The man-eaters and other odd people

by Mayne Reid

The Indian, then, is the undoubted lord of the “Gran Chaco.” Let us drop in upon him, and see what sort of an Indian he is, and how he manages this majestic domain.

After having feasted our eyes upon the rich scenery of the land,—upon the verdant plains, mottled with copses of “quebracho” and clumps of the Caranday palm,—upon landscapes that resemble the most lordly parks, we look around for the mansions and the owners. The mansion is not there, but the owner stands before us.

We are at once struck by his appearance: his person tall and straight as a reed, his frame muscular his limbs round and well-proportioned, piercing coal-black eyes, well-formed features, and slightly aquiline nose,—and perhaps we are a little surprised at the light color of his skin. In this we note a decided peculiarity which distinguishes him from most other tribes of his race. It is not a red Indian we behold, nor yet a copper-colored savage; but a man whose complexion is scarce darker than that of the mulatto, and not at all deeper in hue than many a Spaniard of Andalusian descent, who boasts possession of the purest “sangre azul;” not one shade darker than thousands of Portuguese dwelling upon the other side of the Brazilian frontier.

And remember, that it is the true skin of the Chaco Indian we have before our view,—and not a painted one,—for here, almost for the first time, do we encounter the native complexion of the aboriginal, undisfigured by those horrid pigments which in these pages have so often glared before the eyes of our readers.

Of paint, the Chaco Indian scarce knows the use; or, at all events, employs it sparingly, and only at intervals, on very particular and ceremonial occasions. We are spared, therefore, the describing his escutcheon, and a positive relief it is.

It would be an interesting inquiry to trace out the cause of his thus abstaining from a custom almost universal among his race. Why does he abjure the paint?

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 colors 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 color 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 cicatrized. And yet it is borne without a murmur,—just as people in civilized 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 color,—not an uncommon fancy among savages.