The act is not due merely to cruel or callous disregard of infant life. If to be sickly and deformed is an undesirable state, the Indian sees no reason why any unfortunate being should be condemned to live in such a condition; and, moreover, the sufferer must handicap others as well as itself in the strenuous race of life. Therefore deformed children are never seen. A child that is discovered to be in any degree abnormal or sickly at birth is allowed to die on immersion, by the very simple method of holding it under water till life is extinct. If, however, the deformity is not discovered till after the child has been brought to the tribal house, the medicine-man is called in to deal with the case. If the mischief be beyond his power to remedy, he declares that it was caused by some evil spirit and may work ill to the tribe,[236] so as a precautionary measure the wretched little creature is taken out and left exposed in the forest, or some tribes go as far as to bury it alive.[237] This is done with no intention to cause unnecessary suffering, but simply that as it had to die it might as well die by suffocation as by any other means.
If there were an epidemic of deformed or sickly cases among the newly born it would most probably lead to a tribal blood-feud, as it would be most assuredly put down to the evil intention and craft of some enemy. Who the latter might be it is the province of the medicine-man to determine.
Except in the above instances intentional infanticide is not common. Unintentionally it would seem to be very frequent. It might further be resorted to in time of famine, if lactation should be difficult or if the mother were to die.[238] I know of one case where a child on the death of the mother was thrown to the dogs—wild dogs are the voracious beasts of the forest. On another occasion the infant was buried with its dead mother, though this would not have been done had any one been willing to adopt it. Both these cases occurred among the Witoto.
Koch-Grünberg found that among the Tuyuka the houses have a small chamber at the end where a man and his wife stay after the birth of a child. There is no such thing among these tribes.
The day after her delivery the mother presents the infant to its father, and then, as though nothing had happened, goes back to her work in the plantation, and spends the day toiling in the fields as usual. She will only return to feed the child at night. But the father remains in the house with the baby, for he in his turn must submit to definite tabus, the restrictions and prohibitions of that curious custom known as the couvade, “a live growth of savage psychology,” as E. B. Tylor calls it.[239] The baby lies in a hammock and the father lounges in his, and there, with some tribes, he will remain for from three to six weeks.[240] The Witoto are more casual in this observance than the Boro. Colour seems to be given to the theory that couvade marks a stage of emergence from matrilineal to patrilineal organisation, by the fact that among those tribes where relationship is counted on the father’s side couvade is apparently practised far less strictly, and only in a limited form, as compared with the descriptions of couvade given by other writers among tribes such as those Sir Everard im Thurn studied in British Guiana, where definitely matrilocal customs are still extant.[241] But, however limited the restrictions, in all cases the father abstains from hunting until the child’s navel is healed. He must not touch his hunting weapons even,[242] nor may he eat the flesh of any animal that has been hunted, which, as regards animal food, is practically the same tabu as exists for the mother before the child’s birth. Fish and cassava form his diet, but coca is not tabu.
Yet, despite his enforced deprivations, the Indian father enjoys himself. He has, in fact, a very easy time of it, which may go to confirm him in his quite genuine belief that his actions are of substantial benefit to the child.[243] Friends will assemble in numbers to express their joy at the happy event; they will even come from great distances for this purpose. There is much talk, and all exchange coca and lick tobacco. In the midst of the congratulations the medicine-man will arrive to deliver his opinion, given after due consideration, of the points of the new-born. Congratulations will be interspersed with numerous ventral grunts, as signs of assent and approval, with the decisions enunciated, on the part of the proud parent or his visitors. The orations will be interrupted by the ceremonial licking of tobacco between the medicine-man, the father, and his visitors.
After eight days the child will be named by the medicine-man and the assembled family. The name given among all these tribes is generally that of the father’s father, if the child be a boy. With the exception of further ceremonial tobacco-taking there is no ritual.
Boys are called as a rule by the names of animals or birds;[244] girls are given the names of plants and flowers. For instance, among the Boro a common masculine name is Pimwe, which is the name of a white water-bird; or Eifoike among the Witoto, eifoike being their name for the turkey-buzzard. My own name among the Witoto was Itoma, which means the sun, that sound being the nearest to Thomas that they knew. The Boro called me Pimwe, the white ibis, on account of my white bath-gown.
No Indian ever uses his name, nor is he called by it when spoken to by his companions.[245] One will speak to another as tanyabe,[246] that is to say, “brother,” or Iero,[246] Moma,[247] that is, “father”; in the case of a woman it would be Gwaro,[246] Rinyo,[247] which is “mother,” or Tanyali,[246] “sister.” They will never address each other in more direct fashion, and if one of the speakers is not a member of the household, and therefore no relationship exists between them, they will make use of some expression equivalent to our “comrade,” “man,” “girl,” or other generality. The Boro, when they wish to call the attention of a man, cry Mupe! of a woman, Muije! As I obviously stood in no relationship to any of my companions, the usual congenital term of address could not be used in my case, and if I chose to run the risk of giving my enemies power over me through knowledge of my name that was my own affair.
This objection to divulging the name is too widespread to need comment.[248] The Indian of the Upper Amazons is on this point not so far removed from our own old-fashioned country-folk.[249] But at the same time, though they would not divulge their own names they were invariably most curious to get hold of mine, and made great efforts to pronounce it. Whiffena was the usual outcome of such attempts. I also found that the Indians had no objection to making use of any name I might give to them, presumably because, not being their true name, no magical dangers were possibly incurred through its use, such as would be probable did I call one of them by his or her own proper name.[250]