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.