Indian strategy makes for concealment both in attack and defence. A tribe will never rush precipitately into open and aggressive war with a neighbour. Plans for the campaign are no affairs of a hurried minute; no impulse of uncontrolled anger. They are, on the contrary, well matured and much deliberated. After many a tobacco palaver, when war is determined on for any good and sufficient reason—usually revenge for some real or fancied wrong—the tribal warriors muster, and it may be that a friendly tribe will assemble with them. Attack will be stealthy, silent, and never by any chance frontal. These are the true tactics of the forest denizen. A noiseless flank approach, a sudden rush, and then, if the foe be taken unawares, a furious onslaught. But surprise is essential to success. With the utmost caution they approach the enemy’s head-quarters, the big tribal house, probably when a dance is taking place and the hostile warriors are occupied with matters other than possible war. The invaders wait for night; creep in under cover of darkness; and if possible cut up the unprepared revellers when asleep after the feast. Should the victorious attackers be in a blood-thirsty mood, every soul will be killed and the house burnt. But the Indian is no Berserker when fighting. He is as careful of his own skin as he is anxious to destroy his foe—possibly even more so; a living enemy may be slain in the future, but if he be killed himself ultimate vengeance is no longer for him.
As regards defence, the Indian never attempts any effective fortification of his home. The only defensive action taken by the tribes is to prepare a series of pitfalls in the forest avenues, after the fashion described for game, with poisoned stakes to impale any foe who may unwittingly stray into them. Death in such a trap comes very speedily. These pits, as I have already noted, are always dug by the Karahone.
It appeared to me that the Indians depended mainly on the secrecy of the tribal dwelling, ensured by the absence of direct footways; for though their houses are not built on defensive—or even defendable—lines, the hostility between various language-groups is rampant, as has been already shown, and internecine strife is unending. The Indian has been called docile and gentle. He may be, if to fear an enemy as much as he is hated be docility. “Do not wait for the first blow but deal it: if you cannot deal it with impunity now wait till you can—but wait securely hidden”: there is the whole text-book of the Indian’s science of war.
PLATE XXXI.
BAMBOO CASES, FILLED WITH DARTS FOR BLOWPIPE—SHOWING FISH-JAW SCRAPER, AND GOURD FILLED WITH RAW COTTON. ONE DART HAS TUFT OF COTTON PLACED READY FOR USE. THESE ARE ANDOKE WORK
If it can be done with due regard to personal safety the Indian warriors like to take prisoners. A prisoner is tangible evidence of successful achievement and personal valour. There is, as a rule, no mutilation of the dead, or of a prisoner; whatever does occur is due to personal brutality on the part of some individual. Prisoners are bound with palm-fibre, and so long as they walk quickly enough, when the victorious band returns from the fray, they are not ill-treated. But there must be no delay. Every moment adds to the dangers that threaten the marauders. Vengeance accomplished, they must hurry back to the comparative safety of their own locality. If a prisoner lag he endangers his captors, and in self-defence they would slay him. Prisoners are sometimes sold, but as a rule they are killed and eaten at the big feast arranged to commemorate the event, unless they are young enough to be kept as slaves without risk of their running away to tell tribal enemies of the secret roads through the bush. The consumption of a dead foe at least guarantees his harmlessness—as a warrior, if not as a comestible.
Prisoners are never kept for any length of time, on account of the danger that would follow should they manage to escape. They get no food nor drink, and if never actually tortured, are treated very casually until killed with a heavy wooden sword, not with poisoned javelins, as Robuchon imagined was the ceremonial method of killing for culinary purposes. The captor knocks his prisoner down with blows on the shins and the thigh, and then hacks off the head with his broadsword. Robuchon is also responsible for the statement that the prisoners consider that to be thus killed and eaten is a great distinction and honour. It is true that they make no complaints, but that is simply on account of the fatalistic nature of the Indian.
If killed in war a chief’s body is carried off by his tribe if possible, though the ordinary warriors, dead or wounded, of the beaten faction are left to their fate, for fear of delay and possible surprise during retreat; although that fate be known to be consumption by the enemy.
Among the Boro and other cannibal tribes anthropophagous orgies follow hard on the heels of tribal strife. If it happens to be possible, that is to say if the fight has taken place as an attack on their own house, the corpses of the enemy are eaten; but no Indian ever risks the chance of reprisals being taken by remaining in the vicinity of a hostile house to eat the dead, nor will he ever burden himself with food when returning to his own habitation. The cannibal feast thus becomes the prerogative of the conqueror.