The gracefulness and efficiency of the balsa itself stand in strong contrast with the crude methods of propulsion. According to Mashém, the craft is commonly propelled by either one or two women lying prone on the reeds and paddling either with bare hands or with large shells held in the hands; according to Hardy, the harpoon main shaft is used by turtle fishermen for paddling (and probably for poling, also); according to the Dewey picture (figure 28), the vessel is driven by a woman with a double-end paddle like that used in connection with the conventional canoe; while the expedition of 1895 found on Isla Tiburon four or five paddles rudely wrought from flotsam boards and barrel-staves, and partly hafted with rough sticks 3 or 4 feet long, but partly without handles and evidently designed to be grasped directly, like the shells of Mashém’s descriptions. No trace of oars, rowlocks, sculls, rudders, or masts were found, and there is nothing to indicate the faintest notion of sails and sailing. On the whole there is no trace of well differentiated propelling devices—i. e., the craft is perfected only as a static device and not at all as a dynamic mechanism.
Despite their poverty in propelling devices, the Seri navigate their waters successfully and extensively. Perhaps the commonest function of the craft is that exercised in connection with the turtle fishery, though its chief office as a factor of general industrial economy is that of bridging El Infiernillo at the will of the roving clans. It is by means of this craft, also, that the semiceremonial pelican feasts on Tiburon are consummated; it is by the same means that Isla Patos, Isla Turner, Roca Foca, and other insulated sources of food-supply are habitually reached; and both Mashém’s accounts and the Jesuits’ records indicate that occasional voyages are pushed to San Esteban, San Lorenzo, Angel de la Guarda, and even to the Baja California coast.
Concordantly with the tribal customs, little freight is carried. The traveling family transport their poor possessions to the shore, bring out the balsa from its hiding place in the thick and thorny fog-shrubbery, launch it, lade it with a filled olla and the weapons of a man and implements of a woman, besides any chance food and clothing, and embark lightly to enjoy the semirepose of drifting before the breeze—until the rising gale brings labor still more arduous than that of scouring the spall-strewn slopes or sandy stretches of their hard motherland. Commonly the terminus of the trip is fixed largely by the chance of wind and tide; and when it is reached the party carry the craft inshore, conceal it shrewdly, and then take up their birdskin bed and walk forth in search of fresh water and meat. The successful fishing trips of course end in orgies of gorging, and when the voyage is the climax of a foray to the mainland frontier for stock-stealing, the quarters and paunches and heads hastily thrown aboard at the mainland side of the strait are carried to the rancherias for consumption at leisure; and this has happened so often that equine hoofs and bovine bones are common constituents of the middens on Tiburon.
Although measurably similar to Central American and South American types of water-craft, the Seri balsa is a notably distinct type for its region. The California natives, as well as those of the mainland of Mexico south of Rio Yaqui, used rafts made either of palm trunks or of other logs lashed alongside rather than balsas; while the far-traveling tribes used either sails or well-differentiated paddles for propulsion.
Briefly, the Seri balsa is remarkable for perfect adaptation to those needs of its makers shaped by their distinctive environment. It seems to approach the ideal of industrial economy—the acme of practicality—in the adjustment of materials and forces to the ends of a lowly culture; and, like the olla and harpoon and arrow, it affords an impressive example of the adjustment of artifacts to environment through the intervention of budding intelligence. Yet the chief significance of the craft would seem to reside in its vestigial character as a survival of that orarian stage in the course of human development in which men lived alongshore and adjusted themselves to maritime conditions rather than to terrestrial environments; a stage evidently but barely passed by the Seri, since they still subsist mainly on sea food, still retain their suggestive navigation, and still view their stormy straits and bays as the nucleus and noblest portion of their province.
HABITATIONS
Among the Seri, as among primitive folk generally, the habitation reflects local conditions, especially climate and building materials. Now, Seriland is a subtropical yet arid tract, where rain rarely falls, frost seldom forms, and snow is known only as a fleeting mantle on generally distant mountains, so that there is little need for protection from cold and wet; at the same time the district is too desert to yield serviceable building material other than rock, which the lowly folk have not learned to manipulate. Moreover, the tribesmen and their families are perpetual fugitives (their movements being too erratic and aimless to put them in the class of nomads); they are too accustomed to wandering and too unaccustomed to long resting at particular spots to have a home-sense, save for their motherland as a whole; and, just as they rely on their own physical hardihood for preservation against the elements, so they depend on their combined fleetness and prowess for preservation against enemies. Accordingly, the Seri habitation is not a permanent abode, still less a domicile for weaklings or a shrine for household lares and penates, not at all a castle of proprietary sanctity, and least of all a home; it is rather a time-serving lair than a house in ordinary meaning.
Despite the poverty of the material and the squalor of the structure, certain features of the Seri jacal are notably uniform and conventional. In size and form it recalls the passing “prairie schooner”, or covered wagon; it is some 10 or 12 feet long, half as wide measured on the ground, and about 4½ feet high, with one end (the front) open to the full width and height, and the other nearly or quite closed. The conventional structural features comprise the upright bows and horizontal tie-sticks forming the framework. The bows are made of okatilla stems (Fouquiera splendens) roughly denuded of their thorns; each is formed by thrusting the butts of two such stems (or more if they are slender) into the ground at the requisite distance apart, bending the tops together into an overlap of a yard or two, and securing them partly by intertwisting, partly by any convenient lashing; and about five or six such bows suffice for a jacal (the appearance of the bows is fairly represented by the ruin shown in plate VII). Next come the tie-sticks, which consist of any convenient material (okatilla stems, cane-stalks, paloblanco branches, mesquite roots, saguaro ribs, etc.), and are lashed to the butts by means of withes, splints, or fiber wisps, at a height of some 4 feet above the ground, or about where the walls merge into the roof. With the placing of these sticks the conventional part of the building process may be said to end; for up to this point the process is a collective one and the materials are essentially uniform, while thereafter the completion of the work depends largely on individual or family caprice, and the materials are selected at random. Moreover, the framework is fairly permanent, usually surviving a number of occupancies extending over months or years, and outlasting an equal number of outer coverings; so that all habitable Seriland is dotted sparsely with jacal skeletons, sometimes retaining fragments of walls or roof, but oftener entirely denuded.
The conversion of the framework into a habitable jacal is effected by piling around and over it any convenient shrubbery, by which it is made a sort of bower; sometimes the conversion is aided by the attachment of additional tie-sticks both above and below the main horizontal pieces, as illustrated in the upper figure of plate IX; sometimes, too, the material of walls and roof is carefully selected and interwoven with such pains as to form a rude thatch, as in the chief jacal at Rada Ballena (the upper figure in plate VI); but more commonly the covering is collected at random and is laid so loosely that it is held in place only by gravity and wind pressure, and may be dislodged by a change of wind. Ordinarily the walls are thicker and denser than the roofs, which are supplemented in time of occupancy by haunches of venison, remnantal quarters of cattle and horses, half-eaten turtles, hides and pelts, as well as bird-skin robes, thrown on the bows partly to keep them out of reach of coyotes and partly to afford shade. Most of the jacales about the old rancheria at Punta Tormenta (abandoned at “The Time of the Big Fish”), which may be regarded as the center of the turtle industry, are irregularly clapboarded with turtle-shells and with sheets of a local sponge, as illustrated in plate VII. This sponge abounds in the bight of Rada Ballena, where at high water it spreads over the silty bottom in a slimy sheet, and at low water with off-shore gales is left by the waters to dry into a light and fairly tenacious mat, which is gathered in sheets for bedding as well as for house-making material (a specimen of the sponge—probably Chalina—is shown on larger scale in plate VIII). On the frontier the jacales may be modified by the introduction of sawed or riven lumber, as illustrated by some of the-structures at Costa Rica (shown in plate XI); but even here there is a strong disposition to adhere to the customary form, and especially to the conventional framework, as indicated by the example in plate X.