We find, then, the group system, where the community is everything, the individual nothing, blocking the path of progressive evolution to a very great extent among the forest Indians of South America, as it has done among the native tribes of Australia. The individual can gain nothing for himself, he can only work for the greater glory of the group, and has therefore no intimate incentive for strenuous advancement. A tribe has little or no opportunity for progress when it consists of but a few hundred members, and is practically isolated from all other tribes, except for the hardly intellectual shock of war, or perhaps the occasional intrusion of some wandering barterer, a member of possibly a hostile tribe, who is tolerated on account of the necessary articles which he brings, things that cannot be manufactured by the tribes he visits.
The Indian is hedged about with a constricting environment against which he can scarcely be said to battle. He accepts with the resignation of the East, and knows nothing of the restless rebellion that makes for Western amelioration and progress. What the Indian lacks is not intelligence but character, that is to say will-power. The Indian is brave, he endures pain and privation with the greatest stoicism, he can be doggedly obstinate, but only in exceptional cases can he rise above his fellows to anything approaching individuality and strength of mind.
The dominant characteristic of the Indian is a profound and nervous reserve. The extreme nervousness of his manner is due undoubtedly to wholesale indulgence in coca. It affects all the conditions of social intercourse. It makes the Indian character extraordinarily negative. Enthusiasm is to seek in Amazonia. The Indian never expresses violent joy or fear. A shock is more likely to raise a laugh from him than a cry. He will submit to much, he will bear greatly, but it is easy to provoke a laugh against even a fellow-tribesman. An Indian will invariably laugh at another’s discomfiture. But with a stranger all Indians are taciturn, and they will have little or nothing to say to him if he be a white man.
Outside the narrow limit of the tribe the Indians possess no altruistic feelings, no sympathy with strangers. They look upon every man as a definite, or at least a possible enemy. The gentle Indian, peaceful and loving, is a fiction of perfervid imaginations only. The Indians are innately cruel. They certainly have no true kindliness for animals; every animal is a foe, as I have elsewhere noted. The Maku children are especially cruel to them, but cruelty to the dumb brute is universal among the tribes. On the other hand, intra-tribal hospitality is without end. I have given a single biscuit to a boy and seen him religiously divide it into twenty microscopic pieces for all and sundry. But they are quite improvident so far as the morrow is concerned. If a family is threatened with famine the whole party will walk over to another house, make themselves at home, eat and drink without the slightest hesitation, without even craving invitation so to do. The reason is obvious. The host of to-day may be the guest of to-morrow. I have seen, however, a hunting party doing their best to eat a whole tapir, with the evident desire to finish the feast before the arrival of another, and possibly a less successful, hunting party. Otherwise division of spoil is absolutely equal, except that the chief by right has the greatest share.
The Indian is not always a hospitable host where other than his own tribe or language-group is concerned. Vague tales have penetrated even to his well-guarded ignorance of the customs of the Rubber Belt, of the servitude of his fellows. He hates the white man and mistrusts him. The Andoke are invariably surly in their attitude towards him. There are tribes—the Karahone, for instance, on the northern bank of the Japura—who refuse all attempts whatsoever at intercourse. They will neither receive presents nor ambassadors. If the explorer persist despite the rejection of his overtures he will find poisoned stakes sunk in his path. He will be harassed in all his doings. When at length he attains to the tribal head-quarters he will find a house indeed, and perhaps food, but no warriors, no women, no children The fire will still be burning within the maloka, but the tribe has vanished, leaving no track, no sign of its whereabouts. The Indian’s “Not at home” is no mere social euphemism. It is a demonstrated fact.
When the stranger finds such silent evidence of the tribal attitude toward his presence, it behoves him to take steps very promptly for his protection. He may be certain that the natives, though hidden, are covering his every action. If he, or one of his party, show himself, a flight of poisoned arrows whistles forth from the bush. Then follows a siege that tries the nerves of the stoutest campaigner. The hidden enemy, the noiseless weapons, menace from every tree. It is almost certain death to stop in the open. Within the house is a shelter little more dependable. The natives pierce the thatch with fire-javelins, with tiny spears bearing blazing tufts of hemp or cotton, and sooner or later the great structure will catch fire. There follows the imposed rush into the clearing, and the quick butchery by that unseen but ever-watchful enemy.
Later comes the dance of triumph and the feast of the victims.
Against such an enemy, in such a situation, the resources of civilisation are of little avail. A wretched little dart steeped in the tribal war-poison may be fragile as a reed, but fired from the near shelter of the bush it is as effective as a Mauser bullet.
When travelling among these Indians it is necessary in order to gain their respect to do as they do. I have emphasised this throughout. The traveller must cross the most nerve-racking bridge without help, he may have no hammock in which to be carried. This is a striking contrast to what I have met with in parts of Africa, where to walk is taken as a sign of unimportance; the man who does so cannot in native eyes be what they would call in India a “burra sahib.” I have also noted that the student of life must conform in all things that may be with the customs and habits of the tribesmen with whom he wishes to associate. In a land where pia is the supreme law, deviation from custom can be only regarded as criminal.