattered carelessly along the sand streets some three blocks on all sides of the plaza. Not a few of the original converts of the Jesuits, suddenly regaining their liberty at the expulsion of the Padres, “went back to the bush,” which accounts for the unmistakable signs of European blood in more than one naked savage laid low by a traveler’s rifle. Even to-day such reversions to type are not unknown; and this, with the drain of the rubber fields of the Beni, has done most to reduce the population to its present low ebb. The inhabitants belong to the same general family as the several tribes of wild Indians that attack travelers on the road across Bolivia, and which are even to-day the terror of San José itself, having more than once assaulted the place with fury. But in the town this Indian blood is commonly mixed with negro or white, and though Spanish is more general, the chiquitana tongue, a branch of the Guaraní or Tupy of eastern South America, is still spoken.
The chiquitano is in features about the antithesis of our inherited Greek idea of beauty. His head is round, with little or no back to it, the hair thick, jet-black, and coarse as a horse’s mane, his face wide, all its features bulky, especially the nose, which recalls the negro, as do also the thick, prominent lips. His eyes are black and rather small, his ears plump and prominent, his teeth generally white and strong, the chin neither prominent nor receding. In color he is light-brown, not unlike the Hindu—or the tint of a tan shoe after a month of wear and polish. His body is heavy, thick-set, and muscular, though without what we call “development” of any particular set of muscles. This thick-setness is even more noticeable in the women than among the men, the former being more erect and high-chested from carrying water-jars and other heavy loads on their heads from childhood. The feet are large, with strong, well-separated toes. Their clothing is simple and excellently adapted to the tropics, where the looser the garment the better the health. The men wear a felt or straw hat and thin cotton jacket and trousers, loose-fitting and generally white in origin, with a wide leather belt containing several pockets and frequently decorated with large silver coins. The women never cover their heads and wear nothing whatever except the tipoy, a single loose gown, thin and white as a night-dress, without sleeves and with the neck cut as low as is possible without danger of losing the garment entirely. In these they frequently march into the stream behind the town—for the inhabitants of this tropical region are far more cleanly than those of the upper plateau—rolling up the garment as the water covers them, until it is folded on the head in the form of a turban. As they arise from the bath, they unfold a clean gown so skillfully that the sharpest glance will catch nothing but tipoy and water. As a race the chiquitanos are extremely independent, and very incommunicative to any than their own people; like all American aborigines, they show outwardly very little of their thoughts and impressions. Hurrying is utterly unknown to them, though at times they work with a leisurely steadiness. They show few signs of affection, or on the other hand of aversion or anger, being, indeed, strangely like automatons or lay-figures in their deportment.
There is far less religion, or at least outward sign of it, in these tropical towns than up on the bleak Andean plateau. Is it because the highlands, drear and mysterious, like Palestine or the wastes of Arabia, bring on a dread that is not felt in the tropics, where nature is, or at least seems, more kindly? When a native dies he is buried at once, then his family and friends start a “santa novena,”—nine days of mourning in which they gather together each day to pray and to drink themselves into complete intoxication. He who has given occasion for the festival is looked upon almost as a benefactor. But there is very little hint of mysticism or worship in these post-mortem antics.