Is it because he cannot afford it, or that it is not procurable in his country? No; neither of these can be offered as a reason. The “annotto” bush (Bixa orellana), and the wild-indigo, abound in his territory; and he knows how to extract the colours of both,—for his women do extract them, and use them in dying the yarn of their webs. Other dyewoods—a multitude of others—he could easily obtain; and even the cochineal cactus, with its gaudy vermilion parasite, is indigenous to his land. It cannot be the scarcity of the material that prevents him from employing it,—what then?
The cause is unexplained; but may it not be that this romantic savage, otherwise more highly gifted than the rest of his race, is endowed also with a truer sense of the beautiful and becoming? Quien sabe?
Let it not be understood, however, that he is altogether free from the “taint,”—for he does paint sometimes, as already admitted; and it must be remembered, moreover, that the Chaco Indians are not all of one tribe, nor of one community. There are many associations of them scattered over the face of this vast plain, who are not all alike, either in their habits or customs, but, on the contrary, very unlike; who are not even at all times friendly with each other, but occupied with feuds and vendettas of the most deadly description. Some of these tribes paint most frightfully, while others of them go still farther, and scarify their faces with the indelible tattoo,—a custom that in America is almost confined to the Indians of the Chaco and a few tribes on the southern tributaries of the Amazon. Happily this custom is on the decline: the men practise it no longer; but, by a singular perversity of taste, it is still universal among the women, and no Chaco belle would be esteemed beautiful without a cross of bluish-black dots upon her forehead, a line of like points extending from the angle of each eye to the ears, with a variety of similar markings upon her cheeks, arms, and bosom. All this is done with the point of a thorn,—the spine of a mimosa, or of the caraguatay aloe; and the dark purple colour is obtained by infusing charcoal into the fresh and bleeding punctures. It is an operation that requires days to complete, and the pain from it is of the most acute and prolonged character, enduring until the poisoned wounds become cicatrised. And yet it is borne without a murmur,—just as people in civilised life bear the painful application of hair-dyes and tweezers.
I need not say that the hair of the Chaco Indian does not need to be dyed,—that is, unless he were to fancy having it of a white, or a red, or yellow colour,—not an uncommon fancy among savages.
His taste, however, does not run that way any more than among civilised dandies, and he is contented with its natural hue, which is that of the raven’s wing. But he is not contented to leave it to its natural growth. Only a portion of it,—that which covers the upper part of his head,—is permitted to retain its full length and flowing glories. For the remainder, he has a peculiar tonsure of his own; and the hair immediately over the forehead—and sometimes a stripe running all around above the ears, to the back of the head—is either close shaven with a sharp shell, or plucked entirely out by a pair of horn tweezers of native manufacture. Were it not that the long and luxuriant tresses that still remain,—covering his crown, as with a crest,—the shorn circle would assimilate him to some orders of friars; but, notwithstanding the similarity of tonsure, there is not much resemblance between a Chaco Indian and a brother of the crucifix and cowl.
This mode of “dressing the hair” is not altogether peculiar to the Indian of the Gran Chaco. It is also practised by certain prairie tribes,—the Osage, Pawnee, and two or three others; but all these carry the “razor” a little higher up, leaving a mere patch, or “scalp-lock,” upon the crown.
The Chaco tribes are beardless by nature; and if a few hairs chance to show themselves upon cheek or chin, they are carefully “wed” out. In a like fashion both men and women serve their eyebrows and lashes,—sacrificing these undoubted ornaments, as they say, to a principle of utility, since they allege that they can see better without them! They laugh at white men, who preserve these appendages, calling them “ostrich-eyed,”—from a resemblance which they perceive between hairy brows and the stiff, hair-like feathers that bristle round the eyes of the rhea, or American ostrich,—a well-known denizen of the Gran Chaco.
The costume of the Chaco Indian is one of exceeding simplicity; and in this again we observe a peculiar trait of his mind. Instead of the tawdry and tinsel ornaments, in which most savages delight to array themselves, he is contented with a single strip of cloth, folded tightly around his loins. It is usually either a piece of white cotton, or of wool woven in a tri-colour of red, white, and blue, and of hues so brilliant, as to produce altogether a pretty effect. The wear of the women scarce differs from that of the men, and the covering of both, scant as it is, is neither inelegant nor immodest. It is well adapted to their mode of life, and to their climate, which is that of an eternal spring. When cold winds sweep over their grassy plains, they seek protection under the folds of a more ample covering, with which they are provided,—a cloak usually made of the soft fur of the “nutria,” or South-American otter, or a robe of the beautiful spotted skin of the jaguar. They wear neither head-dress nor chaussure,—neither pendants from the nose, not the hideous lip ornaments seen among other tribes of South America; but many of them pierce the ears; and more especially the women, who split the delicate lobes, and insert into them spiral appendages of rolled palm-leaf, that hang dangling to their very shoulders. It will be observed, therefore, that among the Chaco tribes the women disfigure themselves more than the men, and all, no doubt, in the interest of fashion.
It will be seen that the simple dress we have described leaves the limbs and most part of the body bare. To the superficial observer it might be deemed an inelegant costume, and perhaps so it would be among Europeans, or so-called “whites.” The deformed figures of European people—deformed by ages of toil and monarchical serfdom—would ill bear exposure to the light, neither would the tripe-coloured skin, of which they are so commonly conceited. A very different impression is produced by the rich brunette hue,—bronze, if you will,—especially when, as in the case of the Chaco Indian, it covers a body of proper shape, with arms and limbs in symmetrical proportion. Then, and then only, does costly clothing appear superfluous, and the eye at once admits that there is no fashion on earth equal to that of the human form itself.
Above all does it appear graceful on horseback, and almost universally in this attitude does the Chaco Indian exhibit it. Scarce ever may we meet him afoot, but always on the back of his beautiful horse,—the two together presenting the aspect of the Centaur. And probably in the resemblance he approaches nearer to the true ideal of the Grecian myth, than any other horseman in the world; for the Chaco Indians differ not only from other “horse Indians” in their mode of equitation, but also from every other equestrian people. The absurd high-peaked saddles of Tartar and Arab, with their gaudy trappings, are unknown to him,—unknown, too, the ridiculous paraphernalia, half-hiding the horse, in use among Mexicans, South-American Spaniards, and even the Indians of other tribes,—despised by him the plated bits, the embroidered bridles, and the tinkling spurs, so tickling to the vanity of other New-World equestrians. The Chaco horseman needs no such accessories to his elegance. Saddle he has none, or only the slightest patch of jaguar-skin,—spurs and stirrups are alike absent. Naked he sits upon his naked horse, the beautiful curvature of whose form is interrupted by no extraneous trappings,—even the thong that guides him scarce observable from its slightness. Who then can deny his resemblance to the centaur?