“Towards eleven o’clock the chiefs of the town, followed by all the population, directed their steps towards the large shed at the end of the village. There every one took his place on the ground, each party headed by its chiefs, occupying a place marked out for it beforehand. In the middle of the circle formed by the chiefs of the warriors were large vessels full of basi, a beverage made with the fermented juice of the sugar-cane, and four hideous heads of Guinans entirely disfigured,—these were the trophies of the victory. When all the assistants had taken their places, a champion of Laganguilan y Madalag, took one of the heads and presented it to the chiefs of the town, who showed it to all the assistants, making a long speech comprehending many praises for the conquerors. This discourse being over, the warrior took the head, divided it with strokes of his hatchet, and took out the brains. During this operation so unpleasant to witness, another champion got a second head and handed it to the chiefs; the same speech was delivered, then he broke the skull to pieces in like manner and took out the brains. The same was done with the four remaining skulls of the subdued enemies. When the brains were taken out, the young girls pounded them with their hands into the vases containing the liquor of the fermented sugar-cane; they stirred the mixture round, and then the vases were taken to the chiefs, who dipped in their small osier goblets through the fissures of which the liquid part ran out, and the solid part that remained at the bottom they drank with ecstatic sensuality. I felt quite sick at this scene so entirely new to me. After the chieftains’ turn came the turn of the champions. The vases were presented to them and each one sipped with delight this frightful drink, to the noise of wild songs. There was really something infernal in this sacrifice to victory.
“We sat in a circle, and these vases were carried round. I well understood that we were about undergoing a disgusting test. Alas! I had not long to wait for it. The warriors planted themselves before me and presented me with the basi and the frightful cup. All eyes were fixed upon me. The invitation was so direct that to refuse it would perhaps be exposing myself to death. It is impossible to describe the interior conflict that passed within me. I would rather have preferred the carbine of a bandit five paces from my chest, or await, as I had already done, the impetuous attack of the wild buffalo. I shall never forget that awful moment; it struck me with terror and disgust; however, I constrained myself, nothing betraying my emotion. I imitated the savages, and dipping the osier goblet into the drink, I approached it to my lips and passed it to the unfortunate Alila (Gironiere’s servant and companion), who could not avoid this infernal beverage. The sacrifice was complete, the libations were over, but not the songs. The basi is a very spirituous and inebriating liquor, and the assistants who had partaken rather too freely of it sang louder to the noise of the tom-tom and the gong, while the champions divided the human skulls into small pieces destined to be sent as presents to all their friends. The distribution was made during the sitting, after which the chiefs declared the ceremony over. They then danced. The savages divided themselves into two lines, and howling as if they were furious madmen, or terribly provoked, they jumped about, laying their right hand upon the shoulder of their partners and changing places with them. These dances continued all day; at last night came on, each inhabitant repaired with his family and some few guests to his abode, and soon afterwards tranquillity was restored.”
In defending the system of warfare practised by the Dayaks, Rajah Brooke specially instances the thirst for blood and general cruelty evinced by the savage Indian warrior of North America. Like other barbarians the North-American Indian has his European and American champions—Catlin among the latter—who profess to see in this savage nothing vile or mean or cruel, but, on the contrary, all that is brave, generous, and hospitable. The said champions, however, overlook the fact that bravery and generosity as exhibited amongst one’s friends are but insignificant virtues as compared with what they are when displayed towards an enemy; indeed, in the former case they may scarcely be reckoned virtues at all, but merely social amenities, lacking which, man ceases to be companionable. As enemies, how do North-American savages treat each other? Let what has already been said on this subject in these pages, as well as what here follows, furnish an answer to the question.
CHAPTER XXII.
Wooing a war dream—Companions in arms—The squaw of sacrifice—On the march—Bragging warriors—Deeds of Indian men of war—Swallowing an Indian’s horse—The belle of the party—An instance of Indian heroism—How to serve an enemy—Savage Duelists—A story of a precious scalp—The Indian warrior’s confidence in dreams—Concerning Indian canoes—A boat made up with stitches—Women boat-builders—Samoan warfare—The Samoans’ war tools and symbols—A narrow escape—“Perhaps upward the face!”—A massacre of Christians—Treachery of the Pine Islanders—The fate of “The Sisters”—The scoundrelly Norfolk Island men—A little story told by Mr. Coulter—The useful carronades—The “one unnecessary shot”—How it might have been.
Mr. Kohl informs us that, when a chief of the North-American Indians is meditating a war expedition, it is of the first importance that he should “dream” about it. He does not, however, choose to wait for his dream in the ordinary manner, but seats himself for the express purpose, concentrates his every thought on the subject, and seeks to gain good dreams for it before he proceeds to carry his war project into execution.
He keeps apart from his family, and, like a hermit, retires to a solitary lodge built expressly for the purpose. There he sits whole evenings on a mat, beating the drum and muttering gloomy magic songs, which he will break off to sigh and lament. He has all sorts of apparitions while lying in his bed; the spirits of his relatives murdered by the enemy visit him, and incite him to revenge. Other spirits come and show him the way into the enemy’s camp, promise him victory, tell him at times accurately where and how he will meet the foe and how many of them he will kill. If his drum and song are heard frequently in the evenings, a friend will come to him, and sitting down on the mat by his side will say: “What is the matter with thee, Black Cloud? Why dreamest thou? What grief is oppressing thee?” The Black Cloud then opens his heart, tells him how his father’s brother was scalped three years back by their hereditary enemies, the Sioux, his cousin last year, and so on, and how thoughts of his forefathers has now come to him. They have often appeared to him in his dreams and allowed him no rest with their entreaties for vengeance. He will tell him, too, a portion of the auguries and signs he has received in his dream about a brilliant victory he is destined to gain and of the ways and means that will conduct him to it. Still only a portion, for he generally keeps the main point to himself. It is his secret, just as among us the plan of the campaign is the commander-in-chief’s secret.
The friend, after listening to all this, if the affair seems promising, will take to the drum in his turn, and aid his friend with his dreams. The latter, if placing full confidence in him, appoints him his associate or adjutant, and both place themselves at the head of the undertaking. They always consider it better that there should be two leaders, in order that if the dreams of one have not strength enough the other may help him out.