The North-West Amazons - Notes of some months spent among cannibal tribes

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Title: The North-West Amazons - Notes of some months spent among cannibal tribes
Author: Whiffen, Thomas
Language: English
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THE NORTH-WEST AMAZONS

[Illustration: BORO MEDICINE MAN, WITH MY RIFLE]

THE NORTH-WEST
AMAZONS

NOTES OF SOME MONTHS SPENT
AMONG CANNIBAL TRIBES

THOMAS WHIFFEN
F.R.G.S., F.R.A.I.
CAPTAIN H.P. (14TH HUSSARS)

NEW YORK
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
1915

_Printed in Great Britain_

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE
DR. ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, O.M.
THESE NOTES ARE DEDICATED

PREFACE

In presenting to the public the results of my journey through the lands
about the upper waters of the Amazon, I make no pretence of challenging
conclusions drawn by such experienced scientists as Charles Waterton,
Alfred Russel Wallace, Richard Spruce, and Henry Walter Bates, nor to
compete with the indefatigable industry of those recent explorers Dr.
Koch-Grünberg and Dr. Hamilton Rice.

Some months of the years 1908 and 1909 were passed by me travelling in
regions between the River Issa and the River Apaporis where white men had
scarcely penetrated previously. In the remoter parts of these districts
the tribes of nomad Indians are frankly cannibal on occasion, and provide
us with evidence of a condition of savagery that can hardly be found
elsewhere in the world of the twentieth century. It will be noted that
this area includes the Putumayo District.

With regard to the references in footnotes and appendices, I have
inserted them to suggest where similarities of culture or variations of
a given custom are to be found. These notes may be of some use to the
student of such problems as the question of cultural contact with Pacific
peoples, and at the least they represent the evidence on which I have
based my own conclusions.

THOMAS WHIFFEN.

LONDON, 1914.

CONTENTS

PAGE

CHAPTER I

Introductory 1

CHAPTER II

Topography--Rivers--Floods and rainfall--Climate--Soil--Animal
and vegetable life--Birds--Flowers--Forest
scenery--Tracks--Bridges--Insect pests--Reptiles--Silence in
the forest--Travelling in the bush--Depressing effects of the
forest--Lost in the forest--Starvation the crowning horror 17

CHAPTER III

The Indian homestead--Building--Site and plan of
_maloka_--Furniture--Inhabitants of the house--Fire--Daily
life--Insect inhabitants--Pets 40

CHAPTER IV

Classification of Indian races--Difficulties of
tabulating--Language-groups and tribes--Names--Sources
of confusion--Witoto and Boro--Localities of
language-groups--Population of districts--Intertribal
strife--Tribal enemies and friends--Reasons
for endless warfare--Intertribal trade and
communications--Relationships--Tribal organisation--The
chief, his position and powers--Law--Tribal
council--Tobacco-drinking--Marriage system and
regulations--Position of women--Slaves 53

CHAPTER V

Dress and ornament--Geographical and tribal
differentiations--Festal attire--Feather
ornaments--Hair-dressing--Combs--Dance
girdles--Beads--Necklaces--Bracelets--Leg
rattles--Ligatures--Ear-rings--Use of labret--Nose
pins--Scarification--Tattoo--Tribal marks--Painting 71

CHAPTER VI

Occupations--Sexual division and tabu--Tribal manufactures--Arts
and crafts--Drawing--Carving--Metals--Tools and implements--No
textile fabrics--Pottery--Basket-making--Hammocks--Cassava-squeezer
and grater--Pestle and mortar--Wooden vessels--Stone axes--Methods
of felling trees--Canoes--Rafts--Paddles 90

CHAPTER VII

Agriculture--Plantations--Preparation of ground in
the forest--Paucity of agricultural instruments--Need
for diligence--Women’s incessant toil--No special
harvest-time--Maize the only grain grown--No use for
sugar--Manioc cultivation--Peppers--Tobacco--Coca
cultivation--Tree-climbing methods--Indian wood-craft--Indian
tracking--Exaggerated sporting yarns--Indian sense of locality
and accuracy of observation--Blow-pipes--Method of making
blow-pipes--Darts--Indian improvidence--Migration of game--Traps
and snares--Javelins--Hunting and fishing rights--Fishing--Fish
traps--Spearing and poisoning fish 102

CHAPTER VIII

The Indian armoury--Spears--Bows and arrows--Indian
strategy--Forest tactics and warfare--Defensive measures--Secrecy
and safety--The Indian’s science of war--Prisoners--War
and anthropophagy--Cannibal tribes--Reasons for cannibal
practices--Ritual of vengeance--Other causes--No intra-tribal
cannibalism--The anthropophagous feast--Human relics--Necklaces
of teeth--Absence of salt--Geophagy 115

CHAPTER IX

The food quest--Indians omnivorous eaters--Tapir and other animals
used for food--Monkeys--The peccary--Feathered game--Vermin--Eggs,
carrion, and intestines not eaten--Honey--Fish--Manioc--Preparation
of cassava--Peppers--The Indian hot-pot--Lack of salt--Indian
meals--Cooking--Fruits--Cow-tree milk 126

CHAPTER X

Drinks, drugs, and poisons: their use and preparation--Unfermented
drinks--_Caapi_--Fermented drinks--_Cahuana_--Coca: its
preparation, use, and abuse--_Parica_--Tobacco--Poison and
poison-makers 138

CHAPTER XI

Small families--Birth tabu--Birth customs--Infant
mortality--Infanticide--Couvade--Name-giving--Names--Tabu on
names--Childhood--Lactation--Food restrictions--Child-life and
training--Initiation 146

CHAPTER XII

Marriage regulations--Monogamy--Wards and
wives--Courtship--Qualifications for matrimony--Preparations
for marriage--Child marriages--Exception to patrilocal
custom--Marriage ceremonies--Choice of a mate--Divorce--Domestic
quarrels--Widowhood 159

CHAPTER XIII

Sickness--Death by poison--Infectious diseases--Cruel treatment of
sick and aged--Homicide--Retaliation for murder--Tribal and
personal quarrels--Diseases--Remedies--Death--Mourning--Burial 168

CHAPTER XIV

The medicine-man, a shaman--Remedies and cures--Powers and
duties of the medicine-man--Virtue of breath--Ceremonial
healing--Hereditary office--Training--Medicine-man and
tigers--Magic-working--Properties--Evil always due to bad
magic--Influence of medicine-man--Method of magic-working--Magical
cures 178

CHAPTER XV

Indian dances--Songs without meaning--Elaborate preparations--The
Chief’s invitation--Numbers assembled--Dance step--Reasons
for dances--Special dances--Dance staves--Arrangement of
dancers--Method of airing a grievance--Plaintiff’s song of
complaint--The tribal “black list”--Manioc-gathering dance and
song--Muenane Riddle Dance--A discomfited dancer--Indian riddles
and mimicry--Dance intoxication--An unusual incident--A favourite
dance--The cannibal dance--A mad festival of savagery--The strange
fascination of the Amazon 190

CHAPTER XVI

Songs the essential element of native dances--Indian
imagination and poetry--Music entirely ceremonial--Indian
singing--Simple melodies--Words without meaning--Sense
of time--Limitations of songs--Instrumental
music--Pan-pipes--Flutes and fifes--Trumpets--Jurupari music and
ceremonial--Castanets--Rattles--Drums--The _manguare_--Method of
fashioning drums--Drum language--Signal and conversation--Small
hand-drums 206

CHAPTER XVII

The Indians’ magico-religious system--The Good Spirit and the Bad
Spirit--Names of deities--Character of Good Spirit--His visit
to earth--Question of missionary influence--Lesser subordinate
spirits--Child-lifting--No prayer or supplication--Classification
of spirits--Immortality of the soul--Land of the After-Life--Ghosts
and name tabu--Temporary disembodied spirits--Extra-mundane
spirits--Spirits of particularised evils--Spirits of inanimate
objects--The jaguar and anaconda magic beasts--Tiger folk--Fear of
unknown--Suspicions about camera--Venerated objects--Charms--Magic
against magic--Omens 218

CHAPTER XVIII

Darkness feared by Indians--Story-telling--Interminable
length of tales--Variants--Myths--Sun and moon--Deluge
traditions--Tribal stories--Amazons--White Indians tradition--Boro
tribal tale--Amazonian equivalents of many world-tales--Beast
stories--Animal characteristics--Difference of animal
characteristics in tale and tabu--No totems--Indian hatred of
animal world 236

CHAPTER XIX

Limitations of speech--Differences of
dialect--Language-groups--Tribal names--Difficulties of
languages--Method of transliteration--Need of a common
medium--Ventral ejaculations--Construction--Pronouns as
suffix or prefix--Negatives--Gesture language--Numbers and
reckoning--Indefinite measure--Time--No writing, signs, nor
personal marks--Tribal calls--Drum-language code--Conversational
repetitions--Noisy talkers--Ventriloquists--Falsetto
voice--Conversational etiquette 246

CHAPTER XX

No individualism--Effect of isolation--Extreme reserve of
Indians--Cruelty--Dislike and fear of strangers--Indian
hospitality--Treachery--Theft punished by death--Dualism
of ethics--Vengeance--Moral sense and custom--Modesty
of the women--Jealousy of the men--Hatred of white
man--Ingratitude--Curiosity--Indians retarded but not
degenerate--No evidence of reversion from higher culture--A
neolithic people--Conclusion 255

APPENDICES

I. Physical Characteristics 269

II. Mongoloid Origin 280

III. Depilation 282

IV. Colour Analysis and Measurements 283

V. Articles noted by Wallace as in use among the Uaupes
Indians that are found with the Issa-Japura Tribes 291

VI. Names of Deities 293

VII. Vocabularies and Lists of Names 296

VIII. Poetry 311

LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO 313

INDEX 315

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PLATE NO. FACING PAGE

Boro Medicine Man, with my Rifle _Frontispiece_

I. Houses in the “Rubber Belt” of the Issa Valley 4

II. A House in the “Rubber Belt,” Issa Valley 16

III. 1. Typical River View below the Mouth of the Negro River
2. Bank of Main Amazon Stream in the Vicinity of the Mouth
of the Japura River 18

IV. 1. River View on Main Stream near Issa River
2. Landscape on Upper Amazon Main Stream 20

V. The Bulge-stemmed Palm, _Iriartea Venticosa_, showing
portion of Leaf and Fruit 28

VI. Flowers and Section of Leaf of the Bussu Palm. The Leaf is
used for Thatching 44

VII. 1. Self, with Nonuya Tribe
2. Muenane Tribe 46

VIII. 1. Group of Witoto
2. Group of Some of my Carriers 70

IX. Medicine Man and his Wife (Andoke) 72

X. Boro Tribesmen 74

XI. Witoto Feather Head-dresses 76

XII. Groups of Resigero Women 78

XIII. Centre of Dancing Group--Muenane 80

XIV. Boro Comb of Palm Spines set in Pitch and finished with
Basketwork of Split Cane, Fibre Strings, and Tufts of
Parrots’ Feathers 78

XV. 1. Dukaiya (Okaina) Bead Dancing-girdle
2. Condor Claws, used by Andoke Medicine Man of the Upper
Japura River 80

XVI. Necklaces of Human and Tiger Teeth 82

XVII. 1. Necklace of Polished Nutshells.
2. Leg Rattles of Beads and Nutshells.
3, 4, 5, and 6. Bead Necklaces. The Black “Beads” are Bits
of Polished Nutshell, threaded between White Beads 82

XVIII. Boro Ligatures 84

XIX. Boro Leg and Arm Ligatures. Witoto Leg Ligature 84

XX. 1 and 3, Boro. 2, Witoto, Ligatures 86

XXI. Andoke Girls 88

XXII. Witoto Baskets of Split Cane and Fibre 90

XXIII. Boro Necklace of Jaguars’ Teeth with Incised Patterns
Necklace of Jaguar Teeth, Incised, and Flute made of
Human Bone 92

XXIV. Boro Cassava-squeezer. (A) Loop at End 96

XXV. 1. Okaina Group
2. Group of Okaina Women 98

XXVI. 1. Indian Plantation cleared by Fire preparatory to
Cultivation
2. View on Affluent of the Kahuinari River 102

XXVII. _Erythroxylon-Coca_ 106

XXVIII. 1 and 2. Andoke Bamboo Cases with Darts and Cotton.
3. Dart with Cotton attached.
4. Blow-pipe with Dart.
5. Javelin.
6. Fishing Trident.
7. Spears in Bamboo Case.
8. Dance Staff 108

XXIX. Andoke Bamboo Case with Darts for Blow-pipe and Gourd
full of Cotton 110

XXX. 1. Water Jar, Menimehe; (a) Witoto.
2. Drums (Witoto).
3. Pan-pipes, Witoto; (a) Boro.
4. Stone Axe (Andoke).
5. Paddle used on Main Amazon Stream.
6. Paddle used on Issa and Japura Rivers.
7. Menimehe Hand Club.
8. Wooden Sword (Boro).
9. Pestle--Coca, etc. (Boro) 116

XXXI. Bamboo Cases, filled with Darts for Blow-pipe,
showing Fish-jaw Scraper, and Gourd filled
with Raw Cotton. One Dart has Tuft of Cotton
placed ready for Use. These are Andoke Work 118

XXXII. Witoto War Gathering 120

XXXIII. 1. Boro Necklace made of Marmoset Teeth
2. Andoke Necklace of Human Teeth 124

XXXIV. Boro Women making Cassava 132

XXXV. Witoto Cassava-squeezer. Boro Manioc-grater with
Palm-spine Points 134

XXXVI. One of the Ingredients of the Famous Curare Poison 138

XXXVII. Incised Gourds 144

XXXVIII. Karahone Child. Boro Women carrying Children 150

XXXIX. Boro Women carrying Children 154

XL. Okaina Girls 158

XLI. Stone Axe Head (Boro). String of Magic Stones (Andoke) 184

XLII. Anatto, _Bixa Orellana_. A Red Dye, or Paint, is made
from the Seed 190

XLIII. Half Gourds decorated with Incised Patterns, made by
Witoto near the Mouth of the Kara Parana River.
Dukaiya (Okaina) Rattle made of Nutshells 192

XLIV. Okaina Girls painted for Dance 194

XLV. Boro Dancing. Group of Nonuya, Men and Women 196

XLVI. Muenane Dance 200

XLVII. Okaina Dance 202

XLVIII. Okaina Dance 204

XLIX. Pan-pipes 210

L. Group of Witoto Women by Double-stemmed Palm Tree
Group of Witoto Men by Double-stemmed Palm Tree 232

LI. 1 and 2. Witoto Types.
3. Witoto from Kotue River 270

LII. Combs.
1. Andoke Comb with Nutshell Cup for Rubber Latex.
2. Witoto Comb.
3. Boro Comb 272

LIII. Boro Tribesman from the Pama River
A Menimehe Captive 274

LIV. Witoto Types. Witoto Woman with Leg Ligatures 278

MAPS

MAP. 1. Approximate Plan of Route 2

MAP. 2. Sketch Map 10

MAP. 3. Diagrammatic Map of the Issa-Japura Central Watershed,
showing Language Groups 58

Sketch Map of the North-Western Affluents of the Amazon River _At end_

Sketch Map of the Amazon River with its Northern Affluents _At end_

CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTORY

In the spring of 1908, having been among the Unemployed on the Active
List for nearly two years on account of ill-health, and wearying not only
of enforced inactivity but also perhaps of civilisation, I decided to go
somewhere and see something of a comparatively unknown and unrecorded
corner of the world. My mind reverted to pleasant days spent in the
lesser known parts of East Africa, and at this moment I happened to come
across Dr. Russel Wallace’s delightful _Travels on the Amazon and Rio
Negro_. His spirited adventures, and the unique character of the country
through which he passed and the peoples he met, fascinated me. I thought
of attempting to complete his unfinished journey up the Uaupes River, and
imagined I would be able to secure in South America all the instruments
and materials such an expedition required. There lay my initial error.
My inability to obtain anything of the sort hampered me in scientific
research, so that these chapters must simply be regarded as impressions
and studies of native ways and doings, noted by a temporary dweller in
their midst.

Difference of technique, industry, ability, and scientific knowledge may
in the light of future investigations reveal errors or misapprehensions
that must bring me into conflict with those who may go there better
equipped and with greater understanding. But in any critical appraisement
it must be remembered that these tribes are changing day by day, and
every year that passes will increase the difference between the Amazonian
native as I knew him and as he may be when studied by my successors. So
far as in me lies, I have here set forth an account of what he was when
I travelled in his forest solitudes and fastnesses.

I left England towards the end of April 1908 and arrived at Manaos on the
Negro River on May 27. Incidentally I arrived again at Manaos homeward
bound on the same day and almost at the same hour the following year.[1]
It may be taken, therefore, that my entire journey covered exactly twelve
months.

On arrival at Manaos, I made inquiries as to the facilities for
proceeding to S. Gabriel near the junction of the Negro and Uaupes
Rivers, and thence up the latter stream.[2] My theory at the time was
that it would be possible to ascend this river to its source, and from
the vicinity to make a way across country _via_ the Apaporis, Japura,
Issa, and Napo Rivers to Iquitos. I soon found that the difficulty of
obtaining the necessary men would be immense, and the ascent, in local
opinion, impracticable without an expedition on a scale for which I
possessed neither the influence nor the pecuniary resources. Persuaded
that my line of least resistance, so far as the Uaupes was concerned,
would be to reverse the contemplated journey and work from Iquitos to
a point on the Uaupes and then descend to Manaos, I proceeded by the
Navigation Company’s steamboat to the former town, where I arrived the
second week in June.

[Illustration: APPROXIMATE PLAN OF ROUTE]

In company with Mr. David Cazes, the British Consul, to whom I am
indebted for many kindnesses, I made a trip up the Napo River. It was
soon apparent, however, that it would be practically impossible to cross
from that river to the Issa. This was not due to the difficulty of
porterage, because there is a “recognised route” from a point some way
above the mouth of the Curaray to Puerto Barros, but to the impossibility
of obtaining men. Rumours were rife at this time of fighting between the
Colombian and Peruvian rubber-gatherers on the Issa River, and the Napo
Indians would not go in that direction on account of a not unnatural
dread lest they be treated as enemies by whichever party of combatants
they might happen to meet.

Eventually, through the good offices of the British Consulate, I sailed
from Iquitos by way of the main Amazon River and the Issa or Putumayo
River to Encanto at the mouth of the Kara Parana, which I reached in the
middle of August. It is from this point that my notes on the manners and
customs of the Indians really commence.

I saw at once that it would be impossible to gain any insight into the
ways and customs of the various tribes unless I spent some considerable
time in what one might call a roving commission among them. I had with me
at this time John Brown, a Barbadian negro. He had been for some three
years previously in the Issa district in the employ of a Rubber Company,
and I enlisted him as my personal servant at Iquitos. He had “married”
a Witoto woman some two years before, and through this attachment I was
able to derive much valuable information. In fact, he was invaluable
throughout the whole expedition, and was more loyal and more devoted than
a traveller with some experience of the African boy in his native haunts
had reason to anticipate of any black servant.

On the 18th of August we started for the Igara Parana, having collected
eight Indian carriers, two half-castes, and eight “rationales,” or
semi-civilised Indians, armed with Winchesters, together with three
Indian women, wives of three of the rationales.

It may here be mentioned that these armed Indians were to be obtained in
the Rubber Belt by arrangement with their employers. It is the practice
of the rubber-gatherers to train Indian boys and utilise them as escort,
and to obtain rubber from the tribes hostile to those to which the boys
belong. This is perhaps necessary to avoid collusion. In my experience
there was never any question of fixed charge or price when hiring
carriers. They expected to be given, at the conclusion of their service,
a present of cloth, beads, a shot gun,[3] or such other item of trade as
their heart coveted. The line of argument was simple: “You do what I tell
you, and when we part I will make you a rich man.” Wealth was represented
by cloth, beads, and a knife. A boy I called Jim promised to go to the
end of the earth if I would give him a shot gun. This was his sole
ambition. He was one of my escort, and although carrying a Winchester, I
do not think it ever entered into his head to make off with it. Such is
the simple Indian nature. I do not mean that he would not have run away
if such a plan suited him, but he would not have done so for the sake and
value of the Winchester.

The two half-breeds were rubber-collectors. They were bound for the Igara
Parana, and were only with me until we reached Chorrera.

The semi-civilised Indians are fairly trustworthy, although discipline
must be strongly enforced to prevent looting if only because of the
danger of reprisals on the part of the indigenous natives. During my
wanderings the carriers were often changed, especially while passing
through the Rubber Belt. Those men will always run if they get the
chance, even if they are in the midst of hostile tribes, when to desert
is more often death than not. In number the party remained approximately
the same throughout my journey.

The carriers must be incessantly shepherded, kept from lagging behind or
going ahead too quickly. They must not be allowed to stop for any length
of time or a forced camp will be a necessity. It is the custom of all
Indians to bathe whenever possible, however heated they may be, and this
will have to be tolerated; but if progress is to be made they must not
stop to eat. It was my custom to eat at daybreak and again at the end of
the day’s march.

[Illustration: PLATE I.

HOUSES IN THE RUBBER BELT OF THE ISSA VALLEY]

Treachery on the part of the native Indians it is always necessary to
guard against--in the Rubber Belt because of the treatment they have
received in the past; farther afield partly on account of the rumours of
such treatment, and partly on the principle that it’s the nervous dog
that bites. They ask but one question: “Why is the white man here?” They
accord it but one answer: “We know not. It is best to kill.” And it is
not, as is noted elsewhere, the custom of the Indian to attack openly,
but when he has the chance of succeeding with little or no danger to
himself.

We reached Chorrera, or Big Falls, on the 22nd of August, and thence
wended our way by land up the Igara Parana, arriving without much
incident in the Andoke country on the 19th of September. Here, by
arrangement with an Andoke chief, I managed to get a young Karahone
lad, a slave who had been captured some years previously by the Andoke
and who said he would take me to his own people across the great river.
While we were encamped near the banks of the Japura River, and searching
for the bulge-stemmed palm tree with which to make a canoe, we observed
three canoes of Karahone on their way down the river, possibly after some
warlike expedition. We tried to stop them, but in vain. When, eventually,
we crossed the river, we found the occupants of the canoes had given
the alarm. Every house we visited was abandoned, four in all, and the
path was peppered with poisoned stakes sharpened to the finest point and
exposed above ground for perhaps half to three-quarters of an inch. A
carrier who trod on one had to be carried back as he was quite disabled
for the march.

Returning to the Japura River, we made our way to the upper reaches
of the Kahuinari River, visiting different tribes and collecting
information. I was anxious at this time to descend this river and find
out, if possible, the fate of Eugene Robuchon, the French explorer, who
had been missing for some two years.

It may be pertinent here to give in full the story of Robuchon’s
disappearance and my search for traces of his last expedition.

Eugene Robuchon, the adventurous French explorer whose notes on the
Indians of the Putumayo are known to every investigator, left the Great
Falls on the Igara Parana in November 1905. It was his intention to make
for the head waters of the Japura and to explore that river on behalf of
the Peruvian Government throughout its length for traces of rubber. He
started with a party consisting of three negroes, one half-breed, and
five Indians with one Indian woman. He carried supplies barely sufficient
for two months. I carefully examined all the survivors of the expedition
that I encountered, and from them gathered the following account of the
journey:--

Having left the Great Falls, Robuchon proceeded by canoe up the Igara
Parana to a point some ten miles above the mouth of the Fue stream. He
left the river there, struck northward through the Chepei country, and
reached the Japura approximately at 74° W., some thirty miles above
the Kuemani River. The Indians encountered at this spot belonged to a
Witoto-speaking tribe, the Taikene. They were friendly, but either could
not or would not provide Robuchon with a canoe. Three valuable weeks were
spent in the search for a suitable tree and in the construction of a
canoe.

When at length this was finished, the party started down-stream, and for
a time progressed without incident. No natives were seen for several
days. At last Robuchon’s Indians called his attention to a narrow path
that led up from the river-bank on the right. Anxious about his food
supply, he landed and followed the path until he came upon a clearing and
an Indian house. Eventually Robuchon arranged with the inhabitants that
four of them should come down to the canoe with food and receive presents
in exchange. But when a larger number than he expected appeared upon
the bank, the explorer feared treachery and at once pushed off without
waiting for the much-needed provisions. The Indians thereupon manned
their canoes and started in pursuit, shouting the while to him to stop.
But with his small party Robuchon dared take no chances. He pushed on
until the pursuers had been satisfactorily outdistanced.

The boy who told me the tale was convinced that these Indians were
perfectly friendly in intention, and the incident appeared to be proof of
the nervous state of the party. Some time after this, while shooting the
rapids at the Igarape Falls, the canoe was upset and the greater part of
the remaining stores was swept away.

The details of this misadventure I was never able to extract in a
coherent fashion from the followers I interviewed, but they agreed that
very little food of any kind was left, and what was rescued had been
almost entirely destroyed by water.

Short of food, and without a canoe, the boys became mutinous. The three
negroes and the half-breed deserted, and sought to cut a way through the
bush backward in the direction whence they had come. This task was beyond
them, and, a few days later, weary, disheartened, and starving, they
returned to beg Robuchon’s forgiveness. The reunited party improvised
a raft, and, after undergoing the customary hardships of an unequipped
expedition in this hostile country, reached the mouth of the Kahuinari.
The whole party was weak with hunger and fever, Robuchon himself
prostrate and incapable of going farther. He determined to remain where
he was with the Indian woman and the Great Dane hound, Othello. He
ordered the negroes and the half-breed to push on up the Kahuanari to a
rubber-gatherer’s house which he believed was situated somewhere between
the Igara Parana and the Avio Parana. They were to send back relief at
the earliest possible moment. The boys left Robuchon on February 3, 1906.
He was never again seen by any one in touch with civilisation.

The boys had journeyed for but a few hours when they came across a herd
of peccary. They killed more than they could possibly use, but made no
attempt whatever to carry any meat back to the starving and abandoned
Frenchman. Instead they wasted two valuable days in gorging themselves
and smoking the flesh for their own journey.

For days they followed the course of the Kahuinari, hugging its right
bank, and in this way happened across a Colombian half-breed, from whom
they sought assistance. The Colombian took them to his house near the
Avio Parana but would not grant them even food until they paid for it
with the rifles they carried. The idea of succouring Robuchon was far
removed from his philosophy. The boys, then, having surrendered their
rifles in return for the stores they so much needed, made the narrow
crossing from the Avio Parana to the Papunya River, and followed that
stream without deviation to its junction with the river Issa. Turning
backward up the left bank of the Issa, they reached the military station
at the mouth of the Igara Parana and there told their tale.

When at last a Relief Expedition was made up, it consisted of three
negroes--John Brown and his comrades--and seventeen half-breeds. The
party left on its search for Robuchon thirty-seven days after he had been
abandoned at the mouth of the Kahuinari. It took ten days to reach the
junction of the Avio Parana and the Kahuinari, and twenty-one days more
to arrive at the camp on the Japura. It had taken ten weeks to bring
help. The relief party found some tools, some clothes, a few tins of
coffee, a little salt, and a camera. There was no trace of Robuchon, of
the Indian woman, or of the dog. On a tree was nailed a paper, but the
written message had been washed by the rain and bleached by the sun till
it was illegible. Robuchon’s last message can never be known.

The relief party divided into two companies for the journey back--one
section of twelve, the other of eight men. The larger party arrived in
the rubber district six weeks later. The smaller party, with the three
blacks, was lost in the bush. Five months and a half afterwards five
survivors attained safety. The story of their misery is a chapter in the
history of Amazonian travel that may never be written.

Two and a half years afterwards I was returning from a disappointing trip
to the Karahone country. There were persistent rumours that Robuchon was
held a prisoner by the Indians north of the Japura. I determined to see
if any evidence could be found to settle his fate. I had in my party one
of the negroes who had accompanied the French explorer. We journeyed
overland southward through the Muenane-Resigero country till we reached
the Kahuinari, thence by canoe to the Japura River. The Japura at this
point is about a rifle-shot in width--2500 to 3000 yards across. Some
three miles below this point on the right bank, a little way back from
the river, was a small clearing. In it were three poles marking the site
of a deserted shelter. John Brown, my servant and formerly Robuchon’s,
said it was the last camp of Eugene Robuchon.

We made camp in the clearing. A little way inland I found an abandoned
Indian house, but all indications pointed to its having been deserted
many years before. Half buried in the clearing I discovered eight broken
photograph plates in a packet, and the eye-piece of a sextant. Other
evidence of civilised occupation there was none. At some little distance
my Indians detected traces of a path, and though to me it seemed only an
old animal track, they maintained it was a man-made road. Cutting along
the line of this path, at the end of a hard day’s work we emerged upon
a second clearing and the ruins of a shelter. After careful searching
we unearthed a rusty and much-hacked machete or trade knife. There our
discoveries ended. The path went no farther.

We encountered no Indians in our search. On further investigation it
appeared that there are none in the vicinity, and the nearest to the
deserted camp on the south of the river are the Boro living on the Pama
River, forty or fifty miles away.

Believing that the most probable route of escape was down the Japura, I
journeyed slowly eastward almost to the mouth of the Apaporis. We then
turned and came back, searching the right bank. Throughout this time we
found no Indians and no signs of Indians. On the bank, about a mile and
a half below Robuchon’s last camp, we found the remains of a broken and
battered raft. It had evidently been carried down in full river, and left
stranded on the fall of the waters. Brown recognised the wreck as that
of the raft which the Frenchman’s party had built after the loss of the
canoe. But it afforded no clue.

Much as I should have liked at this time to pursue my investigations
among the Indians of the left, or north, bank of the river, I had
perforce to give up further progress for the time being on account of
the mutinous hostility of my boys. Nothing would persuade them that they
would not be eaten up if they crossed the great river at this point.

Foiled, therefore, in my attempts to learn anything on the scene of
Robuchon’s disappearance, I determined to prosecute inquiries among the
Boro scattered about the peninsula bounded by the Pama, the Kahuinari,
and the Japura. But here also no amount of examination could elicit any
information as to the explorer, the woman, or the dog. I was particularly
impressed by the fact that the existence of the Great Dane--an object
of awe to the Indians--had left no legend among the natives. Robuchon
himself wrote of his hound: “My dog, as always, entered the house first.
The great size of Othello, his flashing teeth, and close inspection of
strangers, his blood-shot eyes and bristling hair invariably inspired
fear and respect among the Indians.” Had such an animal fallen into the
hands of the Boro, I feel certain its fame would have outlived that of
any chance European who might have become their prisoner, however much
they desired to conceal their participation in his murder. My own Boro
boys could find no record among their compatriots of the presence of
Othello or his master.

After this we proceeded in a northerly direction, and, crossing the
Japura, visited the Boro tribe located on the north bank of the river,
between the Wama and the Ira tributaries. The chief of this tribe had
married a Menimehe woman who, curiously enough, remained on terms of
friendship with her parent tribe. The chief informed me that in the
Long, Long Before--from reference to the size of his son at the time,
I calculated about three years previously--the Menimehe had captured a
white man with face hairy as a monkey’s. As Robuchon was wearing a beard
at the time of his disappearance this seemed to present a clue, but as
the Menimehe refused to confirm the statement, and there was no mention
of the woman or of the dog, it added but little to the evidence of his
fate.

[Illustration: Spot where Eugene Robuchon was last seen]

The testimony was further weakened by the knowledge that about that
time either the Menimehe or the Yahuna destroyed a Colombian settlement
near the mouth of the Apaporis River, and made prisoners of white men.
Whatever the truth of the bearded white man, there was certainly no
memory remaining of the Indian woman nor of Othello, the Great Dane.

On my return to the Rubber Belt I learned that Robuchon had been lost on
a previous expedition for a considerable period, and had lived during
that time with Indians. Although this had occurred in the regions south
of the Amazon on the Peru-Brazil-Bolivian frontier, somewhere in the
neighbourhood of the Acre River, the general haziness of natives with
respect to place and time may have accounted for the rumours of captivity
among the semi-civilised Indians of the Rubber Belt, which set me on a
fruitless search among the Indians of the Kahuinari-Japura.

To sum up the evidence with respect to the fate of Robuchon, it seems
to me that he did not die of starvation at the mouth of the Kahuinari,
because a certain amount of food-stuff was found by the first Relief
Expedition at the site of the camp, but no signs of human remains. The
illegible message nailed to the tree suggests that he vacated the spot
and endeavoured to leave information as to his route for those who might
come to his relief.

Robuchon had five courses open to him once he decided on abandoning the
camp:

1. He could retrace his steps up the Japura. With respect to this means
of escape, I consider it extremely improbable that he would attempt to
return against stream over the route which he had already traversed with
such difficulty when aided by the current and the full strength of his
party.

2. He could proceed across the Japura to the country of the Menimehe. He
was unlikely, however, to cross that river, owing to the bad name enjoyed
by the Menimehe. He could not count upon a relief expedition following
him there.

3. He could journey up the Kahuinari. He could hardly negotiate the
difficulties of the upstream journey though with the inadequate
assistance of a single woman. He was aware of the existence of unfriendly
tribes on the banks. My inquiries among the Pama Boro yielded no trace of
his ever having been seen upon the river. If he had made his way along
the right bank of that river, probably some evidence of him would have
been found by the relief party.

4. He could have voyaged down the Japura in a canoe or upon a raft. It
would have been very hazardous to have attempted this alone--practically
hopeless. In any event, if he did make the attempt, he failed to reach
the nearest rubber settlement.

5. There remains one means of escape--by an overland march. It would
appear that he adopted this method, but only without any idea of
permanent relief, in desperate search of temporary assistance. The line
of the Kahuinari was the obvious route for a rescue party. Robuchon,
however, was starving, and the native track promised a path to a native
house and food.

I presume he was located by a band of visiting Indians, captured, and
either murdered or carried away in captivity to their haunts on the north
bank of the Japura. I suggest the probability of the Indians coming
from the north bank up the Japura, because, so far as I could learn,
it was not the custom of the Pama Boro to journey to the mouth of the
Kahuinari, since they could obtain all they needed from the river at
points more easily and more speedily accessible to them. There were no
Indians resident in the vicinity, but Indians from across the Japura made
excursions at low river in search of game or of turtles and their eggs.[4]

It is upon one of those chance bands that reluctantly I am forced to lay
the responsibility for the death of Eugene Robuchon in March or April
1906.

This was little enough to add to the ascertained fact of Robuchon’s end,
but such as it was it brushed aside some of the mystery, and proved of
interest to the members of the French Geographical Society and to the
relatives of the lost explorer.[5]

After concluding my investigations among the Boro in the vicinity of the
Pama River, I again crossed the Japura River near the Boro settlement
on the north of that river, and proceeded eastward into the country of
the Menimehe. This country appears more sparsely populated than the
Kahuinari districts, and the manners and customs of these people vary
considerably from the tribes inhabiting the country to the south.

From the most easterly point I decided to proceed in a north-westerly
direction with a view to striking the upper waters of the Uaupes River
eventually. It was in this neighbourhood that I developed beriberi; and,
owing to the swelling of my legs, which were covered with wounds and
sores, I was only able to walk with difficulty, although I had no pain.
My brain was numbed as well as my legs. I slept at every opportunity,
did not want to eat, and seemed to be under the effect of some delusive
narcotic. Yet I never failed to take all necessary precautions--it was
mechanical, a mere habit. Stores were running short, owing to their bad
condition, and my boys and carriers were becoming mutinous. Game was
scarce, and the few native houses we encountered were for the most part
deserted; what Indians we came across were surly and sullen, and appeared
latently hostile.

I decided to return, overcome by the argument of Brown that if I did not
do so the boys would go, so we turned back to the east and south of the
original line, and proceeded overland by way of the Kuhuinari River to
the Igara Parana, and thence to the Kara Parana by river. Arriving at
the latter river at the end of February, and finding that the steamer
for Iquitos would not start for some time, I made a short trip among the
tribes of this river.

By reference to the sketch-map it will be seen that from the time I left
Encanto on my arrival from Iquitos to my arrival at the same place, bound
for Iquitos, was approximately seven months.

The difficulties in the way of obtaining information are such that
it is only those who sink for the nonce all inherited and acquired
ideas of superiority, manners, and customs who can be successful. As a
consequence, the stranger will have to journey with savages, eat with
savages, sleep with savages, from the moment he seeks to penetrate their
land. Watchfulness night and day must be the price of any desire to
understand the native in his home. The field-worker must subordinate
every previous and personal conception. Native justice must be his
justice. Almost necessarily native ethics must be his ethics. He is
no missionary seeking to convert those he meets to ideas of his own;
rather is he a learner, an inquirer, eager to understand the thoughts
that inspire them, to analyse the beliefs they themselves have gathered.
Then there is no common medium of language. Sometimes a native speaking
a tongue with which the traveller has a passing acquaintance can make
himself understood in another tribal language whereof the white man is
blankly ignorant, and then some approximation of the truth sought to be
conveyed is arrived at tortuously. For example, I had a Witoto Indian who
understood a little Andoke, and by way of Brown the Barbadian carried to
me much information of these little-known Indians. John Brown was here
invaluable as he knew Witoto well and Boro to some purpose. But much
of the appended vocabularies had to be gathered by the crude method of
pointing to an object. Having noted the word phonetically, one had to get
it confirmed by trial.

Travelling in the bush is a dreary monotony of discomfort and
ever-present danger. There are weary stretches of inundated country,
sweating swamp. You pass with an unexpected plunge from ankle-deep mire
to unbottomed main stream. The eternal sludge, sludge of travel without
a stone or honest yard of solid ground makes one long for the lesser
strain of more definite dangers or of more obtrusive horrors. The horror
of Amazonian travel is the horror of the unseen. It is not the presence
of unfriendly natives that wears one down, it is the absence of all sign
of human life. One happens upon an Indian house or settlement, but it is
deserted, empty, in ruins. The natives have vanished, and it is only the
silent message of a poisoned arrow or a leaf-roofed pitfall that tells of
their existence somewhere in the tangled undergrowth of the neighbourhood.

On the trail one speedily learns the significance of the phrase “Indian
file.” Here are none of the advance guards, flank guards, and rear guards
that are needed to penetrate unfriendly country in other lands. The first
man hacks a way for those who follow, and the bush is left as a wall on
either side that is as inscrutable to the possible enemy on the flank
as to the advancing party. On account of such conditions I should say,
from my experience of bush travel in these regions, that the whole party
should rarely if ever exceed twenty-five in number. On this principle it
will be seen that the smaller the quantity of baggage carried the greater
will be the number of rifles available for the security of the expedition.

The difficulty of an efficient food supply is very great. Game is
always hard to shoot on account of the density of the bush, and in many
parts appears to be non-existent. Preserved goods in sealed cases, of
convenient size for porterage, should be taken from Europe. My failure
to carry out my original intentions was due more than anything else to
the fact that my supplies were purchased in the country, and 50 per
cent proved unfit for consumption. The country where supplies must be
husbanded has little enough of food that is appetising to offer. Fish,
if plentiful, are hard to catch for the uninitiated. One hungers for the
occasional tapir or peccary, the joys of monkey-meat, and an incautious,
though unpalatable, parrot, and in the days of real distress may be
glad to fall back on frogs, snakes, and palm-heart. The real fear of
starvation, after perhaps the ghastly dread of being lost, is the great
cause of anxiety to the traveller in the Amazons.

As for shelter,--a tent is an encumbrance,--an open screen of rough palm
thatch can be erected in a very short time, and is all that is necessary,
although not all that is to be desired. The shelter is a poor one that
does not prevent the dews and the inevitable rain from chilling one to
the bone.

Clothes for the Amazons are not designed with a view to fashion or
appearance. In the past, continental explorers have introduced some
interesting fashions in ducks and khaki, but travelling through a
country where one’s life is passed in a bath of perspiration, their
distinction of appearance yields to the simple comfort of the native’s
nudity. In search of a compromise, I have found that a thin flannel suit
of pyjamas with the trouser-legs tucked into the socks, and a pair of
carpet slippers laced over the instep, best meet the requirements of the
region. Ordinary boots are a positive danger on account of the narrow and
sometimes slippery tree-trunks over which one clambers uneasily. A small
towel round the neck to wipe away the perspiration is a great comfort.
For head-gear a cloth cap or “smasher” hat suffices.

A long knife or cutlass must be carried, and, personally, I invariably
carried a revolver, while the gun-bearer should always be at hand with
a rifle or scatter-gun. A blanket, sleeping-bag, and waterproof sheet
of course must be taken, with the other comforts, medical and hygienic,
common to all expeditions.

The drawings that appear in this volume are either taken from photographs
or from actual trophies and articles in my possession. The photographs
are a record of industry and patience. Films I found useless in this
climate, and plates alone materialised. It must be remembered, also, that
every time plates have to be changed it is necessary to build a small
house, and double thatch and treble thatch to prevent the entrance of any
light. Even then the experienced do their work at night.

The difficulty of posing and overcoming the objection of the native
subject will be at once realised. Too many groups have been draped by
explorers in the unaccustomed decencies of camp equipment, though it has
become an essential of the country--climatic and psychological--that
the women walk abroad naked and the men unembarrassed by more than a
loin-cloth.

The maps cannot pretend to be more than the roughest approximate
sketch-maps. When absence of a horizon and the density of the bush are
realised, it will be obvious that they can be nothing more. It is hoped
that they will suffice to give some idea of the general trend of the
country and the location of the various language-groups.

[Illustration: PLATE II.

A HOUSE IN THE ‘RUBBER BELT,’ ISSA VALLEY]

CHAPTER II

Although the Amazons have been known to Europe for fully four hundred
years, exploration has been confined almost entirely to the main
river and its great tributaries. Little addition has been made to
the information possessed by Sir Walter Raleigh in the three hundred
years that have elapsed since his death. The rivers certainly are
known and charted, yet the land beyond their banks is almost as much
a land of mystery in the twentieth century as it was in the days of
Queen Elizabeth. It is possible to spend a lifetime in navigating the
Amazon,[6] and to know nothing more of its 2,722,000 square miles of
basin than can be peered at through the curtain of vegetation which
drapes the main streams. Behind that veil lies the fascination of
Amazonian travel.

We are not here concerned with the scanty records history offers of
these vast regions, nor, for our immediate purposes, is it needful to
inquire into the conditions and features of the Amazon watershed as a
whole, except in so far as they differ from or resemble those of my field
of exploration, the tracts between the middle Issa and Japura Rivers,
and in their vicinity. Roughly speaking, this lies in that debatable
land where the frontiers of Brazil meet those of Peru, Colombia,
and--perhaps--Ecuador, a country claimed in part by the three latter,
but administered by none. Here the dead level of the lower Amazonian
plains imperceptibly acquires a more decided tilt, the trend of the
land from the great Andean water-parting on the west and north-west
being south-east to the mighty river on the south, consequently these
north-western affluents of the Amazon flow in more or less parallel lines
from the north-west to the south-east. It is the rivers that dominate
this country, the mountains, those primal determinants, are only distant
influences, snow-topped mysteries but dimly imagined on the far horizon
from some upstanding outcrop, a savannah where momentarily a perspective
may be gained over and beyond the illimitable forest.[7]

On the south of the tracks here dealt with the Amazon slowly sweeps its
muddy yellow waters, 500,000 cubic feet per second, towards the ocean.
On the north the Uaupes River flows to join the Rio Negro. Between the
Uaupes and the Amazon the Rio Caqueta, or Japura River, runs south-east,
due east, and south to the main stream, and almost parallel with it the
Putumayo, or Issa, gathers the waters of the Kara Parana and the Igara
Parana, both on its northern, that is to say its left bank, and joins the
Amazon where the main river turns sharply south 471 miles below Iquitos.
West again, the Napo drains down to join the great water-way 2300 miles
from the sea. Of the Napo much has been written since Orellano sailed
down it from Peru, homeward bound to Spain in 1521, and it may be left
outside the bounds of our inquiry. With the Issa and Japura we must deal
in some detail, but of the Uaupes and Rio Negro a few words will suffice.

Rapids and cataracts bar the navigation of the Uaupes, the chief
tributary if not, as some would have it, the main stream of the Negro,
until it is, according to Wallace, “perhaps unsurpassed for the
difficulties and dangers of its navigation.”[8]

[Illustration: PLATE III.

TYPICAL RIVER VIEW BELOW THE MOUTH OF THE NEGRO RIVER

BANK OF MAIN AMAZON STREAM IN THE VICINITY OF THE MOUTH OF THE JAPURA
RIVER]

Wallace estimated the country to be not more than 1000 feet above
sea-level. I should judge it to be considerably less, by the trend of
the country to the south of it. But even here I may be mistaken, as my
aneroid was useless, for undiscovered reasons, and my opinion is based
simply on the force of the currents of the rivers, the number and depth
of the rapids, and the distances to the main river and thence to the sea.
The height above sea-level cannot be great, for the tides are felt at
Obydos, more than half-way from the ocean to the mouth of the Rio Negro,
and there is no abrupt rise from the Obydos levels; indeed the slope of
the land is so slight that in the middle reaches of the main river during
wet seasons the floods spread for twenty miles, and there is no visible
current.

The Uaupes, though lighter than the majority of southern tributaries
of the Negro, is what is known as a black water river, while most of
the rivers flowing in on the northern bank are white water rivers. This
peculiarity, which may be as marked as the difference between ink and
milk, is due apparently to the variety of soil in the country drained
by the rivers. The chief tributaries of the Uaupes, the Itiya and the
Uniya, are both white water streams. Spruce notes that fish are scarcer
in black than in white water streams,[9] and attributes it to the absence
of vegetation. This may be true in part of the Negro, but it is not true,
I think, of other rivers. Certainly these have some sort of fish, for I
have seen them rise. One species is known to feed on a variety of laurel
berry very plentiful on some of the river-banks.

The Rio Negro itself, the waters of which are dead black, is navigable
for more than a third of its course to vessels of a 4 feet draught even
in the dry season, and communication is possible from its upper waters
with the great northern artery of the Orinoco, through the Casiquiari,
the most important of the natural canals that abound throughout the
Amazon regions.

The Issa, or Putumayo--the Peruvian name is perhaps better known than
the Brazilian, the true geographical one--is the first tributary of
importance to join the Amazon after it has entered Brazilian territory.
Of its 1028 miles only 93, according to the _Brazilian Year-Book_,
are not navigable by steamers. This exceeds the truth, for there is
practically no communication with Colombia or Ecuador by this route, as
the statement would imply. In the upper reaches of the Issa rock and
shingle are to be found, while 300 miles down stream hardly a stone is to
be seen. The water is very muddy, and the current variable as the depth.
Now it will be a swirling storm-fed torrent, the turbid water burdened
with a wild flotsam of forest trees and matted vegetation, cutting into
the soft layers of vegetable mould that form its banks, and rise above it
as much as 25 feet in places; anon it is a sluggish stream that spreads
oilily nowhither, with scarce a ripple over the deep alluvial deposits
of its bed. This river is at its lowest in February and March. At its
juncture with the Amazon looking upstream from the main water-way, the
Issa is the more imposing of the two, for its course lies wide and fully
exposed, while the Amazon bends sharply, and gives the impression that
it and not its affluent is the tributary stream. Robuchon calculated
that its breadth there was 600 metres, the depth 8, and the current 2½
miles an hour. He states very truly that landslides often occur on the
banks of these rivers, and that such destruction of the bank, together
with the quick rise and fall of the streams, may so alter the appearance
of any stretch as to render it quite unrecognisable, even within a few
hours. Special mention is made by him of the Papunya River, that enters
on the left bank of the Issa. Forty miles from the Papunya is the Parana
Miri,[10] a river with very black water and a large group of islands at
its mouth. Many of the islands in these rivers are not stationary, they
are floating masses of soil and vegetation, torn away from the banks when
the river is in spate. They may be as much as a hundred yards from bank
to bank, and birds are to be found living upon them.

[Illustration: PLATE IV.

1. RIVER VIEW ON MAIN STREAM NEAR ISSA RIVER

2. LANDSCAPE ON UPPER AMAZON MAIN STREAM]

The Igara Parana runs into the Issa where that river makes a horse-shoe
bend,[11] the junction being on the inner side of the horse-shoe. The
breadth of the stream at its mouth is 161 metres. The water is clearer
than that of the Issa, and the current slower, never more than 3 miles an
hour. Some 220 miles upstream there is an important waterfall, known as
La Chorrera, or the Big Falls. The Igara Parana becomes vary narrow and
most tortuous as it nears them, and is only 30 metres wide at its exit
from Big Falls Bay. This is a huge pool almost as wide as it is long,
with a narrow exit at one end, and a succession of cascades at the other.
These falls are impassable in boats, and traffic with the upper river can
only be carried on by land portage. Much debris of rocks and river-borne
tree-trunks obstructs the narrow passage above the falls, which are given
by Robuchon as having a total length of 120 metres and a width of 18
metres. The waters descend over a series of wide rocky steps, worn flat
and smooth by the ceaseless friction. Masses of stone line the right
bank, and rise perpendicularly from the water. This is the only part of
the country where I have seen rocks and stones in any quantity.

The upper reaches of the river are distinctly more picturesque than its
lower waters. The almost level banks, with their monotonous succession of
forest trees, grow gradually steeper, till the sandstone cliffs rise like
a fortification above the fringe of vegetation that encroaches on the
high-water mark. Presently the river winds in and out between shelving
hills, tree-clad to the very margin of the water. Between the Igara
Parana and the Kara Parana the country is a perfect switchback of hills
and ridges, with a stream in every gully. The steepness of these valleys,
with a pitch perhaps of 25° or 30°, does not permit the surface water to
lodge and form swamp or morass, in contrast to the waterlogged plains of
the lower rivers. Immediately on the left bank of the Igara Parana, and
in the vicinity of the Big Falls, the country continues to be hilly,
but to the north-east it is more open, and the bush is less obstructive,
though its density varies immensely. Similar diversified scenery is to be
found on the upper waters of the Japura.

The Kahuanari, a considerable tributary on the south bank of the
Japura, drains the divide that intervenes between that river and the
Igara Parana. It is subject to sudden floods, which wash down large
quantities of forest debris. I have seen it rise twenty feet in a day,
and afterwards subside as quickly.

The floods are not to be wondered at when the tremendous rainfall of
these regions is considered. The question is never if it will rain, but
when and for how long it will be fine. Rain is certain in a land which
has but a few days clear of it in every twelve months. Five days, a
fortnight, that, all told, is the extent of dry weather to be looked
for in this country. The dry season is but a name. It is dry only in
comparison with the wetter months from March to August. The upper valley
of the Amazon has a three-day winter at our midsummer--June 24, 25,
26--so it is said, and certainly I noted a very decided drop in the
temperature of these days in 1908. Snow is unknown, and hail not common.
Despite the daily rain the turquoise blue of the sky is seldom long
hidden, though from March to June leaden skies portend rain, and seldom
fail to make good their portent. During the dry season the rain if it be
frequent is never continuous. Almost every day, between three and four
in the afternoon and two and five in the morning, heavy clouds will roll
up, a preliminary breeze rustle through the leaves, shake the trees, and
increase till suddenly there comes a deluge of big drops. Such storms
last but half an hour, yet the rain will soak through everything, and
the wet bushes drench the passer-by for hours afterwards. Nothing is
ever really dry, things are in a constant state of saturation, and it is
possible at all times to wring moisture out of any of one’s belongings.
So great and incessant is the evaporation that at night the dew is as
heavy as rain, while the marshy low-lying lands and the rivers are
shrouded by mist both morning and evening. With such humid air lichens
and Hepaticæ flourish on all the tree-trunks, though I have never seen
them, as described by Spruce, covering the very leaves of the trees.[12]

Electric disturbances are numerous, and a sharp and sudden thunder-shower
often occurs about three in the afternoon, or in the night, though rain
at night without thunder is common. These storms come up in the dry
season especially, and the worst storms may be expected in February,
at the breaking of the dry weather. Sometimes the electric storm will
consist of an uninterrupted display of lightning with little or no
thunder, and the sizzle of light makes the landscape appear as in a
cinematograph picture. This continued on one occasion all through the
night, and from the amount of interest the Indians evinced I judged it to
be an unusual occurrence.

It is always possible to tell when rain will come because of the
preliminary breeze, hardly felt below the tree-tops, followed by a dead
calm that precedes the downpour. The prevailing wind for nine months of
the year will be from the east or south-east, from June to August it
will be north and north-west. In January the prevailing wind is from the
Atlantic, north-east, veering to south-west; in July from the Pacific,
south-west, round to north-east. Fitful and uncertain local whirlwinds
will, without warning, swoop down on the clearings round the houses, play
havoc in forest and plantation, uproot trees, and destroy habitations.

In spite of the continual rain, of the universal humidity; the climate
is not unhealthy. The heat, though a damp heat, is never excessive, the
enormously great evaporation brings in a succession of fresh breezes
to moderate the temperature;[13] and so, despite apparently trying
conditions, the climate is not injurious. The low watersheds between
the large rivers appear to be quite healthy, and if there be fever
its prevalence varies locally to an extraordinary degree. It has been
observed that where the soil is first turned up fever not infrequently
follows, a fact noted in other parts of the world, and by no means a
condition peculiar to the Amazons.

The soil of the vast Amazonian basin is mainly the alluvial deposit of
decomposed vegetable life for centuries past. This sea of Pampean mud
stretches from the ocean marshes up to the very heels of the mountains
that stand outpost to hold the southern continent from the Pacific. Black
and rich it lies in layer after layer twenty, thirty, forty feet beneath
the great pall of vegetation that flourishes above during its little day,
to die and drop for successive generations of arboreal life to thrive
upon in their turn. And in all this vastness is never a stone. Vegetable
mould and water-borne mud, but stone does not exist for thousands upon
thousands of miles. Only in the upper waters of the Amazonian system are
rock formations reached; in the particular district under consideration
nothing is to be found harder than a soft, friable sandstone. On parts
of the Issa, as on the Napo, the deep banks show strata of shingle,
with perhaps red or white clay, that alternate with the dark humus and
decaying wood.

It is the ceaseless activity of all vegetable life that renders these
regions fit for human habitation at all. There is no period, as with
us, of bare branches overhead and decaying matter below. Decomposition
is there, but for every dead leaf a virent successor is ready to absorb
the gases engendered by decay. The soil may be water-logged, but
evaporation, combined with the constant rain, the frequent inundations,
and the endless operations of an immeasurable insect world, militate
against stagnation. Dank it may be, but there is no iridescent scum upon
the water, no fœtid smells to warn of lurking poisons. These natural
danger-signals are unneeded, for the poisons are self-destructive.
Processes of corruption are coexistent with those of purification. So
extraordinary is this that I never hesitated to drink any water, nor is
any evil resultant from water-drinking within my knowledge.

In this struggle it is the weak who go under, the feeble who support the
strong. This holds good for vegetable and animal kingdom alike, and even
with man there is no place for the helpless. Those who fail by the way,
who cannot fulfil their functions in the toiling world, and have ceased
to be of practical utility, must make way for the more capable. Altruism
is not bred of the forest, it is a virtue born in cities. Here it would
be suicide. The growing leaf must push off the fading leaf, or the latter
will stunt and imperil its growth. In fact it does so, and growth is thus
continual. There are no seasons to correspond with our spring nor with
our fall of the leaf. From the lower Amazon’s maze of water-ways up to
the foothills of the western mountains reigns perpetual summer; the same
leafy veil hides the mysteries of the great expanse, eternally dying,
eternally renewed.

As one passes onwards, however, nearer where the great cloud-banks
gather over the mountain giants of the west, a perceptible change is to
be noted, the scenery of the upper Amazon differs in certain essential
particulars. It is not only that the great river thoroughfare, first
spread on either side beyond the farthest horizon,[14] becomes a thin
black line that grows nearer and deeper. Other features besides the
river-surface contract. The majestic forest trees give way to timber not
so towering. Plant life is not less prolific, but it is on a smaller
scale. The bush has the air of being younger. It suggests that it has
been dwarfed by perpetual inundations. Nor is the stunted growth limited
to the vegetable world; the animals themselves, as if Nature insisted
that all be in keeping, are on a lesser scale than their congeners of the
eastern plains. No alligators of immense size lurk in the upper waters,
even the fish and the turtles are smaller, as though their inches were
limited in proportion to the streams.

It is not easy to convey any true notion of the scenery of the Montaña,
the vast forest regions spreading eastwards, down from the lower Andean
slopes. Here and there the dense forest gives place to an open savannah,
an outcrop of rock with but a shallow stratum of soil. These have none of
the deep vegetable mould of the lower-lying forests, and the poorer and
thinner soil harbours flora of many totally distinct varieties. Often the
great fan leaves of the Aeta are matted into a dense roof over the black
swamp of the valleys. Sometimes these water-loving palms are seen by the
river-side, interlopers in the fringe of fern and thickets of feathery
bamboo; or, again, they will grow in a regular belt with little or no
other vegetation.

Life is more evident on the rivers than in the forest. Fish are there
in plenty--eighteen hundred species are known in the Amazonian waters.
Birds, often conspicuous by their apparent absence in the bush, flock on
the sand-banks and marshes of the bank. Herons and ducks abound. Egrets
haunt the sandy spits that rise from the water, and in the marshy swamps
numbers of these beautiful creatures may commonly be seen hunting for
the tiny fish, animals, and insects on which they feed. Another enemy of
the small denizens of the stream and marsh is the kingfisher. More than
one variety abound on all the Amazon water-ways, but none of them can
compare with the English bird in brilliancy of colour. Probably this is
an instance of protective colouring, one of Nature’s methods of defence,
for on these dark waters the gorgeous blue of our _Alcedo ispida_ would
be even more conspicuous than it is on our clearer streams.

One pictures this tropical garden, this paradise of the naturalist, as
a blaze of gorgeous colour, a profusion of exquisite forms. But, in
proportion to one’s imaginative anticipation, I have never seen such a
monotonous, flowerless wilderness as this bush appears. Still there are
flowers, and flowers of showy colouring, the pinks and yellows of the
bignonias, the white and crimson of the chocolate-tree, the crimson of
the hibiscus, the scarlet blaze of the passion-flower, the snowy beauty
of the inga; all these and a thousand more are there, with the rarest
blue and all the myriad shades of mauve and orange, yellow, pink, brown,
violet of uncounted orchids. But orchids, though common, grow at the very
top of the trees, and unless they are searched for they are not seen,
except such varieties as are found on the savannahs.

The whole is on a scale so gigantic, the immense forest, the great
rivers, that details are lost in the vast expanse, and the total effect
is one of absolute sameness. Yet the individual variety is enormous.
Though uniform in the mass, twenty-two thousand species of plants have
been differentiated; thousands more remain undescribed. Only a botanist
could attempt to deal with these even superficially. The uninitiated,
like myself, can but look and wonder.

Many of the units of this mighty aggregate are of a surpassing
loveliness; flowers unequalled for beauty, birds and insects that are
living jewels, outrivalling inanimate gems. Such palms and ferns as would
be rare treasures in a Kew Gardens hothouse riot unheeded in tangled
profusion above the dark marshy soil, over a screen of parasites and
epiphytes. Forest giants, those immense monarchs of the woods Californian
advertisements depict for the edification of the populace, are not there;
certainly they are never to be found in the Montaña. Nor, perhaps, in
consequence of the lower growth, is there that intense gloom mentioned
by writers on more easterly districts. The idea that you look up but can
never see the sky is fiction to me. The foliage is certainly too dense
for the sunlight to penetrate down to the damp soil and matted underbush,
but patches of the sky are always more or less visible through the
interlocked branches overhead. Light and air are to be had freely only
on the tree-tops, and it is there that birds, insects, and flowers mass
their glories out of human ken. Even the animals are climbers, and most
of them spend more than half of their existence on the trees.

There are no long dark avenues beneath this leafy canopy that hides all
the life and colour of the forest world from the traveller, painfully
cutting his path through the intricate confusion of roots and creepers
below. These parasitic creepers are of many kinds, rooting down to the
dark soil, intertwining with themselves, pushing boldly to the tree-tops,
strong as withes, in wild festoons, knotted, tangled, of every thickness
from a giant cable to a narrow thread. I have seen parasite on parasite.
They loop from tree to tree, bind the underwood into impenetrable
thickets, and trail over the track-way, ready to strangle or trip the
heedless passer-by. But track-way is a misnomer. The only thoroughfares,
where water is as abundant as dry land, are the water-ways. The bed of a
stream is the only track. No other line of communication is intelligible
to the Indian. Even in the vicinity of civilised centres, hundreds of
miles away from these wild fastnesses of Nature, the exuberant vegetation
rapidly encroaches upon a roadway. Paths in the forest there are none. A
forest track consists in following the line of least resistance. If this
should be stopped by any obstacle, a fallen tree, a sudden inundation,
it would never be removed or surmounted. There is no choice but to climb
over or go round. The ordinary Indian wayfarer would go round; and so the
road deviates increasingly; it becomes inconceivably twisted, until the
actual ground covered is enormous compared with the distance from point
to point.

[Illustration: PLATE V.

THE BULGE-STEMMED PALM, _IRIARTEA VENTICOSA_, SHOWING PORTION OF LEAF AND
FRUIT]

Where a stream has to be crossed there is rarely any bridge more stable
than a small tree cut down and thrown across just when and where it
may be wanted. Frequently such impromptu bridges are under water. They
are invariably of the slightest; a branch no thicker than a man’s hand
suffices to span a deep chasm, and over this an Indian will pass more
unconcernedly than an Englishman over London Bridge. The worst penance of
all in forest journeyings is to cross a river or a gully full of great
fallen trees, on such flimsy foothold. The drop at times may be 40 to
50 feet, and there will be but the one tree across without any attempt
at a hand-rail to steady the traveller. Nor can you grasp an Indian’s
shoulder for aid in the perilous transit, for to do so is to lose once
for all every trace of prestige and authority. The man who cannot get
over a river unaided, the man who is not man enough to walk and must be
carried in a hammock, is but a poor creature in the eyes of the South
American Indian. Still it is more than a test of nerve. In the middle of
such a bridge you feel yourself swaying, and it is only with a fearful
concentration of will-power and a bitten lip that you arrive safely on
the other side, having leapt the last three feet. In the first month of
forest journeying I bit my lip through time and again. It is not the
torrent below that frightens, it is the rotten trees in the gully. A fall
may possibly be a broken neck, more probably it would be a broken leg. Of
the two in country of this description a broken neck is preferable.

Where a stream has to be crossed that is too deep to be forded and cannot
be bridged over in this elementary fashion, there is little difficulty in
the construction of a raft or a temporary canoe. The bulging-stemmed palm
furnishes an almost ready-made one. This palm, _Iriartea ventricosa_, is
readily known by the peculiar swelling on the upper part of the trunk. It
will attain the height of 100 feet, and the swollen portion is big enough
to form the body of an improvised canoe.

Forest bridges are not the only terrors to confront the traveller;
lurking dangers are many, and imagination is but too quick to multiply
the risks. Peril from wild beasts does not loom largely in the picture,
though the jaguar is a savage brute, and the experienced traveller
will never sleep without a weapon at hand in case one of these daring
creatures should venture to attack. But of animals more anon. There is
one danger by no means imaginary, the danger of falling trees. A sudden
crack, startlingly noisy in the all-pervading stillness, will give
warning of a fall, but there is nothing to guide to safety. It may be
the nearest tree that is coming down, or one at some distance; yet the
deceptive noise will not determine which may be the doomed one, beyond
the fact that a palm gives the sharpest crack. Indians when they hear
such a sound are invariably frightened, and often will run backwards and
forwards in terrified uncertainty, to try and discover whence came the
danger signal.

Then there are plants that injure more directly. One palm, an
_Astrocaryum_, has spines six inches in length up its stem. These spines,
black in colour, hard, unbreakable, fall in the bush and spike the foot
of the unfortunate who may tread on them. On the palm-stem itself they
will wound the unwary hand incautiously or involuntarily thrust in the
thicket. Many of the climbing plants have thorns or hook-like prickles,
and perhaps the worst are the many kinds of twining river-side palms,
whose barbed leaves will tear both flesh and clothing.[15] But trying
as these vegetable torments may be, they are outclassed in the eyes of
the tyro by the more active evil of perils from snakes and insects.
Creeping through dense bush is an agony at first. Poisonous reptiles may
lie concealed all about one, virulent insects surround in their myriads.
If imagination has painted a floral paradise it has also run riot over
a profusion of deadly snakes, an uninterrupted purgatory from creeping
things innumerable, and winged pests before which the plague of flies
in ancient Egypt sinks to insignificance. And there is some excuse for
imagination if it be fed on travellers’ tales. As a matter of fact,
if these were true life would in all verity be insupportable. But the
fear of snakes passes in two weeks, never to return, and mercifully the
most pestilent creatures exist only in limited spheres, and seldom or
never in the same. Places that are troubled with the pium will be found
free of mosquitoes at night; in a belt of country where the mosquito
abounds the pium will be absent, and in any case the two are never active
together. The pium, a most vile little fly, comes out at sunrise. It is
an intolerable pest, will attack any exposed part of the body, and draws
blood every time. The traveller is forced, when journeying through a
pium-infested country, to don guarded boots, gauntlets, and a veil. It
is impossible to eat, drink, or smoke, till sunset puts a period to the
troubling. Fortunately, piums are only found within a few hundred yards
of the rivers. This is also the case as a rule with mosquitoes. There
is a bad belt of pium country on the Issa, at the Brazilian frontier. It
takes two days to get through on a steamer, and during the forty-eight
hours life is a long-drawn torture. But once through you are rid of them.
Robuchon noted that the _Culex_ mosquito disappears on entering this
river: but there are others; one, a kind of _Tabano_ in miniature, is
called the _Maringunios_. I found piums on the Kahuanari at low river,
but a light breeze would suffice to sweep them away, and both mosquitoes
and piums are practically non-existent in the middle Issa-Japura valley,
though mosquitoes are found in certain parts of tracts of flatter
country, but are not bad enough to make a net a necessary adjunct for
comfort. There is also a tiny sand-fly that occasionally appears at
sunset, when the river is low, and though minute in size, causes a very
painful wound. It is known in Brazil as the _Maruim_.

A most annoying little insect that is very common in the bush is a kind
of harvest bug. This almost invisible “red tick” must not be confused
with another parasite that is only obtained from contact with Indians.
The forest tick lives on the leaves of plants and bushes, and when shaken
off creeps everywhere, and will burrow under the skin, which gives rise
to maddening irritation.

Wasps and wild bees--the bee of these regions is a waspish creature--are
frequently a nuisance. Often in a forest path I have come upon a huge
black overhanging nest pendant from a tree. It looks like a tarred
lobster-pot full of black pitch, and it is necessary to rush past to
avoid the stings of the easily-roused inhabitants. Some of the wasps are
exceedingly handsome fellows, noticeable even among Amazonian winged
beauties, unsurpassed in any other land for gorgeous colouring. Among
other fine insects of the Montaña are the huge _Morphos_, a dazzling
blue butterfly many sizes bigger than a humming-bird; dragonflies
with iridescent wings and jewelled bodies, fireflies and glow-worms
with their living lights, so brilliant that I have often in a moment
of forgetfulness mistaken them for distant lights from some human
dwelling-place. But the butterflies, the most resplendent of all,
frequently illustrate the proverb that beauty is but skin deep.
Exquisitely graceful in flight, marvellous in subtle colourings, I
have found them to be the dirtiest possible feeders. The sight of one
now fills me with repugnance, for it calls to mind pictures of these
so apparently dainty and aerial beings fluttering about some mass of
offal, actually eating manure.[16] They will congregate in thousands
round a spot of blood, so absolutely fearless that it is not possible
to drive them away. They will actually smother the kill during the
disembowelling process after hunting. The contrast of their ethereal
loveliness and their gross habits is revolting--Psyche and putrid filth,
an inconceivably horrible combination.

Butterflies and moths exist in great numbers and varieties. The most
ordinary kind is a large bright sky-blue; other common ones are
tiger-marked and yellow, like our sulphur butterfly but larger. Most of
them are strong fliers. If the perfect insects themselves inflict no
injury, the same cannot always be said of them in the caterpillar stage,
for very many have hair that stings quite painfully.

Ants are the greatest curse. They are everywhere, of all kinds, of
varied colours, and almost invariable viciousness. They drop from the
overhanging foliage. They may come singly or in battalions--army corps
rather. The traveller pushing through the thicket will knock them off the
bushes, and they will proceed to crawl down the neck or up the sleeves.
They swarm over the bare feet. And then they sting. The worst kind is a
small stinging ant not more than the size of a pin’s head. In many places
the earth is broken up and transformed into irregular heaps, the late
habitations of some gregarious ant, such as the _Ecodema cophelotos_, or
it may be built into cones to the height of 4 or 5 feet by the termites.
It needs but short experience of the bush to endorse very heartily
Spruce’s comment that they “deserve to be considered the actual owners
of the Amazon valley.”[17] On more than one occasion stinging ants
drove me from dry land to water. In inundated country these insects
forced me to take refuge off the higher points of land, which, turned
into temporary islands, form the natural resting-place for the traveller
exhausted by the wading, the swimming, and the stumbling through the
unseen undergrowth. Unfortunately the ants, too, are driven to take the
same refuge. The traveller may find that choice lies between torture on
land or again seeking the comparative peace of the water in perhaps an
exhausted condition. Happily ants, like the pium, keep in belts, and of
these it can only be said that discreet avoidance is better than valour.

With regard to the reptiles, though these abound, they seek rather to
avoid than to court notice, and are by no means the danger to life that
the ignorant imagine. Naturally the naked Indian is more exposed to any
peril there may be than the better protected white man, and if a snake
be trodden on it will promptly turn and bite the unshod foot of the
aggressor. But no snake, so far as I have observed, will attack a human
being unmolested, not even the boa constrictor; nor would the anaconda,
the great water snake, though all Indians are very afraid of it. I do
not think that even the venomous labarria ever bites a man unless first
disturbed.

Alligators in the Issa and the Japura are small, rarely seen, and never
formidable. The dangerous _jacare_, that huge monster of the lower
rivers, is unknown here. But of fierce and poisonous fish I shall have
somewhat to say later. Curiously enough, despite the swampy nature of
the ground, I never met with any leeches, though Bates mentions a red,
four-angled species he found to be abundant in the marshy pools at the
juncture of the Japura and the Amazon.[18] Frogs and toads are the most
abundant reptiles. They exist in thousands and are of all sizes, though
I have never seen any of dimensions that Spruce speaks of--“as big as a
man’s head.”[19] At night near any stream huge frogs keep up a constant
and fearful noise, and even at midday, when a silence that may be felt
enfolds the tropical woodland, their chorus is only subdued, not stayed.

This silence of the forest is a very real thing, a quality that does
not lessen by acquaintance. On the contrary it grows more real and more
oppressive. A strange gloom and a strange stillness hold the bush. They
give the impression that there is nothing animate in all the vastness, no
life other than that of the overwhelming, all-triumphant vegetation. It
is possible to journey for days and never see a human being. A sound, be
it but the cracking of a twig, startles in the forest. Then, suddenly,
the vibrant quiet will be broken by a shrill scream. Some creature has
been done to death. The cry dies to a moan, and the low murmur that is
hardly sound, the drone of the unseen but abundant life, once more makes
up the silence that pulses tormentingly on ear and brain, till night
again wakens the birds and the beasts of the wild, and the murmur grows
and deepens to the full volume of confused sound made by the forest’s
busy life.

At the break of day, and again at the going down of the sun, the howling
monkeys, if they be in the neighbourhood, startle the echoes with their
raucous yelps. Sunrise is, indeed, the signal for absolute pandemonium.
Toucans start an endless chattering that rises now and again to a
far-reaching scream. The trumpeter birds make extraordinary noises. With
them may be joined in a chorus of discord the macaws and the parrots of
the district, and the chorus is punctuated at night by the mournful cry
of a large night-jar.

But, for the most part, the birds and the beasts go about their business
silently. They seek neither to disturb their victims nor to advertise
their own doings and so attract those with sinister designs against
themselves. In the bush silence is a better policy than honesty.

Picture all this, and try to understand the bush life in Amazonia.
It will explain much of the unwritten and unwritable story of the
inhabitants of these wilds. For the traveller the day is easily
summarised: the awakening at sunrise, followed by a bath in the nearest
stream, and a meal of what was left over-night; the trail, the worst in
the world; the slow progress that jars on the nerves; the never-ending,
impenetrable forest; the narrow path that has to be widened; the
stumbles, the falls, the whipping of the face and arms by innumerable
twigs; the ever-ready liana that catches the foot of the careless walker;
the stinging ants that shower down on face and neck when a tree is
accidentally shaken; the greenheart and other rods that pierce the feet
and legs; the thorns innumerable, and the fine palm-spines on which a
hand is transfixed when put out to save a fall; the end of the trek, a
bath to get rid of the litter of mud and vegetable filth; dinner, of
sorts; and a hammock under a shelter so poor that it will not prevent
the driving and inevitable rain from chilling the sleeper to the bone.
Imagine the state of fatigue to mind and body when one cries, “Thank God,
I have got so far to-day. I could not repeat to-day’s labours. I could
not go back on my own open trail, or go through the same to-morrow.” And
so crying one knows that to-morrow and the trail must come. Even in fancy
you will feel the pressure on your chest, the pressure behind you. It
demoralises utterly.

There is a gruesome depression that is almost physical, produced by
solitude on a small island, when all other land is out of sight. The bush
to me is worse. The oppression is as of some great weight. A light heart
is impossible in an atmosphere which the sunshine never enlivens, that
is beaten daily back to earth by rain, where the air is heavy with the
fumes of fallen vegetation slowly steaming to decay. The effect of the
impenetrable thickets around, the stifling of the breath, is all mental,
doubtless; but it must react physically on the neurotic subject.

This depression, this despondency, may seem incredible to those who
have never experienced anything similar, who are ignorant of the
innate malevolence of the High Woods. But in truth there is nothing in
Nature more cruel than the unconquered vegetation of a tropical South
American forest. The Amazonian bush brings no consolation. It is silent,
inhospitable, cynical. It has overcome the mastodon and the megatherium,
the prehistoric camel and the rhinoceros. It has reduced its rivals of
the animal kingdom to slimy alligators and unsightly armadilloes, to
sloths and ant-bears. The most powerful tenant of its shades is the boa
constrictor, the most majestic the jaguar. Man is a very puny feature in
the Amazonian cosmos.

The sense of one’s insignificance is the first lesson of travel in the
bush. In the beginning the discovery amuses the adventurer. Later, he
resents the implied superiority of the fixed and nerveless plants which
barricade his progress. In the end, he hates the bush as though it were
a sentient being. Yet the component parts of the bush are familiar to
all at home: we coddle them in our gardens, and nurse them tenderly in
our glass-houses. But in the Amazons they unite to form a horrible, a
most evil-disposed enemy. They obscure the sun from the earth, condemn
one to existence in a gloomy, stifling half-light. They constrict the
world to a path laboriously hacked through jealous undergrowth. They stab
with hidden snags, and strangle with deftly poised lianas. In their most
hurtful mood they poison with a touch.[20]

The Amazonian forest is no glorified botanic garden. Its units are not
intelligently isolated and labelled. There is but a monotonous tangle
of vegetation through which the traveller cuts his way to daylight
and perspective in a river-channel. One rarely sees a blossom or a
fruit. Within that tangle, however, is the whole varied life of the
tropical jungle. It may be difficult to distinguish specimens through
the superimposed mass of extraneous vegetation; it may be impossible to
catch a glimpse of a living creature throughout a day’s march; but the
flowers are there in their thousands, and a myriad of eyes have noted
each blundering movement of the wayfarer. It is no part of the philosophy
of the bush to force even the most reckless of animals into needless
publicity.

It is simple for the traveller to pull the canoe to the bank of one of
the upper tributaries of the great river, to land, to part the screen
of bushes, and to pass beyond--into the obscurity of barbarism. It
is a simple feat, yet eventful. A thousand yards away from the safe
thoroughfare of the main stream the explorer is lost, overwhelmed in the
extravagance of vegetation. Denied a pathway, a landmark, a horizon,
or a sky, he has less to guide him than the castaway on the ocean or
the wanderer in the Sahara. His most definite course can only be from
river-bed to river-bed. To direct him on his way the trees offer no aid
to help him, the forest provides but little sustenance.

Every traveller in the bush lives in the constant dread of being lost.
Desertion, unexpected, unforeseen, is common with the Indians. They
leave without ascertainable cause at the cost of their pay, at the risk
of their lives. In a watch of the night they depart, and although the
country be swarming with their blood-enemies, they vanish into the forest
and are no more seen.

In time the civilised man, with no other than such barbaric companions,
turns at the thought of them, is nauseated by their bestiality, longs
for relief from their presence. Then he wanders away, ever so little
a distance into the bush, to be alone and to think. He happens upon a
stream--that is so simple a by-path, so obvious a guide. He wanders
light-footedly up its bed in search of that ego which had begun to
elude him. The surroundings interest him. The water comforts his feet.
The silence casts him back upon himself. He thinks, computes, and the
solitude assists his introspection. He recovers his perspective, replaces
the comrades of his bush-life in their proper places--the glass-fronted
cupboards of an anthropological museum. His self-respect regained, he
pauses to admire his new-found horizon.

Trees hem him in on every side. A little way up the stream is a narrow
slit of sunlight, a little way down a narrow canopy of sky. All else
is vegetation. The solitude no longer tempts him, but mocks as he
contemplates his surroundings. Yet to doubt is to be ridiculous. It is
all so simple; it took so long to come here up the stream; the same
number of hours or minutes will take him back again to the spot he
marked, and so to the camp.

The difficulties begin with the return journey. He questions the hour
of leaving the bearers, the rate of march, the time spent in lazy
consideration. One tree is so like another tree, one river vista but
the duplicate of the last. Reeds, weeds, and bush now offer nothing
distinctive; their former individuality appears to be lost. The trail
must have been passed. He shouts, diffidently at first, eventually with
hysteria. He fires a rifle, and the bush but re-echoes the sound. The
hundreds of miles of forest on every side press together, and the signal
is shuttlecocked between. The very echoes seem to him muffled, like the
drums at a soldier’s funeral. The traveller is lost.

The realisation is a strange psychological phenomenon. It forces the
self-reliant European on his knees to pray; drags him to his feet to
blaspheme; throws him on his face to weep. This admission may come
strangely to the well-housed British ratepayer. It may sound like a
confession of unfathomable cowardice. It is far easier for the arm-chair
philosopher to imagine the stoicism of the Indians than to reproduce the
neuroticism of his European counterpart. Things are so different when the
conception of the Amazonian bush is the memory of the tropical houses in
Kew Gardens.

One day I was lost alone. When I realised it I shouted, then fired
half-a-dozen rounds from my rifle, and laughed. It was the laugh that
brought me to my senses--that way lay madness. The reaction to calm
was stupendous. Life was dependent upon self-control and clarity of
judgment. I counted my rounds, remembered all I had eaten that day, and
settled myself to think. We had crossed a stream, and my boys had been
left quenching their thirst. I took the lie of the land, and found a
path leading downwards. It must go to water. It did in fact take me to a
stream, and I trudged wearily in the bed of it; then, after two fruitless
hours of growing despondency, turned and went down, to find, as darkness
was closing in, Brown and his party. That night I had fever, and talked
in my sleep. And John Brown was lost for five and a half months. Good God!

There is one last experience of the bush--starvation. The man who has
not starved can never enter into the feelings of his brother who, with
blood-shot eyes and shaking fingers, has groped about the fallen leaves
for a lizard or a frog. I can answer for it that those who have starved
never again may express the sensation. It has become the memory of a
nightmare.

CHAPTER III

The Indian homestead--Building--Site and plan of
_maloka_--Furniture--Inhabitants of the house--Fire--Daily
life--Insect inhabitants--Pets.

Out of the silence and gloom of the forest the traveller will emerge
into the full light of a clearing. Though it is the site of a tribal
headquarters there is no village, no cluster of huts, except among some
of the tribes on the lower Apaporis. There is but one great house,
thatched and ridge-roofed like a gigantic hay-rick, standing four-square
in the open. This is the home of some three score Indians.[21]

The immediate signs of their occupancy are but few. There is hardly any
litter cumbering the homestead; whatever of refuse there be is cleared
more speedily by the ants than it would be by the most up-to-date
sanitary authority of London. Back here in the untouched districts, away
from the Rubber Belt and the commerce-bearing rivers, there are none
of the leavings of civilisation: no broken bottles, no battered tins,
no torn and dirty scraps of paper--indeed if bottle or tin ever found
its way to these wilds it would be esteemed a most rare and valuable
treasure. No village dogs bark their challenge at the stranger’s
approach, no domestic fowls clutter away to safety. A naked child or a
startled old woman may scurry into the saving murk of the _maloka_,[22]
otherwise the silence and solitude appear little less profound than in
the forest.

That is the picture as the artist or camera would reproduce it. The
details, the essentials, must be sought within.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.]

First of all characteristics is the fact that nothing makes for
permanence. The house and its contents at the best are but for temporary
use. The possession of a central tribal house does not presuppose that
these Indians remain for any length of time in one locality. After about
two or three years the house falls into a state of disrepair, but the
tribesmen will not patch and mend it. They will simply discard it like
all useless things. The women will be loaded up with the few tribal
possessions--not forgetting the inevitable burden of their infants--the
house will be burnt, and the whole of this _grosse famille_ departs to
seek a new site on which to build another habitation.

Building material is easily come by, and though to clear the land for
agricultural purposes from the virgin forest entails considerable hard
work, it is periodically a necessary task. However rich it may have been
in the first instance successive crops rob the soil of its fertility,
as the Indian is only too well aware, and fresh ground must perforce be
broken up every few years. Then again, paths converging on the homestead
in time are worn through the forest undergrowth, dense though it may
be, circuitous though the trail of the Indian is invariably. Secrecy is
security. A track-way is as good as an invitation, a sign-post, to the
enemy. To move becomes a precautionary measure, even if the food supply
be not exhausted--another reason that makes for unsettled conditions in
forest life.

The site chosen is never near a river, for these are the highways for a
possible enemy, and streams for ordinary purposes abound. Also--but this
is an insignificant reason in comparison with the first--insect pests are
not so abundant at a distance from the river-bank. With an eye to defence
from hostile visitors, the Indian habitation is sedulously hidden,
and the paths that lead to it are concealed also in every possible
way. The track from the river especially may run more or less directly
for, say, a third of a mile; then it is absolutely stopped by a fallen
tree. No cleared pathway apparently runs beyond this, but the Indian,
creeping through the thicket by devious ways, eventually reaches another
comparatively cleared track. This will in turn be stopped in the same
fashion, and thence lead more directly housewards. The river-path may be
broken twice or even three times in little more than a mile.

At the same time that the ground is cleared on which the house is to be
built, a plot immediately in front is also cleared for use as a dancing
ground. This is customary, but not invariable, for some tribes are
content with the dancing space inside the house. The outside dancing
floor once cleared is quickly trodden down, and though no special
preparation is attempted will soon be baked comparatively hard in the sun.

The construction of the great house is not complicated, but the
workmanship is dexterous, and will bear the closest inspection. Four
great poles, 20 to 30 feet high, form the main supports of the roof,
which slopes down on either side tentwise almost to the ground from the
central ridge-pole. More posts and cross-beams support it, and the whole
is most adroitly lashed together. The forest supplies all the needed
material. It is there ready to hand, growing where the house is to be
erected. The straightest tree-trunks provide the posts and cross-beams;
the creeping lianas serve to splice and bind the framework together;
Bussu palm-leaves[23] make the thatch, which, as the actual wall is but
some three feet in height, is practically roof and wall in one. The
_bejucos_, or lianas, used to tie the beams and poles are first soaked in
water to render them supple enough.[24]

[Illustration: FIG. 2.]

To make the thatch the Indians slit bamboos and insert the palm-leaves
doubled backwards.[25] The strips are then laid on the framework of
the house, one above another, so that the uppermost strips shall hang
half over those below. They are piled on to a thickness of from a foot
to eighteen inches, and when completed this shingling is absolutely
waterproof. When it ceases to be so the house will be abandoned. The
leaves are not plaited, or intertwined in any manner, so the roof
consists only of loose fronds, row upon row, and these have more the
appearance of tobacco plants hung in an open drying-barn than a reed or
straw thatch.

[Illustration: PLATE VI.

FLOWERS AND SECTION OF LEAF OF THE BUSSU PALM

THE LEAF IS USED FOR THATCHING]

All the native houses are made after much the same manner. They vary only
in unimportant details. The shape, as a rule, is a rough parallelogram
or square with rounded angles, but on the lower Apaporis the houses are
circular. On the Napo River also they are hemispherical, but the section
of a Witoto or Boro house usually would be a triangle some 30 feet high,
with a 60-feet base. Witoto houses sometimes are more circular as to
ground-plan, but always have the pointed roof, not a cone (see Fig. 4).

The house is not always roofed and thatched to the ground, the last two
or three feet occasionally being made of a closely set palisade, lined
with matting or thatch. This is even more noticeable in a Nonuya house,
and a Makuna house is invariably so fortified and is lighter than a Boro
dwelling. As a general rule it may be noted that the Issa-Japura houses
are not strengthened in this way. Wallace gives the dimensions of a house
at Jaurité as 115 feet long, by 75 broad, and 30 high.[26] A Witoto or a
Boro house is usually about 60 to 70 feet in diameter. In both cases the
size depends on the numbers of the tribe.

[Illustration: FIG. 3.

ELEVATION OF SMALL BORO HOUSE]

These houses have no windows, and the entrance is merely an opening in
the palm-thatch eaves of some three feet by two. This most frequently is
closed with a removable section of the thatch, which must be lifted out
when any one enters, and replaced behind them; or it may be, as among the
Orahone and Nonuya, covered by a curtain of thatch, which is hung on a
cross-piece of the eaves by a strip of liana, and simply is pushed aside
and swung back into place. In a Nonuya house the door is marked outside
by bundles of rods neatly tied and set against the side posts.[27]
Whatever the “door” may be, the opening is invariably kept closed, and it
is the duty of any persons coming in to fasten up the entrance as soon
as they have entered.[28] The consequence of this absence of any opening
is that the interiors of the _malokas_ are nearly as dark by day as by
night. But this deep gloom keeps out insects--no small consideration in a
land so infested with them.

[Illustration: FIG. 4.--Section of houses.]

[Illustration: PLATE VII.

SELF, WITH NONUYA TRIBE (Note Doorway behind me)

MUENANE TRIBE]

The interior with its pointed roof resembles, as Robuchon remarked, a
circus at a country fair. The central space is usually kept clear, and is
used by the children as a playing-ground what time it is not required for
more serious tribal business, such as dancing or a tobacco palaver. The
far end of the house--where there is usually another small entrance--is
the portion reserved for the chief and his family. As a rule it is open,
but I have seen it matted off in some Witoto houses. Neither the Boro
nor the Witoto indulge in the cubicles of palm-leaf thatch mentioned by
Wallace in Uaupes houses,[29] nor are their habitations divided into
two, with a small chamber at the end, as described by Koch-Grünberg in
Tuyuka houses.[30] Each family has its own fire, but that is the only
distinction, though on the lower Apaporis mats of beaten palm-leaf are
used to form a sort of booth for each family. Such mats, _duriei_ as the
Witoto call them, are also employed in some houses for the protective
purpose of securing the entrance.

[Illustration: FIG. 5.

A A A, posts. B, fire. C C C, hammocks. D D, Wall.]

The Apaporis Indians also make shelves or platforms on which they
sleep, but all the other Issa-Japura tribes use the hammock slung
about 2½ feet from the ground. One is hung for every man adjacent to
his family fire--almost over it in fact. A second, placed rather less
advantageously, in local opinion, belongs to his wife; while a third may
be set between the two, close under the sloping thatch, for the children,
when they are not asleep on the rough floor of uncovered earth. The
family possessions are stored in places on the rafters overhead along
with the hammocks, cooking-pots, and baskets with dried fish or smoked
meat, the cassava-squeezer and personal treasures.

The chief has no other house, but any tribesman with a wish for one can
build a small house for himself and his family in the bush, though he
still retains his right to a corner in the common dwelling of the tribe.
A temporary shelter is easily contrived by lashing poles to four trees,
some seven or eight feet above the ground. On this frame-work branches
for rafters and palm-leaves for thatch are quickly adjustable. This is
the ordinary way of preparing a sleeping-place in the forest, and is
known among the rubber-gatherers as a _rancho_, but the Indians’ private
houses are constructed more securely, and more like miniature editions of
the central tribal house, although in this case no wall whatever supports
the sloping roof as a rule. These may be called their country homes, and
they may be perhaps as much as two days’ journey from the great house of
assembly.

At ordinary times there will be possibly from fifty to sixty people in
the tribal house, but on the occasion of any festivity as many as two
hundred will crowd in, all as by right entitled. What the atmosphere
is like on those occasions may better be imagined than described. I
invariably slept in native houses, and never found them other than very
dark, very hot at night, and full of smoke, for which there is no outlet,
chimneys being unknown luxuries with most of the tribes. Some of the
Indians on the Apaporis contrive an arrangement that permits the smoke to
disappear, and the Kuretu make what is almost a chimney-cowl by means of
an overhanging portion of the topmost thatch above a small opening;[31]
but in the ordinary Boro or Witoto house there is nothing to disperse
the smoke from the wood fires that, it must be remembered, are never
extinguished. These tribes have no means of making fire. It is therefore
a matter of vital importance that it should never be permitted to die
out. Did such an untoward accident occur the household would be fireless
till live embers were obtained from some friendly neighbour.

Fire-making is unknown to the tribes on the south of the Japura, but on
the north of that river fire is obtained by friction in a groove.[32]
I never saw it done, but was told that ants’ nests were often used
for tinder. On one occasion I made a fire by firing cartridges into a
mass of leaves and wood chips, having first extracted the bullets and
replaced them with cotton wool. The leaves flamed up after fourteen
rounds. Matches are sheer magic in the Indian’s eyes, and a box is a
most valuable gift. He may blaze one, just to be certain that the white
man has passed on some of his own magical powers along with the wonderful
little box of sticks, but never more than one is sacrificed at a time.

[Illustration: FIG. 6.]

What with the heavy dews and the incessant rain the bush is always in a
condition of reeking damp, so bush fires are impossible. Therefore, when
they cannot make fire, the Indians must keep the family fire burning
night and day, and its preservation is the very serious business of
every member of the tribe. Not only do they depend on it for warmth and
cooking, but the fitful glow of the smouldering fires is on ordinary
occasions the only light in the Indian house. Torches of resinous wood
are used at dances and such-like festivals only. When the tribesmen go
into the bush they always carry fire over their shoulders. This is done
by means of a strip of some resinous bark, about two feet long, which
they hold in their hands. The bark smoulders slowly, and can at any time
be blown into a flame.

The fire is always arranged after a definite pattern. Three young trees
are placed together on the ground endways, in the form of a triskeles.
The fire is kindled in the centre, and once alight it will last for as
long as a week at a time. All day when people pass, even the little
children, they will give a kick to a log to keep the fire together, and
during the night it is fed continually in the same fashion.

The natives sleep with no more covering than they have worn in the
daytime. The hammocks of the father, the mother, and the children are
slung, as has been said, in a triangle, with the fire between them. As
the fire dies down one or other will rise and push the wood more closely
together, blow a little at the hot embers, and then return to rest, till
about the hour before sunrise, when it is coldest. Then every one gets
up, and when the fire has been blown into a blaze they wait for dawn.

Dawn is the signal for all to repair to the river for the first bath of
the day. The girls come back with big jars full of water on their heads,
held in position by their uplifted hands. The women go to work in the
plantations, the men may hunt and fish. As day advances into evening the
women return again from the plantation, the mothers, naked and shining
from the evening bath, with their children seated astride their left
hips; while those not encumbered carry up the pine-apples, the plantains,
and the manioc, packed in baskets that are slung from their foreheads.
Those who have sought provision in the forest bring back lizards and
snakes--it may be a frog, for nothing seems amiss for the hot-pot of the
Indian. The hunters come in from the bush with a capybara, a curassow,
or a monkey; the men who preferred the river bring fish. Soon there is a
savoury smell from the cooking of cassava cakes, the boiling of meat, and
the pungent odour of _yarakue_. There is not much talk, and none of the
homely clatter of dishes, for leaves serve as plates and napkins, fingers
for eating utensils. The naked women crouch on their heels about the
fires; the men stretch languidly in their hammocks; and so the Indian day
passes by imperceptible degrees again to night.

So much for the human inhabitants of the tribal household. There are
others of less pleasing character. Spiders are there, some of an
extraordinary size, not forgetting the deadly tarantula. One day I placed
my hand carelessly on one of the posts in an Indian house, and only just
withdrew it in time, for it had been within an inch or two of a large
_mygale_. Scorpions also lurk in crannies of the thatch, but they never
bothered me in the least, and although the swelling was considerable in
the one or two cases of bite I noted, there were no after-consequences.

The Menimehe, whose houses are more open, make hives of hollow trees for
bees to swarm in, and these are placed in their _maloka_, so that a store
of honey and wax is always at hand.

The smoke and darkness keep off the pium and mosquito, but outside the
dwelling ants abound, though their value as scavengers does in a measure
detract from their general undesirability; for it is thanks mainly to
them that there are no bad smells in the vicinity of a Witoto home,
as cleanliness is not a virtue of the Witoto. The daily rain, also,
prevents any accumulation of filth, for everything of that description is
continually washed away.

Jiggers are found in Indian houses, though never in the bush. There need
be no trouble with these tiresome creatures if prompt attention be paid
to the part affected. It is a common practice among the Indians for
the women to examine the men’s feet directly they come in, to see that
they are all right, and if a jigger is detected to dig it out with a
palm-spine, care being taken that a non-poisonous spine is selected.[33]
A very much more serious injury is inflicted by the blood-sucking bat.
Not only the forest but the dark and lofty roof of the native house
will often harbour bats of several kinds, and occasionally some of the
_Phyllostoma_. Vampires, however, are more frequently met with on the
main river than on the Issa or Japura.[34] They undoubtedly attack
sleepers, and the subsequent loss of blood may be serious, especially in
the case of a child. The point made for is always the big toe, and the
wound is so slight that the victim does not waken, or if awake is hardly
conscious of the hurt. It is possible that the loss of blood induces a
comatose state. I never actually saw a case, though I have talked to
persons who had been bitten. But the vampire is rare in these districts,
whereas other bats are common enough in the forest.

As a general rule the Indians have no pets; but on one occasion, near a
Boro settlement on the north of the Japura, I saw some children of the
Menimehe tribes with tame monkeys. These were the only Indians I ever met
who kept any pet. Animal food is too scarce in the forest. Bates asserts
that “the Indians are very fond of them [monkeys] as pets, and the women
often suckle them when young at their breasts.”[35] I never heard of such
a case as this, but certainly the monkey must be caught extremely young
to be tamable at all; and, I repeat, food is scarce.

CHAPTER IV

Given equal conditions, similar environment, the human race, wheresoever
on this globe its lot be cast, shows a marked sameness in its traits and
habits. This need not, in fact does not, argue a unity of origin. There
is no reason why a custom may not be indigenous in many parts of the
world, among peoples labouring under like conditions; and if the same
customs be evolved the same cultural types will also be found to exist.
Thus it is easy to find even striking resemblances between these Indians
of Amazonia and such distant peoples as the Arunta of Central Australia,
the cannibal tribes of pagan Malay, or, to go even wider afield, the
Basque people of Southern Europe. This does not for a moment suggest
that such common beliefs, customs, or cultures have been introduced from
one to the other, or even borrowed from a common stock. The human mind
seems to work broadly on certain definite planes of thought, and there is
less mental difference between the low-type illiterate of a London slum
and the denizens of a tropical forest than there is between him and the
learned occupant of a University Chair, though both be nominally of the
same nation.

Attempts are continually made to evolve some working classification of
the South American Indians. The main difficulty, the sparsity of common
factors, despite general similarity, is due in a measure at least to the
absence of any standard, any fixity of language, or any confederation
between the units of these races. The only rule is that there is no
rule. What was a common word yesterday is possibly forgotten to-day;
the custom shared a generation ago may vary now past recognition,
and to-morrow will see further changes that increase the diversity.
These people are in a state of flux. Disintegration is the determinant
influence; nothing makes for amalgamation. A section of a tribe isolated
from the remainder, surrounded by neighbours whose speech, whose physical
features, are entirely different, may develop into a distinct tribe with
dialect and customs as variant from the parent tribe as from those in
its new vicinage.[36] But extinction rather than such increase is the
more probable fate. These tribes are hardly embryos of nations to be, nor
can they be entirely classified as the decadent remnants of perishing
races. Rather did it seem to me that, despite the awful handicap of their
environment, they were gradually evolving a higher culture. Their origin
is a problem of no small interest, but one on which recorded history
throws exceedingly little light. Whether they be the autochthonous
sons of American soil, or the stranded vanguard of successive waves
of Mongoloid immigrants pushed southwards to be swallowed up in the
Amazonian forests,[37] or--which is most probable--a combination of
both, can only be in part determined by the study of their physical
traits, their habits, customs, speech, morals, and beliefs. It is for the
comparative anthropologist, the comparative folklorist, to find an answer.

As an instance of the difficulty of classification, and the confusion
that has resulted in much of the literature on this subject, the
statements given in the Contemporary Science Series volume, _The
Races of Man_, may be examined. Deniker orders the Indians in four
divisions--Carib, Arawak, Miranha, and Pano; and classifies the Witoto
in the first, taking the determinative ethnic distinction to be “their
acquaintance with the hammock, a plaited (not woven) texture, and
a particular kind of cassava-squeezer.”[38] If this is correct and
sufficient, all the Indians of the middle Issa-Japura regions are
Caribs. But I do not think the arguments are conclusive. For example,
“the practice of the ‘couvade’” is given as racially distinctive of
the Carib.[39] But couvade is by no means peculiar to the Carib. In
this region it is a common custom of the Witoto and the Boro, who are
linguistically and physically diverse.[40] Then, as regards the hammock,
it has been pointed out by Sir Everard im Thurn, who holds that the
Carib did not migrate to British Guiana from the interior but from
the islands,[41] that the Caribs of Guiana, the “stranger tribes,” as
he calls them, that is, tribes who have migrated thither, “make their
hammocks of cotton,” while the native tribes use palm-fibre.[42] None
of the Issa-Japura tribes make use of cotton yam for their hammocks; it
is, in fact, almost unknown to them, and what little they may possess is
presumably obtained by barter, for to the best of my knowledge they do
not prepare it, or know how to prepare it; palm-fibre only is used by
them. The explanation probably is that Deniker apparently confuses the
Karahone and the Witoto, as he speaks of “the _Uitotos_ or _Carijonas_,”
as though they were the same, instead of a totally distinct group of
tribes. He also gives Crevaux as his authority, when he states that
the Witoto--according to him a Carib group--“live side by side with
the Miranhas,” Miranha being differentiated as a distinct branch. But
Dr. Crevaux speaks of “_Ouitotos_ ou _Miranhas_,”[43] and remarks that
“Les Miranhas du Yapurá sont appelés par leurs voisins ‘Ouitotos.’”[44]
It would seem, then, that the French traveller considered that the
Witoto language-group belongs to the same racial division as the Miranha
language-group, though, as Dr. Koch-Grünberg remarks, the languages of
these groups “ne présentent aucun signe de parenté entre elles.”[45] In
fact, he is of the opinion that “on serait sans doubte plus près de la
vérité si on rattachait les différents dialectes parlés dans la région
des Ouitotos à un groupe linguistique nouveau.” This he designates the
_groupe Ouitoto_.[46] Miranha or Miranya is the name given to the Boro by
the tribes on the north, and is the lingoa-geral name for the Boro and
other groups. The word means a wanderer, a gratuitous distinction where
all tribes have nomadic tendencies, and this may be the reason why it has
apparently been applied to several groups.

It is not surprising that there should be confusion over any attempted
classification of these peoples, for not only are there many
language-groups, each with numerous tribes, but in addition to this a
group or a tribe will have not one distinct name by which it may be known
and classed, but a number of names, so that inevitably the writer without
personal knowledge of a group will be easily misled in dealing with it
and its divisions.

So far as the Indians are concerned no language-group and no tribe use
the esoteric name. They talk simply of “our speech” or “our own people,”
and they are named, and frequently named differently, by the surrounding
tribes. The Boro, for example, are known as Boro to the tribes from the
west and south, as Miranya to some of those of the east and the north;
the same tribe would therefore be Boro to the Witoto and Miranya to
the Yuri or the Menimehe. The Dukaiya are called Okaina--which means
“capybara”--by the Witoto, though they are also called Dukaiya, which is
the extra-tribal name of their most powerful tribe or section. Muenane
and Nonuya are also Witoto names.[47] Witoto is the esoteric name for
mosquito, but the Witoto tribes were thus named by the tribes on the
south either because the name has the same meaning in their language or
because they had learned the Witoto word for this insect. In this case
the esoteric name is the same as the exoteric. Crevaux gives _ouitoto_
as the word for “enemy” among the Karahone and the Roucouyennes,[48] and
Martius has a similar word for that meaning among other tribes.[49] All
this adds to the difficulties of nomenclature. It must be understood,
also, that if you ask a Witoto, “_O Memeka bu?_” (What tribe do you
belong to?) he would not tell you, but he would answer in the affirmative
if the question be put as to whether he belongs to a certain tribe or to
a certain group, though he will not himself use the tribal or group name.
This applies to all Indians. Moreover, there is the very thorny question
of spelling. I have throughout adopted the rule laid down by the Royal
Geographical Society, and spelt words with English consonants--that is to
say, with their equivalent values--and Italian vowels. This is the most
generally accepted method, but even with this peculiarities of ear must
result in sundry variants.

Another source of confusion in writing about these peoples has been the
indiscriminate use of the words _nation_, _tribe_, _clan_, _family_.
To avoid possibility of mistake it may be explained at the outset that
_tribe_ is here used in the sense ruled by the new editions of both the
Anthropological and the Folklore Handbooks, that is to say, “a group with
a common language, code of law, some rude form of government, and capable
of uniting for common action.” These tribes I would further classify
into language-groups, such as the Witoto language-group, the Boro
language-group, and so forth. The group name--Witoto, Boro, Andoke, or
whatever the case may be--applies to all the tribes of these groups, in
addition to their individual names. The variations between these tribes
of a group are mainly dialectic and local, but the variance between
tribes of alien groups is more than a difference of speech and custom.
The Boro, for instance, are distinctly Chinese in appearance; their
neighbours the Witoto resemble rather the Dyaks of Borneo.

[Illustration: DIAGRAMMATIC MAP OF THE ISSA-JAPURA CENTRAL WATERSHED
SHOWING LANGUAGE GROUPS

BY CAPTAIN THOMAS W. WIFFEN]

The two groups with which we are mainly concerned, and the only two with
which it is possible in this book to deal seriously in detail, are the
Witoto and the Boro. They occupy roughly the lands between the Japura and
the Igara Parana, and the Igara Parana and the Issa, though there are no
actual boundaries. The Boro country lies north-west of the Futahi Hills,
in the watersheds of the Pupuna and the Kahuanari rivers. The Boro also
occupy a stretch of country north of the Japura, where that river bends
south and east below its junction with the Wama, and including part of
the Ira watershed. On this, the north-east border, they meet the country
of the Menimehe, while on the north they touch the Karahone country.
The Resigero and Nonuya districts lie between them and the Muenane. The
country by the Futahi Hills west of the Igara Parana, that is to say,
the basins of the Esperanza and Sabalo Yacu rivers, is very sparsely
populated, and the Dukaiya country on the west of the Nonuya practically
separates the Witoto and the Boro on the north-west. From the mouth of an
unnamed tributary of the Japura--below the Tauauru and on the opposite
bank--the Andoke country runs south of the Japura to the junction of the
Kuemani, where the Japura becomes the boundary between the Andoke and
the Witoto. On the west the Orahone country lies on the farther side of
the Issa from the Witoto, the Issa being the dividing line from the west
and south-west of the Witoto group. The name Orahone is given to all
tribes indiscriminately if they elongate the lobes of their ears,[50] so
the Orahone, or Long-ears, may possibly be many distinct tribes. Thus,
one writer notes of the Napo tribes, the “Cotos” and the “Tutapishcos,”
that they “are sometimes called ‘Orejones,’” but are not so known
locally.[51] The Orahone are of a low type. To the east of the Menimehe
and the Boro districts the Kuretu language-group of tribes occupy the
country north and south of the Japura. To the north the Opaina, Makuna,
and Tukana groups interpose between them and the Bara and Maku groups.
The Maku are found from the Rio Negro to the Apaporis, and again above
the Bara group north of the Arara Hills about the Kaouri river, a
tributary of the Uaupes. Though the Bara group live to the north of the
Apaporis they have nothing in common with the Uaupes Indians. Both their
language and customs resemble more those of the Japura, and they have no
intercourse with the surrounding tribes. They are a dark-skinned people,
of a low type, and consequently looked down on by their lighter-skinned
neighbours. The Maku, also of a low type and dark, are a very nomadic
group; in fact all these peoples are wanderers, and the districts here
given for their localities must be taken as merely approximate. That
they were there when I was in the country is no guarantee that they will
be found there now, or a few years hence. The locality of a tribe, or a
language-group, is mainly dependent on the locality of its neighbours,
especially of any powerful or warlike body. The tribes of the upper
Issa districts are semi-civilised Colombian, those of the lower waters
semi-civilised Brazilian Indians. Only in the middle district have the
tribes been free, until recently, from the influence of the white man.

It is almost impossible to give the populations of these districts even
in round figures. My own estimate for the nine language-groups of the
Issa-Japura region, based roughly on the number of houses and the extent
of country, is as follows: but, I repeat, these figures must be taken as
very approximate, and are probably overestimated in some cases:--

Witoto group of tribes 15,000
Boro group 15,000
Dukaiya or Okaina group 2,000
Muenane group 2,000
Nonuya group 1,000
Resigero group 1,000
Andoke group 10,000
Menimehe group 15,000
Karahone group 25,000

making a total of eighty-six thousand, or well under a hundred thousand.
Koch-Grünberg estimates the Witoto-language group as comprising at
least twenty thousand souls,[52] and a Peruvian official estimate gives
thirty thousand as the supposed total, reduced within the last decade
to some ten thousand.[53] It is practically impossible to obtain any
reliable figure. Koch-Grünberg gives six thousand as his estimate of the
number of the Miranha. I am inclined to think in this case the number is
insufficient, and should place it at from fifteen to twenty thousand.

All the tribes north of the Japura have a mortal antipathy to all those
south of that river, and think they are savages. The light-coloured
tribes, as I have mentioned, invariably despise the darker races, and
consider them of a lower grade than themselves, as, it will be seen,
is actually the case. The Maku, a tribe of small dark people, are
universally regarded and treated as slaves; the Witoto, smaller and
darker than the adjacent Boro, are physically inferior, and far less
particular in their ways and in the observance of tribal customs. The
Andoke, sometimes called the white Indians on account of their fairer
skins,[54] are the tyrants and bullies of all their neighbours; and it
has been suggested that the warlike Awashiri, who are the terror of the
Napo Piohe and Orahone tribes, are nomad Andoke or Miranha. Certainly
both these people wander far from their usual districts. So feared are
the Andoke that Boro carriers will refuse to go into the bush in the
Andoke country.

Wallace credits the Kuretu with peaceable habits,[55] but for the most
part all these peoples live in a constant state of internecine strife.
Some friendship, or perhaps--as tribes never make friendships outside
their own language area--it would be more correct to call it intertribal
commerce, takes place between certain of these groups; and a mutual
hatred of one group will occasionally form a vague tie between others.
For instance, the Boro, Resigero, and Okaina may not love each other,
but they agree in their detestation of the Witoto. The Okaina and the
Andoke are practically at ceaseless war with all their neighbours, but
the Andoke have some traffic with the Muenane and with the wandering
Karahone, who serve to link up the tribes of the north with those of the
south of the Japura, though they are separate from all other tribes. The
Boro on the left bank of the Japura, where they migrated into territory
trenching on that of the Menimehe, are on fairly amicable terms with the
latter, and I have even seen a Boro man with the Menimehe tribal mark,
though _menimehe_ means “pig” in Boro. Possibly he had married a Menimehe
woman. The Boro and Resigero also intermarry--at least cases of such
marriages are known. The Tukana and Bara tribes on the Tikie will not
marry into any other tribe, except the Maku, who will intermarry with any.

This state of endless warfare is based not on avarice but on fear. They
fight because they are afraid of each other, and see no protection but
in the extermination of their neighbours. Every ill that befalls a man
they set down to the evil intent of an enemy. Death, from whatsoever
cause, is invariably considered to be murder, and as murder it has to
be revenged on some suspected person or persons. Hence it follows that
blood-feuds innumerable are carried on relentlessly. Any and every excuse
serves for a fight. If a thunderstorm should wreck a house it is more
than sufficient reason for that household to attack another in reprisal
of the damage done; for it is to them quite evident that the catastrophe
was caused by the magic of some malicious dweller in the vicinity.

This state of abject apprehension influences the tribesmen in other ways.
It will be found as root cause of many a tribal custom, and must not be
forgotten in judging of native character and morals.

One result is that there are no recognised native trade routes or trade
centres, to the best of my knowledge, nor are there any markets where
the tribes of any language-group may meet and exchange their wares.
Even local markets are non-existent. Trade is individual. Articles of
commerce are handed from the maker to the purchaser, from the owner to
the buyer, from tribe to tribe. If a tribe be renowned for pottery, as
are the Menimehe, such pottery could only be obtained from a Menimehe,
or bought “second-hand” from tribes living in the neighbourhood of the
pottery workers, and from them traded to others, third, fourth, and even
fifth hand. That articles are bought and passed on indefinitely in this
fashion is proved by the fact that I found a Price’s candle-box among
the Boro tribes on the Pama river, who had had no relations with the
white man before my advent. After all, the wants of the Indian are few
and simple, and he can supply most of them for himself, or at least a
community can furnish its own; extra-tribal goods are distinctly luxuries.

It would be futile to attempt to give any localities for the many tribes
into which the language-groups are divided; for if the group as a whole
is to be regarded as a roving quantity, the tribes and their component
units are far more uncertain, in view of their migratory habits. I have
therefore not done more than make lists of the tribes met with in the
middle Issa-Japura districts, without reference to the exact spot they
might have temporarily inhabited when I met them.[56] These lists, which
do not pretend to be exhaustive, contain the names of 136 Witoto tribes,
41 Boro, and 15 Okaina.

The “Maynanes,” “Recegaros,” and “Yabuyanos” mentioned by Hardenburg[57]
as Witoto “sub-tribes, or _naciones_,” are not Witoto at all, and
_nacione_ is not a recognised name for these divisions, but merely
adopted from the loose jargon of the rubber-gatherer. Nor is the same
writer correct in considering the Witoto to be “the largest and most
important tribe,” as the Karahone outnumber them considerably, and many
other language-groups are decidedly more important in both the social and
the scientific scale.

There is nothing to show any affinity among the tribes, and there is none
of the intricate relationship of the Australian systems. The social
unit of the tribes is the undivided household community of some sixty
to two hundred individuals, with a common house, under the rule of a
chief. Some tribes have but one central tribal house, others may have
two or three; but each house would have its absolutely independent chief
and would be exogamous. There is no head chief or central organisation
to bind these households in the tribe, any more than there is to unite
the tribes of any language-group. Intertribal fighting is continual, and
only some great common danger, some threatened calamity of the gravest,
might serve to combine the tribes in a supreme effort for self-defence. A
man with an unusual magnetic influence might so dominate his neighbours
as to weld tribe and tribe for extra-tribal struggle. At the most some
half-dozen tribes under spur of most hazardous peril, urged to superhuman
effort by imminent torture and death, ever unite even for war. On the
rare occasions when this may be done the exceptional individual would be
but the greatest among equals, not a recognised commander-in-chief.[58]
I only know of one instance in point. Nonugamue, a Nonuya, was paramount
chief of the entire Nonuya-speaking area, a large tract of country that
lies between the Boro and the Okaina, and south of the Muenane and
Resigero tribes. It was quite a recent usurpation on the part of this
chief, and I never discovered any other case of one man influencing so
large a district. It is true that a Boro chief named Katenere did get
together a band of men numbering from thirty to forty to make war to the
death against the white rubber-gatherers; but in this instance, though
he was of notable personality, he could not combine the tribes. His band
were all Boro, simply men of his own type, the boldest spirits of various
tribes. A Resigero chief also made himself notorious by collecting a
body of warriors to make war not on the white men but on those Indians
who gave way to the pressure put upon them by these whites and agreed
to work rubber. He warred, therefore, against his own tribe, against
members of his own language-group, and he did so lest worse should befall
his people. He knew of no other remedy than to make the punishment for
yielding equal to that for refusing to yield. Nothing less in his opinion
could save the tribes. Once I came upon a habitation with the dead bodies
of thirty-eight men, women and children--for he spared none who had any
dealing with the whites. They had been slain, and the house partly burnt,
by this chief. In consequence of these drastic measures he was feared
by whites and Indians alike, and both when walking through the bush
within possible distance of his district would start at a sound every few
minutes and imagine it was this redoubtable warrior on the warpath again.

But these cases were abnormal, due to the presence of new and evil
factors that threatened the tribes with a fate to which death itself
were preferable. It was the instance of the approach of an unparalleled
danger, the signal for supreme exertion, and for unexampled negligence of
customs that are stronger than all law.

In normal conditions the chief has no influence beyond his own household,
and the extent of that influence would depend largely on the man’s
personal character, and also the character of the rival authority,
the tribal medicine-man. Whichever happens to possess the strongest
personality would be the dominant spirit of their little community.
Other things being equal, the odds are decidedly in favour of the
medicine-man--death comes speedily to those who rebel against the
magic-worker--and a weak chief would be entirely subservient to him.

The chief has a special portion of the house assigned to him and his
family, a larger share than would be allotted to any other man; but this
privilege is necessary, as all prisoners belong to the chief, and he
takes all the unattached women. As he thus has more women to work for
him the big tribal plantations become his. He leads the tribe in war,
presides over the tobacco palaver, and has the last word in the tribal
councils. The chief has no special name, for there are no titles of
courtesy, except among the Andoke, who call a chief _Posoa_. The ordinary
warrior will talk to the chief with no outward sign of respect; still,
the chief’s word carries a great amount of weight.

On the death of a chief his successor must be elected by the tribe, and
though the son as a rule is appointed, he does not become chief as a
matter of course, but only after tribal selection. If due cause should
be shown against him, and the tribe be of accord on the point when
the matter has been discussed in tobacco palaver, another man would
be chosen, and the honour conferred on him in accordance with tribal
decision independent of relationship.

There is but one law among the tribes, and that law is paramount and
infrangible--_Pia_, it is our custom. Custom, more binding than any
legal code, shepherds the Indian from the cradle to the grave. And _Pia_
is not only the law, it is the reason for all things. So it has always
been. Neither the chief, the medicine-man, nor the tribal council makes
the law, though it is the business of all three to enforce it, and it
can only be set aside, on the rare instances when such liberty would be
tolerated, with the consent of the tribesmen given in formal conclave.

The tribal council consists of all the males of the household who have
attained to man’s estate, under the presidency of the chief; and the
Indian parliament, the Indian court of law, is the tobacco palaver.

This tobacco drinking--the _chupe del tabac_, as Robuchon calls it--of
which so much has been written, must not be confounded with the _kawana_
drinking at a dance. When word has gone round that it is desired to hold
a council the warriors and elders of the tribe foregather, and squat
on their haunches round the tobacco-pot, which is placed by one of the
assembly on the ground in their midst. One of the group will start the
subject to be brought under discussion, usually the Indian whose advice
or suggestion has influenced the chief to call the council, or the one
who has a cause to lay before the tribe. It may be a matter of war,
some question of hunting, or the wrong-doing of a fellow-tribesman
that has to be discussed and judged. The speaker is doubtless under the
influence of coca, and will talk on and on. He may take hours to deliver
his oration, given with endless repetitions, while those who agree with
him will grunt “Heu!” to show approval from time to time throughout the
performance. When his final word is uttered the spokesman will reach
forward and take the pot, dip in a short stick, and wipe some of the
black liquid on his tongue. He will then pass the pot round to his
companions, and every man who has agreed with him will take tobacco,
whilst any one who passes the pot by--to signify he disagrees--will
be bound to give his reason for being of an opposite opinion. This is
continued until all in disagreement with the original speaker have put
forth their views. The question at issue is then settled by whichever
side may have the majority, the chief having the casting vote. There is
no appeal against such settlement. It is absolutely final.

The passing of tobacco is also used as a binding promise on every verbal
agreement between individuals. In this case they will dip a small stick
like a match into the liquid and pass it over the tongue, or put their
forefingers into each other’s tobacco pots, made from the hollowed
husks of nuts, and which are usually carried suspended round the neck
by a string. The tobacco pot comes into requisition again at a friendly
meeting, and serves to emphasise the binding nature of the friendship.

Though these Indians now all hold to patrilineal and patrilocal law,
there are traces that point to possibly original matrilocal customs
among them, such as still obtain among some of the tribes of British
Guiana.[59] We find survivals of marriage by capture; but in no tribe
are the girls sold, nor have they any dowry. The husband, once he has
obtained his wife, is entirely responsible for her maintenance.

Both endogamy and exogamy, with a preference for the former, exist so
far as the tribe is concerned; but with regard to the social unit of the
tribe, the community that shares a common house of assembly, the rule
of exogamy is very strictly enforced. The reason for this is that all
within a household are held to be kin. The one exception for this law
among the tribes is also the one exception to their patrilocal customs.
In the possible instance of a chief having a daughter but no sons to
succeed him, the daughter may marry a man of the same household, who
would probably be an adopted son. Any other exception would be most
unusual, and could only be attempted with the permission of the tribe
after thorough consideration of the case in tribal council. Otherwise
any son and any daughter of a household, no matter though they be of
different parentage, are barred from marriage by the blood-tie; yet what
we should look upon as an equally close relationship on the spindle side
is regarded by the Indians as no such thing, only the most intimate
relations of the mother ever being so much as counted kin.[60] A man may
marry into the household from which his mother came without transgressing
any recognised law, because the mother, having left her original
household to join that of her husband, has become one of his household
on marriage, and has ceased to belong to her own. In all probability
she will have had little or no intercourse with it. Marriage between
two individuals does not establish any admitted affinity between their
respective households. It follows that the children of two sisters might
possibly intermarry, but the children of two brothers never could.

Woman’s lot among all the tribes of the Amazon is commonly regarded as
a hard one. It is true that the steady grind of the day’s work falls to
her share. Men work intermittently, but the work that falls to the women
to do is incessant. In addition to the natural functions of the mother
and the housekeeper, the duties of an Indian wife include the bulk of all
agricultural labour. The husband’s energies cease when he has cleared and
broken up a patch of land, reclaimed a field from the surrounding forest,
an arduous task that needs more physical strength than women possess. The
ground once freed of trees and undergrowth, and roughly dug, the husband
considers that his share in the toil is at an end, and he will lie in
his hammock, eat, and sleep, while his wife, the baby slung behind her,
tills the field and harvests the crops. It is for her to plant the slips
and in due season dig the manioc. She must attend to the growing plant,
and eventually prepare the roots for use. But it would be wrong to infer
that the Indian husband is a lazy slave-driver. If his work is occasional
it must be confessed that he does undertake all the heaviest labour.
Each sex has its own pursuits. The man is the hunter and the warrior,
the woman is helpmate, agriculturalist, and staple food-provider. The
differentiation of work is very clear, bounded by the law of _Pia_--it
is our custom, which is like unto that of the Medes and Persians. A man
will on no account plant manioc, but he has a reason for this rule: he
says that women, being able to produce children, can produce manioc;
production is her province, not his.

The subjection of wives, if subjection it can be called, is due to
economic conditions. The woman holds a recognised, if subordinate,
position. She rarely quarrels with her husband, though she is certainly
not afraid of contradicting him when necessary; in fact I have met such
anomalies as hen-pecked husbands.

There are, as will be seen in detail subsequently, certain definite
restrictions imposed upon the women of the tribes, food they may not
eat, ceremonials they may not share, sacred objects they may not even
see. Coca and tobacco they may neither prepare not partake of, a law as
rigid as that which debars men from planting or preparing manioc. In some
tribes women are not permitted to see or be seen by strangers, but, as a
rule, the married women are remarkably free in this matter, though young
girls are more restricted.

Taken as a whole, women are well treated among all the tribes. A woman is
so far respected that her husband will consult her, but there is nothing
approaching to chivalry on the part of the man. The Indian does not
idealise. He weaves no romantic dreams about the Sex, but looks upon a
woman from the most material standpoint, pays her no small attentions,
never thinks of saving her trouble or any exertion, and in no way
attempts to lighten her lot in life. Yet everywhere, owing to conditions
of existence, women’s influence is very great. The tribal reputation of
a man rests largely in the hands of his wife; she can so easily leave
him if badly treated, and once the forest is gained she is lost to him,
and may without difficulty secure the protection of another tribe, or,
should public opinion be strong enough to drive the guilty husband
away, of another man in his household. The onus of her disappearance
will lie heavy upon the husband who has forced her to such--in Indian
opinion--extraordinary action. But cruelty on the part of a husband is
rare, as rare as infidelity on the part of a wife. A man who ventured to
ill-treat his wife would soon be the scorn of the tribe, for the other
women would promptly make a song about him, and the ridicule to which he
was exposed would be an effectual deterrent from further ill-doing in a
country where adverse public opinion is more efficient than any police
force in the prevention of recognised wrong.

The right of women to personal possession appears to be allowed. At death
her domestic implements are buried with her, and I have often wanted to
buy some article of adornment from a woman, but when I asked the husband
what he would like in exchange, have invariably been referred back again
to his wife, and had to conduct the barter with her. Also, though the
children belong absolutely to the father, it would be the mother and not
the father who would negotiate the exchange of any ornament worn by a
child.

Finally we come to the last and lowest section of a tribe, the slaves.
Slavery among the Indians themselves is little more than a name, for a
slave belongs to the chief, and soon becomes identified with his family.
Though slaves have frequently a chance to run away they seldom do so,
for they are usually treated with kindness, and probably are nearly as
well off in the house of their victors as in their own. Captives of both
sexes under the age of seven years, or thereabouts, are kept as slaves
by the conquering tribe; above that age they are destroyed, as they
possess intelligence enough presumably to betray their new tribe to their
old one. When a slave reaches man’s estate he is permitted to identify
himself with the warriors as any other boy would be; and thereafter is
looked upon as free; but the chief would consider that he had a lien of
sorts on such a man, and this would be commuted by payment of perhaps
half his shooting bag, probably until the time that he married. If the
chief dies, the slaves become the property of the new chief, but a man,
if already a warrior, would no longer feel himself bound to a new chief,
except in so far as tribal discipline might enforce on all the warriors.
A woman slave may be purchased from the chief by the gift of some small
present to his wife. After this the girl is free.

Maku slaves have little huts of their own in the forest, where they live
apart, and are never in any way familiar with their masters. They are
permitted to keep their own women. These slaves are generally despised.
They act the part of the “proverbial cat,” and are held to blame when
anything goes wrong. A medicine-man may accuse a Maku if a death takes
place, or any crime is committed, and the wretched slave is then
destroyed unhesitatingly. There are no Maku south of the Japura.

[Illustration: PLATE VIII.

1. GROUP OF WITOTO

2. GROUP OF SOME OF MY CARRIERS]

CHAPTER V

Judged by some of the pictures in books purporting to give accounts
of the South American Indians, the photograph adjoining (Plate VIII.)
would represent an Indian chieftain decked in his best to welcome the
newly-arrived traveller, instead of what it is--merely a group of my
escort and carriers tricked out in the rag, tag, and bobtail array they
deemed due to my dignity and their own. Far different is the actual scene
when the Indian homestead is approached and one meets these sons of the
forest--be they Boro, Witoto, or others--in their native haunts and
natural garb, unaffected by “civilised” influences. From the shadow of
the interior will stalk the chief, accompanied by his escort of warriors,
all naked, but for a strip of bark-cloth about the loins. Round the neck
of the chief is a necklace of jaguar teeth, in his hand a broadsword of
iron-wood; the men with him are destitute of feathers or ornaments, but
each holds poised in his left hand a bunch of throwing javelins.

It is regrettable that returning explorers[61] have deemed it a necessary
concession to unscientific prejudice to illustrate the natives of the
Amazons in clothing or drapery that is wholly foreign to their custom and
to their thought. The hypocrisy was more common before the uncompromising
days of photography, but the effect of the old woodcuts and engravings is
to give an entirely wrong impression of the appearance of the Indian in
his own haunts. Even so accurate an observer as Crevaux discounts much of
the value of his illustration by clothing his figures in a manner that
could only be possible within the Rubber Belt, or in the case of his
personal servants. Since the introduction of photography, non-existent
clothing has ceased to appear in pictures of the Amazonian tribes, but
still much misconstruction has been occasioned by grouping sets of
natives in such a fashion as to make it appear that they are ashamed of
their nakedness. As a fact, they are totally unaware of it. Therefore
it cannot be too strongly emphasised that the Indians of these tropical
regions are no more alive to any idea of indecency in their lack of
apparel than are the people of England conscious of immodesty in their
conventional attire at a Lord Mayor’s banquet or a function of the Court.
It is as impossible to comprehend the true psychology of the Amazonian
from the pedestal of the prude as from the pulpit of the priest.
Difficult as it may be for either to understand, it is none the less true
that to some peoples dress appears to be more indelicate than nudity.[62]
He who would see truly must divest the mind of inherited and instilled
prejudices in favour of much that to the natives has no meaning or reason
for existence. Moreover, he might do well to remember that clothes are
not always worn from motives of decency. Then he will understand that the
naked Indian in his forest is no more unchaste than is the statue of a
Greek god in the galleries of the British Museum.

[Illustration: PLATE IX.

MEDICINE MAN AND HIS WIFE (ANDOKE)]

It may be laid down as a generalisation for the regions under
investigation that the women are wholly destitute of clothing, and the
men wear little or nothing but what the Witoto call a _moh-hen_, that is,
a strip of beaten bark-cloth carried from front to rear between the legs
and tucked in at either end over a string or strap of bark-cloth bound
about the waist. As the temperature varies hardly at all with the season
of the year, there is no periodical deviation from this rule. Farther
south the tribes make blankets, but here, though they were interested in
mine, they have nothing of that description, and the native sleeps at
night without covering, exactly as he, or she, walks abroad throughout
the day.

There is practically no scope for originality, no choice of costume.
Even the chief is undistinguished from his tribesmen by the character
of his attire, although as a rule he wears a necklace of tiger teeth,
which is the outward evidence of his rank. His wife does not wear
any special ornaments, but of necessity she possesses the greater
number. The only member of the tribe who varies from his fellows is
the medicine-man, and he will adopt any idea that appeals to him as an
addition to the eccentricity of his appearance. One Andoke medicine-man,
whom I photographed, was wearing a turban of bark-cloth dyed a brilliant
scarlet; but his taste in this particular was purely individual, and
denoted neither professional nor tribal distinction. The large bag shown
in the adjoining illustration should be noted, for it was greatly admired
by the tribe. It appeared to be made in the same way as the ligatures,
with threads of red and undyed palm-fibre. It was not manufactured by the
Andoke, but had been obtained by barter; however, it was of indigenous
make, and probably came from the north of the Japura. Among the Orahone
the medicine-men fashion for themselves vestments of tapir hide, the only
instance in these parts of skins being utilised for clothing that came to
my knowledge.

The Amazonian boy is first provided with a breech-cloth when he is five
years old. His earliest lesson is in its manufacture, for every Indian
fashions his own clothing, is his own tailor and cloth manufacturer. He
goes to the bush and selects a tree,[63] on which he marks a space 6 feet
long by 9 inches in width, and strips from it both the outer and inner
barks. He separates the two layers, cuts the strip of inner bark in two,
and carries the pieces to the river, where the material is thoroughly
soaked. Afterwards this is beaten with a small wooden mallet until it
forms a yard length of bark-cloth 9 inches in width. Nothing further is
needed, for this makes the breech-cloth, and it is sufficient to pass
between the legs and tuck securely over the waist-band in front and
behind. There is no variation from the type or method of manufacture,[64]
and this simplest form of clothing is common to all tribes inhabiting the
wide stretch of country between the rivers Issa and Japura.

The breech-cloth is never discarded by the male Indian, nor, in the sight
of man or woman, would he ever remove it. When bathing he wades into a
sufficient depth before he interferes with its adjustment. Even when a
man dies his breech-cloth is buried with him.

[Illustration: PLATE X.

BORO TRIBESMEN]

South and west of the Issa, in the country of the Orahone, the men
wear, like other Napo tribes, long shirts of bark-fibre, on which are
traced circular designs painted in red, while north of the Japura the
Karahone wear stiff stays of bark, like strait-waistcoats, above their
breech-cloths. These garments are tightly plaited on to the body, and end
in a plaited fringe. They must be cut off to permit of removal. The same
uncomfortable costume extends northward from the Karahone country into
that of the Umaua and the tribes of the Apaporis district.

The Menimehe who, it will be remembered, occupy the left bank of the
Japura to the south and east of the Karahone, wear a loin-cloth with an
apron, which extends to the knees, of loose palm-fibre suspended over
it. This apron is 18 inches long and 6 inches in width, and is taken
off in the house. It is worn ceremonially, and always donned for war
and for dances. The men of the Opaina, who succeed the Menimehe on the
east between the Miriti and Apaporis Rivers, wear aprons after the same
fashion as their neighbours. The women wear nothing.

The Makuna, who dwell to the north of the Kuretu on the other side of
the Apaporis, affect a small belt of beaten bark, from which depends in
front a long apron of bast. The Kuretu group, who inhabit both sides of
the Japura to the east of the Menimehe, improve upon the habit of their
neighbours. Over the loin-cloth the men wear a bast kilt, or petticoat,
which dangles as low as the ankles. When walking, this garment is tucked
up between the legs, something after the manner of a Malay sarang. The
loin-cloth is retained below.

All the tribes on the right or south bank of the Japura follow the
fashion of the Boro; the men wear only breech-cloths, the women go
absolutely naked.

Thus it will be observed that the fashion of dress falls into a definite
geographical progression,[65] and there is no sudden change in passing
from one neighbouring tribe to another, although the tribal distinctions
are very marked.

The natives wear no head-covering as a protection. In a heavy rain an
Indian on the trail will tear down a palm-leaf and carry it over his head
as we should an umbrella, and he will adopt the same rough-and-ready
though effective means to shield himself from the sun.

No gloves are worn nor coverings for the feet. Boots of any sort, in
fact, would be impossible wear; even Europeans dispense with them.
Still, it is not possible for the white man to go through the forest
bare-footed. Personally, I used carpet slippers, which were washed every
evening after the day’s trek, and dried during the night.[66]

If for ordinary everyday life the attire of the Indian is of the
slightest, on the occasion of a festival or a dance the most elaborate
sartorial preparations have to be made. Wallace has enumerated no less
than “twenty distinct articles forming the feather head-dress,” which is
worn by the Menimehe and the Nonuya, as well as by the Uaupes Indians
of whom he wrote.[67] Then there are the feather armlets--ruffles of
bright-tinted plumage worn on the arm,[68]--wooden combs decorated
with tufts of feathers, and curassow down for the women, anklets and
strings of rattles hung round the legs, aprons of painted bark or belts
of beads, earrings, and necklaces, and, supreme vanity, there are the
elaborately-painted designs on the skin that are to the Indian belle what
the latest Paris “creation” is to her civilised sister.

According to Sir Everard im Thurn every tribe makes its own feather
head-dress after a special colour scheme.[69] I did not find this to be
the case with the Issa-Japura tribes. Instead of making them according
to rule, rather do they make them according to luck. Whatever they can
get in the way of gay plumage, feathers of the parrot, the macaw, or the
toucan, especially the macaw, because its feathers are the longest, be
the colour what it may, is employed indiscriminately. The effects are
very brilliant, but there is nothing made in these districts of such
elaborate description as the gorgeous feather-cloaks manufactured by the
Napo Indians, which are veritable works of art. The Issa-Japura tribes
content themselves with a coronet of the gayest breast-feathers, plumed
with tufts of the long feathers from the tail, all tied together with
fibre thread.[70] The Boro men on festive occasions also stick these long
macaw feathers into their arm-ligatures. The chief’s head-dress is more
lavish than those of his warriors. The only boy I ever saw wearing one
was the young son of a chief. Women do not wear the feather head-dress,
but they attach the white down of the curassow duck by means of some
resinous substance--such as rubber latex, or the milky secretion of
the cow-tree--for decorative purposes round their legs, between the
ligatures. The result of this is to make the calves look enormous. The
men do not decorate with down. The Indians are invariably most careful
of their feather ornaments. At the end of a dance an old man, so
Koch-Grünberg noted, will come round and knock the dust off the feathers
with a long cane. I have myself observed Indians, when overheated by
their violent exertions at a dance, take off their feather ornaments to
preserve them from sweat. They will never part with them, as they are
communal, not personal, possessions, and I found they objected extremely
to any attempt I made to photograph them when wearing their dancing
feathers.

[Illustration: PLATE XI.

WITOTO FEATHER HEAD-DRESSES.

The outer one is made on dark fibre, the inner on cotton yarn, which
would appear to have been obtained extra-tribally.]

Combs for festive occasions are made of palm wood, with spines of the
Bacába palm[71] for teeth, fixed in with pitch, and are ornamented
with feathers. These tribes do not bind up their hair with _coroá_
string as do some of the Uaupes Indians.[72] As may be judged from the
illustrations, hair-dressing fashions are not very varied. They range for
the men from quite short, as among the Muenane, to the long hair fancied
by some of the Boro. The majority wear their hair slightly shorter
than the women’s, as a rule divided down the middle, but occasionally
cut straight across the forehead in a shock fringe, reminiscent of the
coster’s. The only variation among the women is a band, a strip of beaten
bark-cloth, occasionally seen among the Resigero (see Plate XII.).[73]
The Makuna wear their hair in pigtails. The Karahone women keep their
hair cropped short. In the Boro comb of the illustration the black spines
are set between two pieces of cane, bound over with fibre, and finished
with basket-work of narrow cane strips, light and dark, plaited into a
regular pattern. The spines are 3¼ inches long, and project to within a
quarter of an inch of the ends for about 1⅜ inch on either side of the
basket-work back. This is 3¾ inches long and about half an inch thick.
The spines are neatly pointed at either end, and the whole resembles
very nearly--but for the uncommon effect of the basket-work--a European
comb of rather large and coarse make.

The Andoke comb is also made with two pieces of cane, slightly decorated
with chevron incisions. It is a quarter of an inch shorter than the Boro
comb, and has spines on one side only. These are set in pitchy matter
between the cane, and project seven-eighths of an inch. From the hardened
centre at one end depends a short tuft of fibre string, to which feathers
may be attached, and a longer string from the other end is fastened to
half a nutshell cut as a cup, very similar to the tobacco pot, and made
from the same kind of nut. This is 2⅛ inches long by 1⅛ deep in the
centre, and 1½ across. It is black and highly polished. This small cup is
used to hold the latex employed for depilatory purposes.

[Illustration: FIG. 7.]

The Witoto comb is of much rougher construction, with a thicker back. As
with the Boro, the spines are set right through, but instead of a section
of cane, two sticks, round bits of bamboo or reed are employed, and the
whole coated with pitch and tied with fibre string. The length of the
spines is a quarter of an inch longer than in the Boro comb, but owing to
the more clumsy back they project a quarter of an inch less.

[Illustration: PLATE XII.

GROUPS OF RESIGERO WOMEN]

[Illustration: PLATE XIII.

CENTRE OF DANCING GROUP--MUENANE

Inset.--Chief’s son wearing feather head-dress]

Having laid down the rough generalisation that all the women of these
tribes wear nothing, one has to begin the list of various exceptions
that go to prove this rule. It is true that they are nude to the extent
of wearing no garment of any description, but though naked they do not
appear to be so; and it is a qualified nakedness after all, qualified
with a variety of ornament, and, above all, of paint.

The Indian woman’s ideas on the subject of clothing are well illustrated
by the behaviour of those women who were of my own party. I gave them
djibbehs, but, unless I happened to be present and they feared my
anger, they never would wear them. For this attitude they advanced five
excellent reasons. If the sun shone the bright light would damage the
garment by causing the colour to fade.[74] If it rained the djibbeh would
get wet. If they were out in the bush the thorns caught and tore the
material. If they were dancing the useless encumbrance of a dress would
hide all their carefully-executed adornments of paint. If they were in
the house a covering of any sort would be merely ridiculous. There were
obviously, then, few or no opportunities left to wear their new, but
cumbersome and useless, finery. Not that the Indian man or woman has no
desire for finery, quite the contrary, their ornaments are more important
than their dress, in fact their ornaments are their dress.

The women of the Issa-Japura tribes wear a broad girdle for a dance.[75]
It is worn on no other occasions, and removed immediately the dance is at
an end. These dancing girdles are made by the women of seeds or Brummagem
beads if such can be had. These are strung in about two-foot lengths,
and so arranged that when two or three dozen strings are fastened into
a broad flat band the varying colours make a bold and definite design.
Like all these Indian ornaments, they evince a fine artistic sense of
colouring and pattern. Beads are passed inwards from the Rubber Belt
from tribe to tribe. On account of the isolation of these peoples, they
cannot aspire to have fashions direct from Birmingham, and novel patterns
hardly seem to occur to them. Designs must be symmetrical, and they are
quite content to copy the old-established ones. The colours vary, but
dark beads are the most sought after, dark blue being more favoured than
red. Black and white ones are the most prized, but red and white is the
combination usually seen. Any woman may possess a girdle, and it is
an individual, not a tribal, possession, the reverse of the custom as
regards the men’s feather head-dresses. These girdles are exceedingly
handsome and wonderfully well constructed.

Beads are especially treasured by the Karahone women, and they will wear
chain upon chain, amounting in the aggregate to a considerable weight.
The number worn by a Boro woman may be judged from the illustration (p.
154), where the white appendage round the woman’s neck is made simply by
stringing a few pounds of white beads together. Both men and women wear
necklaces. Besides those made only of beads, they are made of tiger--that
is to say jaguar--teeth, and pig, tapir, marmoset, and cat provide
ivories that may be strung on _curána_ thread, besides the necklace of
accomplished vengeance, the string of human teeth. With the exception of
the latter, the teeth are bored through the fang, and threaded at regular
intervals, interspersed with beads, bone, or Brummagem, tiny discs of
bone or shell, or brightly-coloured seeds. The pendants on the necklaces
seen in the illustrations are mostly coins, depreciated Chilian dollars
as a rule.[76] Those shown in the various photographs were either given
to the wearers by me or had filtered through from the Rubber Belt; a few
may have reached these primitive folk through the medium of intertribal
barter. In any case, they are always most rare and cherished possessions.
The pendants generally worn are thin, flat, triangular pieces of beaten
metal, obtained either from coins or old brass cartridge cases. The
rarity of metal in these parts is marked by the small quantity allowed
for any one ornament, which is invariably of extreme thinness, and hardly
more than a featherweight. They are not grooved, incised, or beaten into
any design, but have merely a smoothed surface. The edge is rounded, not
sharp. They are hung by a small beaded fibre string to the necklet or
more generally to the ear-plug.

[Illustration: PLATE XIV.

BORO COMB OF PALM SPINES SET IN PITCH AND FINISHED WITH BASKETWORK OF
SPLIT CANE, FIBRE STRINGS, AND TUFTS OF PARROTS’ FEATHERS]

[Illustration: PLATE XV.

DUKAIYA (OKAINA) BEAD DANCING-GIRDLE

CONDOR CLAWS, USED BY ANDOKE MEDICINE MAN OF THE UPPER JAPURA RIVER]

The necklaces are matters of importance, for they disclose the status
of the wearers. The skill of a warrior as a hunter, his bravery in war,
is proved by the character of the teeth that circle his neck: the more
successful the hunter the finer the teeth he wears, the more numerous
the adornments of his family. Most to be envied in Indian opinion is a
string of human teeth, in that it is the witness of revenge; the teeth
are from the head of an enemy, for a man wears only the teeth of foes or
game that he himself has killed, and at his death they will be buried
with him, unless he fall at the hands of a foe, and his string of teeth
go to swell the spoils of the victor. Human teeth are never bored, they
are carefully bound into the necklace with fine fibre string. The very
insignificance of the small, worn, discoloured teeth is in itself a
sinister characteristic, presupposes an object other than ornamental,
adds a horrible touch to the bizarre effect of all this barbaric bravery.

Necklaces of human teeth are frequently finished, if the teeth are not
sufficient in number for the required length, with rounded bits of bone.
Other teeth are spaced out with discs, some made of bone, others of shell
obtained from river mussels, or even with knots in the fibre thread.
The Boro necklace of human teeth in the accompanying illustration is
made on cotton twist, an imported article very seldom found among these
tribes,[77] though one of the Okaina beaded garlands figured on Plate
XIV. is also made on cotton string, not palm-fibre as is customary. The
handsome jaguar tooth necklace loses some of its artistic values in a
black-and-white reproduction, which inevitably cannot do justice to the
creamy ivory, shading to rich browns, of the teeth, making effective
show against the red and blue of the beads, the dull colourlessness of
the pieces of bone. Some of the teeth have a very primitive criss-cross
grooving scratched on the fang end, others have a more elaborate attempt
at a carved design. Each design differs, but the same idea of involuted
curves is traceable in all.

In cases where Indians are too poor or too isolated to secure a
sufficient supply of the Brummagem article, chains are still made of the
bright red and black seeds of a bush plant, as they were before beads
were obtainable; or bits of bone are employed, short lengths of cane or
reed, or even red berries, gay enough when fresh, but dull and crinkled
when they wither and fade. Beetles also are utilised for ornament, and
the fondness of the Indian for black is shown in his rejection of such
beetles as the gaudy-coloured Longicornes and his preference for the
shiny breastplate of a fat squat beetle in black armour.[78] These strung
on fibre string look like irregularly carved jet beads, but are far
lighter, and make a soft and hollow rattle when shaken.

Besides these chains and necklaces the natives are very partial to a
tight-fitting necklet of white beads bordering either side of a row of
small, flat, diamond-shaped pieces of black wood, or the black shell of
a nut, or gourd. These necklets vary a trifle in width: some have the
diamond almost squared, they may have one, two, or three white beads
between the black points, but there is no greater divergence than this
from the stereotyped pattern. The polished bits of wood, like the beetle
cases, resemble jet; and the sharp distinction of black and white sets
off the native beauty, as a band of black velvet is supposed to put the
finishing touch to her fairer sisters.

[Illustration: PLATE XVI.

NECKLACES OF HUMAN AND TIGER TEETH]

[Illustration: PLATE XVII.

1. NECKLACE OF POLISHED NUTSHELLS. 2. LEG RATTLES OF BEADS AND NUTSHELLS.
3, 4, 5, 6. BEAD NECKLACES. THE ‘BLACK BEADS’ ARE BITS OF POLISHED
NUTSHELL, THREADED BETWEEN WHITE BEADS.]

A favourite ornament among the Boro and Witoto, and also with some of
the Napo tribes, is a bracelet of iguana skin. To make these, a circular
piece is cut off the creature’s tail, the ring of skin, varying in width
from half to three inches wide, is removed and drawn over the hand when
fresh and damp. This band dries tightly to the skin of the arm, and will
remain there in spite of frequent washings for years. These lizard-skin
bracelets can hardly be seen in any of the photographs reproduced in
these pages. They are supposed to have certain magical properties, and to
endow the wearer with special strength and vigour. For the same purpose
children wear a black ring cut from a nut. The diameter of the ring--1½
inch outside and quite a quarter of an inch less within--does not permit
it to be worn when the child grows up; the arm always swells round it,
and obviously it must eventually be cut off, but I cannot speak with any
certainty as to how or when this is done. The women’s bracelets are made
of beads when they can be obtained, or of gay-coloured seeds. Those worn
by the Resigero woman in the illustration by page 80 are made of threaded
seeds, or of beads, wound round and round the forearm with a turn or two
of white beads at either end. The central beads are usually dark red.

Rattles and feather ornaments are festooned on the legs for a dance,
but only the women wear the tight ligatures that swell out the calf.
Both men and women among all these tribes wear ligatures, the men on the
upper arm, just below the shoulder, the women on the leg, below the knee
and again above the ankle. These ligatures are worn extremely tight,
and result not in atrophy of the limb, as might be expected,[79] but
in an enormous swelling of the muscles above or below them. The ankle
ligatures sometimes reach half-way up the leg. They all vary greatly
in breadth, but this I consider to be a matter of personal taste--or
possibly personal skill--and not a tribal fashion or distinction, except
in so far as that the Witoto knee ligatures are narrower than those of
other tribes, and are never so well made. But this confirms the idea
of personal skill deciding the pattern, for all Witoto work is cruder
than Boro or Okaina. Even the roughest of these ligatures, however, is
a marvellously neat piece of workmanship, the more surprising when one
discovers that only the fingers are used in its manufacture. A ligature
band is made of a very fine fibre thread, and on the reverse side has the
appearance of a knitted or crochetted fabric; on the right side it looks
rather like a woven tapestry ribbon, with a slightly raised pattern.
But so far as I could ever see no implement of any kind is employed
in the making of these bands.[80] The fibre string is interworked
and knotted with extraordinarily skilled finger-work only. Sometimes
the band is decorated by a pattern of coloured lines, diagonals, and
diamonds slightly raised. In nearly every one that I saw closely enough
to examine the edge was corded, and the end finished with a kind of
buttonhole looping. The ligatures shown in the illustration are Witoto
and Boro-made ones.[81] The ends are finished with a line of open-work
stitches and a buttonholed or twisted edge. Through the open spaces
twisted fibre cords are run, and these pull the band together exactly on
the principle of a lady’s silk purse. They are tied in two knots. A tuft
of cords, or occasionally a bone or wooden disc, finishes off the man’s
ligature, which is knotted in front. The women lace their ligatures on,
and fasten them very securely. I had to cut those shown in Plate XIV. to
get them off the wearer’s legs. The Yahabana and other Kuretu-speaking
tribes wear their armlets very tight, and the skin underneath is lighter
in shade than it is on the exposed portion of the limb, according to
Koch-Grünberg. This lighter skin will blister in the sun if unprotected.

[Illustration: PLATE XVIII.

BORO LIGATURES]

[Illustration: PLATE XIX.

BORO LEG AND ARM LIGATURES

WITOTO LEG LIGATURE]

The leg rattles are made of polished nutshells, and garters with beaded
tassels and nutshells are fastened below the knee. The nutshells vary
in size and shape, though all are approximately bell-like when cut and
strung, with or without beads, on fibre thread. They give a tinkling
sound if shaken, and for this reason, as they play a distinct part in the
native dances, they are dealt with in a later chapter among the musical
instruments. In addition to these rattles strings of feather-tufted
reeds or bits of bone are also worn. The reeds, cane, or bones, are about
three inches long, with a small bunch of feathers secured to one end by
means of pitch. The other end is pierced, fibre thread strung through,
and the intervals between the reeds are kept by means of knots.

Similar little bits of cane are worn in the ears, which are bored by all
these tribes at the age of puberty. These ear ornaments are frequently
decorated at one end with a tuft of gay feathers. These are very neatly
arranged in some cases; a ring of fine blue feathers may surround a red
tip. They are fixed to the cane with latex or pitch. Orahone, which
simply means Big Ears,[82] is a name given nowadays to many distinctly
different tribes who follow the fashion of the Indians on the Uaupes and
the Napo and insert large wooden plugs into the lobes of their ears. The
Orahone and some Issa-Japura tribes--especially among the Boro-speaking
group--use a disc of cabbage wood. The Orahone smear this with a red
vegetable colouring matter, the Boro fix an ornamented shell into the
wood.

These wooden plugs are extremely light, about two and five-eighth inches
long, and three inches across at the widest point, that is the front
rim. This end is hollowed like a shallow egg-cup, and the shell set in
it is decorated with a fine pattern done in black-and-white. In one
earring in my possession the shell, so far as I can judge, is a portion
of some hard, dark nutshell. The pattern is grooved, or scratched on the
shell, and filled in with a fine white clay. This gives the effect of
an elaborate black-and-white inlay. The shell is secured in the hollow
with pitch. The back part of the plug that fits behind the ear is not
decorated in any manner.

Very effective earrings are made with round discs of a pearl-coated
river-shell fastened to a short piece of bamboo with pitch. The
mother-of-pearl is of a deep blue colour, and of a good quality. In shape
these earrings are not unlike certain kinds of toadstool with a thin stem
and an inverted cone head.

With the Boro and other Indians near the Japura the lip also is
perforated for the insertion of an ornament, except among the Witoto, who
do not use the labret. This, as a rule, is made of metal, if it is in
any way possible to secure some. Silver is occasionally seen, and brass
is obtained from old cartridge cases, that are beaten flat and rubbed to
shape.

Nose-pins are another fashionable adornment of the forest Indians. The
Makuna wear a long black pin, a palm-spine, through the cartilage of
the nose. The Yakuna also wear a long pin, and the Muenane and Witoto
women wear nasal ornaments. The nose-pins of the Kuretu-speaking tribes,
Yahabana and others, must be somewhat of an obstruction to the wearer,
owing to their exaggerated length, 30 centimetres. In the central Igara
Parana district the Boro, especially the women, insert feathers into
small holes made in the wing of the nose. Boring the algæ is peculiar
to the Boro-speaking group of tribes, and to the Resigero. The women
bore holes in the top of the nostril, into which they insert bits of
quill to keep them open till such times as a dance is held, when the
quills are removed and small ornaments with feathers are put in their
place. No other tribes have this fashion. The Saka, who are of the same
language-group as the Karahone, wear the bones of birds instead of a palm
nose-pin through the septum. Robuchon confirms my observation that the
septum of the nose only is perforated by the Witoto in the upper Igara
Parana districts, and that a goose feather is then worn. He also mentions
the use of the labret, and the elongation of the lobe of the ear. There
are many varieties of ear ornaments, but most of them are big and enlarge
the lobes.

[Illustration: PLATE XX.

1 & 3. BORO. 2. WITOTO’ LIGATURES.

Note contrast of texture]

Among the Tuyuka the boys at the age of puberty burn scars on their arms,
but I have never seen scarification among the Issa-Japura tribes;[83]
nor is there much tattooing. The Menimehe, both men and women, tattoo
the face and breast. The designs show little artistic skill, and are all
done in straight lines. The patterns on the cheeks are simply tribal
marks.[84] The breast patterns vary. On the arms of these people I have
seen rough representations of a lizard tattooed as here illustrated. The
incision is done with the spine of a palm, and the black residue from
burnt rubber is rubbed into the puncture. This results in a blue mark.
None of these tribes have such a practice as that described by Crevaux
of making chevron marks on a woman’s thighs to record the number of her
male children.[85] I know nothing of this or any similar custom, but some
of the Boro living on the north of the Japura have borrowed the idea of
tattooing from the Menimehe, and wear--both men and women--a tribal mark
below the cheek-bone, and sometimes a pattern on the breast. These are
the only two groups of tribes among whom I ever saw any people tattooed.

[Illustration: FIG. 8.]

But, if very few tattoo, all paint. The Karahone women are as fond of
paint as they are of beads, and use more colours than other tribes. Their
particular colour is purple. As a rule the colours are red, yellow,
black--a bluish black--and white. The latter is secured from certain
fruits. A bright red, the commonest paint of all, is made from a prickly
burr, or nut, that is full of seeds and red matter.[86] Black paint is
obtained by using charcoal, or the juice of a fruit,[87] and a species of
_Cissus_ has a fruit from which the Indians get their blue paints. Ochre
gives them yellow, but the source of the purple paint I was unable to
discover.

Red is a favourite colour with all the tribes, and many women daub
their whole faces over with scarlet. This will quite content them, and
no further attempt at a design will be made. A blue-black is also very
often seen smeared on in the same fashion, the juicy stain apparently
being merely squeezed over the skin. Robuchon mentions a custom among
some Witoto tribes of covering the body with latex and then sprinkling
it with black ashes. Hardenburg also mentions the use of a resinous
matter which is daubed on by the Witoto.[88] The reason for the former
Robuchon declared he could not divine. It was one of the secrets of the
dressing-table of the Kinene girls that he was not prepared to fathom.
Sometimes black ashes are so used, and at other times yellow clay. The
secret is not so profound as the French traveller seems to have imagined.
It is evidently done for protective purposes, as babies in arms are
invariably treated in this fashion, women but seldom. Occasionally a
black juice is smeared over the face and neck, under the jawbones. This I
never thought was meant to be decorative paint, but always concluded it
was some manner of skin tonic.

Among the Orahone, and also some of the Issa and Japura Indians, the
women cover their teeth and their finger-nails with a black pigment.

The paint is never allowed to work off entirely; fresh designs are
superimposed before the original has quite disappeared. The women always
paint themselves for a dance, and dances are so frequent that before
the coat of paint is worn away another festivity will be in prospect,
and fresh decorations have to be considered. They also paint on other
occasions than a dance.

With regard to the designs the photographs give a truer notion than
any possible description of the variations and tribal fashions. The
independent Andoke have no fixed pattern, but their lines appear to be
more flowing. A good example is the fourth figure in Plate XXI. The body
in this case was coated with a purple paint, leaving only a broad seam
down the middle unpainted. This design is not seen elsewhere; it is
peculiar to the Andoke. In one dance I saw they painted themselves with
what were intended to be representations of their Witoto neighbours. I
saw also the Andoke got up for a dance covered with weapons painted in
my honour, boots, trousers, and dresses all suggested. Purple paint
predominated, and the effect was a rough copy of my own apparel in paint.

[Illustration: PLATE XXI.

ANDOKE GIRLS]

The patterns are regular; the most highly finished ones are executed with
an eye to the lines of the figure, and some, as for example those shown
in the accompanying group of Okaina women, are of complicated if crude
design. The Okaina designs are certainly the most elaborate that I met
with, but it is to be noted that in no case do the women attempt to hide,
disguise, or paint that portion of the body which most peoples are the
first to cover, and which even among these tribes is never exposed by the
males.[89]

The effect of paint on the legs of women wearing tight ligatures is,
as Robuchon very aptly remarked, to give them the semblance of small
balcony pillars. Among the less particular--the Witoto especially being
the more lax in this as in all other matters--the regular designs are
not attempted, and paint is daubed crudely on the body in smears and
splotches, with a result that is bizarre in the extreme.

The men are painted by their women before a dance, but never in the
intricate patterns and variety of colour used by the ladies of the
community themselves.

On one occasion among the Okaina three of the old women of the tribe were
sent to me with purple paint, to paint me for the festivity. The Andoke
men seem more given to painting themselves than the men of other tribes,
and always use purple paint. A common device is a lizard, some nine
inches long, painted on the back and in front on the middle of the chest.
But painting is not a universal custom among the men as with the women. I
do not remember, for instance, to have seen a Witoto man painted.

CHAPTER VI

Occupations--Sexual division and tabu--Tribal
manufactures--Arts and crafts--Drawing--Carving--Metals--Tools
and implements--No textile fabrics--Pottery--Basket
making--Hammocks--Cassava-squeezer and grater--Pestle and
mortar--Wooden vessels--Stone axes--Methods of felling
trees--Canoes--Rafts--Paddles.

Life in Amazonia to the man is occasionally strenuous, frequently a
veritable _dolce far niente_; to the woman it is a ceaseless round of
toilsome duties, broken only by the excitement of preparation for, and
participation in, a tribal dance. The division of occupations between
the sexes is possibly uneven, but very certainly strict. In many cases
it amounts to a tabu,[90] and as a rule the reason for this division is
either apparent or confessed. It is absolutely a question of sex. To men
appertain defensive measures, all that calls for physical strength and
skill, war, the chase, the manufacture of weapons, the preparation of
certain poisons and drinks, especially those that are used ceremonially.
Men paddle the canoes, except in extreme cases, when a sufficiency of men
is not forthcoming, and women perforce must lend their aid. They cut the
wood and build the houses. They climb the trees to gather fruit, clear
the plantations, and turn the soil. Woman is the housewife, the mother,
and the cook, but she is also the agriculturalist and the maker of all
purely domestic implements. She manufactures the hammocks, the rough
pottery, and most of the baskets, although it would not be considered
derogatory on the part of the man to lend a hand if necessary.

[Illustration: PLATE XXII.

WITOTO BASKETS OF SPLIT CANE AND FIBRE.]

Besides this sexual differentiation various tribes have their special
manufactures in which they excel their neighbours. The Menimehe are
known as great pottery workers. The Karahone are renowned for their
poisons. The Boro specialise on mat-making, plaiting, the manufacture
of ligatures, and the preparation of blow-pipes. The Witoto hammocks
are better than those of other tribes. Trade in any organised form is
non-existent, it is true, but articles pass, as I have already described,
irregularly by personal barter and exchange of gifts to other tribes;
and in this fashion the poison of the Karahone reaches tribes unknown
to the makers, and beads made in Birmingham filter down by many and
devious routes even to these isolated wilds. Over fifty years ago Wallace
estimated that some thousands of pounds’ worth of trade goods passed
up the Uaupes yearly,[91] and this accounts for the fact that tribes
north of the Japura are better supplied than those of the south. The
best articles for barter I found were axes, knives, combs--especially
scurf-combs--and Brummagem beads. Cloth and fowling-pieces are not valued
except in the Rubber Belt; the less sophisticated Indian of the backwoods
has no manner of use for them: cloth is less ornamental than paint, and
the scatter-gun only frightens the game and lessens the kill.

Indian arts and crafts are neither numerous nor particularly complex;
indeed arts--with the exception of music and dancing--are almost unknown.
There are no rock pictures in the Issa-Japura valleys, such as those
executed by the Indians in so many other parts of the Americas, but then
there are no rocks. I have occasionally among the Andoke and the Boro
seen pictures of a rude type on the supports of the houses, and on the
four large central posts of the big _maloka_; or these may be roughly
carved. There is carving also on some of the dancing staves. But these
people have no great use for colour and line beyond the ornamentation
of their bodies, and in a lesser degree of their pottery. They make no
attempt to use drawing for informative purposes. Elsewhere Indians have
shown themselves skilful map-makers,[92] but none of these tribes could
so much as draw a rough chart of their own district. Yet this district
to them represents the whole world. They do not realise that there can
be any other people but themselves and the half-dozen tribes or so who
happen to be in their immediate vicinity, and always regarded it as a
huge joke on my part when I talked of the sea and the vast countries
beyond.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIII.

BORO NECKLACE OF JAGUARS TEETH WITH INCISED PATTERNS

NECKLACE OF JAGUAR-TEETH, INCISED, AND FLUTE MADE OF HUMAN BONE]

One tribe of Witoto do possess a drawing on bark-cloth that is their
equivalent of a map of the world. This tribe when I visited them were
located near the source of the Karaparana, and the “map” was so very
exceptional an acquisition that it was known and talked about by far
distant tribes who had never seen either it or its possessors. In fact,
it was one of the wonders of the universe, to be bragged about to any
stranger who was ignorantly unaware of its existence. Nothing I could
offer would persuade these Witoto to part with their treasure, and
unfortunately I was unable to obtain a photograph of it. My too evident
interest aroused suspicion, and on this account I was unable to study it
clearly, as I saw it but for a moment, and that in a dark house before my
eyes were accustomed to the gloom. It was almost immediately hidden for
fear I should seize it. This map was made on beaten bark about two feet
square. The centre was divided into about a dozen squares. In each square
very crude human figures were represented fighting, planting, or hunting
in their own tribal territory. These were the “nations” of the world. The
dividing lines were of red vegetable pigment. The “nations,” so far as I
could see, were fighting amongst themselves. In the margin were the sun,
a moon, and many stars. I saw nothing to designate spirits or _Taife_.
So ancient was this map, handed down from generation to generation, that
divine origin or use was assumed. It was said to be the world in the
days when the Good Spirit appeared to man.[93]

Slight carvings, such as can be seen in the accompanying illustration,
are done at times on the teeth that they string for a necklace; and among
the Witoto I twice met with examples of figures carved in wood. The two
figures in the first instance, a nude man and woman, were life-size.
They were painted white with designs in black and red to represent the
paintings done for a dance. These figures were placed on either side of
the door jambs outside, and were the only two of the kind I ever saw or
heard of in the country. They were greatly prized by their owners, and
spoken of by neighbours as notable achievements. No one had any idea who
made them, or when they were made, and if questioned simply said they
always had been.

In the second instance the figure was a small female doll. It was in
the possession of the daughter of a chief of the Itoma Gurra tribe of
Witoto, a young girl, but who had arrived at maturity. The Indians said
the doll was for the children to play with, but such toys are extremely
scarce. This one was about eight inches high, and was made of some very
light wood, painted white, with the organs that denoted the sex marked in
red.[94] The toy was not regarded in any way as an idol, nor was there
any suggestion of magical powers attaching to it. To secure such a toy
is almost impossible, but this doll I did obtain. Unfortunately I showed
it to an Indian afterwards, who told me that his tribe made such things,
and that he could get me a pair to it. I gave him the toy, but never saw
him or the doll again. This was unusual. As a rule when an Indian says he
will do anything he keeps his word.

Smelting, or any description of metallurgy, cannot be looked for among
the inhabitants of a country so singularly devoid of all metalliferous
deposit or formation. Metal there is practically none in the aboriginal
homes of the natives, and whatever of it is received, be it but a
trousers-button, becomes at once an heirloom and a treasure. Their only
method of working metal when obtained is to heat and hammer it into
various forms and shapes for ornaments. Weapons and implements alike must
be contrived of other materials. In normal conditions man, without the
knowledge to work ore, turns to stone for substitute, but conditions in
Amazonia are, as has already been shown, abnormal. If there is no metal
neither is there any stone. It is so rare that it is looked upon as
almost sacred,[95] and implements fashioned of it are not made nowadays
by the tribes, but those in use are handed down from one generation
to another. North of the Japura, where quartz can be obtained, at
least by barter, it is used for knives, arrow-heads, spear-points, and
cassava-graters; but these Issa-Japura Indians have to content themselves
with wood and palm-spines, and have only their ancestral stone axes.[96]
These are constructed in true “prehistoric” manner; the stones have been
and are fastened to their wooden hafts with fibre lashings fixed by
vegetable pitch.[97] The Indian cannot say from whence they came, there
is no memory of their makers; they are, in fact, looked upon as veritable
gifts from the gods.

Wooden knives are constructed from such hardwood trees as the black
ironwood. These knives and stone axes will be used by Indians even more
in touch with civilisation than these tribes, possibly because the
Brummagem trade-goods knife and hatchet has been proved useless for
practical wear.

For boring purposes the Indians make an instrument like a bradawl T with
a capybara’s tooth, and a paca tooth is used for scraping. With these
simple implements the labour involved in producing such a weapon as the
blow-pipe is enormous. But these are all the tools the Indian craftsmen
possess.

Manufactures among the Issa-Japura tribes are not numerous. These Indians
have no textile fabrics; they neither spin nor weave; everything is done
by finger-work, and the local substitutes for woven goods are beaten
bark-cloth and netted or plaited palm-fibre. This, as a rule, is in its
natural colour, as very little dye is ever employed. There is no leather
working. The only use made of the skins of animals, I ever discovered,
was that some Menimehe tribes had large round shields of tapir hides,
two to five hides superimposed one on another;[98] the medicine-men make
garments of the same leather; while the medicine-pouch is often made of
the unshorn skin of the jaguar. Leather thongs are sometimes employed for
tying purposes, such as securing an axe-haft, and on the north of the
Japura to string a bow, but the ubiquitous fibre and liana are in more
general use.

Glass is unknown to the Indian, but every tribe makes its own pottery.
Earthenware pots are used by all Indians for cooking. The best are
manufactured by the Menimehe women, and are distinguished by the red and
black colouring. This is obtained by the use of certain juices extracted
from the bark of a tree. These handsome, well-finished pots are a great
article of barter, and are exchanged for other products of friendly
tribes. Thus they are to be found at far distances from where they are
made on the northern bank of the Japura. It amounts to a trade, distinct
if unorganised.

Pottery-making is the sole province of the women in any tribe,
earthenware appertaining to the culinary department which is their
special sphere. The pots, entirely made and shaped by hand, when finished
are beautifully symmetrical, though the Indian potters possess nothing
approximating to a wheel.[99] Squatting on the ground the women work
and mould the clay, and rub it between their hands into long cylinders
very much like plug tobacco. These are coiled round and round and kneaded
into a previously constructed shape; or the women will prepare a circular
hole in the ground and mould the clay into that. The plastic coils are
then worked round with any hard thing that is handy--a bone or a piece of
wood. When the vessel is built up to the size intended it is carefully
rubbed before it is set out to dry in the sun. Finally, hot ashes are
heaped over the pots, which are baked slowly and polished afterwards.

The clay used is commonly to be found on the river-banks, and with
it the Indians mix wood ashes, either to stiffen it or, as Crevaux
suggests,[100] to render the finished article more porous, so that its
contents are kept cool by evaporation. This pottery is known as caraipé
ware, from the fact that the ashes of the caraipé bark are preferred for
its manufacture.[101] In some districts vessels of even a very large size
are made of it,[102] but I never saw any big pots either imported or made
locally in the Issa-Japura valleys. The large vessels used for making
kawana by these tribes consist merely of huge strips of the inner bark of
the tree, riveted together with thorns or spines, and set upright on a
hard earthen surface; or else a section of a great tree trunk is hollowed
out to make a trough. Large flat plates to bake the cassava cakes on are
made of earthenware, but very often only wooden platters are used.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIV.

BORO CASSAVA-SQUEEZER.

(_a_) LOOP AT END]

Women are not the tribal potters alone; they are also the chief
basket-makers, though on occasions the men will make baskets. Both
Karahone and Boro Indians excel in basket-making, though all tribes are
skilful enough at it. If you give an Indian anything to carry he never
dreams of holding it in his hands if it will allow of other carriage.
He either winds a strip of bark-fibre round his head to make a sling in
which to place it, or, if it were anything that did not admit of easy
adjustment--as, for instance, fruit--he gathers some green palm leaves,
and in about five minutes has plaited them, on a foundation of two
rods, into a long and deep square basket, which is thrown away at the
end of the march. Such quickly made baskets are continually in use, but
the tribes also construct more elaborate ones that can be utilised for
more than immediate purposes. In every _maloka_ may be seen baskets of
plaited bark-fibre and of plaited cane,[103] usually white, but sometimes
with an interwoven and regular pattern in black cane. The Resigero make
bottle-shaped baskets as receptacles for edible ants. A large basket is
carried on the back, slung from the forehead with the customary band of
bark-fibre.

Quite as important as the pottery is the manufacture of hammocks.[104]
This again is done by the women of the tribes. It is woman’s, that is
to say light, work. All these tribes make them on the same principle
and in the same way, the only difference in the hammocks of different
tribes is the spacing of the cross-threads. This, according to Hamilton
Rice, is a tribal distinction, each group of tribes having an individual
spacing.[105] The material used is curana string or palm-fibre. To
prepare this the women take the pinnate leaflets of the Chambiri
palm[106] and fold over each strip at its broadest part. They grip it
tightly and shred it down with the thumb and forefinger. The fibre thus
procured is then twisted into a cord by rolling it tightly and hard
against the naked thigh.

To make a hammock a woman takes a length of this fibre string and turns
it round, backwards and forwards between two posts set in the earthen
floor of the _maloka_. Cross strings of the same material are then tied
at the regulation intervals and knotted across, from string to string, to
the opposite side. No implement of any kind is used; the two posts are
the only framework, and the whole construction is carried out entirely by
the women’s fingers without any artificial aid.

The cassava-squeezer, that essential complement to an Indian household,
is another plaited or basket-work article. The squeezer, which is common
to the Boro and all the tribes north or south, except the Witoto, the
Muenane, and the Nonuya, consists of a long cylinder with a loop at
both ends. One is attached to a rafter, and the other to a stout stick,
on which a woman sits, and thereby pulls upon the cylinder. The manioc
is inserted through the open end before the weight is applied, and the
elastic structure widens out to permit the soaked and grated roots to be
packed in, till it resembles nothing so much as a well-filled Christmas
stocking; but when pressure is brought to bear on the lower end the
cylinder gradually elongates, and thereby contracts, crushing the roots
to a pulp, from which the poisonous juice drains away.

The material used to make these squeezers appears to be a species of
cane, but is said to be the bark of a palm tree.[107] It is cut into
narrow strips and closely plaited into an elastic bottle some seven to
ten feet long, and not more than about six inches wide when open. Instead
of this cylinder the Witoto use a long web, a rectangular strip about ten
inches wide of plaited bark-fibre, about an inch wide. This they wind
round the grated manioc after the manner that putties are adjusted on
the leg. The tighter they twist the pliable web the greater the pressure
upon the crushed roots, and the juice is thus wrung out of them.

The grater that is used to scrape the manioc roots, before they are
placed in the squeezer, is a wooden implement made by the Indian women
themselves.[108] It is a flat oval. The one in the illustration measures
16½ inches by 5¾ inches. The wood is of a bamboo type set with short
black palm-spines about an eighth of an inch apart, thicker at one
end than the other, but arranged in no regular pattern. These spines
are fixed into the wood and project about an eighth of an inch above
it. Those in which quartz stones are inserted instead of spines are a
valuable commercial commodity north of the Japura.

[Illustration: PLATE XXV.

OKAINA GROUP

Note Coca pestle and mortar.

GROUP OF OKAINA WOMEN]

I never saw manioc crushed, as Robuchon described, with a pestle and
mortar; but these articles are in frequent use, especially for the
preparation of coca and tobacco, so they are items of importance in an
Indian inventory. A mortar is easily improvised from the hollowed trunk
of a tree, and such a small mortar, with a long heavy pounder, is shown
on the right of the photograph of a group of Okaina Indians. It is being
used to pound coca (Plate XXV.). The pestles are made of some heavy wood,
such as red wood or mahogany, and the lower trunk of the peach palm,[109]
or a block of ironwood makes a very solid mortar. The peach-palm trunk
is hollow, that is to say, it has a very hard shell filled with soft
pith that can be scraped out with little difficulty.[110] Some of these
mortars are of great size. Spruce gives the measurements as five to six
feet high, but none I saw were more than four feet.

Not only are mortars and troughs made from the tree trunks, but bark is
cut into long strips to make smaller vessels, shallow concave trays not
unlike the Arunta hardwood _pitchi_.[111] The method is ingenious by
which the bark is stripped from the trunk, or the tree is felled, for
the principle in each case is the same. Round the trunk of the selected
tree a number of small holes are made, or, if only a portion is to be
removed, the trunk is notched at the required distances. The edge of the
stone axe is inserted in the notch, and the slip of wood is levered up
with it until it splits away at the lower notch; or, if the tree is to be
felled, the holes are widened into grooves that are deepened round the
trunk till it gives way--a somewhat slow process, but a sure one.

In this fashion the Indians cut down the trees from which their boats are
to be made. A tree is felled, preferably a cedar,[112] and the trunk is
hollowed out for the length required, which varies, but may be as much
as 20 feet, though the breadth will not exceed 18 inches. To hollow the
trunk the Indians bore holes in the wood in order to secure the proper
thickness, and then slit off pieces with their stone axes. These are
kindled into a fire to which logs of wood are added. This burns out
the required cavity, and when the trunk is very hot the burning embers
are scraped away and the burnt trunk is forced apart, which is done by
gradually inserting longer logs that are hammered into place. This is
a job that needs to be done deftly and quickly, or the cooling wood
will soon either contract too much or break at the strain. The heat
also causes the ends to curve upwards, so that the bow and the stern of
the boat will rise higher than the centre. Such a “dug-out” is a heavy
concern, often with a specific gravity greater than that of water.

These boats belong to the community, and are not many in number. They are
never left on the bank, nor are they kept in the _maloka_, but are hidden
in the bush near the river-banks. The paddles, however, are kept in the
house, stored overhead on the rafters.

All the tribes of the Issa and Japura valleys make these rather clumsy
craft, but it is possible that the original idea is not indigenous, and
that the autochthonic boat is the temporary canoe made from the hollowed
trunk of the bulge-stemmed palm.[113] These canoes can be fashioned in
an hour or two. The soft pulp is removed easily with a knife, or even
may be crushed up with the fingers, but the bark is very hard, and the
bulging portion of the trunk is shaped already for the craft. The ends
are stiffened with clay, and the improvised canoe is ready for use, and
is quite sufficient for casual purposes--to cross a river when too deep
to ford or too wide to bridge,--and being of no permanent value it may be
left to drift away down-stream when used.[114]

Spruce mentions tribes who cannot make canoes, and have to construct
rafts to cross any main river;[115] but rafts are not used on the Issa
or Japura streams except by the rubber-workers. They make them of trunks
of light wood lashed with liana or withes, with a rail at the side, but
such a construction is unknown to those Indians who have not met with
the “civilized” invaders from the Rubber Belts. The Catanixi, so Wallace
states, make canoes of the bark of trees stripped off in one sheet,[116]
but I never saw anything approaching the “birch-bark” canoe, though
some of the “civilized” Indians use a _montaria_, a built boat that is
certainly not indigenous.

The canoes are propelled with paddles from four to five feet long, cut
from the solid block of wood, elongated in the blade, not rounded, as is
universal on the main Amazon river. They may be decorated with roughly
painted designs. Indians always paddle in unison, sometimes on alternate
sides, sometimes three together on one side and three on the other. They
face the way they are going, as one would in a “Canadian” or “Rob Roy,”
and the man in the bow steers. When two men paddle a large canoe both
will sit forward and paddle from the bow.

CHAPTER VII

Apart from the industries already dealt with, the occupations of the
South American Indians of these parts consist in agricultural pursuits,
hunting, fishing, making war, and holding festival. They are not a
pastoral people and have no cattle; even the domestic pig is unknown,
fowls are never seen, and dogs only exist in their wild state in the
forest. There they are numerous enough, dun in colour, with ears erect.
These Indians do not keep or train them, though some of the tribes away
from this district have hunting dogs.[117]

[Illustration: PLATE XXVI.

1. INDIAN PLANTATION CLEARED BY FIRE PREPARATORY TO CULTIVATION

2. VIEW ON AFFLUENT OF THE KAHUINARI RIVER]

The greater part of the agricultural work falls, as has been seen, to the
lot of the women, though the preliminaries--the heavier work of clearing,
cutting, and breaking up the untouched soil--are undertaken by the men.
Each tribal house stands in the midst of a small clearing. In front
is the big dancing ground, for though the dancing proper takes place
inside the _maloka_, this outer dance clearing is used for the purpose
of assembly, and for effective entries. Near by are the cultivated plots
that belong to the chief. The Indian with his own private lodging in the
bush, or any married Indian,--and all marry when they come to man’s
estate--has his special plantation patch by his country-house, if he has
one, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the tribal house if he is content
with only his quarters therein. But no plantations are made actually
surrounding the _maloka_; they are perhaps half a mile away, for, as a
rule, the house stands alone. Sometimes a man’s plantation will be two
days’ journey from the house of assembly, in which case a “country-house”
is a necessity. The tribal plantations belong to the chief, as he, having
all the unattached women, is better able to cultivate them.

To prepare the plots of ground the smaller trees are felled, the
larger ones are burnt. The stumps of trees, cut about four feet above
the ground, decay with some rapidity, and, directly the branches are
dry enough to burn, fire is brought out and the clearing made into a
gigantic bonfire, or rather series of bonfires, for the always damp wood
will never do more than smoulder, but it is sufficient to destroy the
brushwood and the tangle of creeping plants. There is then a savannah, a
clearing such as is shown in the illustration (Plate XXVI.), a wilderness
of charred posts and vegetable ashes which make most excellent manure.
The ground is then broken up with wooden clubs, and therewith the men’s
labour is at an end.[118] Henceforward their women take charge of the
plantation--_ike_ the Witoto call it before it is planted; it is _akpho_
after planting.

The Indian plantation is no orderly market-garden. To begin with, the
women have nothing but the roughest wooden implement, a wedge-shaped
stake, with which to dig, and rake, and hoe. The ground is always uneven
and broken; the charred remnants of the original vegetation are left to
crumble beside the young growth, and the cultivated seedlings have to
struggle for space and air with quick-growing wild things, forest growths
and creepers that encroach on every side, and would speedily reclaim any
cleared portions of the unconquerable bush were it not for the incessant
diligence of the women. They go there daily straight from the morning
bath, and keep up a constant chattering as they plant the cuttings of
manioc, or tend to the pine-apples and the sugar-cane, while the men take
to their canoes, or go a-hunting in the bush in company. I have never
seen single Indians hunting or walking in the forest. For obvious reasons
they never venture far afield by themselves, or even in very small
parties.

Sowing is done during the rainy season, but beyond the fact that things
then grow faster than when it is comparatively drier, there is no
especial harvest time. Crops grow and ripen all the year round. The
Indians are not grain-growing people. Rice is unknown,[119] and the
only grain that is sown at all is maize. This, though much cultivated
by the Kuretu, and by tribes on the Tikie, is not grown in any quantity
by Indians south of the Japura. What there may be is very small. Coca,
manioc, and tobacco are the most universally cultivated. The Witoto grow
a little sugar-cane and it is occasionally found growing wild, but in
very few places. Originally, I imagine, it was imported. The Indians do
not use it for sugar, as sweet things do not seem to appeal to their
palates, and “beer” is unknown. Half-wild pumpkins and plantains are to
be found in most plantations; pines,[120] bananas, yams, papaws, sweet
potatoes, and mangoes are found cultivated more or less. The yellow fruit
of the guaraná is prized by these Indians, especially the Boro, and is
used here by them in the preparation of a stimulating drink[121] similar
to that in use on the Rio Negro.[122] The wild cacao,[123] though not
common, is seen about here, but the tribes do not cultivate it. Manioc,
which is also known as cassava,[124] is a plant that grows throughout the
tropical regions of America, and in the West Indies. It is known also in
Africa, and has been introduced by the white man into some of the Pacific
Islands.

The manioc is planted by the women about July or August, and according to
Indian belief manioc can only be propagated by replanting slips of the
old growth after it has been lifted up and the tuberous root removed. As
it cannot reproduce itself in this fashion in its wild state, presumably
it will grow from young tubers, or seed, but, according to Bates, it is
not found wild in the Amazon basin.[125] The ground is hoed by the women,
and scraped into rough furrows. Cuttings of the manioc plant are set in
these in little holes. Eight months after planting the root is ready
for use. It is large, fleshy, and very heavy for its bulk, each tuber
weighing from half a pound to two or three pounds, and even more. It has
been said of the variety known as the great manioc that a root will weigh
as much as forty-eight pounds.[126] The ground will only carry two crops,
so a fresh patch must be broken up after the second harvest. Indians
will, however, always return to plantations no longer in use, on account
of the different palm fruits which continue to grow wild there after they
have once been cultivated; but the disused plots will never be tilled
again for plantation, they are only visited for this purpose of securing
the fruit.

Throughout the forest peppers are very common and plentiful. Some of the
bushes grow to a height of ten feet. There are many varieties,[127] and
peppers are grown, or allowed to grow, in patches on all the plantations.

I have said that the women are the agriculturalists and the cooks; nor
do I know of any exception to this rule, for though coca and tobacco are
tabu to all women, and their preparation is forbidden to the sex, yet the
women grow the tobacco in the plantations, gather the leaf, and dry it
in the sun. But the actual making of the black liquid is done by the men
alone, and only men prepare the coca for use. Tobacco is not an article
of barter among these tribes, as all grow it, and its preparation is
no secret to any of the tribesmen. Cultivated coca is sown when the
rains begin. The young seedlings need both care and attention.[128] It
is eighteen months before the slender shrub will yield any harvest,
though once grown the supply will continue for three or four decades.
The shrub grows to some five or six feet high, into small trees in fact,
with lichen-encrusted trunks. Both the common kind and a smaller-leaved
variety[129] grow wild in these regions.

Men also must climb the trees to gather such fruits as the papaw and
the seeds of the cokerite or the peach palms. Indians climb in what is
practically a universal method, with a circling rope and a ring.[130]
Their usual way is to secure the legs together about the ankles with a
strip of the inner bark of a tree, and then, with arms and feet free,
to use a bigger loop adjusted round the tree and hips of the climber
for purchase power. For short climbs they will dispense with the bigger
loop. Sometimes palm-frond is made into a ring for the toes, but with
the forest Indians these are oftener left free to allow of prehensile
action. With this simple attachment, made perhaps only of twisted liana,
the native will work his way to a perilous height up the barest of tree
trunks.[131]

[Illustration: PLATE XXVII.

ERYTHROXYLON-COCA]

As a woodsman the Indian is so far in advance of the European traveller
as to make all comparison futile.[132] An Indian in the bush is
wonderful. From his earliest days he has been taught to watch and note.
I have known an Indian stop and tell me that when the sun was in a
certain position, that is to say half an hour previously, seven Indians
passed that way carrying a tapir, which had been killed when the sun was
there--indicating another position. It was killed a long distance away,
and the bag must have been a tapir on account of the evident weight. He
took up a leaf on which was a spot of blood, coagulated. He pointed to
tracks on the ground, to prove the question of numbers and distance. The
men who passed were weary, he knew it by the way their toes had dropped
on the ground. The breaking of a twig, the exudation of sap, is enough of
a guide for the Indian to judge when the last passer-by came that way.
I have been told it was within ten minutes, and shown a leaf. It had
begun to rain ten minutes before, and the leaf, overturned by a passing
foot, was wet upon both sides. A glance will suffice for an estimate of
what animals passed, and when. By some intuitive perception, moreover,
he will deduce in a moment whither the game has gone, and will make, not
along its trail, but more directly for it. Yet close and accurate as
his observation invariably is, when the Indian sportsman begins a tale
of the chase it is exaggerated beyond the wildest dreams and liveliest
imaginings of the most gifted sporting Munchausen among ourselves.

When an Indian is path-finding he judges both time and distance by the
sun. If not attacked by an enemy, he will win his way home from anywhere,
always at a jog-trot, and will probably do his fifty miles on nothing
more sustaining than coca. A sense of locality is born in him, and from
childhood upwards this is trained and developed by continued and varied
experiences. To be able to judge by the sky, by the weathered side of
trees, by the flight of birds, or the run of animals--above all to have a
sense that is greater than all judgment--is a matter of life or death not
once but continually. The inept are the unfit, and the forest will show
them no mercy.

This minuteness and accuracy of observation comes into play again when
the Indian is hunting. Death to his quarry from the tiny poisoned dart of
the blow-pipe is certain, but not absolutely instantaneous. He also will
shoot birds with a blunt-headed arrow that stuns but does no damage to
the plumage. The shock appears to kill the bird. Hit with dart or arrow
they may flutter a little distance before they fall. I have watched an
Indian scores of times when hunting game shoot bird after bird in a tree,
mark down where each fell, and eventually never fail to account for every
one despite the density of the surrounding bush. Hardly a traveller but
has noted and wondered at the same thing.

[Illustration: PLATE XXVIII.

1 & 2.--Andoke bamboo cases with darts and cotton

3. Dart with cotton attached

4. Blowpipe with dart

5. Javelins

6. Fishing trident

7. Spears in bamboo case

8. Dance Staff]

Blow-pipes are only carried by the Indians when hunting. They are weapons
of the chase, not of war. Most of the tribes manufacture their own, but
the Bara, who neither hunt nor fish, get theirs solely by barter from
other tribes. The blow-pipe--_obidiake_ of the Witoto, _dodike_ of the
Boro--made by these tribes is a heavier weapon than those made by tribes
farther north.[133] It is constructed, like those of all tribes south of
the Japura, in two sections, bound together with great nicety, and has
invariably a mouthpiece made of vegetable ivory or a similar wood that
fits round inside the mouth. These blow-pipes are from eight to fourteen
feet long, with a quarter-inch tube, the outer mouthpiece being an inch
and a half. They are sometimes made from reeds[134] by the Boro and
Andoke, and I have seen small Boro boys with a hollow reed pipe, about
half the ordinary length. This was merely a plaything. These are the
simplest form of blow-pipe, and would appear to be the original type.
Though I imagine reeds are always obtainable, for the flora did not
seem to vary, as a rule the wood of the chonta palm is employed.[135]
On the north of the Japura, the tribes, I believe, mostly make their
blow-pipes of palm stems.[136] Two long strips of this wood are slit
off by notching and levering with a stone axe, as already described. The
chonta poles are trimmed, rubbed, and grooved with sand and a paca-tooth
tool till they form the corresponding halves of a tube, which must fit
most exactly. All this entails very careful and tedious work, so it is
fortunate that time to an Indian is of no account. These half tubes are
then fastened together and the bore polished with what is practically
sand-paper. A string is dipped in some gummy substance, and then covered
with sand. When dry, a fine polish is secured with this by friction. The
blow-pipe is next bound from end to end with fibre-string, or narrow
strips of pliant bark.[137] The whole pipe is then coated with some
resinous gum, or wax.[138] A small bone is fixed about twelve inches from
the mouthpiece, and this acts as a sight. Such a tube will send an arrow
a distance of from forty to one hundred and fifty feet, and an expert
hunter shoots the smallest birds at twenty yards. The chonta-wood pipe is
the heaviest and most lasting, but I do not know if it carries farthest.
The Indians’ accuracy of aim is extraordinary. The arrows, or darts, are
about nine inches long, no thicker than a small match, and are tufted
with fluffy down from the seed vessels of the silk-cotton tree,[139]
the tuft being of a size to fit exactly into the bore of the pipe. The
arrows are made of the leaf-stem spines of the Patawa palm.[140] They are
carried in a quiver of bamboo lined with dried grass or fine rushes that
protect the delicate darts. The poisoned points are partly cut through
so that they break off in the wound. Once a bird or animal is hit the
poison kills them very speedily. The silk-cotton for tipping the arrow is
carried in a gourd that is attached to the arrow quiver with strips of
cane, and to it is also tied the jawbone of the pirai fish, which is used
as a file for the points of the darts. When the arrow is ejected from the
blow-pipe there is a slight noise, like a child’s pop-gun, but it is not
enough to scare the game.[141]

Indians are no more provident as hunters than as housekeepers. When
game is plentiful they will kill and eat, kill recklessly, and eat to
repletion. But game is not always plentiful. It may abound to-day and all
be gone to-morrow. Even parrots and peccary will fail at times. Birds and
beasts wander, and though the hunter can often judge of direction through
knowledge of their habits, and--what in this instance probably governs
them--which fruits are ripest and where most abundantly to be found, this
will not altogether account for the fluctuations in the supply of game.
It must also be remembered that in this respect the bush varies greatly,
and even where animal life is not scarce it is apt to become so on the
advent of man. Even apart from the disturbance caused by the hunter, game
in the vicinity of any human settlement tends to disappear. The hunter
must go farther and farther afield.

The Indian is an expert trapper. His traps though simple are ingeniously
contrived, and seldom fail to act. An empty bag is due more frequently
to absence of game than to the inadequate plan of the trap. Monkeys are
caught with a running-noose loop snare made of liana, which is adjusted
carefully along a fruit-bearing branch of a tree. Any monkey attempting
to reach the fruit strangles itself in the noose, exactly as a rabbit
does in the wire of an English poacher.

[Illustration: PLATE XXIX.

ANDOKE BAMBOO CASE WITH DARTS FOR BLOWPIPE AND GOURD FULL OF COTTON]

A shallow pan of water is the Indian bait for ground vermin. Round it
they dig a ring of holes, about a foot across, on which are lightly
spread grass and leaves. Rats, mice, frogs, and small snakes venturing
to drink fall through into the holes that are deep enough to hold them
captive till the trapper comes round and secures his catch. For larger
animals the hunters dig a line of pits, with a sharpened stake fixed
upright at the bottom of each. The game, corralled and driven over these,
falls in through the sticks and leaves that hide the opening, and is
impaled on the stake. The Karahone arm their pits with poisoned arrows,
and dig a succession of these death-traps down a forest avenue.[142]
A more complex contrivance is made with carefully poised logs. This
description of trap is set in a forest run, the brushwood on either side
is twisted and plaited into a rough fence, and the trap erected in the
opening. The slightest pressure on the footboard releases the weight, and
brings the heavy trunk down with a crash on the intruder. A trap of this
kind will catch anything from a squirrel to a jaguar.

A tapir is sometimes killed with a throwing javelin, which the Indians
use with much dexterity, though when they throw anything they do it
with an over-arm action, with a jerk as a girl would. Their skill with
these javelins is not surprising when one remembers that they hunt two
or three days a week from boyhood, and so are continually throwing them
at animals. The javelin is a light spear with a poisoned palm spine at
the point. A man carries seven of these in his hand, and seven more in
reserve in a bamboo case--fourteen in all. These javelins are about
six feet long, and an Indian can throw one a distance of thirty yards.
Sometimes only five are carried in the hand, but seven is the more usual
number. Though long they are very thin and light. The haft is usually
made of chonta, or similar hard straight-grained woods. A spine is always
fixed in the point, which is filed almost through so that it will break
off in the body of the wounded animal. These spines are poisoned with
animal putrefying poison. Of the heavier spears more anon.

Koch-Grünberg noted that tribes on the Tikie have well-defined and
recognised hunting and fishing rights, but that when travelling any such
rights are avoided. This is common to all Indians. They will even erect
barriers in the bush and on the rivers, and they keep strictly to their
own localities, otherwise quarrels would arise and war be the upshot.

The sporting proclivities of the tribes vary considerably. The Tukana
are fishers, but not hunters. The Boro, on the other hand, though great
hunters do not fish, at least I do not remember ever having been given
fish in a Boro house. Certainly they are not such fishermen as the Witoto
or the Okaina, who are the most skilful of all the fishing tribes.

Fish are taken with hook and line, in nets and traps, by poisoning
the water, by spearing, and by shooting with bows and arrows. For
fish-hooks these tribes have hardly anything but those that they contrive
for themselves from wood, bone, or spines, and civilised metal hooks
are greatly sought after by all of them. Napo Indians make hooks of
bone.[143] The Witoto _fakwasi_ is a fish-hook made of wood or palm
spine. A spine is fastened to a fine stick, and this is baited with
grubs, and used with a fibre line, or with a _pihekoa_, a rod and a line.
Fish are caught to some extent with bait and laid lines.

Hand nets are made of _chambiri_ palm-fibre in the same way that
hammocks are made, but with a finer mesh; larger ones are constructed
by fixing fences of wattle across the stream before the rivers rise. In
the dry season the Witoto use nets to drag the pools in the river-bed.
They also catch fish with baited nets, the bait being larvæ, or some
fruit attractive to fish, such as that of the _setico_, or the drupes
of certain laurels. In the dry season they bale out the water from the
shallower pools with gourds till the fish can be captured by hand.

Some of the fish traps are most cleverly designed. There is one known on
the Uaupes as the _matapi_, which is simply a basket open at one end,
but without sufficient space for fish of any size to turn round in.
As fish are not able to swim backwards without the room to turn they
cannot escape once in the trap. On the Napo the Indians spear fish most
expertly, but other Indians depend largely on these and similar traps for
their supply.

Fish are speared with a wooden trident or, rather, caught between its
prongs, or stabbed with a bamboo spear that has a double-edged blade.
Some of the civilised Indians of the lower Amazons have harpoons with
detachable heads that they use for hunting the manatee, or river dolphin,
but, in these upper waters, dolphins, if seen,--and that is rarely--are
speared with tridents; the Indians have no harpoons, and the only thing
that resembles a detachable head is the partly filed-through javelin. The
Menimehe shoot fish with the bow and arrow.

By far the most wholesale and general way in which fish are obtained is
through the use of poison.[144] The Indians procure this from the root
of an evergreen bush, the _babasco_,[145] which they pound very fine.
They dam the stream with a wattle fencing and then throw the mashed
_babasco_ in above this fish weir. The fish frequently jump out of the
water, gasping as though they were being strangled, and the Indians
secure those distressed fish in outspread palm leaves. Sometimes the
dead fish drop down into a net, spread beside the dam to catch them; or
the Indian fisherman will simply spear them when they are sufficiently
narcotised. Dead fish will be found floating in the vicinity many hours
afterwards. The Napo Indians put the crushed _babasco_ in a basket and
stir the water with this below the dam--so that the fish cannot escape
upstream.[146] Witoto and other Issa-Japura tribes merely throw the roots
into the stream, and the dam is made more to prevent the dead fish being
washed away than to stop the live ones escaping. The poison works almost
instantaneously on the smaller fish. The Indians on the Tapajos make use
of a poisonous liana called _timbo_.[147] Its action is similar though
not so immediate as that of the _babasco_ root, and consequently it is of
little use in quick-flowing waters. Neither _babasco_ nor _timbo_ affect
the fish injuriously for human food.

CHAPTER VIII

The armoury of the Indian contains, for the most part, weapons designed
for primitive hand-to-hand encounter with either man or beast. The sixty
or more feet a blow-pipe dart will carry; the two hundred feet, which is
the outside range of an arrow from the most powerful of his bows, would
be futile in any country less enclosed than these dense woodlands. Even
here success in intertribal conflict is a matter of personal dexterity
rather than mechanical accomplishment. It is true that the Witoto near
the rubber districts have ordinary muzzle-loading scatter-guns. Other
tribes have a few, a very few rifles, and some Brummagem fowling-pieces,
usually with single barrels. But the rifle cannot be said to have won its
way into unchallenged favour. When an Indian does possess a gun he is
exceedingly chary of using it; his chief idea is to save his powder and
shot. The Menimehe have neither rifles nor scatter-guns; they consider
that firearms frighten the game, and prefer their own throwing-javelins,
their bows, and their arrows.

The Indian weapons of offence may be said then to consist of the sword,
the bow, and the spear. There is no difference between war spears and
arrows and those used against the larger wild animals. For defence the
Menimehe carry a small club, or life-preserver, and the Jivaro and
some of the tribes near the Napo river, use a circular shield covered
with tapir hide like the Uaupes river Indians.[148] The Menimehe also
have large round shields made with tapir skins. From two to five hides
are superimposed one on the other to make a shield, and when finished
these will turn any arrow or spear, and are impenetrable to other than
a nickel-cased bullet of high velocity. The Yahuna on the other side of
the Apaporis do not use a shield, nor do any of the tribes south of the
Japura.

The Indian’s club is like a quarter-staff made of hard red-wood--which is
the heaviest kind known to them--and is used simply as a personal weapon
of offence or defence. It is not a war weapon. The Indian sword is made
of red-wood or black iron-wood, and is from thirty to thirty-six inches
long, polished quite plainly. It is used by the attacker to aim blows at
the thighs of his antagonist, the object being so to hit him as to bring
him to the ground. Once this is done his head can be easily smashed. As a
weapon of defence the Indian uses it to protect himself from the throwing
of javelins. Holding the handle in one hand and the point in the other,
he can ward off such missiles with the greatest dexterity, thus in a way
obviating the necessity of carrying a shield.

A diversity of spears, or javelins, is constructed by all these tribes.
_Chonta_ wood is universally employed for spears and arrow-heads, the
weapon differing in accordance with its purport, the _chonta_ spear for
tapir, the blunt arrow for birds, and so forth. These wooden weapons are
scraped smooth with the file-like jaw of the _pirai_ fish, and a final
polish is put on with the leaves of the _Cecropia peltata_, which are
rough enough to be effective substitutes for sand-paper. The spears are
thickest at the head, and taper nearly to a point at the butt. The head
is made of a separate piece of _chonta_ some three inches long, bound
into the grooved end. A poisoned palm spine is always fixed in the point
of a spear, as in the lighter throwing-javelin. About two or three inches
down, the head is filed nearly through, in order that it shall break off
in the wound, and so be the more difficult to extract. The poisoned
point is protected with a reed sheath.

[Illustration: PLATE XXX.

1. Water Jar, Menimehe (a) Witoto

2. Drums (Witoto)

3. Pan pipes (Witoto) (a) Boro

4. Stone Axe (Andoke)

5. Paddle used on main Amazon Stream

6. Paddle used on Issa and Japura rivers

7. Menimehe Hand Club

8. Wooden Sword (Boro)

9. Pestle--Coca, etc. (Boro)]

Arrow-heads also are half filed through. This is done with the fish-jaw
attached to the quiver immediately before use. The tips are made of
_chonta_ and are poisoned.[149] The bows are of various kinds of wood,
and of many sizes, strung with fibre made thicker and stronger as
desired. The arrow shaft is without feathers, and has no nock for the
bowstring. The arrows are carried in quivers of wicker or of wood. The
Menimehe, the most skilful bowmen of these regions, are famous for
their quivers as well as for their pottery. They make the quivers out
of bamboo, the elementary ones being merely scraped-out sections cut so
that there shall be a joint or a knot for the end; the more elaborate
specimens are made of strips of bamboo bound together. The arrow poison
is carried in a small pot or calabash. The vegetable poisons that are
used for birds and small game give place to a mixture of strychnos and
poison obtained from decomposed animal or human matter when the weapon is
employed against men or the bigger beasts. Its effect on a human being is
said to be almost instantaneous.

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.

[Illustration: 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.

Unlike the better-known tribes of Guiana, most, if not all, of the
Indians of the upper rivers are indisputably cannibals, especially the
Boro, Andoke, and Resigero groups. It has even been asserted by some
writers that sundry tribes belong to the lowest grade of cannibals in
that they will “eat their own dead children, friends and relatives.”[150]
This, however, is incorrect, and why it must be so is very obvious when
the main causation of extra-tribal cannibalism is understood.

There are three reasons why these Indians are anthropophagous.

In the first place, and it is not only the first but the most general
and important, anthropophagy is looked upon as a system of vengeance, a
method of inflicting the supreme insult upon an enemy.[151] It will be
seen that the Indian has very definite opinions as to the inferiority
of the brute creation. To resemble animals in any way is a matter to be
avoided at all costs. Body hair is an animal characteristic, so man must
depilate. The birth of twins is a disgrace because it is a descent to
bestial levels. What a crowning disgrace then must it be for the dead to
share no better fate than that of slaughtered animals. No more absolute
vengeance on the dead could be devised. The primary cause therefore is
insult.

Secondly, there is a desire to make use of what would otherwise be
waste material. Animal food is scarce in the forest. But these tribes
do not, as has been asserted of the Cobeu and Arekaine,[152] make war
simply with a view to obtaining provision of human flesh. Anthropophagy
is the effect, not the cause, of war. But then there remains the fact
that meat is hard to come by, and is continually required. The slain and
the prisoners provide meat, and at the same time the degradation, the
ignominy of supplying the place of beasts makes vengeance most definite.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXII.

WITOTO WAR GATHERING (Some Brummagen Goods)]

Finally, and in a still more subsidiary degree, there is the reason most
commonly advanced, the supposition that there exists a measure of belief
in the assumption of the characteristics of the eaten by the eater; a
belief that must give sardonic impulse to the primary reason of all, the
desire to degrade the dead. Though this third reason has least weight
of any with the Indian, it cannot be entirely absent when the food tabu
connected with childbirth is remembered. But I know of no such actually
admitted reasons as give rise to anthropophagous feasts elsewhere, as
among the Aro, who are said to eat human sacrifices because “those who
ate their flesh ate gods, and thus assimilated something of the divine
attributes and power.”[153]

The subsidiary reason, that of necessary anthropophagy, has been advanced
by some apologists,[154] and with a certain amount of truth. But this
reason may be looked upon as very secondary, in my opinion, though, were
the food-quest of little importance, there might be less cannibalism. The
Indian would, in fact, only eat human flesh ceremonially, as a ritual
insult.

From all this it follows that intra-tribal cannibalism would be a
criminal outrage by the tribe _on itself_, and therefore it could never
occur that a member of the tribe was eaten, nor would his teeth be
extracted even to show an accomplished revenge. This disposes of any such
thing as the eating of dead relatives as a sign of respect. These and
similar statements are due to misapprehension of facts by the writer, or
a too hasty judgment on the part of the explorer.

One other cannibal custom noted by Wallace and recently confirmed by
Koch-Grünberg, is unknown to me, that of exhuming the bones of the dead,
which are then burnt and the calcined remains made into broth.[155]
No such custom ever came under my notice, nor did any of the tribes
refer to such practices in any way in my hearing. The dried human heads
prepared by the Jivaro[156] are also unknown in the regions here dealt
with. No heads are mummified in this district. But among some of the
tribes south of the main Amazon river this repulsive art is carried on,
and specimens of these heads, not more than one-fifth their natural
size, have been obtained and brought to Europe.[157] Their exportation
is now forbidden by the South American governments, as the supply not
unnaturally was apt to coincide with the demand.

Though these reduced heads are unknown to the Issa-Japura tribes, the
head is not ignored as a trophy. The fleshy parts, the hair and the
teeth are removed, and the skull is hung in the plantation patch to be
cleaned by ants and other insect scavengers. These will pick one bare in
half an hour. Cleaned, and dried in the sun, this memorial of victory
is eventually suspended outside, or on the rafters in the house, over
the string that carries the top part of the drums. Bates records how the
Mandurucu soaked the heads “in bitter vegetable oil,” and then smoked or
sun-dried them,[158] but the Issa-Japura tribes subject their dreadful
trophies to no other process than the action of the insects, air, and
sun in the plantations. These ghastly evidences of Indian vengeance I
have often seen in the houses, and in the plantations, the bare skulls
gleaming white like so many gourds on a string. Robuchon also mentions
that he found skulls hanging from the ceiling of _malokas_, which the
natives were quite ready to barter for a large handful of beads, but this
does not tally with my experience.

When a feast is to take place the prisoners are knocked down and
despatched, their heads removed to be danced with and eventually dried
as trophies. The body is then divided and shared among the feasters.
Only the legs and arms, and the fleshy parts of the head, are eaten
ceremonially, anything like the intestines, brains, and so forth, is
regarded as filthy and never touched, nor is the trunk eaten. The male
genital organs, however, are given to the wife of the chief, the only
woman who has any share in the feast. The hands and feet are regarded as
delicacies, for the same reason that civilised man has a preference for
calves’ feet, on account of their gelatinous character.

Each portion of flesh is tied to a stick, and every man, according to
Robuchon’s account, drops his share in the pot, and places the stick
to which it is tied on the ground beside it whilst he watches till the
meat is cooked. I was told that the culinary processes were attended to
by the old women of the tribe. The flesh, with the required seasoning
of peppers, is boiled over a slow fire, while drums are beaten, and the
assembled tribe--adorned with full panoply of paint, necklaces, and
feathers, and with the gory heads fixed upon their dancing staves--dance
round singing a wild song of victory.

The savage orgy will continue for hours, with outbursts of drum-beating,
gratulatory orations, and much drinking. I was told that the festival of
drink and dance will go on without intermission for eight days.[159]

Only men eat ceremonially, the women, with the exception of the chief’s
wife, having no share in the revolting feast, except on occasions, when
perhaps the necessity for animal food--the secondary reason--is the
cause of the indulgence. What portions of the bodies are not eaten are
thrown into the river. I do not know if this is ceremonial, but it is
curious to note that the Indian paradise is up river, not down, where, of
course, the refuse is carried by the stream. With some tribes the trunk
is buried, or it may be merely thrown into the bush to be devoured by the
wild dogs. This latter is not infrequent. These methods of disposal are
ceremonial in so much as that they are carried out amid organised tribal
jeers and insults.

Flutes are made out of the arm-bones of eaten prisoners, the humerus. The
radius and the ulna, fleshless and dry, with the fingers of the hand
contracted, are fastened to wooden handles and used to stir the _kawana_.
I have seen these, but they are jealously guarded by their owners, and
probably no white man has succeeded in obtaining a specimen.

Among the tribes of the Japura and the Issa the teeth are always
carefully retained by the slayer, to be made into a necklace, a visible
and abiding token of his completed revenge. This removal of the teeth may
be held synonymous with the curse of many savage tribes in reference to
their enemies--“Let their teeth be broken.” David himself called upon God
to “break the teeth” of his foes. Possibly the reason is a reversion in
thought to the time when the teeth were man’s only weapon.

It is certainly worth noting in connection with the anthropophagous
practices of these tribes that they have almost no salt. In its natural
state it is non-existent throughout the Issa-Japura regions, and can
only be obtained with difficulty. It is possible that the salt in human
blood may be one of the unrealised attractions that lead these peoples
to anthropophagous practices. A craving that can be so dominant as to
influence race migration, as the salt-craving may do,[160] can hardly
be ignored when dealing with the inhabitants of a country where local
conditions offer little or nothing to satisfy it.

Another vice which may very possibly have origin in the same lack of a
necessary condiment, and to which these Indians are very prone, is the
eating of clay.[161] It is not impossible that the clay may have saline
properties; in any case among all these tribes geophagy is very common,
especially with the non-cocainists, the women and children. As a rule
it occurs among the very poorest--the slave clan,--those who are least
able to obtain such a luxury as salt, and it is found among the female
children most of all. The latter fact is perhaps because the male child,
the potential warrior, is the more carefully guarded, and would be the
more severely beaten if discovered eating dirt. I never came across any
man who eat clay, though I know of a boy who suffered from this neurotic
appetite. The clay, if it cannot be otherwise obtained, will be scraped
from under the fireplace, and it is always eaten secretly.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIII.

1. BORO NECKLACE MADE OF MARMOSET TEETH

2. ANDOKE NECKLACE OF HUMAN TEETH]

The Indians look upon geophagy as injurious, but it appears to be
ineradicable. I cannot help thinking it must be due to some great
“want” in Indian diet, a physical craving that the ordinary food of the
tribes does not satisfy. It is instinctive. In the manufacture of coca
they add clay. This suggests that if taken in small quantities it may
have a neutralising and therefore a beneficial effect on some more or
less injurious article of daily food. But it rapidly, and invariably,
degenerates into a vice; and the habit appears to have a weakening and
wasting effect on the whole body.

In some parts of the Amazons, though not with these tribes, the clay is
regularly prepared for use,[162] and the vice is shared by other races
than the Indian.[163] Children who suffer from this extraordinary craving
will swallow anything of a similar character, earth, wax, and Bates even
mentions pitch,[164] but they prefer the clay that is scraped from under
the spot where the fire has been burning, probably because the chemical
processes induced by the heat render it more soluble, easily pulverised,
and hence more actually digestive in its action.

It has been suggested that this disease was introduced into America
by negro slaves, and is not indigenous. This is a question for the
bacteriological expert rather than the traveller to decide, but as it
indubitably exists among tribes that have not come in any contact with
negroes or negro-influenced natives it would seem to argue on the face
of things that the similarity of vicious tastes was due to similarity
of causation, rather than to contamination by evil example, unless the
ubiquitous microbe is to be held responsible for this ill also.

CHAPTER IX

The food quest--Indians omnivorous eaters--Tapir
and other animals used for food--Monkeys--The
peccary--Feathered game--Vermin--Eggs, carrion, and
intestines not eaten--Honey--Fish--Manioc--Preparation of
cassava--Peppers--The Indian hot-pot--Lack of salt--Indian
meals--Cooking--Fruits--Cow-tree milk.

Food is the dominant problem of an Indian’s existence. The food quest is
to him no indefinite sociological issue of future “food control,” but
an affair of every day. Living, it would seem, in the midst of plenty,
starvation is a frequent visitant in an Amazonian household. They are
an improvident folk, as I have already stated, and if food be plentiful
give no thought to make provision for the morrow, when there may be
none to be had.[165] “None” to the man of the forest has a different
significance, a more inclusive meaning, than it has to the white man, for
it comprehends everything that by the widest stretch of the imagination
can be considered possible for human consumption. And it is well for the
Indians that they are omnivorous, for the uncertainty of food supply is
the most certain factor of life in the Amazonian bush.[166]

To run through the details of the possible provision of meat: there is,
to start with, the tapir,[167] though the Witoto consider much tapir is
bad, especially for women. The print of its three toes, with a fourth
on the forefeet, is very seldom not to be found in the damp soil by
stream and river. The tapir is in fact plentiful throughout these
regions, though, thanks to its protective colouring, it may often not
be obtrusively present. The young tapir is flecked and dotted with pale
yellow spots on its brown coat, an exact imitation of sunlight on the
earth through foliage. Gradually these stripes and spots fade to dull
greys, only the fully grown animal is entirely without them, and of a
uniform dead slaty colour. Young tapir flesh makes an excellent dish,
and is like pork in taste, but it must be eaten very fresh, for the meat
will not keep sweet many hours on account of its richness. Therefore if a
tapir is killed in the water and sinks,[168] it must be eaten immediately
it comes to the surface, that is after some hours, during which the gases
have generated in the animal’s stomach, and so caused it to rise. But
tapir is always considered unhealthy if eaten too frequently, and at
certain seasons of the year is said to be quite uneatable, and if taken
gives rise to sickness. An old tapir is tough and heavy eating at the
best of times. Tapir flesh dried over a smoky fire is excellent eating,
though I have never seen the Indians smoke meat for keeping, even when
they found I did so myself. Another meat that has been compared with pork
is that of the paca.[169] It is rich and fat, but it is eatable, and not
so strong in flavour as the flesh of the capybara,[170] a larger animal,
found usually in the vicinity of water. In appearance the capybara is not
unlike a long-nosed, crop-eared rabbit, while its cousin the agouti,[171]
chestnut-coloured and rough-haired, has a rat-like face on a rabbit’s
body, though the flesh has nothing in common with the rabbit’s. Both the
paca and the agouti are plentiful in the forest. Of the two the latter is
more of a forest-dweller, and seeks the streams only to drink.

A small species of ant-bear is fairly common, but the large ant-eater is
not often found. The latter does exist in the Issa-Japura watersheds,
according to Indian accounts; and ant-bear is eaten by the Boro, but has
too strong and pungent a taste for the white palate. Armadilloes, when
obtainable, are baked in the ashes of the fire, as hedgehogs are roasted
in England.

Monkey flesh, though usually tough and invariably insipid, is by no
means despised, nor must a traveller in these regions be squeamish over
it, horribly suggestive as the body of a cooked monkey very certainly
is in appearance, for monkey meat most frequently will be the only
_plat_ on the dinner menu. It is the most ordinary food of the Indian,
though monkey is not the easiest game to collect. The wounded or dying
animal is very apt to clutch at the boughs in its agony, and the hand
will contract in death and the body remain pendant. Even if it drop it
will frequently stick in a forked branch out of reach; so that for one
monkey eaten probably several are slain. Monkeys of all sorts, however,
abound throughout the forest, and also marmosets, pretty little creatures
with something of the squirrel about them.[172] Though I never saw the
big-bellied monkey mentioned by Spruce,[173] I noticed a large number of
spider-monkeys, with tails so prehensile that they serve as additional
hands to convey fruit to their mouths. The supply of monkey flesh depends
in the first instance on what provender there may be in the neighbourhood
for those animals. Monkeys are wanderers, and when they have cleared
one part of the forest of fruit and nuts, they migrate to another. The
migration of game is a serious matter for the Indian, for all animals
here are subject to periodical movements as noted in the previous
chapter. It may result in the abandonment of a homestead when scarcity of
animal life in a district drives the human inhabitants away.

When it can be obtained a deer, or a sloth, furnishes a variety for the
cooking-pot; and then there is the peccary, so dreaded by the Indian.
The peccary,[174] the wild pig of the forest, lives in small herds,
and the reason proffered by the Indians for their fear of the animal is
that when one is wounded it sets up a loud cry, and the rest of the herd
promptly come to its aid and join in attacking the aggressor. This story
is universal among the tribes. The peccary has a deceptively harmless
appearance. They have not all tusks, and in no case are the tusks very
prominent; yet, so sharp are they, that the fearless and pugnacious
creature can inflict a severe wound. The shoulder and leg are the parts
prized for eating. I know of no temporary tabu connected with this
animal, though it has been said that at times the flesh is unfit for food
on account of a gland in the back.[175] This may, however, be the reason
why the body is rarely eaten.

Of birds, parrots are the most plentiful, and the toughest. For a hard,
tasteless, and unappetising meal commend me to the carcase of that noisy
bird. They require to be stewed for quite twenty-four hours, and that
over a slow fire, or else the flesh is impossible to eat. Their chief use
is in soup. Macaw, curassow, _piuri_ and _panje_, mocking-bird, toucan,
and egrets all go to the family pepper-pot of the successful hunter, with
the turkey of these parts, pigeons, partridges, herons, ducks, and geese;
in fact quite a good assortment of feathered fowl.

The frogs that make night hideous with their croaking provide the Indian
epicure with one of his most esteemed dishes, for both frogs and snakes
are considered delicacies, so that the traveller who pitied tribes
like the Botocudo, because insects and reptiles formed a large part of
their diet,[176] would simply be wasting his sympathy. Even the white
man does not disdain the delicate flesh of the iguana, ugly though that
green-bellied, black-ridge-backed reptile is. Turtles are caught and
eaten during the dry season when the rivers are low. The native method of
capturing them is to turn the unwieldly creature over on its back when
asleep on the sand-banks. This renders the turtles perfectly helpless,
though a snap from their powerful jaws will do serious damage.[177] The
eggs also are eaten by these tribes, although none of the Issa-Japura
tribes will touch birds’ eggs, for they look upon them as fœtal, and
therefore unclean.[178] Further it is beast-like, in their opinion, to
eat the liver, kidneys, and other intestines of animals, though these may
be made into soup or hot-pot. For the same reason the Indian does not
touch carrion.[179] But such niceness is outbalanced by tastes that in
our eyes would be equally or even more filthy, for the Indian will eat
vermin, and head lice are looked upon as quite a _bon bouche_. Hence a
scurf-comb is a most important present, and to comb your neighbour’s hair
and eat the “bag” an honour and a luxury.[180] They will also eat the
grubs of wasps and bees, in fact any larvæ--nothing comes amiss to them.

All the Indians--except the Menimehe, who, as mentioned, keep hives in
their houses,--collect wild honey from the hollow trees and other places
where the bees nest in the bush. Sometimes these insects make nests of
a considerable size, that look like lobster pots full of black pitch
hanging on the tree-trunks. The large cells are full of a thin honey that
is used by the natives to mix with various drinks. The Indians are very
fond of honey, and smoke the bees out to secure it. Bees are more common
than wasps in these parts, and fortunately are less dangerous.

Fish abound in all the rivers, though like the plants and animals they
are smaller in the upper reaches than in the lower Amazon valleys.
Robuchon gave the following as found in the Issa: Silurios of all kinds,
that is to say _platysomas_, _planiceps_, _platyrhynchos_, _leopardus_,
and the little _caudirus_ (_Serasalmys_), _Pygo_, _Cebras_, _Piraga_
(_D. costatus et carinatus_); also many kinds of needle fish and
shark-toothed fish. There is any quantity of skate in the Issa, though
its power to inflict a nasty wound does not recommend it to the naked
Indian fisherman. Some of the fish are very good eating; none better than
the _uaracu_, which is said to feed on laurel berries.[181]

It is when one turns to the vegetable world that one finds the staple
food of the Amazonian native. The manioc is to the Indian the chief
necessary of life. The sweet manioc,[182] although known to these
Issa-Japura tribes, is never planted, because it is not appreciated by
them. They prefer the poisonous species which, as its botanical name
_Manihot utilissima_ implies, can be put to a multiplicity of uses. To
eliminate the poison and render it fit for food, the manioc is subjected
to several processes. So far as I could observe, or learn by leading
questions, these are roughly as follows:

The women bring the brown tubers of the manioc in baskets from the
plantation. On their way up they stop by the river and cleanse the soil
from the roots, which are like a small beet in appearance, but white when
peeled. The manioc after it has been washed and soaked for a short time
is next scraped by means of a sharp wooden knife in order to peel off
the thin adhesive skin, similar in substance to that of a potato, but if
anything thinner. Sometimes the women instead of using a wooden knife
simply scrape the skin off with their teeth. The peeled roots are washed
in the river again, and taken up to the house. Each root is then cut
longitudinally into three or four sections, which are put in a bowl near
the fire and left to soak for twenty-four hours. When, at the end of this
time, the manioc is sufficiently softened, they place a piece or two of
rotten manioc in the bowl with the fresh stuff. The object of this is to
promote fermentation and thus to extract the poison from the fresh root.

The next process is to mash the manioc, and for this purpose it is
all--both fresh and rotten--removed from the pan and grated into a large
wooden trough, with the special implement that has black palm-spines
inserted in the soft wood for teeth. The grated pulp is removed from the
trough and put into a cylindrical palm-cane wringer, the cassava-squeezer
which is used by the Boro, the Andoke, the Resigero, the Okaina, and all
tribes to the north. The Witoto and other tribes on the south use a long
rectangular palm-fibre wringer, which is twisted to form a cylinder in
the same way as a puttee is wound round the leg. In this elastic cylinder
it is compressed till all the poisonous juice has been drained away, when
the remainder, a coarse kind of flour, is placed in an open pan and left
to get thoroughly dry. Afterwards it is rubbed between the hands to make
it finer.[183]

The next operation is to sift this flour through a basket sieve. Any
coarse stuff that does not rub through the sieve is thrown away. The fine
residue is baked in a clay platter, and should be turned over with the
hands once during the process. No water is added to the flour before it
is baked.

This flour is kneaded with water, put in a pan and cooked over the
fire. The result, the cassava bread, is leathery and tough, and when
one speaks of “bread” unleavened bread must be understood. It is never
allowed to brown, the outer crust is merely hardened, and as a result the
cassava cake has always a raw uncooked taste. But I found that if one
of these native cakes were cut in small pieces and fried in animal fat
till crisply toasted, it was quite good eating, better if anything than
ordinary bread.

The Boro leave the starch in the cassava flour, so their bread is more
sustaining than Witoto bread, as Witoto women remove the starch and use
it for other purposes.[184] Boro bread is also thicker, and when pulled
apart is of a stringy consistency.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIV.

BORO WOMEN MAKING CASSAVA]

Spruce mentions a manioc oven,[185] but this is quite unknown to me. All
the tribes I visited cooked their cassava on large earthenware plates
on an open fire. Nor could they prop their cooking utensils on stones,
for--as has been noted--stones there are none in these districts. The pot
is put simply on the three logs that compose the fire where their ends
meet. The hot embers in the centre give plenty of steady heat, and if
more be required the pot must be placed on a tripod of branches and the
embers fanned with a palm-leaf to a flame.

Among the Andoke manioc is peeled by the women with their teeth, and then
washed. The roots are pulped with a grater, and the starch is washed
out by adding water to them in a basket suspended on a tripod over a
calabash. The partially prepared manioc is left till required for use and
will keep in this state for a week at a time. When they wish to use it
the grated pulp is strained in a cassava-squeezer, then mixed with starch
and sifted through a sieve. The fine stuff is baked immediately, and the
water that was drained off in the wringer is boiled up at once to make a
sweet-tasting drink. The starch will keep for a month.

Among the Boro and Witoto the manioc water is boiled till it thickens,
and is then used as a sauce into which the cassava is dipped before it is
eaten. Another way of eating cassava is to dip it in soup. The Boro on
the Japura concoct a sauce of the consistency of paste by seasoning the
manioc water with peppers and fish.[186]

Though the tuber is the most valuable portion of the plant it is not the
only part used for food. The leaves may be eaten as a vegetable. They are
boiled till quite soft; pounded very fine with a pestle; fish, worms,
frogs, ants and peppers are added as seasoning, and this brew is eaten
with cassava bread and with meat. Another method of preparation is to
take the leaves and cook them in the water squeezed out of the roots in
the wringer. This sauce is boiled in an earthenware pot suspended from a
cross-beam, or placed like the earthenware pan on a triangle of sticks,
over a slow fire, until the leaves become a paste. This is carried in a
palm-leaf as an emergency ration by an Indian when going into the bush.

Cassava, then, is the Indian’s “staff of life.” Its complement is the
hot-pot, or pepper-pot, which is a “generous” soup supercharged with meat
that forms the staple, while the liver and so forth are added to enrich
the brew. It is a standing dish with the aborigines. Each family has a
big pot that simmers constantly over the special fires. Into this go
all things, and it is replenished daily from the proceeds of the kill.
Portions of animals that may not be eaten--blood, brains, intestines--can
be utilised in the stew; and everything is very highly qualified with
peppers, the chief stimulant in native diet.

Wallace has suggested that the excessive use of peppers is due to the
lack of salt.[187] This very serious need is not without considerable
influence on the Indian, and it is possible--as has been suggested--that
it is at the root of more than over-indulgence in pepper. Mineral salt is
not to be had,[188] except by barter, throughout the middle Issa-Japura
regions; and what little the tribes can obtain is chiefly secured by
burning certain plants with saline qualities.[189]

On account of its rarity salt is much sought after, and a present of salt
is always highly appreciated.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXV.

WITOTO CASSAVA-SQUEEZER

BORO MANIOC-GRATER WITH PALM-SPINE POINTS]

The Indian feeds at sunrise after he has had his drink of “tea” and his
first bath. This morning meal is an informal one of cold cassava cake,
and any meat that may have been left uneaten overnight, or a dip in the
hot-pot. He eats sparingly, and never takes much of a meal if a day’s
march or a hunt is in prospect. Nor does he carry food with him, unless
he be going on a journey. Coca, which of course is but a stimulant, is
sufficient sustenance in his opinion. Still, he will eat a little at any
time it may be possible, and there is usually no lack of fruit for the
taking in the bush.

The great meal of the day is towards sundown when the hunt is over, the
quarry killed and cooked.[190] Then all the men, squatting round their
private family fires in the big house, help themselves from their hot-pot
and eat to the limit of its contents. An Indian will not take a bite
at his food; he tears whatever he is eating into small pieces with his
fingers. Among the Issa-Japura tribes, as with the Tukana, men and women
do not eat together, and the children feed with the women. None of the
tribes have any special observances or purifications before or after
eating, so far as I am aware, nor are there any general restrictions,
except so far as carrion and the intestines are concerned. But even
these may at a pinch be made use of without prejudice, by resorting to
the simple expedient of blowing, or rubbing with a magic stone, the two
antidotes for all evils with the Indian. There are temporary food tabu
for women, and certain prohibitions for children. These will be dealt
with later.

The usual method of cooking is to rest the pot as described on the
fire-logs themselves. Sometimes the pot is placed, like the pan for
baking cassava, on lumps of clay, or on a triangle of sticks roughly
made for the occasion. The sticks must be long in comparison to the
height from the ground that is required, and are not tied, but merely so
adjusted that each supports and locks the others. Such a tripod makes a
firm seat, though never employed by the Indians for that purpose. I have
never seen pots hung. The pot is covered with a single leaf, and the soup
is stirred with any stick that comes to hand at the moment; there are no
special ones, nor are any fashioned for use as ladles. Meat is almost
invariably put in the hot-pot, but occasionally it is toasted over the
fire.

When the women have cooked the food the men help themselves from the pot;
they are not waited upon by their women. An Indian will help himself from
the hot-pot at any time the fancy may seize him, or, for that matter,
from any hot-pot, so long as the owner thereof is present. The tribal or
chief’s fire carries the tribal hot-pot, which is open to all, as all
contribute to it, at least all the unmarried warriors must do so. This is
the hot-pot which always remains, and the fire that never dies out. The
family hot-pot and fire is the concern of each individual family only.

Fruit is to be had in plenty, and throughout the year in this country of
endless summer. Not being a botanist, and aware that some of the most
tempting fruits held latent poison under an alluring exterior, I was
most chary of eating fruit unknown to me, and never touched any until
quite satisfied of its wholesomeness from its effects on the Indians;
nor, mindful of the fact that the Indian will, and apparently can, eat
anything, would I venture to eat many fruits the Indians partook of as a
matter of course. Sweet and ripened fruit is rarely eaten by them; they
prefer a bitter taste, and, as mentioned in connection with sugar-cane,
have no particular use for anything sweet. The Indian will gather fruit
and bring it to the house, though the usual custom is to pluck and eat it
in the bush. So far as I was concerned especially, it was brought in as a
present to denote good-will.

One fruit the Indians grow in the plantations resembles and tastes like
grapes.[191] It is very plentiful, particularly in the old plantations,
and the Indian will often return to one of these in order to obtain this
fruit. Another fruit, also found growing in old plantations, is the
colour of a lemon, and the size and shape of an orange. It is very good
eating, extremely sweet when ripe, with huge black pips, and the part
immediately under the skin is gummy, like rubber latex, and sticks to the
mouth.

A fruit we knew as the mauve berry is found at the top of trees. In size
it approximates to a red currant, and it grows in large bunches. The
colour is a light pinky mauve. It is intensely sweet, and according to
popular report has an intoxicating effect upon the eater. It certainly
appears to have very heady properties.

Various palms furnish palatable fruits. There is a small edible palm from
which the Indians strip the bark after they have cut it down, and remove
the cylinder of hardened sap which is of the same consistency as a hard
woody apple. It is heavy but rich-flavoured and good eating. Then there
is the cabbage palm, not to mention the pupunha.

Nuts and seeds abound. There is a large oval seed in a fleshy envelope
that birds feed on freely, and another fruit with a large stone is the
wild alligator pear. The stone of this is more than one-half the size of
the whole fruit. It is delicious in taste, and is looked upon by both
whites and natives as a great delicacy. In shape it resembles a pear, and
in colour it varies from green to yellow or russet.

CHAPTER X

Drinks, drugs, and poisons: their use and
preparation--Unfermented drinks--_Caapi_--Fermented
drinks--_Cahuana_--Coca: its preparation, use, and
abuse--_Parica_--Tobacco--Poison and poison-makers.

If the Indian eats but little during the day, he drinks to excess
whenever opportunity offers. In the early morning a beverage somewhat
akin to tea, but colourless, made from an infusion of bitter herbs, is
taken. It has some tonic properties, and when I drank it seemed always
to have a slight taste of peppermint. This herb infusion is the first
meal of the day. It is drunk out of half-gourds, after the morning bath,
before the members of the household disperse to their varied avocations.
I am under the impression that this decoction is made from a species of
grass, and not the _Ilex paraguayensis_ from which _mate_, or Paraguay
tea, is made. It is probably the lemon grass mentioned by Simson.[192]
The Indians also scrape the seeds of the _capana_, mix in some cassava
flour, and wrap up the mass in plantain leaves. This is left to ferment
in water, till it is the colour of saffron; then it is dried in the sun.
This is drunk as a bitter tea in the morning when diluted in water.

The Indian drinks enormous quantities of water, or unfermented liquor, at
times, and afterwards can abstain like a camel for a considerable period.
He never drinks when eating, but afterwards. At a feast or a dance when
he is unable to drink more he simply pokes his fingers down his throat,
with the result that room is made for renewed doses of his non-alcoholic
beverage.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVI.

ONE OF THE INGREDIENTS OF THE FAMOUS CURARE POISON]

The principal unfermented drinks made by these tribes are prepared from
manioc, and from various fruits. The first is made from the grated manioc
by merely squeezing out and boiling the water, and is thus a by-product
of cassava in the making. This leaves a sweet drink, which is certainly
insipid and is not considered to be healthy. The moisture squeezed out of
the “squeezer” is boiled and boiled again into a rather thick drink. This
is used more as a sauce into which cassava is dipped than as a “clean”
drink. It still contains, I believe, a minute percentage of hydrocyanic
acid.

Another beverage is prepared from roasted pines. The juice is squeezed
out, and this liquid extract is ready to drink without further process.
Plantains, bananas, and other fruits, grated and mixed with starch
obtained from the manioc tubers, are boiled and flavoured with local
spices to make another concoction. A thick yellow liquid prepared from
the _Patana_ palm is the national drink of all these Indians, except
the Menimehe and Kuretu, who make fermented drinks from pine fruit. The
_Patana_ fruit is boiled and broken with the hand in water, so as to mix
up the pulp and allow the heavy skins to fall to the bottom of the pot.
These and any fleshy remainder are strained away in a sieve, and cassava
flour is added to the liquid, which is drunk while warm. This drink is
known as _patana-yukise_ in lingoa-geral. There is a vegetable milk
that is consumed by the Indians, which I take to be the cow-tree milk
mentioned by other travellers.[193] I do not think it is very plentiful
in these regions, and for my own part never saw nor tasted it. It is a
creamy, sticky fluid, obtained by lacerating the bark, that can be drunk
when fresh. I am certain these tribes do not use it for any cooking
purposes, and do not think it is ever stored in their houses, but is only
drunk in the forest from the tree.

There are intoxicating drinks among the Menimehe and the tribes north
of the Japura, but among some of these northern tribes the men drink
_caapi_,[194] which is strongly erotic. I would suggest that _caapi_
is unknown to the tribes south of the Japura, except probably to their
medicine-men. It would account for the frenzy of the latter when
diagnosing disease, and so forth, which quite corresponds with the
descriptions given by Spruce of the effect of _caapi_.[195]

The plant from which _caapi_ is prepared is grown in plantations by
Indians on the Uaupes and Issanna rivers,[196] and by other Rio Negro
tribes. The drink is made from the stem, mixed in a mortar by the Uaupes
Indians with the roots of the painted caapi.[197] The pounded mass is
rubbed through a sieve, and water is then added. Women are not even
allowed to touch the vessel that contains the _caapi_. This intoxicating
liquor is unknown to me, but I heard that the Karahone and other tribes
had this strong drink. Though known on the Uaupes to all the tribes it is
said to have only a confined use on the Rio Negro.

Other drinks that are to be found north of the Japura are prepared from
fermented maize, and manioc.[198] _Caxiri_, or manioc beer, is used by
the Menimehe, the Ticano and Kuretu. Tribes on the Napo drink _masato_,
which is also made from manioc that has been partly masticated by the
women and then left to ferment.[199] They make another fermented drink
from bananas, but pines are principally employed as they contain more
sugar for fermenting purposes.

Before a dance the women of the Issa-Japura region prepare great store of
_kawana_, a drink made from the yellow pulp of a pear-shaped fruit,[200]
not unlike a mango, with a large black seed in the centre.[201] The
liquid is stored in the large vessels made by the primitive process of
stripping off a sheet of bark and setting it end up on the hard ground.
These are usually to be found at the chief’s end of the tribal house. One
of these impromptu vats will hold as much as thirty gallons.

By far the most important of the stimulants taken by these peoples are
the preparations made from the leaves of the common coca shrub.[202]
Coca is the mescal of the Indian,[203] and possibly a heritance from the
Inca invaders of bygone centuries.[204] The use of coca is habitual, not
intermittent. An Indian will take as much as two ounces a day.[205] All
Indians use it, the Bara in especial being heroic coca-takers.

To prepare coca for use the sage-green leaves are carefully picked and
fire-dried. They are then pounded with other ingredients in mortars made
from small tree-trunks. The pestle shown in the illustration is made of
mahogany. Beside the coca leaf the Indian pounds up lime that is procured
by reducing to ashes certain palm leaves,[206] baked clay that is scraped
from underneath the fire, and some powdered cassava flour. Whether these
leaf-ashes are a form of calcium I do not know. In the Sierra powdered
coca is mixed with pulverised unslaked lime, or with the ashes of the
_Chenopodium Quinoa_. As this latter is one of the distinctive Sierra
flora, I presume the Indians of the forest have found some substitute in
the bush. The drug is carried in a bag, or beaten-bark pouch, that is
worn suspended round the neck. The clay and palm-leaf ashes certainly
neutralise the bitterness of the pure leaf, and it is possible that in
these foreign ingredients the Indians have discovered an antidote, if
such there be, to the worst effects of the drug.

The Indian by means of a folded leaf shoots the powder into the cheeks on
one or both sides. This when moistened forms a hard ball, and with such
a wad stuffed between the cheek and the teeth he can go without sleep,
food, or drink, for several days. Coca is not swallowed, but gradually
absorbed and passed down with the saliva.[207]

As to cocainism, we know that the Indians are veritable cocaino-maniacs,
or rather coca-maniacs. It is a matter of great regret to me that I was
unable to make observations--may I say psycho-medical observations--on
Indians under the influence of this drug. Perhaps it would be more
correct to say that it was not possible to observe one not to some extent
under its influence, for it must be remembered that the use of the drug
is so continuous that it is difficult--one has hardly the opportunity--to
differentiate. Whether coca permanently injures the higher brain
centres, as has been suggested,[208] is unknown to me, as unknown as the
Indians themselves before they developed the heroic use of the drug.
The evidences of its effect are contradictory in the extreme, and vary
in individual cases. In my own case hunger and thirst were eliminated,
but I was unable to establish a tolerance for the drug, and after many
vain attempts gave it up, except when food was scarce and anything was
preferable to the pangs of hunger. I was certainly able to make greater
efforts without food, but its effects were evanescent in the extreme, and
were soon followed by acute vomiting and cramp in the stomach. The nausea
may have been due to the foreign substances with which the powdered
leaves are mixed and not to the coca, but on that point only a trained
opinion could be of value.

Even on the question of its influence on the appetite it is difficult to
give any clear ruling. My own experience was that it utterly destroyed
the appetite. Possibly the Indians’ “tolerance” accounted for the fact
that despite the use of the drug they invariably eat heartily when
opportunity permits.

The dilation of the pupil caused by the use of the drug is marked in the
Indian, and gives a curious expression to the eye. On account of the
darkness of the iris this is not so markedly noticeable as would be the
case with grey-eyed peoples.

The Tuyuka and other tribes north of the Japura use as a stimulant
_parica_ or _niopo_, a wonderful snuff which is a strong narcotic, and
very similar in its effects to coca.[209] It is made from the dried seeds
of a mimosa,[210] and, like coca, is mixed with quicklime,[211] and baked
clay.[212] The seeds are roasted, and then pounded in a shallow wooden
mortar, and the snuff when made is packed in snail-shells[213] and is
inhaled through hollow bird-bones inserted in both nostrils. It is used
for curative purposes by the Uaupes Indians.[214]

The Menimehe and Yahuna tribes take snuff, but they neither smoke nor
lick tobacco. The Uaupes Indians smoke enormous cigars,[215] but none of
the tribes south of the Japura smoke their tobacco; it is only licked.
After the tobacco leaves are gathered they are soaked, and then pounded
in a mortar by the men. Tobacco, it must not be forgotten, is tabu to
the women in any form, and it may be noted here that tabu on drink and
drugs is far stricter than any tabu on food. The latter are intermittent,
enforced only in special cases, or at certain times or ages; but the tabu
on coca, aya-huasca, caapi and tobacco is always binding on all women.
A little thickened cassava starch is added, which makes the mixture into
a stiff dark liquid, to be used either privately or ceremonially, as
already described. The tobacco-pot shown in the accompanying illustration
is made of a thick and hard nut-shell, with apparently natural holes that
are stopped with pitch.[216] Two artificial holes have been bored through
for the string. It is about two and a half inches long, by one and
five-eighths wide. The oval hole at the top is five-eighths of an inch
across, and through it the point of a stick is inserted when the tobacco
is to be taken.

The ingenuity with which the Indians prepare cassava flour, their
staple provender, from a poisonous root, though notable, is ordinary
in comparison with the intricate processes which the poor Indian’s
“untutored mind”[217] has elaborated for the preparation of various
poisons. Natural poisons abound in the forest. There is one tree known
as the poison-tree and credited with most deadly properties.[218] On the
Issa and Japura an arrow-poison is made from putrefying animal matter
mixed with strychnos. Good poison is very rare, and very much in demand.
The most potent preparation is made by the Karahone, who have great
knowledge of poisons and are by far the cleverest toxicologists. The
Menimehe understand poisons to some extent, but are not the equals of the
Karahone, from whom most of the tribes obtain their poisons by barter.
But poison of some sort is always manufactured by every medicine-man.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVII.

INCISED GOURDS

1. TOBACCO POT (WITOTO)

2. ” ” (BORO)

3. RATTLE (OKAINA)

4. ” (BORO)

5. ” (WITOTO)]

The most important poison is the _curare_.[219] It is made from two
plants, called by the Witoto _ramu_ and _pani_ respectively.[220] The
complicated recipe is a treasured hereditary possession.[221] The wood
of the _Strychnos toxifera_ is the most necessary ingredient in the
manufacture of _curare_. It is pounded in a mortar, and the sap, mixed
with water, is strained and boiled with peppers, ants, and a variety of
more or less noxious material.[222] When it is sufficiently inspissated
it is put into the small pots, about an inch and a half in diameter, in
which these Indians carry it round their necks, in readiness to smear on
the palm-spine points of their darts, arrows, and javelins.[223]

CHAPTER XI

Small families--Birth tabu--Birth customs---Infant
mortality--Infanticide--Couvade--Name-giving--Names--Tabu on
names--Childhood--Lactation--Food restrictions--Child-life and
training--Initiation.

Though so recognised an authority as Bates is responsible for the
statement that the fecundity of the Amazonian Indians is of a low
degree,[224] because as many as four children in one family are rarely
found, it is open to doubt whether he and his successors have not in
this instance confounded effect and cause. It is certainly true that the
normal number for a family is but two or three, yet that this is not a
question of fertility the high percentage of pregnant women would seem
to disprove.[225] The numbers are remarkable in view of the fact that
husbands abstain from any intercourse with their wives, not only during
pregnancy but also throughout the period of lactation--far more prolonged
with them than with Europeans. The result is that two and a half years
between each child is the minimum difference of age, and in the majority
of cases it is even greater.

The main reason why there are these limited families, is, in my opinion,
not a diminishing birth-rate, but an enormously high percentage of
infant mortality. The test of the survival of the fittest is applied
to the young Indian at the very moment of his birth, for the infant is
immediately submerged in the nearest stream, a custom that easily leads
to infanticide in the case of an unwanted child, or one with any apparent
deformity.

Another accepted opinion with which I am not in agreement is that these
girls become mothers at a very early age, and that when only fourteen
years old themselves may have already had two children, as is said of
tribes on the Tikie. My experience has been that these peoples do not
arrive at the age of physical maturity even so early as white races,
probably owing to lack of nourishing food and perhaps in some degree to
the retarding and depressing effect of the forest environment.[226]

These Indians share the belief of many peoples of the lower cultures
that the food eaten by the parents--to some degree of both parents--will
have a definite influence upon the birth, appearance, or character of
the child.[227] Before the birth of an infant the mother has to submit
to certain definite food restrictions, which vary with different tribes
in some slight degree, but are all rooted in the same idea. Among some
tribes all animal food is forbidden to any woman throughout the entire
period of pregnancy, and this precludes her from share in the tribal or
family hot-pot. Among the tribes of the Tikie and elsewhere tapir flesh
is prohibited, not so much because it is considered unhealthy, which on
account of its richness it certainly would be,[228] but because if a
mother partook of any it would be looked upon as tantamount to allotting
the visible characteristics of the animal to the unborn child. From a
like cause these Indians imagine that the child would have the teeth of
a rodent did the mother eat capybara during the months of her pregnancy;
it would be spotted like a paca if she ate that beast; or, if she ate
bush-deer flesh, which is tabu to all women after marriage among the
Kuretu-language group, the venison would make the infant deformed.
Peccary is tabu among many tribes, and with the Witoto during the last
month of pregnancy the mother’s food is limited to one kind of small
fish, with cassava and fruits.

The belief that ill will befall the unborn infant if the mother do not
regularly adhere to dietary laws is strictly held by both men and women.
To give birth to a deformed or disfigured child is the most disgraceful
calamity that can happen to any woman, and therefore all possible
precautions must be taken, and any animals reputed to possess undesirable
characteristics are naturally forbidden, lest the unborn child should in
any way resemble the appearance or take the characteristics of the animal
concerned. The prohibitions are, therefore, definitely tabus, inasmuch as
they are believed to entail the penalty of deformed or malignant progeny
upon the transgressor, a belief very binding on people who hold that to
some extent the consumer absorbs the characteristics of aught that is
eaten.

Nor do all these tabus concern the mother only, for the father also
among some of the tribes must abstain from meat a short time before, as
well as after, the child’s birth.[229] This recognition of a definite
connection between the father and the child, a more intimate connection
than civilised peoples recognise, is to be noted, and should be borne in
mind when considering the curious custom of the couvade, which must be
recorded anon.

Whatever the weather may be no accouchement ever takes place within the
house.[230] When birth is imminent the expectant mother will go out into
the forest with some trusted older woman, or alone, for the Indian wife
is quite willing to take full responsibility without any further aid.
Among some of the tribes north of the Japura the mother is accompanied to
the forest, and assisted while there by other matrons, who have their
faces painted red. But the Boro and the Witoto women go unattended or
with but one female attendant. Neither the husband nor any other man is
permitted to be present whatever the circumstances.

The shelter of the forest gained, the woman makes a small clearing, and
spreads a bed of leaves on which she sits down.[231] Her trouble is not
of long duration. When the child is born she ties the umbilical cord with
fibre-string, and then bites it through,[232] or cuts it with a wooden
knife. This done she at once proceeds to the nearest water and bathes,
after which she returns to the house. She wears no covering or bandage.

The infant is taken with her to the river and is washed and ducked. If it
survive this drastic treatment its body is covered with what the Witoto
call _hittagei_, that is, rubber latex, over which a brown or red clay is
smeared. Hardenburg relates that he was told this was done by the Witoto
“in order to keep it warm.”[233] I have often seen the process carried
out, but the warmth theory never occurred to me, and none of the Indians
suggested it as a possible reason or gave any explanation of the custom.

As I have said, with all these tribes infant mortality is very great. The
custom of submerging the new-born child undoubtedly causes an immense
increase in the number of deaths. This led me to inquire why they
persisted in such a fatal course, but one and all said that if the child
was not strong enough to survive it had better die. This is the Indian
attitude, and explains much of the seemingly ignorant or harsh treatment
to which young children are subjected.

Indians do not care to have large families. To support a number of
children would often be a matter of grave difficulty.[234] But fœticide
is not practised, and abortion is probably unknown except to the
medicine-men, who would only procure it for their own purposes or
protection. Should destruction for any reason be desired, the birth would
be allowed to take place, and the child afterwards killed “accidentally”
during the subsequent lustration. Bastard children are undoubtedly
destroyed, and the second of twins is left in the bush by the mother
before immersion; or, among some of the tribes of the Kuretu, if the
babies are of both sexes it is the girl that is killed, whichever may
have been born first. Otherwise they kill the second, because it is
obvious that the second is the transgressor, it had no right to come, and
it is a disgrace to bear twins, as these people hold the opinion that to
be delivered of more than one child at a birth is to lower themselves to
the level of the beasts. The act of killing is performed by the mother
secretly, at the parturition if possible, and the body would be concealed
by her in the bush.[235]

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII.

KARAHONE CHILD

BORO WOMEN CARRYING CHILDREN]

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]

Among some tribes the name of a deceased person will be given to some
surviving relative.[251] This is looked upon as an honour to be bestowed
on the greatest friend of the deceased,[252] and thereafter this new name
is considered his private name, and the one originally his thenceforth
ceases to concern him in any way.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIX.

BORO WOMEN CARRYING CHILDREN]

With the naming of a child the formalities connected with its birth
are at an end, and once the navel is healed the father’s share in the
ceremonials is completed. With his return to ordinary life the infant
reverts to the charge of the mother. Day and night the child remains with
her. It is carried out into the fields when she sets forth on her day’s
toil among the manioc and pines, and is brought back to the fireside at
night when she returns to cook the evening meal. The Witoto women, in
common with other tribes in the vicinity, carry their infants in a sling
of beaten bark-cloth that is passed round the forehead and hung as a bag
behind. At a less tender age they will seat them on the hip, and small
girls may often be seen with a smaller brother or sister astraddle round
their waists.

The Indian mother will suckle her young for three years, or even longer,
and at least during the earlier nursing will have no connection with her
husband. This long period of lactation is certainly due in a measure
to the scarcity of food. There is no artificial supply or substitute
obtainable in place of the natural provision. If the mother cannot feed
it the child must starve. The child is fed wherever the mother’s duties
may take her. On many occasions I have seen a child that is running about
and playing, suddenly toddle up to the squatting mother intent on her
cassava making, and still standing suck for a few moments and then toddle
away. Not less remarkable is it to see the women milk themselves into a
palm-leaf, a very usual custom after the children’s teeth develop. The
leaf is rested on the palm of the hand, which gives it the necessary
cuplike form, and from this the child is fed.

The prohibitions with regard to certain foods that affected the parents
before and immediately subsequent to childbirth, continue in force
afterwards so far as the children are concerned. Such tabus are more
strictly enforced on the girls than on the boys; and their diet is
neither plentiful nor seemingly of the most nourishing description.
Cassava cakes and fruits are permitted them, and some of the smaller bony
kinds of fish among fish-eating tribes, but none of the better kinds of
fish, and no game, until they attain maturity.

There is no childhood as others know it for the little Indian. By this
I mean no innocent childhood. These forest children from birth see all
the life of their elders, hear all things openly discussed, and the very
games and jests of the babies are tainted with what we should consider
obscenity.

Children are primarily under the authority and protection of the father,
but any authority on the parent’s part is very slight, and ceases to
exist altogether where the boys are concerned once the age of puberty is
reached. Of course even a married son shows respect to a father if they
are living in the same house. Girls, as they are in the care of their
mothers or some responsible elderly matron of the tribe until their
marriage, must be more under authority; and virginity, as with us, is
strictly protected so far as is possible.[253] But in the main it may
be said that parental control is only a semblance, and filial piety,
so characteristic of the Inca and the Chinese, is practically unknown:
indeed, though the smaller children seem very fond of their parents,
after a few years it appears to be almost fashionable to disregard
parental authority entirely.

A child is not considered responsible for any damage it may contrive to
do. If it commit any mischief that entails loss to others compensation
is claimed from the parents, but no chastisement would in consequence be
meted out to the little offender. Children are never beaten, whatever
their offences, and rarely punished. They are looked upon as the
potential warriors and mothers of warriors, and treated very differently
to the old and worn, who may be left to forage for themselves. The
parents, in fact, show great affection for their children, despite the
stoical way in which infant lives are sacrificed. Often have I seen the
father, who would on no account carry food or any part of his woman’s
burden, however heavy, give his small son a lift over the bad ground.
Although he will never play games with his children as western folk do,
the Indian father will do his best to please the youngsters and make them
happy. He will make little javelins, a small blow-pipe, a toy sword for
the boys. They have their miniature weapons from the tenderest years,
and imitate their fathers in all that they do, just like the girls, who
go with their mothers to the plantations, and take a share in women’s
work as their form of play, and shoulder a share of women’s burdens when
hardly more than babies themselves. Their games, in short, are all
mimetic. They have no games with string or balls.

It follows naturally enough that there is little or no elaborate ritual
of initiation among most of these tribes, so far as I was able to
ascertain, for no part of a man’s life is kept secret from a child. The
elders simply take the young of each sex apart and teach them. Nor is
there much ceremony on the attainment of the young warrior to tribal
rank. He has been instructed by the elder men as to the ways of hunting;
he is allowed to join a tobacco palaver; he is presented by the chief
with a pouch of coca; he is permitted to lick tobacco, and he affirms as
he does so that he will bear himself bravely on all occasions. There is
no further formality, and thus he enters the ranks of the fighting men.
Among the Bara after a Jurupari dance all the youths of pubertal age are
whipped, which is considered to be initiation. The whipping instrument,
made from the hide of the tapir, is sacred. Women are excluded from this
ceremony, and they believe when the boys shout that it is the expulsion
of demons. The performance is regarded as strictly private, and if a man
or boy tells of his experience he is outcast.

For the girls there are some secret lodges in the bush. But how far
this is an Indian custom, how far a recent development for purposes of
defence, I was not able to ascertain. The matter is not one on which
the Indian is ever communicative. Certainly among all the tribes in the
vicinity of the much-feared and ever-raiding Andoke, the girls who are
bordering on puberty are segregated in the depths of the forest under
the protection of old and wise women of the tribe. This may not be
general, and I do not think it is a universal custom. It is done by these
tribes principally, I take it, for the protection of the flower of their
womanhood, to prevent the mothers of warriors-to-be from falling into
the hands of the restless thieving Andoke. At the same time the girls
are under instruction of their keepers, they are taught in these lodges
presumably the duties that will shortly fall to their lot. They learn to
dance, to sing, and to paint themselves for festivals. It is no unusual
sight to see a party of small girls painting each other, if by chance one
haps across a secret lodge. This is, I take it, in the way of practice,
the Indian girl’s version of her civilised sisters’ “dressing-up” games.

The girls’ isolation is not absolute. There is always communication
between the hidden lodge and the tribal house, but such communication
is made with due care, no path is ever cut or worn to the hiding-place,
and if one develops by usage it is speedily blocked the moment it is
noticeable. When no inimical raiders are about, and all is considered
safe, the girls repair to the tribal house, but no girl is allowed to
return to the tribe for good until such time as a marriage has been
arranged for her.

One writer on the Jivaro tribes mentions festivities held when a
four-year old child is first initiated into the art of smoking.[254] This
could never occur among any of the tribes on the Japura or the Issa,
where it has been seen tobacco is only licked. Boring the ears, nose,
and lips of the adolescent is done when they go to the lodges at the age
of puberty. It is very carefully carried out, and is probably done with
their ordinary boring instrument, the tooth of a capybara. Among the
Menimehe the tribal marks are tattooed on face and breast at this time.

I have not met with the custom mentioned by Sir Clement Markham as
existing among the Mariama, of a man cutting lines near the mouth of
his twelve-year-old son, nor has the scourging of the Omagua, and their
trial of the girls by hanging them in a net to smoke them, come under
my observation, any more than the cruel scourging of girl children
mentioned by Clough,[255] though boys on the Apaporis are thrashed, and
I have heard of the custom north of the Japura. The Jurupari dance as
described by so many authorities, and the girls’ whippings, as noted
by Wallace,[256] have been told me second-hand by these tribes. I have
never seen either, and south of the Japura I believe such customs to be
unknown.

[Illustration: PLATE XL.

OKAINA GIRLS]

CHAPTER XII

At the beginning of my stay among the tribes, I thought, as many have
asserted, that polygamy was common among the Indians. The reason for
this belief is simply the fact that it is extremely hard to distinguish
at first between wives, concubines, and attached women--women under the
protection of a man, but not necessarily in intimate relation. Inquiries
do not immediately assist any conclusion. If, for example, you question
one of the attached women she would merely reply, “I am the chief’s
woman,” which answer would have been equally correct in either case.
But on better knowledge of their languages and customs the conviction
was forced on me that monogamy and not polygamy is the rule, with the
exception of the chiefs north of the Japura, who have, so far as I could
make out, more than one wife. Koch-Grünberg affirms, and other tribes
told me, that among the tribes on the Tikie a chief may have four wives.
This is not the case south of that river, where chiefs, like ordinary
members of the tribe, have only one.

But in addition to his wife or wives, all female prisoners and any
unattached women belong by right to the chief. He is their father,
mother, and husband, in so far that they receive his protection, though
the wife would not permit any intimacy, unless it were when she was
bearing or nursing a child. These women are not to be regarded, however,
as what the Witoto call _rinyo kachirete_, that is tribal prostitutes,
although other members of the tribe beside the chief are allowed to have
access to them when his consent has been gained. The prisoners certainly
would be used with his permission as women of convenience. So far as I
could gather the chief respects the chastity of his wards, and it is
therefore unlikely that he would claim any _droit de seigneur_ where the
other women of the tribe are concerned.[257] Letourneau is responsible
for the statement that “in America from the land of the Esquimaux to
Patagonia, the loan of a wife is not only lawful but praiseworthy.”[258]
I have never heard any suggestion of _jus utendi et abutendi_, and
consider it unlikely in view of the Indian’s character. He is not only a
jealous husband but the rights of the wife are tacitly recognised, and
I should conclude that such a custom would be entirely alien to Indian
nature. The same argument holds good in the case of a daughter.

To distinguish between wards and wives is so great a difficulty that
I even hesitated to accept without further confirmation the account
given by Wallace of polygamous practices among the Isanna and Uaenambeu
tribes,[259] careful as he was over all details of things about which
he had personal knowledge. But I also was told by all tribes north of
the Japura that it is permissible to have more than one wife, though
the first must retain the position of “mistress of the house.”[260] It
possibly resolves itself into the question of whether the women greatly
out-number the men at a particular period or not.

Marriage with these Indians is not a matter of any great or prolonged
ceremony or even of festival. A youth marries as a matter of course when
he reaches man’s estate. Till he has taken to himself a wife he must
remain in some degree dependent either on his parents or the chief;
for he cannot plant his own manioc or tobacco, nor can he cook his own
food. He has no one whose duty it is to see that there are no thorns
or jiggers in his feet, to paint him for a dance, to prepare him store
of drinks. Complete independence comes only when with his own woman he
can, if he so pleases, go his own way, and live in solitude out in the
forest or have his own fire in the shelter of the big _maloka_, just as
it suits his whim. To secure this independence, to get his woman, he
is required in the first place to show that he is a capable hunter and
warrior, that is to say he must demonstrate the fact that he can feed
and protect a wife and children.[261] But there is no scheme in any way
approximating to the customs of those African peoples who rule that a man
must have killed his man before he can be considered a proved warrior,
and qualified for matrimony. It is sufficient if he be a hunter by repute
in the generality of cases, though among the Uacarra and some other
tribes, as noted by Wallace, an exhibition of skill is demanded.[262] A
girl of these tribes will not marry a man who did not prove a good shot
in an archery trial held for the purpose of testing his prowess, the
reason alleged being that he cannot be sufficiently adept to maintain
a family. This is the underlying idea in all the ceremony attached to
the transaction of marriage among these Indians, of a piece with all
their doings and sentiments. There is no use for the unfit. It is the
philosophy of the forest in practical form.

Further, in view of his prospective position as husband and father,
there are certain preparations, elementary enough, to be made by the
bridegroom. From the surrounding forest a plot of land must be reclaimed,
the trees felled and uprooted, the soil broken and roughly tilled, for
the plantation. This is an absolute necessity, the agricultural is far
more vital than any housing problem, for that is a point easy enough to
settle, as the intending bridegroom need not build himself a house at
all, if he can obtain a corner in the great house of assembly. There is
nothing to prevent him from building one on his own account if he is
not content with the quarters there allotted to him, though the usual
arrangement is for a man to bring his wife to live with his family rather
than to start a separate establishment.

Betrothals are often made in childhood by arrangement between the
parents, and occasionally a small boy is married to a small girl. This
is not common, but I have seen it done in the case of a chief more than
once. On one occasion that I remember it was among the Andoke, another
time it was in a Boro house. The ceremony is the same as for adults,
but naturally only in form. Among some tribes of the Andoke such child
marriage is allowed if the boy has made a plantation and successfully
hunted an animal, and either his or, more rarely, the girl’s family will
admit them to joint life, and one Witoto man told me that he had been
married as quite a youngster. But the general disparity of age is from
five to fifteen years, for a man will choose an undeveloped girl, perhaps
only nine or ten years old, and hand her over to the women of his own
family.[263] The Andoke usually marry girls much younger than themselves,
and I have seen a man of twenty with a tiny girl-wife hurrying after him.
Undoubtedly the idea is the same as that underlying infant marriage in
India, the man seeks to gain affection by association. The girl lives
with him and his people, they become to all intents and purposes her
people; she is trained by custom to their habits of life, must naturally
imbibe their ideas, and will bring no foreign notions of manners or
morals to disturb the equanimity of the common household when, in due
time, she attains pubescence, and is made a wife _de facto_ as well as
_de jure_.[264]

In the ordinary run of events the woman invariably comes to live with
the man’s family, he never goes to hers. Only in rare cases have I heard
anything approaching the matrilocal customs noted among the Indians of
British Guiana.[265] These cases would be exclusively when a chief, who
has no son, marries his daughter to some man with a view to obtaining an
heir through her. The man might be selected from friendly neighbours,
or, with the approval of the tribe, an adopted son of the chief might
be chosen. If the former, the bridegroom would have to leave his own
people and live with his father-in-law. How exceptional this is may be
judged from the fact that it is the sole circumstance of which I am aware
where disregard is permitted to the prevailing rules of patrilocal and
exogamous customs. This is, however, hearsay only. I never met with a
case in point, though the Indians told me of it.

Individual preliminaries settled, it remains for sanction to be obtained
from the chief of the girl’s household--to whom, it must be remembered,
all unattached women belong--with which end in view the would-be
bridegroom presents him with a pot of tobacco and one of coca.[266] He
need ask no one’s consent of his own account, as in marriage the man has
an absolutely free hand, unless he goes against tribal law by marrying
a girl of any hostile tribe who might prove to be a danger to the
community. As proof that he is a man of substance and owns a house, or
has a recognised right to quarters in one, he will bring a piece of palm
shingle that has been left over after the thatching, to the father of the
selected damsel. He also brings a small tree cut through, to show that he
has cleared and made a plantation. In both cases the form would appear to
be accepted without the actuality. The father then produces some coca and
tobacco. North of the Japura they will chew _pataca_,[267] and they will
lick tobacco ceremonially together. There is no further ceremony, and a
fortnight later the marriage is consummated, the girl remaining with her
own people during the interval.[268]

Robuchon and Hardenburg, in dealing with this formality of presenting
wood, have taken the action to be that the suitor wishes to provide his
future parents-in-law with a supply of firewood. Though in other details
of marriage ceremonial they are exactly correct, both these authorities
seem to have mixed the idea of firewood--a matter it is never the
son-in-law’s business to prepare--with this symbolic offering, which is
intended to signify that his patch of ground for cultivation is prepared
and only waiting for the woman to plant and cultivate it.

If the information given me about tribes north of the Japura is correct,
a more primitive marriage custom still maintains among their neighbours.
The suitor, accompanied by his father and other relatives, visits the
father of the chosen lady. Notice of the arrival having duly been sent,
the object of such a formal visit is understood, though not definitely
stated beforehand. If the suggestion meets with favour the visitors are
welcomed with a feast. Two or three days later, in the middle of the
festivities, the bridegroom’s party suddenly kidnap the bride, without
any show of opposition on the part of her friends and family. She is
carried off to the visitors’ canoes, and the pair thenceforward may
consider themselves to be man and wife without further ceremony.[269]
Though I never met with this custom in the districts near the middle Issa
and Japura rivers, all the tribes told me of it, and among the Kuretu,
so I was informed, the ceremony is even more suggestive of marriage
by capture, as it is a point of honour for the bride to scream and
protest while the groom carries her off with mock assistance from his
friends.[270]

In every marriage the contracting parties are allowed complete freedom
of choice. This is absolute on the part of the man, and, with the rare
exception of young girls adopted into a family with a view to marriage,
equally so on the part of the woman. The unmarried women are never
objects of barter. The man neither pays for his wife, nor does he receive
dowry with her. With marriage he assumes entire responsibility for
wife and family. Girls rarely refuse an offer made to them. They occupy
an inferior position in the family compared with that of the sons. By
education and custom they are subservient to the wishes of the elders. As
they grow older and have to take their share of the communal work they
lose what independence they had as irresponsible children. By marriage
alone can the native girl obtain a corner of her own in the _maloka_,
a desirable sleeping-place beside the fire. A man is not forced upon
her against her will. One bachelor is to all intents and purposes as
eligible as any other. Personal appearance, where all who attain puberty
are of necessity healthy and well formed, counts for little. The battle
of Eugenics is fought at birth not at marriage. Whereas a boy becomes
independent almost from the date of his first breech clout, the girl
has her freedom curtailed with each succeeding year. Food tabus have
schooled her appetite. She has suffered the restraints of the secret
lodge. Marriage is her destiny, she neither knows nor desires an
alternative. Such an upbringing does not make for capriciousness where
choice of a husband is concerned. She can always run away if her husband
prove displeasing, but in the majority of cases, unless subjected to
very decided ill-usage, it never enters into the head of any wife so to
behave. Peoples who will submit to the tyranny of a few blackguardly
oppressors, and make hardly an effort in self-defence, do not rebel
against the obvious in everyday life. _Pia_, “it is so,” makes as much
for demoralising inertia as _Kismet_. In short, there is no coercion
in an Indian girl’s wedding, and equally no opportunity for original
selection.

This question of personal acquiescence rules throughout their matrimonial
relations, for with these Indians the marriage contract is only binding
so long as husband and wife desire to be bound. Divorce is simple. For
good cause shown the husband can rid himself of his wife, and be free to
try for better fortune with another. He has only to bring the matter up
in tobacco palaver, and if he can make good his cause he need not trouble
further: he is free.[271] Infidelity, bad temper, disease, laziness,
disobedience, or childlessness, is deemed a sufficiently weighty
objection in a wife to warrant such action. Tribal opinion is in every
case the chief criterion in the business.

On the part of the wife the matter is simpler yet. She will run away. A
woman is never blamed for deserting her husband, on the presumption that
such unnatural procedure could alone be due to the fact that she had been
not only ill-treated but grossly ill-treated by him. For an independent
woman is unknown among the Indians: if she is not under the protection of
some man she is left in the lurch, and if she does not speedily find a
protector must very surely die. Moreover it is obvious that when a woman
runs away she must leave her children, and only gross cruelty will drive
her to that.

If, on the other hand, a man divorce his wife, that is to say if he
drives her away from him and so forces her out of the household, he lays
himself open to severe tribal censure should the consensus of opinion be
that no good cause has been shown. If upon inquiry he fails to establish
a satisfactory excuse, he promptly is held up to ridicule by his fellows;
he is the butt of all the women; and he will certainly find it a most
difficult thing to remarry, for no woman will ever consent to be his
wife. In fact, tribal censure results in the practical banishment of the
offender, for his life in the tribal family will be made unendurable
till such time as his offence be forgotten. The end of this persecution,
and his return to tribal rights and privileges, depends entirely on his
ability to prove and persuade his fellows that after all he was not the
one to be blamed.

When a woman quarrels with her man, or wishes to revenge any wrong she
may have suffered at his hands, real or imaginary, she will dart at the
loin-cloth of the offender in the presence of the tribe and attempt to
tear it away so as to expose him to his fellows. No insult could be
greater, for this is the worst disgrace that can happen to a man. Should
this occur, the victim must run into the forest and hide himself; nor
can he return until he has beaten out a new bark loin-cloth to replace
the one that was torn, and so, once more decently attired, he may come
back and apologise to the tribe. The pair will then go off together into
the bush, and, according to circumstances, the wrong-doer undergoes, or
perhaps they mutually undergo, a very painful penance. The wronged one
takes one or more of the big black stinging ants, and places them on the
most sensitive and private parts of the other’s body. The sting of the
virulent insects not only gives intense pain, but results in fever within
twenty-four hours, and there is much swelling of the parts affected.[272]
This is the recognised mode of punishment after any conjugal infidelity,
or any ordinary separation; and, repentance thus very practically
expressed by submission to torture, forgiveness follows and good
relations are again restored.

When a man dies the top ligatures of his widow are cut as a sign of
mourning, and are only replaced if she marries again. There is no
prohibition against remarriage, though this is not permitted till some
months after the husband’s death. As a rule, on a man’s death his widow
continues to live with his people, either under the protection of the
chief, or under that of her dead husband’s brother. If her own people are
not hostile to the tribe into which she married she may return to them,
but the probability is that the tribes will have drifted apart, even if
they have not become enemies. Very frequently widows become the tribal
prostitutes, a custom that is not recognised, but is tolerated, and is
never practised openly or immodestly.[273]

CHAPTER XIII

Sickness--Death by poison--Infectious diseases--Cruel treatment
of sick and aged--Homicide--Retaliation for murder--Tribal and
personal quarrels--Diseases--Remedies--Death--Mourning--Burial.

Indians, like most coloured races, are abject cowards in pain or disease.
They will bear torture stoically enough when deliberately inflicted,
but should they suffer from any, to them, mysterious reason, in their
ignorance of natural causes they at once ascribe their affliction to
witchcraft. To this possibly may be due the hapless manner in which
they will lay them down to die, and actually succeed in doing so by
auto-suggestion.

To the Indian in common with other peoples of the lower cultures,
moreover, there is no such thing as death from natural causes. It is
the result either of poison administered in secret by an enemy, or
magical evil wrought by him or at his instigation, and the crashing
of the thunder is the magic noise that accompanies the fatal result.
If a possible enemy is known or suspected, or if, after divination,
the medicine-man can identify the culprit, it becomes the duty of the
relatives to avenge the deceased, who has, according to Indian logic,
been murdered.[274]

Without doubt a very large number of deaths are due to poison. Removal
by poison is practised to a great extent by the Karahone, who have, as
has been said, much scientific knowledge of poisons and their effects.
Further, it is the custom of the tribal medicine-man when his patients
are in what he considers to be a hopeless condition, to administer a dose
of poison quietly to the moribund sufferers after he has declared that
all his skill is in vain, and announced that recovery is impossible. For
the medicine-man it then becomes more important to secure the fulfilment
of his verdict than to risk the chance of recovery falsifying his
prognostications. The probability is that the patient would die, if for
no other reason than that the medicine-man foretold his death, but that
gentleman will take no risks.[275]

There are other and more recognised cases in which it is the
medicine-man’s province to administer a fatal draught. A mad person, for
example, is first exorcised by the medicine-man to expel his madness.
If this fails to secure the eviction of the evil spirits that cause
the madness, the man is put to death to ensure the destruction of the
bad influence which, since it passes the doctor’s power to remedy, has
presumably been sent by some hostile colleague with greater magical
gifts. Occasionally also, when any serious accident has befallen an
Indian, a medicine-man goes through the ceremony of placing him in a
secluded part of the bush, and administering the usual narcotic. The
patient is then left for the night. The next day his relatives return,
and if he is not dead he recounts to them his dreams, and from these they
deduct who is the enemy that has caused his sickness. Reprisals naturally
follow.

Should any known infectious disease break out in a tribe, those attacked
by it are immediately left, even by their closest relatives, the house is
abandoned, and possibly even burnt. Such derelict houses are no uncommon
sight in the forest, grimly desolate mementos of possible tragedies.

Perhaps the cruel treatment of the sick arises from the fact that all
disease is regarded as due to an enemy who essays by such means to
procure the destruction of the tribe. Fear is undoubtedly the root-cause.
But it must also be remembered that where life is not easy for the hale
and hearty, for the helpless it is impossible except in so far as they
can prey upon their active neighbours. The question of self-preservation
comes in to complicate the problem of the unfit. At every point it is
clearly to be seen that the survival of the most fit is the very real
and the very stern rule of life in the Amazonian forests. From birth to
death it rules the Indians’ life and philosophy. To help to preserve the
unfit would often be to prejudice the chances of the fit.[276] There are
no arm-chair sentimentalists to oppose this very practical consideration.
The Indian judges it by his standard of common sense: why live a life
that has ceased to be worth living when there is no bugbear of a hell
to make one cling to the most miserable of existences rather than risk
greater misery? Moreover, in Indian opinion, such clinging to life is a
very arrant selfishness.

Certainly cases of chronic illness meet with no sympathy from the
Indians. A man who cannot hunt or fight is regarded as useless, he is
merely a burden on the community. Should he show no signs of eventual
recovery, his friends unhesitatingly leave him to die, or, if a
medicine-man has not been commissioned to put him out of the way, he
is driven into the bush, where the same end is speedily attained. This
is done not only to the invalids, but also to the aged members of a
tribe, unless they possess great wisdom and experience, and so are of
great tribal worth. Otherwise they, too, have ceased to be units of
any practical value in tribal life, and merely hamper the more active.
Actual parricide there is none; old people are not killed, but they
are left to die. There is no sentimental desire for their company, no
affection to lighten the unhappiness of their lot. If they are unable
to tend themselves, not an Indian will go out of his way to render any
help or service. Cassava may be thrown to them occasionally, or it may be
forgotten, and without doubt in times of scarcity no provision whatever
is made for the feeble and the failing who can make none for themselves.
Slaves, of course, are looked upon as of no account, and if sick or
crippled they are abandoned without a thought. If a woman with a young
child should die, and no one be found willing to adopt the infant, the
father argues that it must die anyhow, and it is either quietly killed
and buried with the dead mother, or exposed in the bush.[277]

The reason that underlies such neglect of the sick and infirm has, on
the other hand, resulted in the prevention of intra-tribal homicide. If
the survival of the unfit is not to be desired, the existence of the
fit is to be encouraged by all possible means. On the whole, although
sick people are neglected, I do not think that they are often destroyed.
Frequently a sick Indian has appealed to me, “Oh! let me die,” but none
has ever said, “Kill me!” Intra-tribal homicide is certainly prohibited
by custom, otherwise homicide is only limited by fear of reprisal, a
more effective combination than any police force or criminal code. Even
as punishment for an admitted offence, homicide within the tribe is not
tolerated, for if a man die it means the loss of a warrior, an injury
to tribal strength, a matter not to be lightly risked where the battle
is only to the strong. There is, however, one exception to this, and
that is in the case of theft. Living as these peoples do an absolutely
public life, theft becomes of necessity a capital crime. The loser, if
he can catch the thief, will kill him by knocking him down by a blow on
the legs with the iron-wood sword, and then hacking off his head. This
retribution is considered perfectly justifiable by the tribe, and is
indeed sanctioned by custom.

After a murder has been committed it is the sacred duty of some brother
or near relative of the dead to kill the murderer, or, if not, at least a
relative of his, in accordance with the world-old idea of an eye for an
eye. A man who refused to revenge a murdered relative would be taunted
by all the women, and this would soon render his own life in the tribe
an intolerable one. But I have never come across the custom which is
prevalent in Africa among some primitive peoples, that is, to search for
the same relative to the murdered as the murdered man was to the avenger:
for example, “You have killed my nephew, I will kill your nephew.”

When an intentional murder has been committed the murderer flies to the
bush, where he is promptly followed, and the pursuit is not foregone
until the criminal is secured or the pursuers find themselves in imminent
danger from a hostile tribe. In the latter case the blood-feud remains
open for an early settlement, and the friends of the murderer are dealt
with first.

Homicide is, in fact, always looked upon as a wrong done to a man’s
tribe or family, rather than to the individual himself. In the case
of accidental homicide it may still lead to a blood-feud. The deed is
done, that is sufficient for these simple-minded folk. It may possibly
be put down to the witchcraft of some neighbouring medicine-man who has
bewitched the unintentional slayer with hostile motives; but that will
not save the unfortunate offender, rather is it an additional argument
that he should be destroyed lest worse trouble follow. There is also
to be reckoned with the idea that the dead man’s spirit will haunt the
tribe, and especially his nearest relative, until his blood has been
avenged.[278] Besides, it is undoubtedly difficult to draw the line
between accident and design, and, for the matter of that, the meaning of
the word “accident” is unknown to the Indian.

The chief and the tribe will sometimes take up the quarrel as their own,
but, on the other hand, a man considers it a disgraceful thing not to be
able to avenge his own wrongs, and, therefore, never applies to the chief
for tribal help. This is true of all small communities, an affront of any
one of the community being a personal attack upon every other member,
but it is not necessary that it should be avenged by all, unless the
affronted one be unable for any cause to complete his revenge by himself.

No tribal notice is taken of a murder committed intra-family, such as
the murder of a son or a wife, as no revenge is necessary; the loss only
affects the murderers, and it is simply arranged by the family itself.
The loss of one member does not suggest itself as a reasonable cause for
compelling the loss of another. The one exception to this would be if the
murdered man were a noted warrior whose death would constitute a serious
tribal loss. Action might then be taken by the whole tribe after the
usual tobacco palaver.

So much for death by violence; there remains something to be said of
death by disease, and of sickness not necessarily ending in death.

All travellers and writers have noticed how prone the Indian is to
sun-sickness. Living as he does in the perpetual gloom of his tribal
house, or the restricted light of the forest depths, he appears to
be exceptionally susceptible to the effects of strong sunshine. His
sensitiveness is tried further by any sort of change, even a transference
from the upper reaches to the main rivers completely upsets him. Indians
appear to go sick especially on moving only a short way from their own
locality. They are also bad subjects for malarial fevers, and the Issa
River is notoriously unhealthy in this respect. By this I mean the river
itself, and in its immediate vicinage. Even a few hundred yards away from
its banks the country is comparatively healthy and free from pestilent
fly-belts, which, it will be remembered, are at their worst some three
days steam up that river.[279] On the Brazilian frontier especially the
_pium_ from sunrise to sunset is unbearable. The beginning of the rains
invariably brings fever.

On the other hand, chest complaints are rare, respiratory disease
is unknown, and throat diseases uncommon, though you meet victims
to rheumatism and cramp. There is no venereal disease among these
tribes, and no umbilical hernia. Phimosis is common, and so are gastric
complaints. Diseases of the eye are rare, though squinting is extremely
prevalent.

There are many parasitic diseases. Ringworm and intestinal worm are very
general troubles, and lice in the head universal. Jiggers in the Indian
houses are a pest to all, and one of the daily duties of the Indian wife
consists in the examination of her man’s feet to remove any thorns or
jiggers that may have effected a lodgment. This jigger is similar to the
African species; it burrows into the foot, and lays its eggs beneath the
skin. I have had as many as thirty-seven picked out of my foot at one
time. The nuisance can be largely diminished if the traveller take the
precaution always to wear boots in or about an Indian house, for jiggers
are not found in the bush itself, though a somewhat similar pest abounds
on the leaves and grasses,[280] and causes abominable irritation. In the
Rubber Belt the usual remedy for this is a bath of white rum.

Near the Rubber Belt smallpox has found its devastating way among the
Indians. I have said that they fear any contagious disease, and will
often leave a sick person to die, so it may well be understood that a
case of smallpox causes the utmost panic and consternation.[281] Tribes
further removed from contact with “civilisation” are spared this scourge,
but I noticed a form of measles among the children. Yellow fever is not
known in the upper reaches, but I can answer for it that beriberi is, as
I fell a victim to it myself. It is very prevalent in all this country,
but it does not attack the Indians.[282]

The Napo Indians suffer from skin diseases that are not known to the
tribes in the Issa and Japura valleys. There is a bluish discoloration
and white blotch that is said to come from eating tapir.[283] Among the
Karahone one meets with cases afflicted in the same manner as natives
on the Apaporis. They are spotted with a leprosy which is said to be due
to the amount of fish that is eaten by these tribes. This disease is
otherwise unknown.

All strangers suffer from ulcers on the legs.[284] Among the Indians
themselves sores are common,[285] but I think are due entirely to
neglected wounds caused by palm-spines and so forth, not to climate and
feeding as would be the case with ourselves. Stings also have to be
reckoned with.

Indian remedies are rather symptomatic than specific;[286] the methods of
cure will be more fully dealt with in connection with the medicine-men.
The remedies are rather of the order of kill than cure. For instance,
fever is treated by the drastic method of bathing in the cold water of
the river to lower the temperature.[287] On the Napo the natives take a
concoction of tobacco-water and quinine. They make a remedy for wounds
from the bark of a tree, which they boil, and use the liquid to wash the
wound. A root found in the forest yields a narcotic much employed by the
medicine-man when it is scraped, crushed, and boiled in water. Another
remedy, acting as a counter-irritant, is a sage-green feathery moss, some
species of lichen, very dry, that grows round the roots of trees.

During my stay with the tribes I never met with any such frantic sorrow
at a death as is described by Koch-Grünberg,[288] though a mother will
cry over the body of a dead child,[289] and sobbing, wailing, and a
certain amount of excited grief is shown at a funeral, especially if it
be that of an important person.

Burial takes place without delay on the day of death. The dead man,
unwashed, is wrapped in his hammock in a sitting position, and a grave
is dug immediately below the place where the hammock was slung in his
lifetime. Though they only dig deep enough to hide the body, this custom
of intramural interment does not appear to have unhealthy effects upon
the other inhabitants of the house, and no epidemic ever seems to arise
in consequence. The dead man’s ornaments, his arms, and other personal
possessions, such as his tobacco-bag, his coca-pot, are placed in the
leaf-lined grave beside him. The whole interment is carried out with all
speed, to get the body out of the way as quickly as they possibly can.
South of the Issa a canoe or earthen jar takes the place of the hammock
for shroud, but I never met with any urn burial, primary or secondary,
among the tribes of the north.[290]

When the deceased is a woman the same procedure is followed, only pots
are buried with her in place of weapons. Among the Kuretu-language group,
when a woman dies, her pots are broken before they are placed in the
grave,[291] and her baskets are also buried with her in addition to her
ornaments. This is done to prevent the return of the soul to ask for its
properties should they be needed in the spirit world.

When a chief has died the ceremonies are more elaborate. His body,
like any other man’s, is wrapped in his palm-fibre hammock, and he is
buried with his weapons, ornaments, and private treasures. But after
the grave is filled in, the assembled tribe partake of a funeral feast.
In the intervals of drinking and dancing the mourners sing of the great
achievements, the worthiness and virtues of the dead man. The new chief
comes forward, attired in the prescribed fashion, wearing a weird and
wonderful head-dress to attract attention. He does not face the assembled
people, but turns to the wall of the house, and speaks with his back to
the tribe.

After a burial a fire is made over the new grave by the relatives, and
is always kept burning for some days, except in the case of a chief,
when the whole house is burnt. This may possibly counteract the obvious
dangers of these intramural burials, and account for the absence of evil
results.

Whatever mourning may be indulged in before the body is buried, no grief
is ever shown after the interment, for the spirit has then departed.
This belief explains why a man’s grave is not marked in any way by these
tribes, and has, as a matter of course, no claim to respect from his
survivors.

It is possible that the question of cannibal customs as insults to the
dead also influence the Indians in the matter of burial, and the absence
of sign upon a grave. It would in some measure account for the burial
in the house--as a protective measure--in spite of the fact that they
recognise the danger of the spirit’s return, a belief which would more
naturally incline them to extramural burials.

Ceremonial bathing always takes place after a funeral, in which every one
takes part for the purpose of purification.

CHAPTER XIV

The medicine-man, a shaman--Remedies and cures--Powers and
duties of the medicine-man--Virtue of breath--Ceremonial
healing--Hereditary office--Training--Medicine-man and
tigers--Magic working--Properties--Evil always due
to bad magic--Influence of medicine-man--Method of
magic-working--Magical cures.

The medicine-man of the South American Indian tribes has been described
as “the counterpart of the shaman type.”[292] There would seem to
be hardly need for any qualification--he _is_ a shaman. The word
has attained a certain vogue, with too frequent lax usage, so that
merely finding the name “_shimano_” in connection with any of these
Indians--especially when it is found in the pages of an American
writer--does not warrant this assertion.[293] But a short study
of the exhaustive paper on Shamanism and the Shaman in the _Royal
Anthropological Institute Journal_[294] will show that point for point
the methods and procedure of the Witoto, the Boro, and kindred tribes
tally with that of the shamans of Siberian peoples. That is to say he is
a doctor and a wizard, not a priest. He claims to deal with spirits by
magical processes, to exorcise, outwit, and circumvent, not to officiate
in any sacred office as the minister, the vicar, of a deity. He is a
hypnotist and a conjuror. But he is more than a mere charlatan. He is
the poison-maker for the tribe, and possesses, as a rule, especially
among the Andoke and Karahone, a considerable knowledge of drugs,
both curative and lethal. The curare poison is a treasured secret of
the medicine-men. Its recipe is religiously guarded by them, and the
deadly preparation is made with both ceremony and privacy. The Andoke
medicine-men have an ointment concocted from a plant--the identity of
which they would not divulge--that is used for massaging purposes. They
all use tobacco juice, coca, and a white snuff that I thought must be
the famous _niopo_, but could not find out anything about it.[295] One
cure for a headache is worked with a special kind of dried bark. The
medicine-man carries a piece of this in his magic-bag, and with it he
rubs over the head of the sufferer; or, if he is dealing with a wound,
he will pass the bark over the skin to make it heal. There is also a
species of lichen or moss used by them to rub lightly over the affected
part, which acts as a very mild blistering agent. It stings and, acting
as a counter irritant, draws the inflammation away from the seat of the
injury to the surface, and thus to some extent neutralises the pain. It
is a sage green in colour, dry and feathery in appearance, and is found
growing round the roots of trees.

Pain, sickness, death, each and all are caused in Indian opinion by
some evil spirit, sent of course by an enemy. It is to combat this
magic-worked mischief that the medicine-man’s services are required in
the first place. Magic must be countered by magic.[296] Incidentally the
medicine-man relies also to some extent on his own medicine, his purges,
and narcotics. However potent these may, or may not be, the fact that the
patient has implicit faith in their efficacy goes far to assist their
intrinsic merits and further the cure, the expulsion of the evil spirit
that has wrought the trouble. A medicine-man probably has a number of
these more or less genuine remedies, infusions of herbs that possess
curative properties, such as those already dealt with in the previous
chapter.

But drugs and ointments alone do not, to the Indian mind, go far to bring
about recovery. Much more effective, as a spirit-evicting agent, is the
medicine-man’s virtue, represented by his breath. It is sufficient for
him to breathe over food or drink to render it healthy, to breathe on a
sore place to secure removal of pain, to breathe on the sick to promote
recovery.[297] Nor is this power vested only in the medicine-man. Other
people’s breath may have similar value, if of less degree.[298] Should
an Indian wish to eat of forbidden food, he may get an old woman to
breathe over it. Is a child sickly, a like procedure may restore it to
health. In all the medicine-man’s performances breathing and blowing
over the patient is a prominent part of the processes. The medicine-man
will breathe on his own hand and then massage the part of the patient
that is affected; and if stronger measures are required he will suck the
place, or as near the place as his mouth can be put, suck vigorously and
possibly spit out a black liquid--the tobacco juice freely taken by him
during the performance explains the colour. The avowed object of the
suction is that it draws out the poison--the evil spirit.[299] It is
here that some degree of charlatanism comes into play, for the operating
medicine-man will presently produce a tangible object from his mouth, a
bit of stick, a thorn, a fishbone, or anything of a similar description,
and inform the patient and his friends that this is the material form
which had been assumed by the evil spirit which he has drawn bodily from
the flesh of the sick person.[300] This is the usual accompaniment of the
shaman’s rites, and too universally indulged in by the wizard fraternity
to need any particular comment.

The Indian medicine-man receives presents for the cures he effects.
Should he fail he must make the best case he can for himself,
and depart to the bush to work magic against the rival who has
successfully--according to his account--outmanœuvred him. The blame for
failure is not to be his but another’s. This, it is hardly necessary to
note, is an alluring chance for the repayment of any personal injury or
slight, not often missed by so entirely human a person as the Indian
medicine-man.

To a certain extent the office of tribal medicine-man is hereditary, that
is to say the eldest son, if efficient, succeeds the father. It would be
more correct to say the most hairy of his sons, as hirsute qualifications
are far more weighty and essential determinatives than questions of
primogeniture. The hairier the wiser it would seem. But of this anon.
Often the medicine-man will have a small boy with him, who may be his
son, actual or adopted, and who is also credited with magic gifts.[301]
Thus the secrets of the profession are preserved from generation to
generation, the chosen youths being the recipients of the secrets and
trained to develop and carry on the magic of their predecessors. Part
of the ritual of initiation, as of the ceremonial healing, consists of
what to the unbelieving white man is not too well done conjuring. The
medicine-man is a clumsy conjuror, and only the implicit trust of his
patients and audience saves him from frequent detection. But the belief
that they must see what he declares they see goes far to make them in
very truth behold it. The “conjuring” in the initiation of a novice
consists of simple “passes” of sticks up through the nostril and out of
the back of the head. According to Waterton the probationers have to
endure exhausting ordeals and torture.[302] This is very probable, but on
this point I received no information.

So far as I am aware not one of these tribes attaches any importance
to the hair that is clipped or depilated, nor to nail parings; if
they do the point escaped me. But though they depilate because they
dislike resembling monkeys with a hairy pelt, at the same time it is
noticeable that not only does the medicine-man ignore this general
custom, especially among the Andoke where it is strictly tabu to him--yet
hairiness is, as I have stated above, a necessary qualification for any
man or youth who is desirous of attaining the position of medicine-man.
He is certainly the only man in the tribe with any face hair. When
the medicine-man has a hairy son the boy is trained to inherit the
“practice,” but should he have no offspring with this distinctive
requirement, a hairy child will be chosen and educated for the post.

There may possibly be some connection between this tabu and the belief
that when a medicine-man dies he returns as a tiger, and even during
his lifetime he can make excursions in tiger-form, and be so absolutely
tiger that he can slay and eat the beasts of the wild. Every medicine-man
possesses a jaguar skin that he is said to use when he turns tiger.
By possession of a skin he has the power of resuscitating the tiger,
he himself being the spirit of the tiger. He can thus work his will,
afterwards returning to human form. An ordinary tiger might be killed,
but a medicine-man in tiger form could not be.[303] On one occasion a
medicine-man I met had a bag made of tiger-skin hung round his neck, in
which he carried all his paraphernalia. But the medicine-men never wear
these skins as wraps or coverings. Each hides his tiger skin away, when
not in actual use for magic purposes.

The power to return after death in the shape of the dreaded jaguar is
a further defensive measure, a precaution against hostile peoples, as
in this shape both before and after death the medicine-man can attack
the tribal enemies, and carry obnoxious individuals away into the bush
whenever opportunity offers.

The medicine-man lives with, and yet aloof from his fellow-tribesmen.
He has to observe many tabu, certain kinds of food are prohibited, and
he must have no connection with women when making his medicines,[304]
for should the woman bear a child it will be a tiger cub. To make his
drugs and unguents a medicine-man goes alone into the forest, and this in
itself marks him as different from other men, who will never of their
own free will go far without a companion. Spruce mentions an armed guard
attendant on medicine-men, “their lives being in continual jeopardy,”
but no such thing is known south of the Japura.[305] The medicine-men
certainly wander in the bush alone, for they will disappear at times,
and on their return inform the tribesfolk that they have been about
some magical journeyings; they may have worked in the guise of tigers
against tribal enemies; or paid visits in the spirit to other lands. No
armed escort could protect a medicine-man better than his own reputation
suffices to do, for all medicine-men are feared--certes one that was not
feared would not be worth the killing--and no Indian would be likely
to risk the danger resultant on doing one an injury. I doubt if even a
hostile tribe would wittingly put a medicine-man to death, for they fear
retaliation on the part of the spirit, which would certainly haunt them,
even if it worked no graver ill.

The medicine-man’s dress, as already mentioned, is largely a matter of
personal taste; something original and striking is usually attempted.
The Orahone medicine-man clothes himself in tapir-skin, and the Andoke
medicine-man in the illustration opposite p. 73 was wearing a dyed
turban when I took his portrait. Any fancy article that comes to hand is
utilised to make him different from his fellows. His “properties,” which
are carried in an ornamented bag of tiger skin, or of beaten bark sewn
with fibre string, consist of a rattle--of rather more elaborate design
than the ordinary dance rattle--some small magic stones, and a cup made
from the shell of a river fish.[306] The latter resembles a large oyster,
and the mother-of-pearl inner coating is much used for earrings and
ornaments. The medicine-man takes this cup, speaks into it, and rubs the
sick person all over with it. Then, if this does not bring about a cure,
the patient must suck it till he vomits, and continue to vomit till the
evil spirit be expelled.

Condor claws play a great part in magic-working among the northern
tribes. These gigantic birds are rare in the bush, and I never saw one,
though I heard of them from all the medicine-men, and obtained some
specimens of the dried feet from them. These are ugly objects, the leg
stump stopped with pitch and bound roughly round with bands of beaten
bark, about half or a quarter of an inch wide, and not twisted. But
though I got the claws I could not get any details as to what they were
supposed to do.[307]

I once saw a medicine-man with the skin of an anaconda, and was told
that by using the skin he could control the spirit of the anaconda.[308]
For this purpose the medicine-men are habitually provided with the dried
skins of lizards and snakes.[309]

The Andoke place great faith in strings of magical stones, five or seven
in number. These are taken off the string and laid by the medicine-man
in certain patterns on the sufferer. The medicine-man gazes at them
abstractedly till a degree of self-induced trance is established. He will
then break out into a frenzy, stamp, shout, and brandish his rattle.
The stones are also used for magical rubbing, and are most assiduously
guarded by their possessors, who will not part with them for any
consideration. The only string of such stones I managed even to see are
shown in the illustration. They are of quartz, somewhat roughly made flat
discs, worn smooth by continual use, about three-quarters of an inch in
diameter and a quarter of an inch thick, bored in the centre, the hole
being half the size in the middle to what it is at its external radius.
These stones are always carried on a string.

[Illustration: PLATE XLI.

STONE AXE HEAD (BORO)

STRING OF MAGIC STONES (ANDOKE)]

Whatever goes wrong in tribal life, from a pain in the finger to a
hurricane, the malice of an enemy working through the evil spirits is
held to be responsible, as will be shown more fully hereafter. It is the
medicine-man’s business not only to frustrate their malicious purposes,
but also to discover who is the foe inciting their wickedness by magical
influences. Mischief can be wrought without any bodily presence.[310]
Revenge is also possible by the exercise of similar extra-natural powers.
For instance, if a child is lost, or killed by a tiger, the bereaved
parents call the tribal medicine-man to their assistance. If the hunters
sent out to retaliate upon the tiger-foe fail to capture or overcome it,
the medicine-man proceeds to work magic. This may be quite simple, for
it is possible that in his solitary wanderings in the bush he may have
the luck to come across the lost youngster. In this case he “re-creates”
the child by the potency of his magic-working, and secures an unshakable
reputation by producing it alive in due course. Should such luck not
befall him he can but return with a tale of vengeance wreaked on the
tiger, and a tiger-tooth--not necessarily of fresh extraction--in proof
of that same. Then it is his duty to discover which might be the wicked
tribe that sent the tiger, or had it sent at their instigation, as he
would have to ascertain who had sent sickness were it the death of an
adult that was under investigation. The procedure is the same whether the
trouble be a house blown down by the wind or any other catastrophe. The
tribe assembles for a solemn palaver, and the medicine-man, frenzied with
drugs, eventually “divines” who is the enemy. The final decision usually
is that the tribe had better go to war at once lest worse befall them.

The medicine-man invariably has a considerable say in intertribal
policy. War is never made without his advice, and in addition to his
duties as tribal avenger and healer, he must warn the tribe of impending
hostilities.[311] Should hostilities break out, or a death occur,
during a white man’s visit to a tribe, he would possibly find himself
in considerable personal danger. Success to the tribe might in part be
attributed to his virtue, but disaster would certainly be considered due
to his malign presence, a point the medicine-man would not be slow in
urging against the visitor.

The white stranger, with his foreign magic--for magic every other thing
he possesses must seem to the unsophisticated child of the bush--in
any circumstances is regarded with some jealousy by the professional
magic-workers of the tribes. Naturally, therefore, it is with extreme
difficulty that any details of their methods and doings can be learnt.
It goes without saying that the medicine-man regards any inquisitive
stranger as a potential rival, is on his guard against bluff or bribery,
and never willingly gives so much as an opening for exchange of
professional confidences. It is the hardest thing in the world to obtain
information from the Indian, for every Indian will say “I don’t know,”
or “Pia”--because it is so--in order to avoid having to explain his
beliefs to the white man. I tried to bluff, and by feigning to possess
magical gifts hoped to draw the local exponent into a rival display, but
with no encouraging results. What I could gather had to be done with
circumspection, a bit here, a trifle there, a note from a chance remark,
a comment from another.

The expulsion of the evil spirit causing sickness is a matter requiring
invariably much noise and fury. The _maloka_ is always dark, be it day
or night, and the gloom is not broken by torches for the medicine-man’s
visit, nor are the smouldering fires kicked into a blaze. The doctor,
well under the influence of drugs, works himself to a state of wild
exaltation. He beats the floor with a palm branch, shakes his rattle
vigorously, and makes the most appalling noises. He will imitate
the beasts and birds of the forest, and--as he must be a skilled
ventriloquist if he has any claims whatsoever to magic gifts--the sounds
apparently come from every side. This is to demonstrate the embodying of
the spirits of the nether world, the active causation of all ill. Also
it is to summon to his assistance all friendly spirits, or all over
whom he has attained magical influence. He carries on conversations with
the assumed speakers, and intermittently howls, and shrieks, and beats
the air with his palm branches. The greater the noise, the wilder the
excitement, the more potent is the magic of the medicine-man. South of
the Japura he does not blow smoke over the patient, but he makes use of
both tobacco juice and coca. He further drugs himself most probably with
some such powerful agent as aya-huasca, though that is not supposed to be
known to these tribes. The medicine-man also doses himself with a drink
made from a certain liana. When thoroughly intoxicated with it he will
run away, and shortly go into profound slumber. In this comatose state
he is supposed to hold intercourse with the unseen world, to wander in
spirit to other places, and, as a result of what he has hereby learnt, to
be able to foretell the future when he awakes.

Magic-making in cases of sickness includes the blowing, sucking, and so
forth, already described. The relatives of the patient will discourse at
length on the story of the sickness, and the medicine-man will either
announce who sent it himself or expound the sick person’s dreams and
therefrom deduct the source of evil. The official explanation and verdict
is always given in the most ambiguous phraseology, so that whatever
happens the medicine-man may be able to twist his dictum to the desired
equivalent of “I told you so.”

As already described the invalid may be given a strong narcotic drink,
the decoction of a root, and carried out to a small clearing made in the
bush. There he is left under a rough shelter. No one may speak to him, or
pass him while he lies there, otherwise he will die. The relations go out
of sight, and guard the bush tracks, to prevent any such passage. If the
patient die the medicine-man asserts very positively that some one has
transgressed, knowingly or unknowingly, and so caused the fatal ending. I
saw such a case on one occasion and was prayed by the Indians not to go
anywhere in the direction of the sick man.

Should a man’s wife fall ill her relatives may, if they are within
reasonable distance, come and take her away. Koch-Grünberg mentions a
case among the Bara Indians where two men came from another tribe and
removed their sick sister. They were treated with a show of hostility
and followed--as the ailing woman took her healthy children away--for
some distance into the bush. But no tribal quarrel ensued, the hostility
appears to have been merely ceremonial. This is typical of what might
occur among any friendly tribes.

Spruce, after seven months among the Uaupes Indians, “failed to catch a
payé”[312] or see one at work. I attempted to get on terms with sundry of
these gentlemen by an exhibition of my own “magic” powers, in the hope
that I might elicit some comments, or hints of their own secrets. I made
play with my eyeglass, and informed them that it was great medicine, and
enabled me to see through a man. But though the tribesmen had on their
own account attributed this faculty to my camera, the medicine-men were
very sceptical of the eyeglass. Still I had better fortune than Spruce,
for one day when I was with an Okaina tribe, a woman of my party went
down with fever. She had a temperature of 103° to 104°, and the quinine
with which I dosed her had no effect. There happened to be a great and
noted medicine-man in the district, so they sent for him. The _maloka_,
some fifty yards from wall to wall each way, was dark as pitch. Into
the gloom rushed a frenzied figure. It was the medicine-man in a state
of tremendous excitement. He passed his hands frantically all over the
woman’s body. She lay rigid, and he was shaking with the intensity of
his emotion. Never in my life have I seen a man so excited. If he were
play-acting he believed most emphatically in his own play-acting. Then
he filled his mouth with coca, and stooping over the moribund woman put
his lips upon hers. Eager and trembling, he sucked up the contents of the
woman’s mouth, then rushed out of the house and expectorated, emptying
his mouth with his fingers. After this he announced that he had sucked
away the evil spirit.

Next morning the woman was perfectly well.

I considered it the most extraordinary faith cure: but there was no
burking the fact that a dying woman had been restored most miraculously
to health. Certainly imagination goes very far in the curative process
with a patient in Amazonia--as elsewhere,--but even allowing for this it
was extraordinary.

Faith in the healing powers of the medicine-men is not confined to the
tribesmen, for I knew one case of an Indian woman who had been married
for years to a white man and lived in the rubber district. She fell
ill, and her husband, instead of trusting to the white man’s remedies,
insisted on sending for a medicine-man.

CHAPTER XV

Whatever of art there may be in the soul of the tribesman finds
expression in the dance. It is the concert and the play, the opera,
the ball, the carnival, and the feast of the Amazons, in that it
gives opportunity for the æsthetic, artistic, dramatic, musical, and
spectacular aspirations of the Indian’s nature. It is his one social
entertainment, and he invites to it every one living in amity with
him. Any excuse is enough for a dance, but nevertheless the affair is
a serious business. The dance, like the tobacco palaver, is a dominant
factor in tribal life. For it the Amazonian treasures the songs of his
fathers, and will master strange rhymes and words that for him no longer
have meaning; he only knows they are the correct lines, the phrases he
ought to sing at such functions, because they always have been sung, they
are the words of the time-honoured tribal melodies.[313] It is for these
occasions that he fashions quaint dancing-staves and wonderful musical
instruments, and dons all his treasured ornaments, while his wife paints
her most dazzling skin costumes. He practises steps and capers, tutors
his voice to the songs; meantime his children rehearse assiduously in the
privacy of their forest playground, against the time when they too may
take part in the tribal festivities.

[Illustration: PLATE XLII.

ANATTO, _BIXA ORELLANA_, A RED DYE, OR PAINT, IS MADE FROM THE SEED]

The entertainment demands elaborate preliminaries. When any such carnival
is on hand the old women of the tribe for days previously are busied
making cassava, and with the preparation of _kawana_ or other appropriate
drinks. The amount of liquid refreshment necessary for a large dance is
enormous, in view of the custom by which the liquor-logged native simply
steps aside, and by the insertion of a finger down the throat is speedily
ready for a further supply. During the four or five days that a dance
continues only the old men among the Turuka will eat anything, and that
nothing more substantial than manioc starch; the dancers merely drink
_hashiri_.

Nor is the inner man only to be considered. All sartorial treasures,
the feathers and necklaces of the men, the beaded girdles of the women,
are taken from their receptacles, the wardrobes in the rafters of the
_maloka_. The men--for the Amazonian male reserves to himself the
greatest brilliance of attire on occasions of ceremony--array themselves
in their feather tiaras, with necklaces, armlets, and sounding garters
of polished nuts. The maidens and matrons also apply themselves to
the elaboration of their toilets. No court dressmaker ever gave more
anxious thought to the fashioning of _chef-d’œuvre_ in silk and brocade
than do these dusky daughters of Eve to the tracing of circles, angles,
bands, and frets upon their naked skins. Coquetry is as essential an
accompaniment of the savage dance, in the unmapped bush of the Amazons,
as in a garlanded ballroom of Mayfair. The most vain of English beauties
probably spends less time over her adornment for any function than do
these young women as they squat in chattering crowds over the calabashes
of vegetable dye, white, scarlet, black, or purple, with which they trace
upon each other the cunning patterns that make their only dresses.

When these preparations are satisfactorily advanced the chief, or some
one in authority, despatches his invitations, no formal cards entrusted
to a postman, but a summons mysterious as a Marconigram, and imperious
as a writ of the High Court. The chief takes his stand between the
_manguare_, the signal drums slung from the rafters of the great house,
and with the rubber-headed drumstick he beats out as message sonorous
notes that travel to every Indian within eight or nine miles. This
summons is no mere manipulation of the four notes which constitute the
range of the instrument, but an articulate message to convey the time,
the place, and the purpose of the meeting to the initiated.

[Illustration: PLATE XLIII.

HALF GOURDS DECORATED WITH INCISED PATTERNS, MADE BY WITOTO NEAR THE
MOUTH OF THE KARA PARANA RIVER

DUKAIYA (OKAINA) RATTLE MADE BY NUTSHELLS]

The numbers who congregate for a dance were a constant source of
astonishment to me. Out of the silent and trackless bush scores of
expectant guests, all painted and feathered, will pour into the clearing
about the _maloka_, at the time appointed by the signal drum, and by
nightfall some hundreds are gathered. Great bonfires are set ablaze,
and the interior of the tribal lodge, where the chief has a place in
the centre, flares ruddy with the light of torches. The men make loud
clangour with their instruments, flutes, pan-pipes, or drums, and out in
the clearing they form into line, clutching their jingling dance-poles,
while the women form up facing them. Led by a strenuous tribesman
clattering with nuts and dried seeds, the line begins its perambulation
of the _maloka_. Forward two steps--_thud!_ Backward two steps--_thud!_
Clattering and pattering, with the fifes shrieking high above all other
sounds, as the drums growl deep below, the procession slowly encircles
the _maloka_, and then enters. In a frenzied flutter of feathers and
leaves the performers move round the chief, to a jangle of seed-pods and
rattles, till the company is completed, and the tribal lodge is packed
with the dancers, when he signals for silence. The dance stops. The
instruments cease their outcry, and in the sudden contrast of silence the
chief sings a line which is the keynote of the occasion, the explanation,
the reason for the assembly. Then dance and song begin, while those who
are not taking active part squat round upon their haunches and ejaculate
hoarse cries of approval and encouragement at intervals.

As aforesaid, any excuse is good enough reason for such festival. Dances
take place continuously: at the harvest of the pine-apple and the manioc;
at the conclusion of a successful hunt or war-expedition; and at such
other times in the Amazonian season as the chief feels moved to give
entertainment. As the weather does not vary sufficiently to influence the
harvesting of the crops at any particular date, there is no equivalent
to our harvest; and, though manioc is planted as a rule just before the
heaviest annual rainfall becomes due, there is no part of the year when
some of the roots are not ready to gather. Pines are most plentiful
in October, and it is then that the special pine-apple dances take
place.[314]

The dance takes its character from the occasion. The dancing staff,
unless the dance is in honour of some specific thing, is undecorated,
merely furnished with a calabash that contains nuts, or with a carved
head hollowed for the same purpose, and is sometimes hung with bunches of
dried seeds that rattle when shaken or when knocked on the ground. These
form important additions to the orchestra, and to the garters and anklets
strapped to the legs. Very often the Indian decorates his staff with
palm leaves merely for ornament, but in the harvest dances the staves
are adorned with bunches of whatever crop is to be honoured--a tuft of
pine-apple leaves or a bundle of manioc shoots. The Yakuna carve patterns
on their dance staves.[315] Among the Tureka, north of the Japura, dance
staves are a most important possession, and are looked on with great
affection by their owners. The Tureka men wear aprons when dancing,
and use clappers in one hand, instead of the horns and rattle used
alternately by the Tukana.[316] The Menimehe carries a club in his right
hand. On the Tikie, dancers are said to hold a flute in the left hand,
and always to have a green twig under their girdle. Koch-Grünberg further
states that they have clay whistles with which they blow at dances as
well as for signals. These are not customs of the Issa-Japura tribes.

The soloist who leads the dancers from the start outside the _maloka_
very probably commences by executing some fancy high stepping. He may,
for instance, prance like a stallion, and this is calculated to amuse the
company immensely. When the performers get too heated by their exertions
in the house they will file outside, still dancing, and after a few turns
on the open space in front of the _maloka_, will return within.

[Illustration: PLATE XLIV.

OKAINA GIRLS PAINTED FOR DANCE]

Among the Okaina and the Boro the hand is often placed on the far
shoulder of the next in line. I especially remember one endless dance in
an Okaina house in which all free performers were double locked, while
those in possession of staves or rattles were content with a single lock
to allow freedom for one hand. The dancers invariably stand in single
file, usually with one hand resting on the shoulder of the next in
line. The Menimehe and most other tribes place the left hand on their
neighbour’s right shoulder, but, according to Koch-Grünberg, tribes
on the Tikie place the right hand, though the Tukana rest the left.
The figure is composed of a broken circle of men thus linked together,
whilst in their free hands they hold the dancing staves, rattles, or
flutes. Within, and concentric, is the ring of women dancers, who face
the men and maintain a time which is complementary and not identical
with theirs.[317] North of the Japura in some cases the women dance
between the men in the same circle,[318] or the men and the younger girls
dance round the elder women. When dancing, personal touch is not tabu
or disliked, possibly because it is ceremonial or conventional. In most
of these dances the woman who is not engaged in the inner circle of the
select--the complementary figure of the dance--places herself outside the
outer circle with her left hand on the left shoulder of the man of her
choice. Her frontal portion is thus at right angles, and away from that
of her man.

The rhythm of the dance is always very marked. The figures and steps
are simple, neither suggestive nor lascivious, and wholly destitute of
the lustful invitation of the dances of the East. The step is almost
invariably a high, prancing flexion of the thigh upon the body, followed
by a deliberate extension to the ground, repeated two or three times, the
advance being completed with a resounding stamp of the right foot upon
the earth, according to the accentuation of the measure. The same steps
are repeated backwards in retiring, although less ground is covered, so
that the dancers sway rhythmically forward and backward; but the end of
each movement finds the whole line advanced some little distance from
where it was at the conclusion of the previous one. The forward movement
may be described simply as, right foot forward, left foot forward, stamp
with right, right foot backward, left foot backward, right foot back
in position, toe on ground, to start _da capo_ right foot forward,
in uninterrupted repetition. Spruce has described this movement as “a
succession of dactyls.”[319] In stamping, which is done by all the
dancers in unison, the knee is brought up to a right angle with the
trunk, and the foot then thrust down with the whole weight of the body.
Toe with right is the same motion as stamp right, but with only a slight
flexion of the knee, and comparatively noiseless. The circles move to the
right, continuing, but almost imperceptibly on account of slight change
of ground. The Tureka make a jump before the stamp, shout at the end of
the figure, and whistle through their teeth.

[Illustration: PLATE XLV.

BORO DANCING

GROUP OF NONUYA, MEN AND WOMEN]

While the principal dance is in progress a frequent form of side-show to
the main entertainment is the entrance of a tribesman with a grievance.
He will have made for himself the most remarkable costume he can devise,
and to ensure that he shall gain attention, wears upon his head a
veritable “_matinée_ hat” of absurd proportions.[320] He pays no heed
to the dance when he comes into the _maloka_, but stalks solemnly to a
position in the sight of all, though he will keep out of the actual track
of the dancers. Then, standing stock-still with upraised hand, facing
neither the performers nor the “sitters out,” but in any chance position,
he raises his staff and begins to recite his complaint to a monotonous
refrain. The following is a typical instance of what may be chanted:

There came a man this morning to our lodge--
A man who took cassava from my woman.
Cassava she gave him in exchange for two pines,
For two pines she gave him much cassava.
But where are the pines?
Where are the pines he promised?
Was this man a thief?--
This man who took cassava from my woman.[321]

Or the complaint might run:

I came in with meat;
The hungry man took my meat,
But promised me bread.
He gave me no bread,
And my belly is empty.

The following is a complaint made by a Boro chief’s daughter of her
treatment by her own tribe:

The chief’s daughter was lost in the bush,
And no one came to find the spoor;
The branches were broken and the leaves were turned,
And no one came to find the spoor.
And where were my brothers and the sons of the chief’s brothers,
That no one came to find the spoor? etc.

The petitioner will repeat his or her song for hours without ceasing.
To all appearance no one takes the slightest notice of his presence,
unless the dance should come to an end during the recitation, when the
performers jeer and laugh at his tale of woe. This has no effect upon the
plaintiff, who continues gravely to voice his grievance. The chief must,
however, take note of the matter, and if it be thought of sufficient
importance it is brought up for discussion and judgment at the next
tribal conference in tobacco palaver. At any rate, this method of airing
a grievance has the effect of placing the culprit on the black-list, in
view of the resultant publicity; and the natural wariness that is shown
by others of the tribe in all dealings with such suspect for the future,
is in itself a punishment for the crime.

It is difficult in the extreme to obtain any reliable evidence of the
existence of initiation dances. Sixty years ago Dr. Russell Wallace
described as the initiation dance of the girls of the Uaupes a dance
which, six years ago, Dr. Koch-Grünberg, the latest and most painstaking
of Amazonian investigators, found as a Jurupari ceremony confined to
men on the river Aiary. The dance is the same in each case, and depends
for its distinction upon the infliction of serious bodily injury. The
mysteries of initiation, as has been said, have not yet been fathomed in
the Amazons, nor have those of Jurupari. There is undoubtedly a dance
in which the performers beat their fellows with lianas until the blood
is drawn and the victims faint with pain, but no white man has yet
spoken with certainty upon its origin.[322] The dance is not known in
the district between the Issa and the Japura, nor do the mysteries of
initiation fall to be discussed in this chapter. Those are not matters
which are readily laid bare to even the most enterprising investigator in
the haunts of the aborigines.

According to Koch-Grünberg’s account, all the women, accompanied by the
smaller boys, leave the _maloka_ directly the notes of the flutes are
heard, and either hide in the woods or in another house with closed
exits. The performers circle round in quick marching time, blowing their
flutes, which each holds in his right hand, his left resting on the right
shoulder of the next man. At the completion of the circle they stand in
line. One dancer then draws the long whip they all carry under their
right arms, and while his companion holds his flute high up, blowing
lustily, he gives him three blows on the side and stomach heavy enough to
draw blood freely. This continues till all have taken part. There is no
singing, but the gaping wounds and much drinking of _kashiri_ rouse the
performers to a state of wild excitement. This dance is followed by an
ordinary one, in which the women take part.[323] Obviously none of the
Issa-Japura tribes practise this dance, for I never saw any signs of the
scars that must inevitably remain on the bodies of dancers cut in this
wholesale fashion.

The account given by Bates of a dance at the Feast of Fruits among the
Juri and the Passé Indians is an equally good description of some of the
Issa-Japura harvest dances. The men carry long reeds instead of javelins,
and with their left hands on their neighbours’ right shoulders move
slowly to right and to left. The accompaniment is a song as drawling and
monotonous as the movement, which will be continued for upwards of an
hour at a time.[324]

In the pine-apple dance the Indians tie pine leaves to boughs and wave
them as they move. The women of the chief, and possibly all the women
of the tribe, form a semicircle with the chief in the centre, sometimes
alone, sometimes with others. They carry the mid-rib of the Trooly palm
or some similar wand, with a small pine, or often the pine-top, tied to
the end.

The proceedings at all harvest dances are very similar. I give as example
a Boro dance at the gathering of the manioc, which is but an excuse for
this dance, as manioc is pulled up at all times and seasons. As is almost
universal in Indian dancing, the outer circle, or rather semicircle,
is composed of men. The women, fewer in number, stand together in the
centre, or each behind the man of her choice. Their dancing staves are
all decorated with bunches of manioc shoots. The woman, with the nearer
hand resting on the man’s shoulder, keeps step with him, moving to her
own front and not sideways like the man, though in the same direction.
The inner group face the circle of men, and their steps are complementary
to those of the men, and not identical with them. The chief starts the
dance with the first line of the song, his wife replies, and her answer
is echoed by the chorus of the chief’s women.

_Chief._

I am old and weak and my belly craves food.
Who has sown the _pika_[325] in the _emie_?[326]

_Wife._

I have sown the _pika_ long, long ago.
The _maica_[327] is sown with young shoots.

_Chorus._

We have sown the _pika_ long, long ago.
The _maica_ is sown with young shoots.

_Chief._

I am old and weak and my belly craves food.
Who has cut the _pika_ in the _emie_?

_Wife._

I, even I myself, have cut the _maica_.
The _maica_ is cut in the _emie_.

_Chorus._

We, even we ourselves, have cut the _maica_.
The _maica_ is cut in the _emie_.

_Chief._

I am old and weak and my belly craves food.
Who has soaked the _maica_ for the _mao_?[328]

_Wife._

I, even I myself, have soaked the _maica_.
I have soaked the _maica_ for the _mao_.

_Chorus._

We, even we ourselves, have soaked the _maica_.
We have soaked the _maica_ for the _mao_.

The whole process of growing, harvesting, and preparing the manioc for
cassava is thus related, then the chief will ask:

Who has made the _mao_ that I may eat?
That my belly may swell with _mao_?

_Wife._

I, even I, have made the _mao_,
And my belly will swell with _mao_.

_Chorus._

We, even we ourselves, have made the _mao_.
We will all eat that our bellies may swell,
That our bellies may swell with _mao_.

_Chief._

_Ina? ina?_[329] that your bellies are swollen?
Who has eaten the _mao_ from the _pika_--
The _pika_ in the _emie_?

The suggestion is obviously that the women have stolen and eaten the
cassava of the chief, but it is made solely to bring in the sexual
suggestion. The women deny the imputation, and declare that their bellies
are empty, or that they are great with child, not swollen with _mao_.
The chief will then ask why, or when, the belly fills with child, and so
the song continues on the lines of the sexual ideas introduced until the
finale is reached, when the chief would sing:

_Imine, imine_,
The women are good women,
_Imine_.[330]

[Illustration: PLATE XLVI.

MUENANE DANCE]

The Muenane, who occupy a part of the central Issa-Japura watershed,
between the Andoke and the Resigero, possess a dance of their own, which
has travelled into many of the other tribes south of the Japura, and has
become very popular.[331] This is a combination of a riddle and an animal
dance. The figure is formed as in the pine-apple dance, but the centre is
taken by a warrior who has gained a reputation as a wit. His business is
to ask a riddle, which will in all probability be an original one, and he
asks it after the manner of a chant. Naturally a man with at least the
indigenous sense of wit is loudly applauded and received with shrieks of
laughter from the outset. The dancers take up the chanted question as
they rotate round the questioner. At the end of the measure the dance
stops, and the riddler rushes frantically round the circle with a lighted
torch, looking, like Alcibiades, for a man--to answer his riddle. He
stops suddenly, thrusts his torch into the face of a performer, and,
peering into his eyes to seek for some sign of answering intelligence,
repeats his question. The answer, if in the negative, is given--whatever
the tribe dancing may be--in the tongue of the originators of the dance,
Muenane--“Jana” (I do not know). The dancer thereupon, having failed to
reply correctly, is then impressed to be a follower of the questioner,
and must rush after him and imitate all his antics, which are apparently
to give the clue to the riddle. In a short time a long single file of
these failures is engaged in presenting a burlesque of the habits of the
animal whose name is the answer required. The first performer who guesses
correctly becomes the questioner in turn, and the dance starts afresh.

It may be pertinent here to relate an incident which tends to convey at
least an insight into the Indian character, the lack of altruism, the
love of discomfiture of others. On one occasion the questioner--evidently
to take a rise out of a stranger, and being intoxicated, if not with coca
at least with the dancing mania--thrust his torch into my face, nearer
than would be tolerated in the usual way. I quickly placed my foot on his
chest, with the resultant back-somersault of torch and man. The shrieks
of laughter lasted a considerable time. I was the hero of the hour, and
custom decreed that the victim should laugh at his own discomfiture.

All Indians are clever mimics, and the fidelity with which they reproduce
the actions of jaguars, tapirs, monkeys, parrots, and other familiar
animals of the bush is remarkable. The riddles are nearly always
concerned with animals, and the test of wit is the amount of sexual
suggestion contained in the reply.[332] A typical query is, “When is a
howler-monkey not a howler?” The answer would be, “When he is covering
his mate.” The dumb show of the actors delights the audience, and
leaves no small characteristic to the imagination. The riddles may defy
translation, but the actions are certainly not beyond interpretation.

In this connection it is well to refer again to the subject of dance
intoxication. The excitement due to rhythmic motion struck me very
forcibly. It should be remembered too that the men are heroic cocainists,
and this stimulant, in forcing the imagination, undoubtedly for the
moment--_qua_ alcohol--has an aphrodisiacal tendency. The sexual
innuendoes of the songs, though not of the dance, increase the effect. It
must also be borne in mind that five days and nights is not an uncommon
limit to one dance. It may cease at sunrise for a short space, and
individuals, of course, rest and sleep as nature may dictate, but never,
to my knowledge, for any length of time.

[Illustration: PLATE XLVII.

OKAINA DANCE]

On one occasion I was witness to the most remarkable salacity on the part
of an individual. In my innocence I considered it part of the dance, and
was satisfied with the idea that I had at last happed upon the indigenous
counterpart of the coition and parturition dances of the East. It was
not until the man was restrained by order of the chief that the true
facts were realised.[333] But this was exceptional. The dance is carried
on with frenzy and excitement, but with nothing beyond that. It never
touches eroticism.[334] The dance never ends, as we know ending. It
dwindles to cessation.

Another dance, much appreciated by the tribes between the Issa and the
Japura, is not very dissimilar in essentials from the musical chairs of
our childhood. The dancers form into a line, or two parallel lines, and,
headed by the song-leader, carry out the customary step in single file.
At the leader’s mention of a certain word, or perhaps a certain subject,
previously agreed upon, the whole line must right-about turn, and pick
up the step again without losing a beat. Those who fail are withdrawn
from the line. The dance continues until the fittest alone remain, and is
productive of general amusement.

But there are more tragic inspirations for a dance than the guessing
of riddles or the garnering of the crops. I refer to the triumphant
home-coming of tribal warriors, laden with booty from the war-path,
with a band of doomed prisoners. The treatment of the latter and their
disposal at the feast have been already dealt with. But the cannibal
ritual of insult is not the end. When the orgy of blood and gluttony is
over, the warriors must dance. Only the men may take part in the feast,
so only the men may participate in this dance. The music is chiefly
that of the drums, and to their gloomy rolling--according to Robuchon’s
account--the warriors lurch portentously, drunk already with victory, and
excited by dancing. They break apart frequently to stir the great troughs
of liquor with the forearms of their dead enemies, and to quaff deep
calabashes full of drink. Then they stagger back to the wild intoxication
of the dance. Their songs become shrieks, demoniacal, hellish. For eight
days this horrible dance of triumph continues, while the captive boys and
girls, young enough to be saved from the fate of the earthen pot, cower
in the darkness of the _maloka_ and suffer, perforce in silence, the
gibes of the women. But this scene defies description.

Set against the darkly impressive background of the forest any tribal
dance gives an amazing effect of kaleidoscopic light and colour when,
with nightfall, by the flare of great fires and the glow of torches, the
performance begins. The chosen soloist of the tribe jangling his circlets
of nuts, sounding his gourd rattle, in a falsetto voice sings the ancient
air of the dance. The warriors follow the melody in canon. Then slowly
the great line of naked men, arms interlocked about each other’s necks,
surges forward two steps in perfect time, pauses a moment, then recedes
two steps. In a little while the whole earth shakes with the swing of the
movement. It is like the flowing and ebbing of mighty waves upon a shore.
It intoxicates with the recurrence of the accentuation. Slowly round the
big _maloka_ the procession passes, swaying in unison. The streaked and
banded women dance uniformly in an opposite direction. The fires splutter
and blaze. The torches cast strange shadows. The flutes, the pan-pipes,
and the drums blare, bleat, and boom their barbaric accompaniment.

[Illustration: PLATE XLVIII.

OKAINA DANCE]

It is a mad festival of savagery. The naked men are wildly excited; their
eyes glare, their nostrils quiver, but they are not drunk. The naked
women abandon themselves to the movement of the dance; they scream their
chorus to the tribal dance-song; but they are not lewd. There is about
it an all-pervading, illimitable delirium. The wild outburst affects
even the stranger in their midst. Forgotten cells in his brain react to
the stimulus of the scene. He is no longer apart, alien in speech and
feeling. He locks arms in the line of cannibals, sways in rhythm with
them, stamps as solemnly, and sings the meaningless words as fervently
as the best of them. He has bridged an age of civilisation, and returned
to barbarism in the debased jetsam of the river banks. It is the strange
fascination of the Amazons.

CHAPTER XVI

In considering the native dances it must be remembered that the
accompanying songs are essential elements of the entertainment: they
mark the character of the dance; and equally, in considering the songs,
it must be remembered that the imagination of the native never goes
beyond the relation of the sexes. The Indian’s poetry is an inverted
form of romanticism. Instead of seeking to give rhythmical expression
to an idealisation, to find in the beauties of Nature an analogy to the
realities of Life, he reverses the process. For instance, he views a
ripe fruit, and it only suggests to him a pregnant woman. In all such
natural phenomena as he recognises he notes but the crude, if possibly
the scientific, origin. In the most ordinary conversation he refers to
conditions that appear indecent in common print; they are, however,
undetachable from him.

So it is that in his songs he debases idealism, does not elevate realism.
His poetry is on a par with that of the music-hall comedian who conceals
a mass of filth under avowedly innocent words--but the intention is very
different. The Indian possesses no other verbal vehicle, knows no other
source of inspiration. His imagination is bound by his vocabulary, as his
vocabulary is limited by his imagination. Curiously enough the effect
upon his audience is gained by the same means as those employed by the
red-nosed singer in the places of entertainment south of the Bridges,
and is almost identical in degree. Some of the Londoners of the County
Council schools have advanced ethically but little beyond their naked
brothers of the Amazonian bush.

These Indians cannot be said to love music for its own sake. The use of
music in any form is almost entirely ceremonial. They neither sing nor
play instruments as a rule merely for pleasure. On the occasions of their
festivals and dances, though, they give evidence of the possession of
voices of considerable flexibility. They also display much ingenuity in
the manufacture of their instruments, and, next to their weapons, the
pan-pipes, flutes, and drums are most carefully fashioned and preserved.
In fact, these take precedence over all domestic implements, and even
most ornaments.

The native singing voice is loud, high, and shrill. The male leader--as
a rule it is a man who is appointed, and he may be any one who knows
the old songs--sings the solo, to give the chorus their cue, in a high
falsetto which is very penetrating, and marks both time and tune for the
others to follow in canon. The song is started softly, and gradually
increases both in volume and speed. According to the circumstances, the
subject, and the occasion, the men sing alone, the women sing alone, or
the men and women combine as in the tribal dances. Most of the singing
is done in unison, with a regular drone accompaniment from those not
actually articulating the words. The songs are sung in regular time, to
the accompaniment of stamping, but not with hand-clapping. The melodies
are simple, and in the definite tribal songs consist of little more than
a single phrase that seems to admit of no variation, and is repeated _ad
libitum_, as, for example, _Mariana Keibeio_, a Boro tribal song. The
tune of this, notated from memory, and in part from a phonograph record,
runs approximately, so far as it can be rendered in our notation:

[Illustration]

What this implies no Indian now knows, for with all tribal songs the
natives offer no explanation of their meaning or their origin. They are
the songs that their fathers sang, and one can find no evidence of the
amendation or emendation of the score on the part of their descendants.
These tribal lays are so old that the words are obsolete and no longer
understood by the singers; what is of importance is the rhythm, and
to that, as is common with uncivilised peoples, the music is largely
subordinated. It is but an accompaniment to the dancing. “The sense of
time” in the Indian, as Stevenson noted among the South Sea Islanders,
“is extremely perfect,” and one might complete the quotation and add, “I
conceive in such a festival that almost every sound and movement fell in
one.”[335] It is not an easy matter to discuss, because the English and
the Indian standpoint are so diametrically opposite. So far as I could
judge the tunes are usually in a minor key, both melody and harmony being
of the simplest.

There are no love-songs among the Indians, for the poetic conception of
love does not exist. Sacred songs and nursery songs are equally lacking.
A mother never croons to her baby; she does not understand a lullaby.
War-songs are merely the expression of the war-dance; they depend for
their significance upon the words and for their ferocity upon the grim
accentuation of the chorus.

At the time of the harvest of pine-apples, when the great dance is held,
the men sing the challenge, and the women reply in their own defence. The
songs are similar to that sung at the manioc-gathering dance, and I have
previously tried to give some idea of such a song.

Apart from the traditional songs of the tribes, which are sacred and
unchangeable, the Indians are very fond of a form of song which is
really a game rather than a musical effusion. More correctly, perhaps,
it should be called a ballad.[336] A leader of acknowledged fertility of
imagination and fluency of expression is appointed, as for the Muenane
riddle dance, and will collect the members of the tribe for what is
actually an impromptu dance. He, or she, will chant to an improvised air
with a simple rhythm, while the chorus repeat each line or its burden as
a refrain. Such songs give opportunity for all the wit of the tribe. They
are designed either to honour or to ridicule the subject of the ballad.
In reality a composition of this description takes hours to sing. The
first wit propounds the question, the chorus repeat it, and the second
wit then suggests the answer, which is again repeated by all amid much
laughter, and the repetition is continued not once but twenty times,
until the first wit breaks in with a new query. This is a very favourite
game among the women.

The following is an attempt to suggest the song-words of a dance
performed by some Witoto for my benefit, though I do the Indians too much
justice, give too great an idea of continuity, in this version. There is
no cohesion in their productions, and reiteration is the salient feature
of all. The sound and the rhythm suggested to me at the time the metre
of _Hiawatha_, so I give this song in an attempt at Hiawathian measure.
But the adaptation is really too varied for the Indian original. I was
outside the _maloka_ when the women started--no men took part--and they
danced in front of me. After a time I went inside, and the performers
promptly followed me, and continued to dance in the central space of the
house. Naturally not one word would have been sung if these dancers had
known it would be interpreted to me.

To our tribe there comes a stranger,
Comes a welcomed, honoured stranger.
And whence comes to us this stranger?
From what far and foreign country?
Wherefore comes this friend among us?
What the quest that brings him hither?
Are there in his native country
Empty fields and unkind women,
That he comes to seek among us.
So to satisfy his wishes?

By what name is called the stranger?
Tell us what his people call him.
Call him Whiffena Ri-e-i;
Call him Whiffena, the White Man.
Partly, too, his name’s Itoma.
But--his friends and bosom cronies--
Tell us, how do they address him?
He is nicknamed by his cronies
Ei-fo-ke, the Turkey Buzzard.

Ei-fo-ke, the Turkey Buzzard,
Is this, then, the name endearing
That his lovers whisper to him
When of him they grow enamoured?
No, not good! The Turkey Buzzard
Is a bird with beak of scarlet,
Yes, a long sharp beak of scarlet.
And a loose and hanging wattle.
No, his name is not Ei-fo-ke.
Let his love-name be Okaina!

This went on _ad nauseam_. The true object in all such songs is to bring
in and discuss sexual matters, and no song has advanced far before it has
become essentially carnal in idea and thoroughly licentious in expression.

Although instruments are always employed at the dances they do not seem
to be introduced with any idea of organised accompaniment, but only to
help swell the body of sound. The natives, being ignorant of the use of
metal, have been forced to make their instruments entirely of vegetable
substances; the only other material used is bone, human bone, _bien
entendu_, and judging from a specimen presented by Robuchon to the
British Museum, the shell of a small land tortoise. Their instruments of
percussion are drums, castanets, and rattles: their wind-instruments are
flutes and pan-pipes. Very rarely a solitary Indian may be found playing
the flute, apparently for his personal amusement and solace. As a rule,
it is merely used in combination with its fellows to increase the volume
of sound without heed to its proper place in harmony.

[Illustration: PLATE XLIX.

PANPIPES]

The pan-pipes are the simplest of all instruments of Amazonian music
to make, and are the most universally popular. They consist of a
bundle of reeds--three, five, six, seven, ten, or even seventeen in
number--bound together with palm-fibre, or, on the Napo, with finely
split cane. Although the pipes are cut to lengths yielding the necessary
musical intervals, the number seems to be purely arbitrary. They are
used in concert with all other instruments, and mark so much of tune
as the Indian orchestra strives to attain. The pan-pipes shown in the
accompanying illustration are Witoto instruments contrasted with the
neater finish of one made on the Napo. The latter has the greater number
of pipes, and all relatively smaller. There is nothing complicated about
the make of either set. The cane pipes are cut immediately below the
natural joint, and the node is thus made to serve as a stop.[337]

The ubiquitous bamboo also furnishes the material for a larger flute,
and flutes or fifes are made out of the arm-bones of prisoners taken in
battle. After the victim is killed and eaten the humerus is cleaned, its
extremities opened, and the soft matrix scooped out. Finger-holes are
bored in the shaft of the bone, usually three in number, but occasionally
five. When human bones are not forthcoming the tribesman uses the
leg-bone of a jaguar. This is opened at the end and furnished with a
wax stop that leaves a small canal open to a three-cornered air-hole.
Occasionally one of these flutes is made with both ends open, in which
case a square or semicircular hole is cut out from the upper rim. The
flute is held against the lower lip, and commonly has three, or more
rarely four, sound-holes. Flutes are also made of heron-bones, open at
the lower end, with a square air-hole, and generally four sound-holes.
These have mouthpieces made of leaves, and their tones are exceedingly
shrill. But the most curious instruments of which I have note are
flutes made from skulls of animals, by covering them with pitch, and
only leaving open the holes of the nose and the occipital bone. One
hole is blown through, the other is the sounding-hole. Many of the
Indian instruments, especially the bone flutes, are gaily ornamented
with elaborate incised patterns that are dyed black and red with
vegetable extracts. The flutes are also adorned with tassels of cotton or
palm-fibre.

The flute or fife is played from the extremity that is rudely fashioned
into a mouthpiece. No native trumpets are provided with sliding tubes
like the familiar trombone, and there is no plug in the mouth-hole. Nor
are any of the Amazonian wind-instruments fitted with a vibrating reed.
There are no bagpipes, and, in the regions I traversed, no stringed
instruments. Certain tribes north of the Japura, notably the Desana, use
whistles made of clay, which they employ both as alarm signals and as
adjuncts to the dance.

Trumpets of bark and bamboo have an irregular distribution. Many tribes
dispense with them on all ordinary occasions, and confine their use to
Jurupari music. These sacred instruments constitute one of the most
profound mysteries of the Amazon. They are lengthy affairs, made from the
hollow stem of a palm, and fitted with a trumpet mouthpiece. The note
is akin to that of the bassoon. These trumpets are tribal possessions,
and are kept concealed at a distance from the _maloka_, in a hut which
the women are never permitted to enter, and where the various secret
paraphernalia connected with boy initiation--such as the whips of tapir
hide--are stored. It is a capital crime for any woman even to set eyes
upon them. The Jurupari trumpet is as tabu to Indian women as the
bull-roarer of the Australian native is to his women-folk.[338] The
Indian girls are brought up in the belief that the music of the trumpets
is an essential element in the exorcism of the evil spirit from the
body of the youthful initiate, and that any interference on their part
must lead to the eternal residence of such spirit in the novice, to the
consequent disaster of the tribe, and this belief holds good all their
lives.[339] No sooner is Jurupari music heard approaching the _maloka_
than all the women and uninitiated hurry to the bush, and remain in
hiding until the ceremony is concluded and the trumpets have been
returned to their tabernacle. What the ceremony may be is held a profound
secret, and the punishment for infringement is death.[340] As a rule two
of these sacred trumpets are used, and they are tuned to the same pitch,
though differing in their tone according to their length. They are only
used north of the Japura; south of that river the tribes have no Jurupari
music and only know them as employed ceremonially by their neighbours in
connection with initiation secrets to frighten their women.

The Tukana when dancing use a trumpet alternately with their rattles; and
the Indians north of the Japura have regular castanets, made of blocks
of hard wood, which are manipulated with one hand, much in the manner
that the nigger-minstrel plays the “bones.” All the tribes make rattles
of small gourds by the simple method of partly filling the calabash
with dried seeds, or fruit stones, and inserting a wooden handle so
that they can be shaken in time to the dance. Some of these are of the
roughest, the stick of the handle quite untrimmed; others are more finely
finished, and the polished black surface of the gourd may be ornamented
with designs in colour, or incised patterns. But these are by no means
the only rattles used at a dance. The Indians have them of many kinds
and descriptions. The smaller are worn as armlets, wristlets, leglets,
and anklets. These are made of nuts, strung with coloured beads on palm
fibre, and very carefully fashioned. The leg rattles are frequently
handsome ornaments, the rich brown of the glossy nutshell making a
splendid contrast with the blue or red of the Brummagem beads. The finest
are made from a nut not unlike the Brazil nut of commerce in shape, but
less angular. That shown in Plate XLIII. has natural groovings and marks
which give the polished sections the appearance of being engraved. A
section of the shell is cut off, thoroughly cleaned and polished, then
attached by a short string of beads to the main leg- or arm-band from
which these nut sections hang bell-like. The arm rattles are made of
smaller nuts, some are not unlike an oval hazelnut, flat on one side,
cut in half and highly polished. The nut is, roughly speaking, some
three-quarters of an inch across and long. These also are hung on threads
of beads pendant a quarter of an inch apart from the connecting beaded
string. Leg rattles are made of larger nuts, and one variety is made in
the form of a bunch, not a band or chain. The beads used for these are
blue and red in colour, and the bunch of nuts on their beaded strings is
fastened with plaited palm-fibre beneath the knee. The whole effect is
most distinctly ornamental. The jangle of two or three of these nutshell
bells is not unpleasant: there is almost a tinkle in their clatter, but
the volume of sound obtainable from a number of them is remarkable, and
so is the precision with which they accentuate the rhythm of movement.

The Indians have no cymbals, gongs, or bells; but the drum is an
important factor not only in native music, but in native life. The drum
is the telegraph of the Amazons. In fact, the most remarkable of all the
native instruments is the _manguare_ or signal drum. Although the primary
use of this drum is to signal, it is utilised on great occasions as an
addition to the aboriginal orchestra. To make this important adjunct
of the _maloka_ two blocks of hard wood are chosen, some six feet in
length, and about twenty-four inches in diameter. These blocks are very
carefully hollowed out by means of heated stones that are introduced
through a narrow longitudinal slit, and char the interior. Instead of
endeavouring, however, as would be the case with an ordinary drum, to
contrive as nearly perfect a cylinder as possible, the object of the
signal-drum maker is to obtain a husk of varying thicknesses, so as to
secure differences in note. Accordingly, with his rude implements, hot
stones, capybara-tooth borer, and stone axe, he fashions the interior
of the drum in such a manner that the outer shell, the sounding-board,
varies in thickness from half an inch to four inches. Two blocks are
used; the smaller is called the male, and the larger the female. The ends
are simply the wood of the tree which is not removed, all the hollowing
being accomplished by means of the grooved slit. When finished these are
suspended by withes at an oblique angle, one end much higher than the
other--say six feet and three feet respectively from the ground. They
hang from the rafters of the _maloka_, or from an upright frame, and
present the appearance of two barrels surmounted by a narrow slit.[341]

[Illustration: FIG. 9.]

The musician takes his stand between these drums and, with a wooden
mallet headed with a knob of rubber, beats out his message or his
tune. Altogether he has a range of four notes--two low ones on the
female _manguare_, and two high ones on the male. On these he rings the
changes with great rapidity, and produces a sound which, though not
startlingly loud, has such penetrating qualities that it can be heard
twenty miles away. He beats very quickly in short and long strokes, not
unlike the Morse Code. By means of the _manguare_ a skilled signaller
can carry on a conversation as accurately as a telegraph operator at
St. Martin’s-le-Grand, or a soldier with a heliograph--but how he
does it is another secret of the Amazonian bush. When used for its
proper purpose as signal drum, the Boro and the Okaina can carry on
conversations upon almost any subject within their ken. Other tribes are
only able to distinguish between a warning of danger and an invitation
to a dance. Brown could use the drum for small matters--he could hurry
the bearers out of the bush for example. He said there was no code,
but that the signaller tried to represent the sound of words with the
drum, and Indians invariably told me that they made the words with
the drum. However, with a language dependent on inflection, as theirs
unquestionably is, there must be a code of some description.

India-rubber, which has added a new and awful terror to the life of the
forest Indian, is only employed by these tribes to make the drum mallet,
used with the _manguare_, and the latex for depilatory purposes. The
Witoto call the mallet _ouaki_, the drum is _hugwe_.

These great signal drums have designs worked upon them in which the
organs associated with the presumed sex of the instrument are prominent;
and, after the manner of the natives, both instruments are invariably
distinguished internally with the proper sexual characters, the female
drum having two breasts pendant inside.

Even in the construction of a small playing drum much time and ingenuity
are expended. First an aeta palm[342] is selected, cut down, and a
section of the trunk laboriously hacked off. This section in turn is
carefully hollowed, until only a thin shell remains. Some tribes use
a section of bamboo in place of the hollowed palm, but these never
secure so fine an instrument or so fine a note as the palm trunk
makes. Over the two ends of the cylinder dried monkey skin is tightly
stretched--preferably that of the howler monkey, as it is popularly
supposed to produce a louder and more rolling sound. Some tribes then
fasten across one end of this drum a very tight cord, into the centre of
which has been tied a fine sliver of wood. By this means two notes are
obtained--the open note where nothing interferes with the vibrations of
the drumhead, and the closed note where the vibrations of the splinter
intersect those of the skin. A very inferior instrument is made with
agouti skin over a bamboo cylinder. The drums made on the Napo River
look very much like an English child’s toy drum, rather high and narrow,
and, of course, made entirely without metal. The sides bulge slightly,
and have crossed threads of fibre string. The vellum of the drumhead is
kept in its place tautly by a close-fitting ring. These drums are usually
decorated, and are objects of barter among many of the tribes. They are
played with the fingers only, not with drumsticks or mallet.

CHAPTER XVII

The Indians’ magico-religious system--The Good Spirit and the Bad
Spirit--Names of deities--Character of Good Spirit--His visit
to earth--Question of missionary influence--Lesser subordinate
spirits--Child-lifting--No prayer or supplication--Classification
of spirits--Immortality of the soul--Land of the
After-Life--Ghosts and name tabu--Temporary disembodied
spirits--Extra-mundane spirits--Spirits of particularised
evils--Spirits of inanimate objects--The jaguar and anaconda
magic beasts--Tiger folk--Fear of unknown--Suspicions about
camera--Venerated objects--Charms--Magic against magic--Omens.

Some travellers and writers have asserted that the Indian has no
religion. In the vulgarly-accepted meaning of the word he may have none.
There is great variation among the groups, the tribes even--I venture
to say--among the individuals. So far as they believe in anything they
believe in the existence of supreme good and bad spirits; but their
beliefs are always indefinite, only half understood even by themselves.
To a certain extent it is open to the medicine-man, the chief priest of
their magico-religious system, to vary, or even to disregard any current
belief. Among individuals are to be found sceptics of every grade. On
the whole their religion is a theism, inasmuch as their God has a vague,
personal, anthropomorphic existence. His habitat is above the skies,
the blue dome of heaven, which they look upon as the roof of the world
that descends on all sides in contact with the earth. Yet again it is a
pantheism, this God being represented in all beneficent nature; for every
good thing is imbued with his spirit, or with individual spirits subject
to him.

In essence the idea of God is not that of a Supreme Being, and not
entirely that of a Creator, but rather that of a Superior Being,
possessed by an indulgent tolerance for all mankind. But he suggests only
the negative idea. He is a spirit of benevolent passivity. He is good
for no other reason than that he is not evil. There is no particularised
sanctity in his name, no adoration of his nebulous personality, only
an unquestioning acquiescence in his benignity. True, he is held in
high esteem, but that is because he permeates all in nature that is not
inimical, and thus demonstrates his kindly disposition. If the harvest
fails it is due to the malevolence of their _Diabolus_, or some of his
agents, yet if it be a good one the credit is due not to the Good Spirit,
but rather to the medicine-man for having with his magic frustrated the
machinations of the Bad Spirit.

This Devil, or Bad Spirit, is affirmative in character, and is always
active. He must not be invoked, but he is to be prevented by charms and
magic from wreaking his vengeance on mankind, and must be placated at
all costs as the supreme author of sickness and misfortunes, and the
controlling power of malevolent nature.

Both the Good and the Bad Spirit are attended by lesser spirits with
similar characteristics. So far as I could ascertain, there is no
suggestion that any of these supernatural beings ever lived in this
world, though they influence it so entirely, and can visit it at will.

The Good Spirit may be more potent, but he is certainly more remote than
the Bad Spirit--too remote for ordinary people to be brought into any
degree of contact with him whatsoever. His influence, his benefits, are,
as he is, passive. The Bad Spirit, on the contrary, is of a ceaseless
energy. His active influence is invariably present. He is always exerting
his power in some definite, some concrete form. Poison, for example,
is an active agent. The devil in it works vigorously to the undoing of
his victim, definitely exercises a deleterious effect upon his enemy,
man. So, too, the rocks that bar the way upstream are more active than
passive. They repel, they may defeat the traveller, and, therefore, are
to be regarded also as the active agents of a hostile power.

It is noteworthy in this connection that the Bad Spirit may be
materialised sufficiently to be able to carry a child bodily away, or to
steal a woman, should she stray out into the forest by herself.[343] For
this reason usually no woman will go alone into the bush, she will take
a companion with her, especially at night, for the demon is popularly
supposed to be unable to tackle more than one at a time, even if the
second be only a young child.[344] Women who run away from their husbands
are consequently said by them to have been taken by the devil. This is a
favourite theory, as the man may thereby avoid the censure or hostility
of the tribe. The men also do not care to be far in the bush alone, and
after dark nothing will induce an Indian voluntarily to embark on the
risk of adventuring into the forest by himself.

One of the first difficulties met with when dealing in detail with the
religion of these peoples is their refusal to use the true name of any
spirit or deity. This has root in the same reason that ordains they shall
never disclose their own names, nor voluntarily except on rare occasions,
that is without questioning, the name of their tribe.

In the Boro language we have the word _Neva_ as an equivalent for God,
the good or sympathetic deity, and the word _Navena_ for the Devil,
the great evil or antipathetic spirit, in fact the negative of all
represented by _Neva_. But inasmuch as _neva_ stands also for the sun,
the dawn, and the morning, while _navena_ is used for any spirit however
humble--whether the soul-part of a thing, animate or inanimate, or the
ghost or disembodied soul of the dead--we have a right to postulate
that such are not the true, or supposed self-appellated names of these
deities, but those that may be used without offence, and therefore free
of the consequent evils that the mention of the true name would entail on
the users.

To give another example: In Witoto _Usiyamoi_ has the same meaning as God
in ordinary parlance; _Taife_ is the Devil, whereas _Taifeno_ is any bad
spirit whatever. But, again, the _Taife_, the dread of these people, the
all-pervading evil genius, is named _Apuehana_, a word never pronounced
above a whisper. Here then we may have reached a true secret name.

The Boro _Neva_ and the Witoto _Usiyamoi_ are the _Tupano_ of the
Tupi-Guarani tribes of the east and the Negro River. This we find is the
_Apunchi-Yaya_ of the Guichua of the west, the Cachimana of the Orinoco.
_Navena_ and _Taife_ or _Apuehana_ are the same as the _Jurupari_ of
the north, the _Iolokiamo_ of the Orinoco, and the _Locazy_ of the
Ticuna.[345]

To return to the personal characteristics of the two regnant powers,
the Good and the Bad Spirit, the former, though vague, is yet an
omnipotent tempestipresent deity, and, although passive, something more
than sympathetic and benevolent. He made the world, or it might be more
correct to put it that he permitted it to be created, for his amusement
and pleasure. When not otherwise engaged in his mysterious happy
hunting-grounds he keeps a watch over earth and over mankind. But so
great is he that no prayer or invocation is offered to him, nor, were it
offered, could he be thereby influenced.[346] It is because he is so big
a Chief that his attitude is entirely passive. Once Neva had forgotten
the puny human factor, so he took the guise of a man and came to earth.
The open spaces--the natural savannahs or geological outcrops--are where
he spoke to the Indians, and it is a sign of his speaking and of his
erstwhile presence that these are now open to the sun and the sky. But
one Indian vexed Neva, the Good Spirit, and he was wrath with all men,
so he went again to sit on the roof of the world. But before he departed
he whispered into the ears of all the tigers that they were to kill the
Indians and their children, and that is why the tigers to-day are wicked
and sometimes are the habitations of the most evil spirits. Before this
time the tigers were good to men, and they hunted together like brothers;
they lived together in the houses; they ate and drank and licked tobacco
in amity round the fire.[347]

Such, so far as I could gather, is the Indian’s belief. The tale was
told me by a Boro, but the belief is approximately the same with all
these tribes. On the occasion of hearing this story of the visit of the
Good Spirit to earth I related, to the best of my ability, the Christian
story. The result may be of value in determining the possession of logic
by the Indian. After they had listened to my story the tribesmen held
a tobacco palavar, which lasted some six hours. Then the chief--the
medicine-man was surly and remote--appeared, and this was the burden
of his wisdom. His own people were greater than the people from the
clouds--the white people--for the Good Spirit, Neva himself, came to the
Indians, whereas only the Young Chief visited the clouds. And the Indians
were better than the white people, for the white people killed the Young
Chief, but the Indians listened to Neva, and only one among them vexed
him.

I had heard the story of the Good Spirit’s manifestation before, but
doubted its genuineness, until one day when I inquired of a Boro what a
savannah was he answered me that it was where Neva spoke to the Indians.
When I questioned him further he told me the above. It is impossible
to say how far this story may be a genuine folk-tale, how far it is a
perverted version of the Biblical account. Tales travel far. They are
adopted from one people to another, with resultant variations. We know
that the Jesuits penetrated to the Rio Negro as early as 1668-69. There
have been missionaries of that Society on the Napo. But I met with
no traces of them on the upper waters, nor have any of these peoples
anything in the least resembling the Christian symbol in their designs.
One might expect to find so simple a figure as a cross reproduced in
native art if once known, but it certainly is not. On the face of it
we may here be dealing with a variant that has passed from tribe to
tribe, that has trickled through centuries, to reappear now as a tribal
tradition among peoples who have never been in any direct contact with
Christian influences.[348]

As regards the rule of these supreme spirits over the lesser spirits of
good and evil they stand in the relation of great chief. The good spirits
are the spirits of trees that bear edible fruits, of the trees from which
arrows are made, of the _Coca erythroxylon_, of the astringent properties
of various herbs, of the medicine-man’s magic stones that may be used
as a prophylactic. These are not only the subjects of the Good Spirit,
they were made by him. He made all the good things of the forest; and
he also made the rivers and the skies. The Bad Spirit placed the rocks
in the rivers, the poison in the mandiocca and in all noxious growths
of the bush. He made the liana to trip the unwary walker, in short all
things hurtful. These malevolent elements are the bad spirits which, as
the name in Witoto appears to imply--the _Taifeno_,--are all subject to
the _Taife_. As the Good Spirit lives above the world so the Bad Spirit
inhabits the nether regions. The lesser spirits of evil go to him by
way of the earth holes,[349] for these are the passages to his kingdom.
The visit of the Good Spirit to earth as a corporate being was a unique
event never repeated, but the Bad Spirit wanders with his myrmidons in
the forest every night. Sometimes he takes the form of a tiger, or other
fierce animal; sometimes, as alternative to the tiger-lifting theory,
he resembles a man who can disappear at will. He imitates the call of
the hunter who has found game, or the call of an animal to be hunted. He
entices his victim by these and similar contrivances to venture deeper
and deeper into the bush, until the wretched wanderer is utterly lost.
According to tribal belief he is then destroyed, or spirited bodily
away. As has been said, the Bad Spirit never appears to more than one at
a time, and that one is usually spirited away, so can give no account
of the appearance, but as confirmation of his real presence an Indian
will sometimes whisper the evil name as he points out the track of an
abnormal-sized tapir, which is curiously reminiscent to the European of
the cloven hoof of his own Devil.

The child-lifting story is a favourite one, and some amount of
corroborative evidence is forthcoming, for in the awful loneliness of
the bush a child naturally would become half demented with fear and
apprehension, and if ever found again would be only too honestly willing
to believe he had been in the very real clutches of a very real devil.
The juvenile adventurer, answering in this way to leading questions,
gives to these simple people all the proof they look for, and adds an
immediate and local authenticity to the accepted myth.

As there is no prayer to the Good Spirit, so there is no supplication to
the Bad. The medicine-man, as I have said, invokes neither; he appeals
to neither; but he attempts by magic to force the Bad Spirit into
quiescence, to discover some more potent influence that shall make him
powerless to hurt, for unless coerced he is all-powerful.

Indefinite as these beliefs in a deity, good or evil, may be, faith as
to the after-life of the soul is possibly still vaguer. Yet faith there
certainly is, for the existence of the spirits of the dead is an accepted
fact, acknowledged in the Indian ritual of burial.

Of spirits there are four kinds:

Permanent disembodied spirits, or the souls of the dead, their ghosts.

Temporarily disembodied spirits, that is to say the souls of living men,
with power to send them forth out of their material bodies.

Extra-mundane spirits, or those from other worlds.

Spirits of, or in, all natural objects, animate and inanimate.

Any of these four classes of spirits are good or bad, according as they
are benevolently or malevolently inclined.

These Indians all believe in the temporary transmission of the
disembodied soul into the form of an animal, bird, or reptile, not
a regular and enforced series of such transmissions. This temporary
transmission is for the pursuance of a certain aim, perhaps for some
indefinite length of time. It appears that the spirit has the power
of transmigration into other animal bodies, or back again to its
extra-mundane form at will. Whether the animal is human, whether, when so
invaded, it incorporates two spirits and becomes dual-souled, the Indian
does not relate.

Man’s soul in Indian belief is immortal, that is to say it exists as long
as it is felt to exist, whilst it continues to appear in the dreams, in
the thoughts of the survivors--for so long, in fact, as it is remembered.
Surely this is immortality. A thing forgotten has never existed; and, per
contra, the soul of a remembered being lives for ever. The disembodied
spirit or ghost lingers near the body after death, in the woods near the
house, or may even lodge in the house itself. And then indefinitely,
indeterminately, after the body is buried the soul wanders farther
afield, and goes at length to the happy grounds of the Good Spirit. Among
some tribes this paradise is located above the skies, among others it is
away up some river, in the far and mythical distance. The latter heaven
is situated, as has already been mentioned, upstream, and that, in this
country where the trend of the land is north-west and south-east, is also
approximately towards the setting sun.[350]

This land of the After-Life is a diminutive replica of the ordinary
world, but with evil things eliminated and joyful things emphasised.
All is on a lower scale, stunted forests and pigmy game. This idea of a
world in miniature approximates to the Malay conception of a spirit, the
“diminutive but exact counterpart of its own embodiment,” appertaining
to all animal, vegetable, and mineral bodies.[351] The Indian miniature
world would thus be, it seems, constructed of the spirits of the material
world. Colour is given to this theory by the fact that individual
possessions are buried with the dead, and the Kuretu confess that this
is done to prevent the return of the soul in search of them. Were such
properties to pass into the possession of survivors the soul part of
each object, needed to represent it in the spiritual world, would be
detained in the material world. Burial sets it at liberty, presumably,
to accompany the soul part of its owner, to take in the miniature world
of the After-Life a position corresponding in every detail to that
which has been held here on earth. The soul is pictured as the body, in
miniature also, visible or invisible at will, for these people, like the
majority of many of a higher culture, are unable to imagine the soul
except in some material guise.[352] Life in this enigmatic sphere has
everything most prized in this world. Hunting is fruitful always; women
are beautiful and amenable, and the men are all the old familiar friends
of earth. The means of attainment to this desirable state are so vague as
to be unassignable. Good and evil have no part in this scheme of heavenly
philosophy. Broken tabus, crimes against tribal jurisprudence, apparently
bring only temporary evil influences into play. Their punishment is
immediate and material. The happy land is open to all the tribe with whom
the Good Spirit is not vexed. It is closed to all their enemies.

These lost souls, the spirits of those divinely damned, must still
frequent the earthly forests, or perhaps ally themselves with the spirits
of evil and wander down the holes in the earth to join the legions of the
nether world.

I have heard, but not very definitely, of the Zaparo belief that the good
and brave souls will pass into birds of beautiful plumage and feed on
the most delicate fruits, while the bad and cowardly are condemned to a
future existence in the guise of objectionable reptiles.[353]

This belief in, at least, a partial presence of the spirits of the
dead has possibly a bearing on the Indian dislike, to use no stronger
term, of mentioning his proper name. In the case of some tribes, as
has been noted, the name of a dead man is given as a special honour
to his greatest friend among the survivors. With other tribes names
of the living may, and probably have once been those of persons now
dead. To mention such a name aloud might conceivably be to attract the
attention of the defunct erstwhile owner.[354] Therefore the name is only
whispered, lest the spirit hearing it might come and bother the speaker
or the individual named.[355] There is, of course, the further reason
that the knowledge of a man’s name gives an enemy power to work him
magical evil. But that is a point already dealt with, except in so far as
it argues some identity of the name with the essential _ego_.

Not only do the Indians hold that a man’s soul leaves his body at death,
but, further, they believe that it may do so during life for a limited
period. We have examples in sleep, they argue, when the spirit is out
of the body and wanders about; for in dreams, they say, the soul passes
through the mouth and has adventures in the outer world.[356] Dreams are,
in fact, a portion of the man’s real life. His spirit has ventured forth
and actually gone through the experience his fancy paints. They realise,
therefore, that individuality is not in the body itself, but in the
spirit that inhabits the body. So if a man dreams he will not hesitate to
declare that he has done what he dreamed he was doing.

This is an example of involuntary disembodiment, differing only from
actual death in that it is of temporary duration. The soul has gone
quietly, and will return. But if the soul make a violent effort to escape
that apparently entails fatal consequences, for the Indians declare when
anybody sneezes it is the soul attempting to leave the body and so cause
death.

Voluntary disembodiment is believed to be possible in certain favoured
cases.[357] This power is said to be possessed by the medicine-man. He
may free his spirit for magical purposes, to fight unseen enemies on
better terms, or for the pursuit of some nefarious end. He may either
remain disembodied and invisible, or lurk for a time in the form of some
animal or object, a tree, a stone--where stones exist--or even in the
wind, the rain, or the river. The layman Indian, though perfectly aware
that he cannot of his own accord and free-will loose his own soul from
its fleshy trappings to adventure in some foreign sort, is quite willing
to believe that other more fortunate mortals can accomplish a feat to
him so impossible.[358] No alternative explanation offers to his mind to
elucidate sundry mysterious happenings.

Quite distinct from these disembodied spirits are the extra-mundane
spirits, good and bad, that visit this world and benefit or plague its
inhabitants. These may invade all natural objects, and, especially those
evilly disposed, will work unceasingly as agents for the supreme powers
to whom they owe allegiance. The bad spirits haunt the darkness, they
lurk in the recesses of the woods, find a habitation in deep waters,
and ride to destruction on the floods. Danger from them threatens the
Indian at every turn. He can only be protected by the counter-magic
of his medicine-man. For fear of possible mischief at their malicious
hands no Indian will bathe at night unless supported by the presence
of companions. If he lose his way in the forest it is due to their
machinations;[359] and all that goes amiss in this by no means
best-of-all-possible worlds is at least in part engineered by them,
either at the suggestion of an enemy, or from their own innate badness of
heart.

Sickness again is a concrete entity. The Indian knows not the microbe
of science, but he recognises the existence of a definitely hostile and
active enemy in the presence of disease. It is a spirit that wanders
about, and at the instigation of an enemy attacks individuals or tribes.
The attack is an actual invasion. Illness is due to the presence in the
flesh of the sick person of a foreign and inimical body.[360]

Before a thunderstorm the Indian believes that the air is full of
spirits, and the medicine-man is requisitioned literally “to clear the
atmosphere.” Thunder is the noise of evil spirits making a turmoil and
fuss; whilst, according to Bates, any inexplicable noises are made by
another of this destructive band, Curupira, the wild spirit of the
woods.[361] Thunder probably means that an enemy is sending sickness to
destroy the tribe. Therefore if a man is ill a flash of lightning is
quite sufficient to kill him through sheer fright and shock.

These extra-mundane spirits may be said to be the spirits of
particularised evils, just as the _Taife_, the _Navena_, the _Jurupari_,
is the supreme spirit of all evil.[362]

With the final division of the spirit world is enwrapped the total
philosophy, the innermost meanings, in fact both the whole and the origin
of the Indian magico-religious system. As men have souls--so truly felt
in all--what is more natural than that animals who move and breathe, who
live and die, who in many respects are more powerful, more clever than
men, should be assigned souls also by the Indian’s primitive reasoning.
I say soul deliberately, for Indian metaphysicians do not differentiate
between soul and spirit--they are one and indivisible, the miniature self
that may be seen in the pupil of a living eye but has vanished from the
eye of the dead. The question of souls other than human is to the Indian
too obvious to need elucidation; it admits, indeed, of no argument. There
is a degree of belief in a spirit, “a transcendental _x_,”[363] in all
objects, even those that are inanimate. What lives and grows must have a
spirit. What can interfere with, or affect man in any way must possess
some occult influence, some mysterious personality, that works for or
against him, especially if that object be in any degree unfamiliar or
abnormal in appearance. All these things, vegetable growths, rocks, are
to the Indian as we have repeatedly seen, active agents in the scheme
of things, and as such must also possess the intangible _ego_, the
spiritual essence, that is the soul of all earthly forms. Evidence as
to animistic beliefs among the Indians is universal and overwhelming. A
point of interest to the psychologist comes in with the problem whether
the belief that undoubtedly exists is a belief in a duality of spirits in
one envelop, or whether, when the supernatural spirit, or the disembodied
spirit of a man, is transmitted into extra-human forms, it being the
stronger can oust the natural spirit of the animal or object which is
entered, and if so what becomes of the finally evicted spirit. On this
point I have unfortunately no information to adduce.

While these beliefs are in the main general among all the language-groups
of the Issa-Japura regions, those of the Boro-speaking tribes are the
most intricate. They have more definite notions of the spirit-world, a
greater range of theories as to the powers and extent of supernatural
phenomena. They fear the local devils more, take greater care to appease
them and to avoid rousing their hostility. This is the natural result
of the increased isolation secured by the Boro tribes. They have been
influenced less by the outer world than the Witoto, for example. Both
Boro and Andoke tribes invariably keep aloof so far as may be from any
stranger.

Two of the forest denizens, the jaguar and the anaconda, occupy
outstanding positions in this connection with spirits and magic to all
the other beasts of the wild. Any animal may be utilised by a spirit as
a temporary abiding-place, but the “tiger” and the great water-snake
independently of such spiritual possession are magical beasts. Tales
gather round them; differential treatment is their portion. As regards
the jaguar this may be due to the fact that it is seldom seen, and
therefore the more mysterious in its evil doings. It is also a dangerous
beast, bold and fearless, and to be dreaded for this if for no other
reason. But the anaconda is no such aggressive enemy of man. Yet, though
the Indian is an omnivorous eater, he will never kill either the tiger or
the anaconda for food.[364]

The anaconda is looked upon as an evil spirit. It is the embodiment of
the water spirit, the _Yacu-mama_,[365] whose coils may bar the passage
of the streams, and the Indian goes in terror of it, nor would he bathe
in its vicinity, though, so far as my experience went, the gigantic
reptile will not attack human beings unprovoked.[366] The _Yacu-mama_, as
the name signifies, is the mother, the spirit of the streams. Among some
tribes, though not in my field of exploration, a relationship is held to
exist between this water-spirit and _Jurupari_, so it is said.[367] It
occupies the place in Amazonian folk-tales filled by the sea-serpent of
Europe; while the manatee and the dolphin are the Amazonian mermaids. The
cow-fish, or manatee,[368] is an object of wonder on the main stream,
but is unknown on the upper rivers. I have never seen one nearer than
the mouth of the Issa river. The dolphin also is not found in the higher
waters. On the lower rivers it abounds, but, according to Bates, no
Indian willingly kills one; and though dolphin fat makes good oil the
belief is current that when burnt in lamps it causes blindness.[369]

Tigers are not killed unless they be the aggressors, that is to say
they are never killed wantonly. The reason for this is not cowardice,
but fear of further aggression on the part of the tiger family, or from
the family of the medicine-man who has assumed tiger form. Indians look
upon animals as having the same instincts as themselves, and therefore
capable of a prolonged blood-feud with humans who may have wronged
them. The tribesman is accordingly anxious not to provoke war with the
tiger tribe, but if Indians are challenged by the death of one of their
number the case is altered, and they will immediately accept combat. To
hunt a jaguar without provocation merely for food or for sport would be
foolishly to kindle the animosity of the whole tiger family, to rouse
the violent enmity of the wandering spirit domiciled for a time in the
body of the hunted beast. But when an Indian is killed, or a child
lost--and tigers are usually credited with the destruction of any child
missing from its home--the medicine-man is called upon, and he proceeds
to discover that it was a tribal enemy working in disguise, probably
the spirit of a hostile medicine-man, intent to destroy the tribe by
thus slaying potential warriors or mothers of warriors. The tiger is in
these circumstances to be treated as a human enemy. A big tribal hunt is
organised, and if the quarry be secured a feast of tiger-flesh follows,
a feast of revenge, very similar in detail to the anthropophagous orgies
already described.[370] At no other time does the Indian eat jaguar meat.
The tiger-skin becomes the property of the medicine-man, whose magic has
thus triumphed over the magic of a rival.

I have already noted that anything abnormal or unknown is regarded with
suspicious dread. My camera was naturally endowed by Indian imagination
with magical properties, the most general idea among the Boro being that
it was an infernal machine, designed to steal the souls of those who
were exposed to its baleful eye. In like manner my eyeglass was supposed
to give me power to see what was in their hearts. When I first attempted
to take photographs the natives were considerably agitated by my use of
a black cloth to envelop the evil thing; and when my own head went under
it they had but one opinion, it also was some strange magic-working
that would enable me to read their minds, their unprofessed intentions,
and steal their souls away; or rather become master of their souls, and
thus make them amenable to my will at any time or in any place. This was
undoubtedly due in part to the fact that I was able to reproduce the
photograph. The Indian was brought face to face with his naked soul,
represented by the miniature of himself in the photographic plate. One
glance, and one only, could he be induced to give. Never again would he
be privy to such magic. The Witoto women believed that I was working more
material magic, and feared should they suffer exposure to the camera
that they would bear resultant offspring to whom the camera--or the
photographer--would stand in paternal relation.

[Illustration: PLATE L.

GROUP OF WITOTO WOMEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREE

GROUP OF WITOTO MEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREE]

To cite another instance of the attitude of the Indian towards the
abnormal. A certain Witoto tribe have a tree that they regard as
an object almost of veneration. This palm, as may be seen in the
photographs, has a forked stem, the trunk dividing into two some few feet
above the ground. I met with no more formulated sign of tree-worship than
this. Unquestionably, though they did not worship--for as I have said,
these Indians worship nothing--the Witoto looked upon this tree as a
thing to be respected, prized, and if it were not meted proper treatment
perchance to be definitely feared.[371]

Finally, in addition to all these spirits good or evil, the tribes
south of the Japura are concerned with the sun and the moon. These
are venerated, the sun as a great and sympathetic spirit, but not an
incarnation of the great Good Spirit, the moon as his wife, who is sent
betimes by the sun into the heavens at night to prevent the evil spirits
from depopulating the world. Of the stars these people seem to have the
vaguest ideas, and only one Boro explained to me that they were the souls
of the chiefs and of the great men of his tribe.[372]

The Indian lives in a world of imagined dangers, over and above the real
ones that confront him at every turn. There is possible menace in any
place, dormant hostility in all surrounding nature, active menace in
the unfamiliar and unknown. One might expect to find that he decked his
person and his belongings with an unlimited number of charms, to protect
against these battalions of evil. But it is not so. The Tukano do, it
is said, place certain green, sweet-smelling herbs under the girdle as
a love charm, to attract the opposite sex, but nothing of this sort is
known south of the Japura, and charms, as the western world knows them,
hardly exist. I know of none beyond the medicine-man’s magical stones,
the iguana-skin wristlets of the men and the wooden ring placed on a
child’s arm, which appear to partake of the nature of charms. Magic
is to be met by magic, not by material properties. The hostile evils
that threaten a man are only to be turned aside by the exercise of more
powerful anti-hostility on the part of his medicine-man. But the Indian
must go warily, observe signs and portents, pay due heed to good and
evil omens. He must, for example, never shoot a poisonous snake with a
blow-pipe. Should he do so one poison will neutralise the other, and
destroy not only the poison on the arrow that wounded the snake, but also
all poison whatever that was in his possession at the time. It is magic
against magic.

As an instance of the Indian belief in omens, I remember that once a
small species of wild turkey alighted in a clearing, and kept running
round and round in circles. This was taken by the Indians to mean that
people were coming to the _maloka_ who might be either friends or
enemies. This gave rise to an excited discussion as to which would be the
more likely event of the two. It so happened that a party of friendly
Indians did arrive that same evening. Casement relates how a large wood
ibis descended among a crowd of Witoto and Muenane in the compound at
Occidente.[373] A Muenane wished to shoot the bird, and when persuaded
to leave it unmolested, expostulated that the ibis must have been sent
by their enemy the Karahone to bring disaster upon them. As a rule, it
strikes me, an enemy would appear in a less kindly guise than that of an
ibis. In my case no attempt was made by the Okaina to interfere with the
bird in any way, in fact it was looked upon as a friend who came to give
due notice of approaching visitors, and therefore was to be regarded with
gratitude.

CHAPTER XVIII

Darkness feared by Indians--Story-telling--Interminable length of
tales--Variants--Myths--Sun and moon--Deluge traditions--Tribal
stories--Amazons--White Indians tradition--Boro tribal
tale--Amazonian equivalents of many world tales--Beast
stories--Animal characteristics--Difference of animal
characteristics in tale and tabu--No totems--Indian hatred of
animal world.

Darkness is full of mysterious horrors to the Indian, nor can one wonder
that he fills with imaginary demons the weird and terrifying solitudes of
the bush by night. The children are openly afraid of the dark, because of
the tigers that may then be prowling about, let alone less substantial
perils. Adults are not so frank with regard to their fears, but as a
matter of course all occupations cease at sun-down, and every one makes
for the sheltered warmth of the _maloka_. There, by the flickering
firelight, after the contents of the family hot-pot have been discussed,
long tales are told. First one and then another takes up the burden of
recital. The chatter dies slowly, maybe it will linger on by the fire
of some verbose story-teller, till the chill of coming dawn brings the
sleepers from their hammocks to stir the smouldering embers into a blaze,
and to gather round them waiting for daybreak to dispel the evil agents
of the night.

The tales are endlessly long, and so involved that they are utterly
unintelligible to the stranger until they have been repeated many times.
Then the drift of myth and tradition, the meaning of fable and story, may
be broadly grasped. To win it comprehensively in detail is a matter of
time, patience, and intimate knowledge of the speaker’s tongue. Moreover,
the tales have such numerous variations, and are so grafted the one on
to the other, according to the momentary fancy of the narrators, that it
is exceedingly difficult to differentiate between a variant of a known
story and one that may in its essentials have been hitherto unheard.

“It is,” postulates Dr. Rivers, “not the especially familiar and uniform
which becomes the object of myth.”[374] The mythopœic influence of that
which is seldom seen would lead us to expect that among these Indians,
sunk in “the gloom of an eternal under-world of trees,”[375] the heavenly
bodies would play a prominent part in tribal folk-tale and myth. But
so far as the stars are concerned this is not the case at all;[376]
they seem to be ignored; and, as regards the sun and moon, it is the
sun--contrary to usual tropical custom--that is the most important, the
moon--as with more northern peoples--occupies the subordinate position
of wife. Her inconstant appearances are accounted for by the suggestion
mentioned in the previous chapter that she is sent periodically by
the sun her husband to drive away the evil spirits of the night that
await the stray or heedless loiterers in the forest thickets. But this
protective character is denied to the moon by other tribes, and some
South American Indians will hide young infants lest the moon should
injure them.[377]

What I cannot but consider the most important of their stories are
the many myths that deal with the essential and now familiar details
of everyday life in connection with the _manihot utilissima_ and
other fruits. The tale that follows does not purport to be a literal
translation of the myth as related to me, or in my hearing. I have merely
attempted to put together, infinitely more concisely than any Indian
raconteur would ever dream of doing, the various details of the local
story and belief:

The Good Spirit when he came to earth showed the Indians a
manioc plant, and taught them how to extract the evil spirit’s
influence.[378]

But he did not seem to have explained how the plant might be
reproduced.

The Indians searched for seeds, but found none.

They buried the young tuberous roots, but to no effect.

The Good Spirit was vexed with them; that is why he did not
divulge the secret.

But long, long after, a virgin of the tribe, a daughter of the
chief, was found to be with child.

When questioned she replied that long, long ago, when sick to
death, and under the medicine-man’s magic,[379] she wandered far,
far into the bush.

In the bush she found a beautiful manioc plant.

She was seduced by the tuberous root--some Indians say the plant
was metamorphosed into a beautiful young hunter--and in due
course she gave birth to a girl-child, who could both talk and
walk at birth.

This child took the women of the tribe to a beautiful plantation
of manioc, far, far up a certain river, and there the precocious
infant explained how to reproduce the plant with bits of the
stalks.

So to this day the chief food of all the peoples is cassava.

This story is utterly different from one Spruce heard from more northern
tribes at Saō Gabriel. The Barré story has it that a bird discovered to
the Indians the use of the mandiocca, then a great and solitary tree. All
the tribes came to procure the roots, and when none were left carried off
branches; hence the varieties of mandiocca now grown.[380]

Deluge traditions are to be found among practically all the tribes. I
repeatedly asked questions on this point, and invariably found, as other
travellers had discovered previously elsewhere,[381] that the Indians
would tell of a flood that drove their fathers in the long, long ago to
seek refuge in canoes, for all the earth was under water. But though
Mr. Joyce considers it “strange how this deluge myth not only pervades
practically the whole of the Andean region of South America, but extends
also to many regions in the northern portion of the Continent,” it must
be remembered that inundations are frequent in these regions, and a great
one probably occurs every few decades. It would only be strange were
there no deluge myths. As Sir Everard im Thurn has so aptly put it, when
“the Indian tells in his simple language the tradition of the highest
flood which covered all the small world known to him, and tells how the
Indians escaped it, it is not difficult to realise that the European
hearer, theologically prejudiced in favour of Noah, … is apt to identify
the two stories.”[382]

With the possible exception of the Eldorado fable, there is no South
American legend that has excited so much interest and speculation as the
story of the warrior women who in some mysterious forest fastness dwelt
apart from men, cultivated masculine attributes, and destroying the
male brought up the female progeny resultant from the yearly exception
to their celibate rule,[383] to be women of the same stern pattern as
their extraordinary selves. Some writers would make them a seventeenth
century edition of the modern suffragette, rebel against the “tyranny”
of man--and with certainly better reason for rebellion.[384] The story
has been treated as mere Spanish romance,[385] or a mistake on the part
of the invaders due to the custom of wearing the hair long among many
of the tribes.[386] It has been taken to be a deliberate fabrication on
the part of Pizarro to explain his failure, a temptation to which Sir
Walter Raleigh himself also fell victim.[387] Be it what it may, the
tale was told, the land known as the land of these women warriors, and
their name of Amazons bestowed upon the great river. The tale of warrior
women is, however, not confined to the forests of the Amazon. One comes
therewith to the question of nomenclatory origin. The Baron de Santa-Anna
Nery devotes the first ten pages of his _Land of the Amazons_ to this
discussion. It seems to be a case of where doctors disagree.[388] But at
least the tale, Asiatic, African, or autochthonic, was localised here,
and stories of feminine prowess in the field continued to be quoted even
in the nineteenth century. Wallace himself mentions “traditions” said to
be extant among the Indians themselves, of “women without husbands.”[389]
This is no proof of the local existence at any time of celibate women
warriors. The tradition may well exist, the only curiosity again would
be if it did not. For three centuries at least the invading white man
has talked of, and inquired for, a tribe of such warrior women. It takes
less than this to start the most robust of folk-tales. A world agape like
the Athenians of old for some new thing, some tale to vary the oft-told
stories, does not require three centuries to adopt a novel romance. The
question “do such things exist?” is not asked long before it ceases to
be a question and becomes an assertion. The more positive the assertion
the greater will be the wonder of the tale. When the wonder is sufficient
it will be established as a current myth. I do not therefore deny that
such a tale is told, or at least may be told, but for my own part I
never heard mention of it. Spruce speaks of women assisting their men to
repulse an attack on tribal head-quarters,[390] but no story of any woman
fighting, or having done so at any time, was ever told me. Moreover it
should not be forgotten in this connection that all weapons are strictly
tabu to women.

A story that is prevalent throughout South America tells of a race of
white Indians who sleep in the daytime, and only go abroad at night.
This tale was laughed at when repeated at a recent meeting of the
Royal Geographical Society, but it is certainly in existence among the
tribes,[391] and Crevaux states that the Ouayana will not go near one
river, “_à cause des singuliers habitants qui habiteraient près des
sources … des Indiens aux chevaux blonds qui dorment le jour et marchent
toute la nuit_.”[392]

Of tales as to the reputed origin of any tribe I have no note, though
when I cross-questioned a Boro tribe as to why a certain district was
almost uninhabited, they told me that the reason was as follows:

Once a large tribe lived there, one of the most powerful of all
the tribes, and also one of the most numerous.

But long, long ago a chief, an _Abihibya_, of this tribe of
the Utiguene had a daughter, who was not only ugly but bird
rumped. The _Chekobe_, the medicine-man, gave her the name of
Komuine.[393]

When she grew older and was about five feet high,[394] Komuine
went into the _Bahe_, the bush, to pick _dio_, peppers, and
berries, but did not return.

The tribe then said that a _wipa_, a tiger, must have carried her
off. So a tribal hunt was instituted, and the bush searched for
the tiger; but with no success, for when they were in the bush
they were attacked by a wicked tribe, which fell upon them and
killed them in great numbers.

So they returned with great sadness to the _maloka_.

Long, long after this Komuine reappeared in the _Ha-a_, the great
house of the tribe, and sang a solo, as is the custom among the
people when making a complaint. And this is the complaint Komuine
sang:

The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,
And no one came to find the spoor;
The branches were broken, the _gwahake-ane_, the leaves, were turned,
And no one came to find the spoor.
And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]
That no one came to find the spoor?

And while Komuine was dancing, it was noticed, to the disgust of
the tribe, that her bird rump was covered with _nikwako_, hair,
so the old women came and rubbed milk[396] upon her to remove
the unsightliness. But as they pulled and the unsightliness was
removed, more unsightliness came, and the hairier she grew. When
she was covered with leaves,[397] she told her story:

“O my brothers! When I was in the forest picking peppers a
_komuine_ came to me, and taking me by force he deflowered me. He
took me with him into the bush to become his _gwame_, his woman,
and I gave birth to twins, and the second one was buried, for
even _komuine_ have but one _ehemene_, one child. And the child
was hairy like a _komuine_, but had the face of a man. And when I
gave him milk the unsightliness came, and I ran from the beasts
and came to my own people.”

The tribe then had a tobacco palaver, and because of the
unsightliness, and the pollution,[398] and the blood-feud with
their enemies which had cost the tribe so many warriors, it was
decided to destroy her.

And when she heard this she fled into the forest, and all the
_komuine_ came and robbed the _emiye_, the plantation, and there
was no _pika_, manioc, and no _kome_, fruit.

And when the men of the Utiguene went out to hunt, the lianas
were like a net in the path, and so thick no one could pass. And
the tribe got thinner and thinner, and now to-day there is no
tribe of the Utiguene.[399]

The Amazonians have stories equivalent to many worldwide tales, such as
that of the lion and the mouse, only in the forest version it is the
jaguar who enacts the lion’s part, while the mouse is replaced by the
ant, a liana serves instead of a net to keep the great beast captive,
and there are other correspondingly local and numerous variations. The
hare and the tortoise fable has its counterpart in the story of a race
between the deer and the tortoise. The ramifications of this tale are
most intricate. These stories are very dissimilar in detail, so far as I
could gather, from their equivalents in the Old World, but in each case
the same principle is evolved: by a widely different route Old and New
reach eventually an identical goal.

There is a marked prevalence of animal stories, tales--and this is a
point not to be overlooked--of the familiar forest beasts, the birds
and the reptiles of everyday life. In these the birds and beasts have
certain accepted characteristics, they stand in the Indian folk-tales as
representing definite abstract ideas. Thus, as with us, the tortoise is
crafty and slow; the ant and the bee are typical of industry. The snake,
that is to say the poisonous snake, in Amazonian myth, as in Biblical
story, represents evil, the evil eye. The tapir stands for blindness and
stupidity, while cunning and deceit are represented by the dog. These
bush dogs approximate to our fox, and like Reynard have sharp up-standing
ears. They prowl round the _maloka_, and will clear off anything they
can find, even in close vicinity to the house. The agouti, or capybara,
takes with the Indian the place held in African folk-tales by the hare.
He is the wittiest of beasts, can outmanœuvre all the others, and is the
practical joker of the forest. The boa-constrictor, unlike the poisonous
snake, is not evil; it exemplifies the silent and the strong. The
chattering parrot represents irresponsibility; it is a woman in disguise,
and is certain in Indian animal tales to be noisy and unreliable, and
probably will betray some secret. The peccary is for constancy, the hawk
for cunning, the sloth for laziness, and the tiger for bravery. The
monkey stands for tenacity of life, which is probably due to the fact
that owing to constriction of the muscles its hold on a branch does not
relax for some time after death.

These characteristics, however, do not appear to govern in any way
the question of food tabu concerning the respective animals. On the
contrary, the reasons alleged for such tabu often appear to be, if
anything, opposed to what one would expect to find from the foregoing
classification. It is the material, not the abstract characteristic
with which the tabu deals. Moreover the tabu varies. Irrespective of
those connected with birth, at certain times of the year there is a
restriction, if it does not amount to an actual prohibition or a tabu,
with regard to eating heavy meats. Simson assigns such avoidance to a
belief current among Indians “that they partake of the nature of the
animal they devour.” This is the case professedly for any tabu on foods
for women with child, but the reason given to me for general restriction
as regards, say, tapir flesh, was not that the eater would be affected
by any characteristic of the animal, material or spiritual, but that
the tapir meat if eaten at forbidden seasons was very bad, that is to
say unhealthy, and would be the cause of certain skin diseases. It
probably would be. Tiger meat, as already explained, is treated much
as human flesh is treated. Apart from the tiger, the meat of larger
game will, it is sometimes averred by other tribes, make the eater
gross and unwieldy.[400] In connection with this question of big game
and food, Spruce refers to a “superstition” among the Uaupes Indians
that may be a possible survival of a totemic system, though he does not
advance the theory. “How should we kill the stag?” they say, “he is our
grandfather.”[401] However this may be with other language-groups, among
those of the Issa-Japura regions there is no trace of any totemic system,
except in so far as that boys and girls are named, as already stated,
after birds and flowers respectively. Animal names are made use of
occasionally, but only as names of contempt and ridicule. These Indians
look upon all animals as enemies. To suggest that any animal is an
ancestor would be the direst of insults to people who so strenuously try
to avoid all likeness to the brute creation. One need only refer to such
customs as the killing of one of twins, or depilation, to give the lie to
any theory that would seek to trace in Boro story--for example--for sign
of suggested descent from any eponymous animal. Relationship is traced
indeed only so far as memory serves; that is to say the oldest man may
relate how he remembers his grandfather telling who _his_ grandfather’s
father was. Also there are invariably tales of bygone chiefs, great
warriors whose deeds and characters are outstanding enough to be
remembered.

A story is told of a small fish that is to be found in these rivers
which may be fact or may be fable. All Indians say that this fish is a
parasite that will find its way into the intestines of human beings when
they are bathing. This belief is noted elsewhere, and I merely refer to
it here because it is so universally credited without--so far as I could
ascertain--an atom of corroborative evidence.

CHAPTER XIX

In speech, as in everything else, the forest Indian is confined within
the narrow limits of his immediate surroundings. Unlike the nomadic
Indian of the plains, he passes his entire existence in an area little
larger than an English parish. He has almost no commercial dealings with
his neighbours. The only fresh blood that penetrates his tribe is brought
in by the immature children taken prisoners in war. Like the landscape
his imagination owns no perspective, no horizon. In the Amazonian bush
an Indian may live and die without ever having gazed upon a terrestrial
object at the distance of a mile. His mode of life, a community within a
single house, under a single roof, makes of household words a dialect,
and with the passing of a generation makes that dialect a language.

In a society where each tribe is complete in itself and at deadly enmity
with all its neighbours, and where writing is unknown, language must
naturally undergo very rapid, very definite change. Moreover Indians will
not voluntarily speak the language of other Indians. Thus the Amazonian
natives use no common tongue, and there is little in the vocabularies so
far collected to explain either the origin or the relationship of the
existing dialects. Tribes divided by the breadth of a narrow river speak
languages that are mutually unintelligible. On the other hand, tribes
distant some hundreds of miles from each other possess a language with a
common root, which is fundamentally different from those in use among all
the intervening peoples.

So far as I could classify them, the language-groups of this district
fall under thirteen headings. By group I comprehend all tribes speaking
a language with common roots, though the dialects may vary considerably.
These groups, and the approximate number of Indians in each, are as
follows:

Witoto 15,000
Yuri unknown
Yahua} Yahua unknown
Pegua}
Andoke 10,000
Boro or Miranha 15,000
Muenane 2,000
Nonuya 1,000
Resigero 1,000
Okaina or Dukaiya 2,000
Karahone }
Umaua } Karahone 25,000
Saha }
Tukana }
Yahuna }
Makuna } unknown
Opaina }
Bara }
Kuretu }
Menimehe } 15,000
Akaroa }

According to Koch-Grünberg all the tribes on the Tikie speak the Tukano
language, and as a result of segmentation the Airi and Tihio speak the
Dessana language.

Occasionally tribes, though speaking an entirely diverse tongue, and
members of a distinctly different language-group, have some comprehension
of the tongue spoken by a neighbouring language-group. For instance,
the Muenane can understand Witoto, but they have no knowledge of Boro,
probably because they come more in contact with the former people.
The Menimehe know some words of Tupi, or lingoa-geral, which is
extraordinary, even though their acquaintance with it is very slight.

The tribal names in ordinary use are, as has been said, bestowed by
neighbouring tribes, and are merely nicknames. It follows that the name
by which a tribe becomes known to a traveller is the name in use among
the tribes in the districts through which he passes, so that a visitor
from the north probably knows of a tribe by a different extra-tribal
name from that known to a new-comer from the south. The difficulties
of identification caused by this have already been commented on in an
earlier chapter, it is only necessary to refer to them here in so far as
the same difficulties beset any attempt to learn the local dialects.

Of the thirteen languages tabulated above, one of the most difficult, and
the most guttural, is the tongue spoken by the Resigero group of tribes.
Nonuya, also guttural, is perhaps equally difficult, whilst Andoke is
possibly the worst, as it is almost ventral. Okaina, though presenting
many difficulties, is easier to acquire than the first-named three, and
may be characterised as nasal, while Boro and Witoto are neither nasal
nor ventral nor impossibly guttural. Muenane is somewhat akin to Boro,
but is richer in words. Menimehe approximates more to the speech of the
Uaupes River Indians, and it again is nasal.

The endeavour to reproduce the guttural expressions of the Indian in
Roman letters is rendered the more complex by the uncertainty of his
utterance and the aural variations of his European interpreters. The same
word phonetically transcribed by an Englishman, a German, a Frenchman,
and a Spaniard bears little or no resemblance to a common inspiration.
Each European observer conveys to his written word the error of his
national idiosyncrasy of impression and pronunciation.

The difficulty of a phonetic rendition of a foreign language into
English has long been apparent, and is one shared--though in a lesser
degree--by all Continental linguists. To meet this difficulty the Germans
have devised a system almost Chinese in its intricacy, while the French
seek to reproduce such simple sounds as that of our English “W” by
combinations of diphthongs. Many of these elaborate phoneticisms have
been adopted by English writers without consideration of the lingual
limitations of their inventors, or of the confusion induced in the mind
of the student.

To simplify transliteration, though at the sacrifice of the finer
distinctions of the language, the orthographic system of the Royal
Geographical Society has been used in this work,[402] and the explanation
of the system given in the appendix with the Witoto and Boro vocabularies
is taken from the rules laid down by that Society and adopted by the
Royal Anthropological Institute.[403] This system ordains that an
approximation to the sound should be aimed at only, as any system which
attempted to represent the more delicate inflexions of sound and of
accent would be so complicated that it would merely defeat itself.

I attempted to make a vocabulary of Andoke words, but the language is,
as I have noted, so guttural, not to say ventral, that it renders all
attempts impossible without some medium to work upon at the start, such
as I had with Boro and Witoto. In these two cases Brown’s knowledge of
the latter, and even his very slight acquaintance with the first, were of
great use to me as a basis upon which to work.

As an example of the difficulty to be faced without some common medium,
I have asked a native, “What is this?” and touched my head or a stick,
but could find no clue to whether his answer referred to the thing
touched or my action in touching it. Only a long and tedious study can
overcome conundrums of this description, and when to these is added the
impossibility of conveying accurately by written signs the sound as
uttered, the attempt proved beyond my powers and resources.

Mention has been made by one writer of the “‘cluck’ of
satisfaction--common to all the tribes of the Provincia Oriental.”[404]
I consider the sound emitted by the Issa-Japura peoples as a sign of
assent or pleasure is more ventral than that described by Simson. It
is approximately _Hurrr!_ like a grunted sigh of satisfaction. The
exclamation of surprise amongst all these peoples is very similar and
may be written _Huh!_ This sound, lengthened considerably, is the
Witoto affirmative _Huhhh_. _Huh!_ _huh!_ _huhh!_ as affirmatives are
very freely used in conversation. The more an Indian agrees with the
speaker the more ventral do his ejaculations become. The negative will
not be used except in direct answer to a question, for it is contrary
to Indian custom and etiquette to interrupt or contradict. The absence
of the affirmative _Huh!_ is practically a contradiction, on the ground
of doing nothing being itself negative. A similar idea is seen in the
tobacco palaver, where the dissentient signifies his disapproval by
abstaining from licking tobacco. Should an Indian, however, wish to give
an affirmative answer to a negative question, he will then make use of
the negative No, for to answer Yes in Indian parlance would be to confirm
the negative.

This brings us to the question of construction, and it is at once
apparent that in Witoto, for example, the construction of a sentence
tallies more with the construction of the deaf and dumb mute’s gesture
language than with anything else, that is to say it is the very
antithesis of the Chinese, or of our own. It may be said of the Indian,
as Tylor wrote of the deaf and dumb mute, that he “strings together … the
various ideas he wishes to connect, in what appears to be the natural
order in which they follow one another in his mind.”[405] For instance
the Witoto say, _Benomo honne_, literally “here put it”; _benomo ekkono_,
“here open it you”; _eijo rie dotoenyino_, “much fruit put in it not do
you”--“do not put much fruit into it.”

It will be noted that the personal pronoun here has become the suffix
of the verb. This is the general rule, as in _dinitikwe_, “I shall
carry it”; _a chimitekwe_, “I am going to see”; _ona dueruetckwe_, “I
want you.” But this rule is not invariable, as we find _kwe mona_,
“I am unable”; _ke hanyete_, “I do not understand,” with the pronoun
_kwe_ or _ke_ placed, as we should put the “I” before the verb; nor is
the variation caused by the negative, as “I do not want you” is _ona
dueruenetckwe_. In this instance the position of the personal pronoun
_kwe_ is probably determined by the objective _ona_, which structurally
must precede, otherwise the meaning of the phrase would be inverted and
become “You do not want me.” A pronoun is also used as a prefix to a noun
to denote possession, as _tano_, “cassava,” _ometano_, “your cassava.”
According to Koch-Grünberg the suffix _make_ indicates some other place,
or thing; it occurs in _baimake_, “other”; _naimake_ “them”; but I am not
aware that it acts as a definitely differentiating suffix in these or any
other case.

In Witoto _nyete_ as a suffix negatives what proceeds it, the literal
meaning of the word _inyete_--a compound of _ite_ = are--being the
equivalent of the French _il n’y en a pas_.[406] As examples of its
use we get _figora_, “good,” _figonyete_, “bad”; _huchite_, “twisted,”
_huchinyete_, “straight,” that is to say “not twisted.” The Boro negative
is _ne_, as for instance in _imine_, “good,” _nemine_, “bad,” _i.e._ “not
good.”

Repetition of a word literally doubles its meaning, as in the Witoto
_nana_, “all,” and the Boro _paa-paa_, “low-low,” that is to say,
“lower”; _kame-kame_, “high-high,” _i.e._ “higher.”

I have said that the principle of construction in both Boro and Witoto
is that of the mute’s gesture language, but gesture language actually is
almost unknown, non-existent, among all these tribes. The hand is pointed
to show direction, or to identify a person or object. The Indian beckons
with one hand, but its movement is downward, not upward as with us. There
is also a recognised sign to express desire for sexual intercourse. This
is a mere jest, a ribald suggestion, as with boys of a certain age among
our lower classes. The right elbow is grasped with the left hand, the
elbow being so flexed as to allow the hand to point upwards. It is, in
fact, the letter Z of the dumb alphabet.

Fingers and toes are used for reckoning, and are the more needed in that
the Indians’ knowledge of numbers is of the slightest. But few can
reckon beyond five, though I once found a senior wrangler who counted
seventeen, by the aid of all his fingers, all the toes of one foot, and
two of the other. The remaining three toes he covered over, to show
that they were not required for the total sum. If an Indian wished to
enumerate anything over ten he would place both hands to his head and
say, “Like the hairs of my head.”[407] In Boro I could only learn of four
numerals, _tiamie_, “one-half”; _tsanere_, or _tsape_, “one”; _mieke_,
“two”; _sause_, “five.” These in combination give _tsape-mieke_, “three”;
_mieke-mieke_, “four.” The Witoto numerals are _dahe_, “one”; _mena_,
“two”; _dahe-amene_--equivalent to the Boro _tsape-mieke_,--“three”;
_menahere_, “four”; _dapekwiro_, “five”--that is one hand; _nagapekwiro_,
“six.”

It makes absolutely no difference to the value whether you say
_tsape-mieke_ or _mieke-tsape_; _dahe-amene_ or _mena-dahe_.

For measures these tribes have nothing more definite than a handful,
a foot- or finger-length, and of weights they possess no knowledge
whatever, nor, so far as I am aware from their customs or their language,
is there any consciousness of more possible or desirably-accurate
definition.

To express a length of time other than the merely immediate past,
present, and future, the Indian makes use of what conveys to him an
indefinable idea, “As long as the hairs of my head.” This is similar
to his notion of expressing any large number. He reckons time by the
moon to the extent of saying, “When the moon is small,” or, pointing to
it, “As it is now,” but I never heard anything like “so many moons,”
or an equivalent value in a word. In fact, time to the Boro, so far as
I am aware, is distinguished by only _pekare_, “to-morrow,” _aiupe_,
“yesterday.” The Witoto will speak of _beiruito_, “to-day”; _wiremoni_,
“to-morrow”; _dawire_, “the day after to-morrow,” or _nawire_,
“yesterday”; _beinawire_, “the day before yesterday,” or _beinawife_,
“the night before last.”

There is, as I have already mentioned, no writing, not even the most
primitive picture-writing. The Indian makes use of no signs as aids
to memory; and the only recognised symbol that I met with--other than
such symbolic practices as the presentation of wood and thatch by the
bridegroom to his parents-in-law--was the tobacco folded in a strip of
palm leaf that is the regular invitation card of North-Western Amazonia
when festivities are toward. Neither individuals nor families have any
recognised name-marks--such as a peculiar notch or number of notches--to
distinguish personal property. It must be remembered that in the small
private habitations in the bush a man and his wife and children are
more or less isolated, and that in the great tribal house the family
community have most of their possessions in common. It is difficult with
so communal a people to know what may be looked upon as general property,
and what as individual, with the exception of personal ornaments.
Indians recognise their property only by differential qualities, certain
ornamentation, ways of binding or lashing, patterns in basketry,
colouring--and division of colours--on pottery; and these differences are
known and recognised by others, as well as by the actual owners.

Each tribe has its peculiar call or signal, which I believe is altered
occasionally as a precautionary measure. This may be a whistle, or the
imitation of the cry of bird or beast. Then there is the so-called
drum-language used in signalling, and already noted in a previous
chapter, which I certainly believe to be some sort of code. Brown’s
assertion that the sound of the word is made with the drum, and
the Indians’ description of making the words is, I take it, merely
the untaught intelligence striving to explain how an onomatopœic
language--such as Boro and Witoto to some extent certainly are--can be
further conventionalised to a scope even more circumscribed than the
ordinary monotone of the Indian’s speaking voice.

Not only is the Indian voice monotonous, but the conversation is rendered
yet duller by the invariable repetition of the last words of a sentence.
This is particularly the case with the Tuyuka, where conversation has
a definitely ceremonial form. For instance, if a man leaves a party to
bathe, he says, “I go to take a bath,” and the company present reply in
chorus, “You go to take a bath.” On his return the formula runs, “I have
taken a bath,” and the confirmative echo follows, “Yes, you have taken a
bath.” This endless repetition, as was noticed with regard to songs, is
characteristic of all Indians.

In quality their voices are strident and rasping, and are always raised
in conversation and grow higher with increased excitement. No Indian
speaks confidentially, he shouts; and unless something very sacred and
secret is under discussion the conversation in an Indian house can be
heard a mile away. In the forest the mass of vegetation above appears to
act as a sounding-board, and so to lengthen the distance that sound is
carried, not, as one might think, to stifle it. But independent of this
the Indians possess extraordinary power of throwing the voice, a sort
of ventral whisper; and all, to some extent, are ventriloquists. Even
semi-civilised Indians of Brazil, who have lost much of the cunning of
their brethren, the “Wild Indians” of the forest, have this power.

The Indian is as fond of speaking and singing in a high-pitched
voice interspersed with ventral grunts as a Chinese coolie, and this
predilection, as regards the falsetto voice, is greatest on the part of
the women, whose voices are always higher than the men’s.

When an Indian talks he sits down, no conversation is ever carried on
when the speakers are standing unless it be a serious difference of
opinion is under discussion; nor, when he speaks, does the Indian look at
the person addressed, any more than the latter watches the speaker. Both
look at some outside objects. This is the attitude also of the Indian
when addressing more than one listener, so that he appears to be talking
to some one not visibly present.

CHAPTER XX

We find in all savage races, peoples of the lower cultures, that there is
no differentiation of individualism, that is to say all members of the
race or group are at approximately the same level. This is what we know
as a “low state of civilisation.” It has been suggested that such dead
level, the lack of all initiative, of progress in short, is due to the
absence of religion, of ideals or gods, through which true enthusiasm
only is engendered. A religious ideal undoubtedly tends to progress,
and with the exception of patriotism--which, after all, is a religious
ideal--is the main influence. It is a case of cause and effect, however,
for the effect of environment must not be overlooked. Local conditions
initiate progress and may cause enthusiasm for an ideal, the effect and,
at the same time, the potent accelerator of such progression.

It is an extraordinary but undeniable fact that the Indian is
individually wise yet racially foolish, individually intelligent,
racially inept. This may be due entirely to geographical control, to
the peculiar characteristics of the social environment. The greatest
incitement to human progress, intercommunication, is denied in the Amazon
wilds. True, there are the rivers, but the value of rivers and waterways
in this respect is negatived by custom. Existing conditions make this
necessary, for in isolation alone is protection to be found for any
tribe.

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.

When an Indian house is reached the chief comes out with a party of his
warriors. The burden of proof rests with the invading European. He
advances to the chief with his interpreter, and must make declaration of
friendship. If the explanation of his appearance be accepted, the Indian
laughs and may slap his visitor vigorously on the back, after the usual
custom of the native in South America welcoming the stranger. Together
they then proceed to the house, and the chief calls his woman and orders
food to be provided for the strangers. The white man on his part tenders
whatever he has brought by way of presents--beads, gun-cartridges, a
small-tooth comb, or a knife.

When the evening meal is finished the chief stalks into the centre of
the _maloka_, which has hitherto been untenanted, like the arena of a
circus before the performance begins. A great fire is made up, and about
it the men of the tribe squat on their haunches. The chief explains to
them the presence of the stranger, and takes counsel on the question
of his entertainment. As he describes his intentions he falls into a
rhythmic chant, and his followers assent with deep-chested _Huhh!_ All
this is a lengthy business, but the tribe eventually arrive at a common
decision. The chief then bends forward to the tribal tobacco pot that has
been placed midway among the group. Into this he solemnly dips a tobacco
stick, and conveys a little of the liquid to his tongue. Man after man
bends forward round the circle, and each in turn dips his splinter of
wood into the pot to notify his assent. It is a sign of tribal agreement
as binding as the Lord Chancellor’s seal on a document of state. With it
the tobacco palaver is concluded and the Indians seek their hammocks for
sleep.

The Indian’s treachery is proverbial. I may mention on this point two
sayings--there are hundreds similar--which illumine this phase of the
character and customs of the tribesmen. The Andoke says, relevant to the
Karahone, “If your spirit wander (sleep) in the hammock of a _monkey_
or _beast_ Indian, it wanders always.”[408] The meaning is this, the
Karahone appear to have a real and exact knowledge of virulent poisons.
It is related that they can saturate a hammock with some narcotic which
the victim does not discover, thus ensuring his death or destruction.
They also burn fires under the hammock of those they wish to remove from
the world, and stifle them with a narcotic smoke.

Another proverbial remark runs: “If a Karahone give you a pineapple,
beware.” This refers to the Karahone’s playful habit of presenting
poisoned pines. The Boro have a similar saying: “Take a pine from an
enemy and die,” but this is due to the recognition of the fact that an
Indian is never so dangerous as when simulating hospitality that is
treacherous in the extreme.

Perhaps the Indian trait that soonest strikes, and most indelibly
impresses the observer, is his charming altruism in the community of the
family or tribal group, his wild misanthropy towards other tribes. His
ambition is to live undisturbed with his family in the deep recesses of
the forest. He asks only to be let alone.

In a region where land is free for all to take who will, and personal
belongings are few--and invariably buried with the owner--laws of
inheritance there can be none. But the law of possession is strict, and
the penalty is death. There can be no toleration of theft, as on account
of the publicity in which the Indians live it may be effected with such
ease. The punishment for theft has therefore to be drastic, final. The
victim may kill the thief. I was told that this is done by hacking at
the culprit’s head with a wooden sword or a stone axe. This savours of
ceremonial sacrifice. But though to steal from a member of the tribe is
to steal from the whole community and therefore a crime, there is no
bar against stealing from the stranger. They will do so unblushingly. I
remember once missing a pair of scissors. On searching I discovered a
Witoto woman stealing them. But she swore she had never put them in her
basket, though they were found there!

There is very distinctly a dualism of ethics, one law for the tribe, and
another law for all who are not members of it. To kill a fellow-tribesman
is to injure the tribe by destroying one of its units. Sin against the
individual is of no importance except in so far as injury to any one
person is injury to a unit of the tribe, to be punished by the law of
retaliation in kind if the offender be of another tribe. Sin against
another tribe is no sin except in the eyes of the tribe sinned against;
then for its members it becomes not the sin of the individual doer but of
his whole community. It is the tribe and not the individual that would be
held guilty for any offence committed by one of its members. For instance
if a Boro killed a Menimehe, vengeance may be taken by the dead man’s
tribe on all or any of the members of the Boro tribe concerned.

Vengeance is primarily a matter for the individual principally affected.
A man considers it a disgraceful thing not to be able to avenge himself,
and will therefore never apply to the chief for tribal help. On the other
hand the chief and the tribe will sometimes take up a quarrel and make it
their own. This is a common custom amongst small communities, an affront
to any one of the community being a personal attack upon every other
member, though it is not necessarily avenged by all unless the affronted
one is himself unable to compass revenge.

Members of a tribe sometimes quarrel, though rarely, but at times a fight
commences in which others join, till eventually it becomes a “set to”
between two families. On the whole I am inclined to say that the natives
of the Amazons are the least quarrelsome people I have ever met.

It would be wrong to state that these people have no moral sense, because
a slavish adherence to custom in itself is moral. That is to say they
possess a moral code. However that does not entail any right or wrong as
we know it, but only _pia_, that is “what our forefathers thought and
did,” in other words tribal usage, which may be translated by what we
call “good form.” There are no words in the Indian tongues for virtue,
justice, humanity, vice, injustice or cruelty. These are unknown to the
tribes who differentiate only with the equivalents for good and bad.
Points like this earmark the ethics of a people. The curious negative
character I have already noted is carried out here also. Again there
is recognition of the moral law of conjugal fidelity in that there is
definite punishment for infidelity--the ordeal of the stinging ants.
Punishment infers transgression of a law or code. It is not sufficient
to say that in this case it is due to the extraordinary jealousy of
Indian husbands, for the penalty is imposed on both husband and wife,
the retribution is due to public opinion not personal revenge. Before
marriage the men take the tribal prostitutes--the Maku girls and to
some extent the unattached women--openly, but after marriage this is
not the case. Incest is unknown among them, and in that term I include
promiscuous intercourse among any of the members of a household. The
antipathy to this lies only between those living under the same roof,
it does not extend to consanguineous individuals who are members of
different households.

The women are extraordinarily modest in their behaviour. Their eyes
rarely leave the ground in the presence of a stranger. I had one woman
in my party who never spoke to me, or even looked in my direction, the
whole time we were together. After much dancing, I have seen the women,
succumbing to dance stimulation, show their preference for certain men
in the dancing party by placing their hands on their shoulders, an act
in obedience to the impulse of the moment. In fact after dancing for a
length of time they become comparatively boisterous and irresponsible.
But even at the height of excitement there is nothing markedly rude in
the dance, when one allows for the fact that sexual suggestion is not to
be included in that category in Indian ethics. Even on this point they
have their limitations, for Koch-Grünberg relates that when talking to
some Desana Indians on sexual subjects, the conversation was stopped by
them till the women were sent away. After their departure the men talked
freely and broadly. This I did not remark among the Indians I visited, in
fact sexual matters appeared to be discussed freely and lewdly by both
sexes, and even by young children.

The Indians under the range of discussion most certainly possess the
greatest racial antipathy towards the white man. This is noticeable among
the women especially, for they will never admit to their own people if
they have ever had any dealing or connection whatsoever with the white
man.

Gratitude among Indians is unknown--at least to me. Take this example:
I had Indians who had been slaves, who had elected to come with me, or
at least had evinced no repugnance at the idea, with whom I had shared
all the food at my disposal, stinting myself often to ensure their
gratitude--as I thought--caring for them, doctoring and curing them when
sick, till eventually I became fond of them. But on the main river at the
first opportunity they ran, apparently at the suggestion of one of their
own tribe, the Peon of a rubber-gatherer. What arguments were used I know
not--perhaps that I was a devil, that my real motive was to fatten them
for culinary purposes. The fact remains they left me, to all appearances,
willingly.

This stealing of Indians is a well-recognised source of amusement on the
Amazon river, and the victims of such loss--who of course perpetrate
the same sort of outrage on others directly opportunity permits--are so
indolent, so lethargic, that they will not cross a river to recover the
stolen. The custom is the more prevalent on account of the character of
the Indian. He will always leave one white man to go to another. He is
always on the alert to run, to go elsewhere. This is true of Indians
enslaved by other Indians, to a limited extent. Unless they are well
treated and identified with the tribe they will run, only to be again
enslaved by others, or put to death. The matter is hard to explain. It
simply is in the blood. It is _Pia_, as Brown remarked. It is their
custom. They do it “just for so.”

Another point about the Indian is that he must always be kept up to the
work in hand. The women toil unceasingly, but the men are only too ready
to seize any excuse to cry off a job. They spend their time mainly in
mooning around. Obtaining food is their chief occupation. But when an
Indian is kept up to his work he works hard and well.

Though the Indian attitude at first is invariably stoical they are not
lacking in inquisitiveness. Their curiosity was enormously aroused by
many of my possessions. It is hard to say what will evoke their wonder.
I have seen an Indian evince no interest in a steam-boat, but show the
most extraordinary interest in my jackboots, and be greatly occupied with
the problem of how I got into them. A walking-stick was an unanswerable
conundrum to them, it never occurred to their minds that I could use it
as an assistance in walking. My eyeglass, my camera, were mysterious
devils that could read into their hearts and filch their souls, as I
have already noted. My watch, with an alarm to it, struck consternation
to their simple minds. My phonograph, that reproduced records of dancing
which were repeated on reversal, raised shouts of wonder. An Indian in
a down-river town saw nothing to excite him in a tram, and took a ride
thereon quite unconcernedly, but the women’s hats were exciting, and at
the sight of a man on a bicycle his astonishment was unbounded: it was
“man on spider-web!” Horses are unknown in these regions, and there is no
possibility of the majority of the Indians seeing any one on horseback. I
could only get a mule as far as the first big river, but beyond the bush
became too dense. Otherwise I fancy their amazement would equal that of
the Australian natives when they saw the beast come in two on the man
dismounting.[409]

Decadent the Indian may be, and thanks mainly to his inveterate cocainism
he undoubtedly is, but that he is the degraded descendant of a higher
race is a theory that I beg leave to doubt entirely. According to von
Martius the standard of ethics rises or falls with the increase or
decrease of a tribe. He based his theory on the fact that the most
corrupt Coeruna and Nainuma were nearly extinct. It is possible to
argue that they were dying out because they were corrupt,[410] rather
than they were corrupt because they were dying out. Sir Roger Casement
appears to have accepted the theory expounded in _Vergangenheit und
Zukunft der amerikanischen Menschheit_. But Tylor remarks, “I cannot but
think that Dr. Martius’ deduction is the absolute reverse of the truth.”
Certainly the theory of the Indians’ regression is, I consider, entirely
erroneous. I see nothing to suggest it. On the contrary it appeared to me
that in spite of the awful handicap of their environment, these tribes
were slowly evolving a higher standard of culture. There is no evidence
of their having reverted from a higher culture. A people who once knew
how to produce fire by friction do not easily forget that method to rely
on the clumsy processes of fire-carrying. Men who have smoked tobacco
are not very likely to content themselves, nor would their offspring be
contented, with merely sucking it. People who knew the simple method of
preparing yarn with a spindle would only revert in exceptional cases
to the slow and even painful process of rolling fibre on the naked
thigh, and that in a land where cotton is abundantly to hand on every
side. The tedious method of plaiting and tying by hand would hardly,
one imagines, be substituted for weaving. A race that has once worked
metal and relapsed to the use of stone without even more exceptional and
definite reasons for that relapse, is no more likely in fact than it is
recorded--so far as I am aware--in history.

Examples are known of peoples who have forgotten one useful art, for
material and utilitarian, or social, or magico-religious reasons; but a
people who have allowed some half dozen to disappear is unknown to me.
Yet these Indians carry fire, lick tobacco, roll fibre on the thigh, and
though they make use of an embryo loom--the two posts between which their
hammocks are plaited--have not appreciated its potentialities. Some of
the Amazon tribes,[411] though surrounded by canoe-building peoples, can
only make rafts; the secret of the dug-out, if ever known to them,[412]
has been forgotten. But it is possible that an isolated section of the
original canoe-builders--as we have seen these tribes today are all
isolated sections--may for some reason have had no need to construct
a canoe for such lengths of time that the method of fire-heating and
burning, especially of forcing the hot trunk open, had through disuse
been at least partially forgotten.[413] Presume that they failed in
their attempt to build one for some reason,[414] and it was found that a
raft would do momentarily in its place, the original skill and knowledge
might easily die out in a generation. Therefore the absence of canoes
alone would be no convincing argument. Nor must it be forgotten, as Dr.
Rivers has pointed out,[415] that other causes besides defective memory
and lack of practice may result in the entire disappearance of even
useful arts. But I repeat hardly of so many among all these tribes in
common.

Everything points to the conclusion that these tribes found their way to
the forest in a very primitive condition. The forest has arrested, it
has stunted their growth, but it has not plunged them back from later
cultures to the Stone Age. The stones themselves deny it, _for stone is
not the natural substitute for iron in these regions_.[416] Whence the
tribes came hither, and when, in whatsoever far back age of our earth’s
story, they were a Neolithic people--hardly that, a people emerging from
the unsettled conditions of the Paleolithic hunter, agricultural but not
yet pastoral, and such they have remained throughout the centuries.

APPENDICES

APPENDIX I

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

Physically, as may be judged from the accompanying tables, there is a
wide margin for dissimilarity among these tribes. Their appearance is
nearly as varied as their speech, more so in fact, in that there is much
diversity of type even among individuals of the same speaking-group. I
have seen a Boro as dark as a Witoto, while his fellow-tribesmen may be
yellow as a Chinaman. It is, of course, possible that the darker Boro are
sons of Witoto women. The custom prevalent in all the tribes of adopting
the young children captured from their enemies, makes of necessity
for great changes in type even in one household, so that despite the
preference for group endogamy that undoubtedly exists there are few
households where cross-breeding is not in evidence.

In stature the Indian is small, which I take to be a result of depression
due to his forest environment; but the body is well-balanced and upright.
Among the tribes I visited the Andoke as a speaking-group were, so far
as I could observe, the largest in build and the tallest. The Okaina
may possibly come into the same scale. The Karahone represent the mean,
while the Maku are invariably small, a low class and badly-fed people.
The average measurements of the tribes are best gathered from the types
tabulated. I made the average height to be for men 5 feet 6 inches;
and for women 4 feet 10 inches.[417] I certainly remember one case of
a man among the Andoke nearly 6 feet high, but can recall no other.
The women were never much over the average of the female type. I give
my measurements for what they are worth, but unfortunately I did not
know the correct way in which they should have been taken; they were
made with a centimetre rule, but not on the correct anthropometrical
principles. The Indians stood against the side of the house to be
measured, and I registered their height by the simple process of placing
the ruler on the head and measuring its distance from the ground.[418]

The bone of the Indian’s skull is thick, and both dolichocephalic and
brachycephalic types are in evidence.[419]

The Indian does not run to fat, rather is he inclined to be thin, but
strong, muscular and healthy, with rounded outline and finely-developed
chest. The Witoto, however, though broad and strong, fail in the limbs,
their legs especially lack development. On this point my observations
tally with Robuchon’s notes. The Tukana have a magnificent physique. The
Andoke, though some are tall, with large frames, as a group incline more
to breadth of both face and figure. The tribes of the Tikie are of a low
grade.

The Indians as a rule, have hands of an average size, with stumpy
fingers, and short, spatulate nails. Constant manual labour of some
sort would seem to keep the nails naturally of a normal length. I never
remember seeing an Indian pare his nails, but fear this is a point that
may have escaped my observation. The men’s arms are frequently distorted,
and the shoulders gain an artificial breadth by the use of ligatures to
swell the muscles of the upper arm by means of constriction.

The natural symmetry of the Indian’s person is further enhanced by slight
hips, flat buttocks. The abdomen seldom protrudes though the navel is
prominent, but not to the same extent as is found among negroes.

[Illustration: PLATE LI.

1 & 2. WITOTO TYPES.

3. WITOTO FROM KOTUE RIVER]

The men generally have large feet,[420] with long toes. Both men and
women have very prehensile toes, and will pick up objects off the ground
with their feet rather than trouble to stoop. They are flat-footed.

The Indian does not extend his legs when he walks, as Europeans do. He
moves rather with the action of an unathletic woman. His step is on an
average about two-thirds of an ordinary man’s thirty-inch pace. The foot
is of necessity raised well above the ground, on account of the lianas
which would trip the slovenly walker. This does not make for rapid
progression. But though he walks more slowly than the white man, the
Indian can keep up a jog-trot of about five miles an hour for tremendous
distances. Moreover his wind is far better than any white man’s. At a
push, to get away from hostile neighbours for example, he is capable of
going sixty miles a day. In ordinary circumstances he walks nowhere,
except about the house and compounds. Consequently he has developed a
different set of muscles from the ordinary pedestrian.

As the Boro are more harassed than the Witoto they march as a rule in
silence, while the Witoto are noisy generally; but a march in country
that might prove hostile is done in silence by every tribe for obvious
reasons. In friendly country the Indians go along chattering and joking,
or in silence, just as the spirit moves them: there is no rule. The
necessity for walking in single file, and the invariable difficulties
of the route, do not, however, altogether encourage conversation. These
restricted paths have a further influence upon the Indian. Often enough
it is necessary to place one foot directly in front of the other in
order to find any footway at all. This is the probable reason, or one of
the reasons, why the men walk with a straight foot, a specially needed
precaution on the narrow bridges, that are merely formed of single
trees. The women walk in rather a stilted fashion, with the toes turned
inwards at an angle of some thirty degrees, on account of the tight
ligatures they wear below the knee and above the ankle, which cause the
calf to swell to enormous proportions, as has been noted. This may not
inconceivably have a contracting effect in the angle of the foot. It is
regarded as a sign of power if the muscles of the thighs are made to come
in contact with each other when walking.

That the men run and jump well is due to their good wind, but they have
no pace, and could easily be outstripped over a limited course by an
average white man in good condition. But the women neither run nor jump
with any facility, as they all suffer from varicose veins, caused by the
ligatures to some extent, but also by the burdens they carry, and from
labouring in the fields when in a condition unsuited to such physical
exertion. As weights are carried on the back suspended by a strap
across the forehead, the tendency to stoop or grow round-shouldered is
counteracted, for the pull of the strap brings the head back, and the
strain is taken by the muscles of the neck.[421] Water is always carried
in vessels balanced on the head, and though the Amazonian Indian may not
have the superb carriage of her sisters in the East, yet the young girls
at least are very well set up, though with advancing age a lifetime of
field work and burden-bearing may bow the elder women till they walk, as
described by Robuchon, “in an inclined position.”

The Indian woman has generally a beautiful figure, well proportioned
and supple, with high, straight shoulders. Untrammelled by dress she is
graceful and free in her actions. Before marriage the women have very
small breasts, but after they have borne a child the breasts develop
considerably. Old women, probably on account of poorer nourishment, are
very flat-chested, and one never sees a woman with very pendent breasts.
In the older women they atrophy.[422]

There is great individuality in the faces of the Amazonian Indians. A
tribe is no herd of sheep, differentiated only to the experienced eye
of the shepherd; the dissimilarities of countenance are immediately
apparent, and even to the most casual observer Indians show marked
variety of face and colour and feature. Like all savages the Indians
admire most the lightest coloured skins. The divergence of colour is
both tribal and racial; and as a rule it will be found that the higher
the type the better the physical development, and the greater the mental
capacity, the lighter will be the skin. On account of the saturation of
the atmosphere the Indians mostly have skins of a good texture. I never
found rough skins on Indians in these districts.[423] Of all the tribes
the Menimehe have the lightest complexions, and they are invariably
fatter and in better condition than the surrounding tribal groups.

[Illustration: PLATE LII.

COMBS--1. ANDOKE COMB WITH NUTSHELL CUP FOR RUBBER LATEX

2. WITOTO COMB

3. BORO COMB]

I have mentioned the custom of covering a new-born infant with rubber
milk either for warmth or to protect the skin; the women daub themselves
with gum and a yellow clay because it is supposed to preserve the skin;
but none of these peoples use any oil for lubricating purposes, and they
are free from any noxious-smelling secretion. The smell of a negro they
consider most offensive, but do not extend this dislike to the white man.
The Indian owes his immunity from this unpleasant trait in part because
he does not perspire at all freely, perhaps to difference of glandular
secretion, and in part to frequent ablutions. Yet, though even a dirty
people like the Witoto will bathe at least three times a day and most
tribes far more often, these Indians, as has already been noted, are by
no means free of body parasites. Head lice may be said to be universal,
and in addition jiggers and the red tick that drops off leaves in the
forest and burrows under the human skin, there is another burrowing
parasite that invades the human body to lay its eggs, which is extremely
common among these people. One is apt to be infested with these pests
merely from touching an Indian, certainly by lying in an Indian hammock.
The parasite causes considerable irritation, and the local remedy is to
apply babasco juice.

Except in the case of a medicine-man, who never depilates, hair is
looked upon as dirt; therefore it is always removed, only the hair
of the head being permitted to grow. Depilation is usually done just
before a dance. The method of removal adopted is to cover the hirsute
parts with rubber latex. This is allowed to dry, so that a grip can be
obtained and the hair removed simply with the forefinger and thumb or by
means of two small pieces of cane. Two persons will, as far as facial
hairs are concerned, depilate one another. It is universally considered
a sign of cleanliness to remove all the body hairs, and even to pull
out the eyebrows and eyelashes.[424] That the eyebrows are not removed
for æsthetic purposes is proved by the fact that the effect is promptly
reproduced with paint. It is not easy to get information with regard to
the removal of body hair,[425] but I was able to obtain a little from a
Karahone slave boy who was with an Andoke tribe I met. He told me that
the Karahone did not depilate the hair of the face. This is the one
exception among these tribes.

On the authority of Schomburgh, im Thurn states that occasionally when
there is great demonstration of grief at a burial “the survivors crop
their hair.” So far as my experience went none of the Indians of the
Upper Amazons ever “crop” the hair close, except that of young girls when
danger threatens. Should there be any reason to suppose that some man is
inclined to steal a girl, her hair might be closely cut as a preventive
measure to save the child from being kidnapped, for a hairless woman is
looked upon as a social outcast among the tribes. The young Indians have
long hair that often reaches to below the small of the back, but this
length does not continue, and it is a varying quantity among the adults.

The hair is uniformly scattered over the scalp, and is coarse in texture,
lank, and very abundant. Baldness is unknown, and greyness, as with the
negroes, is very rare. I have only seen grey hair on a few people of
apparently unusual age. In colour it is almost uniformly black, a red-
not a blue-black, which gives it an occasional brown glint. Some of the
children are lighter-haired, but such a variation as red hair is unknown,
though in the sunlight the women’s hair may take a reddish gleam. Both
women and children have finer hair than the men, and with young children
it is often quite downy. As a rule it is straight, but among the Tukana
wavy hair is more evident.

Among the greater part of these peoples the hair is not cut, either by
the men or women. The Karahone men cut their hair to the shoulders; the
Boro women, and in some cases the men, trim theirs round very much as is
often seen among our small girls. Sometimes the Witoto women trim their
lank locks. This is done with a knife if they have one, otherwise it is
singed. With the Menimehe and Karahone it grows very low on the forehead.
The Tikie tribes have most untidy and ill-kept hair.

Owing to race--possibly of Mongoloid origin--and to the prevalence of
depilatory customs, the men have scanty beards, if any.

On the whole these Indians hold their own in the matter of good looks,
even the lowest types are not repulsive in appearance. I mean, of course,
to the eye of the stranger, not according to their individual standard
of beauty. In feature both the various language-groups and the tribes
of each group show many grades. It may be taken as usual that with a
lighter skin the nose and lips are thinner than among those with darker
colouring. The Boro and the Resigero, both comparatively light-skinned
groups, have thin lips. This naturally follows from what I have already
said as to colour and type, the higher type possessing, as would be
expected, the more refined features. The Boro, taken as a group, are
the best looking, many of them are very handsome, and some of the Andoke
also are notably well favoured in appearance. “Noble” is Koch-Grünberg’s
decision on the question of the Tukana tribesmen’s appearance. The
Okaina, also, must be classed as good looking.

[Illustration: PLATE LIII.

BORO TRIBESMAN FROM THE PAMA RIVER

A MENIMEHE CAPTIVE]

It seems somewhat of a contradiction after this to remark that a squint
is so common a trait among these tribes that one cannot but notice
immediately any one with normal eyes. This is, however, with the
exception of the Tukana, very prevalent among all these tribes. The
eyes are not large, and are deeply set. They are black in colour with
occasional yellowness of the eyeball, but never to the degree seen in the
bilious eye of the negro. Both eyesight and hearing are very acute. In
the bush, or in the dark, the tribesmen have most penetrating sight, and
can distinguish details at a glance where the ordinary white man can see
nothing of any description. In the sun, or any strong light, their sight
is inferior.

It is difficult to judge what an Indian’s ears would be like if left to
Nature’s fashioning, as they are invariably distorted to more or less
degree by artificial means. They are frequently prominent, and do not
appear to be set close to the head in any case. The large ear-plugs will
pull the lobe of the ear half-way down the neck and more. Nose-boring is
not carried to so disfiguring an extent. The Boro, especially the women
of those tribes, bore the wing of the nose--a custom peculiar to this
people--as well as the septum, which is also bored by Muenane and Witoto
women, but the nose pins are small, and do not distort the feature as
the ear-plugs do the ear. The Tukana’s nose has naturally large alæ. The
tribes on the Tikie also have broad noses, with prominent cheek-bones, a
characteristic noted by Wallace among the Kuretu.[426]

The Indian’s chin is narrow, small, rounded, and, especially in the case
of the women, retreating. There is no dimple or cleft. The teeth are big
and even, and very rarely found projecting.

The Indian’s expression is stolid enough ordinarily, but when talking
he has much play of feature, and he will gesticulate freely under the
influence of coca. Among the tribes to the south of the Japura a man will
look a stranger straight in the face, but north of that river the native
has a more furtive glance. The Indian’s gaze is intense.

They are never demonstrative of affection, and, though they will touch a
white man as a salutation, never touch each other. By this I mean that
when friendlily disposed an Indian would return a white man’s salute,
the offer of the hand, but no Indian would grasp a fellow-tribesman’s
hand, or put an arm around his neck. Kissing is unknown among these
people. Crevaux records that he saw children among the Calina kiss to
show affection, but the nearest approach to an embrace I ever witnessed
was a slap on the shoulder, probably under the shoulder-blade, which is
the salutation between great friends. Mothers of course fondle their
children, and I have even seen a woman with her arm round her husband,
but such an exhibition is considered barely decent. Neither do they
exhibit grief by weeping. The girl children cry occasionally, but no
child ever screams; and adults may whine but never shed tears.

As regards brain-power, the Boro group are the most intelligent, with
the possible exception of the Menimehe. I invariably found the Boro
exceedingly anxious to learn from me anything they judged might be of
utility to themselves. They evinced a definitely intelligent interest,
not to be confounded with the ordinary curiosity of the untaught. Among
all these peoples the power of mental development ceases after they have
attained puberty.

One limitation that is to be noticed with all of them is their inability
to grasp any chronological data. They have nothing in the way of a tally
of any description, and in speaking use the vaguest expressions only
for reckoning. It is my opinion, based on observation of the number of
generations still living at any one time, that these people live to an
advanced age. They grow elderly at from twenty-five to thirty years, and
may, under favourable conditions, live another half-century or more.
This is borne out by the fact that I found occasionally a man with grey
hair--a sign in all coloured peoples, and I believe in Mongoloid peoples,
of great age. But no Indian can give any information as to his own age,
or the age of his children. For him age is non est, time of little value.
He cannot tell you when he came to the neighbourhood in which you find
him, though obviously only a year or two may have been passed there. His
day is regulated to some extent by the rising and the setting of the
sun, portioned only by its height in the heavens. If but occasion serve,
one or other of the warriors, drunk with coca, will talk the whole night
through, excitedly recounting some folk-tale, or endlessly boasting his
feats in the hunt or on the war-path. The interruption is not resented by
his comrades, nor does it seem to interfere with their slumber. Indians,
in fact, never appear to sleep much, or rather they sleep little and
often, as chance offers. Night is no more the time of repose than day,
except in so far as darkness puts a stop to certain of their avocations.
When sleeping on the ground an Indian curls up on one side with his knees
to his chin, or he sleeps on his stomach, seldom lying on the back.[427]

Though, as has been noted, they sleep with no wrap or covering, these
Indians are most sensitive to climatic changes. They are decidedly
susceptible to a difference of locality, and, more than this, in a
land where the extreme contrast of temperature is no more than twenty
degrees throughout the year, with an average of half that total, they are
affected by even slight variations of temperature. They fear the cold of
the early morning, and, accustomed as they are to the half-lights of the
forest, they dislike sunshine, and prefer to keep in the shade, fearful
of sun-sickness if exposed to the sun.

It has been suggested by some travellers that the curious habit of the
Indians of inducing sickness every morning by means of a feather was
based on the idea that any food which was retained in the stomach all
night must be unwholesome and ought to be removed immediately.[428] I
have often seen the Indians do this, but always put it down to a desire
to rid the stomach of the non-absorbent constituents of the coca powder,
as only the men, who alone may take coca, resort to this practice. The
Indian in the early morning drinks an infusion of herbs, as I have
already mentioned, which induces the removal of such substances by
vomiting, although not taken primarily for this purpose.

Sickness is also secured with the fingers after a prohibitive quantity
of cahuana has been drunk, as afore noted, during a big dance. Having
imbibed to his utmost capacity, the Indian adopts this simple expedient
to enable him to drink again.

The tribes of the upper Amazons are, comparatively with others, very
cleanly. But it is only comparatively. The Boro are the cleanest, and the
Witoto unquestionably the most dirty. Immediately on rising all Indians
resort to the river, but except among the Boro and the Resigeros, who rub
themselves with sand, the performance can hardly be called washing, it is
simply bathing. The Nonuya and Muenane are cleanly, like the Resigero.
Even the Andoke, though they use no sand, are cleaner than the Witoto,
for this tribe never wash, and only take a dip two or three times a day,
while at least five times is the ordinary rule with the majority.[429]

The first duty of the morning is a visit, as has been said, to the
bathing-place. Thither troop the old and the young, both male and female,
to wash and revive in the water. They do not attempt to rub their bodies
dry, but are content to let the moisture evaporate when they emerge from
the stream. When on a march or out hunting Indians will always bathe in
any water available on the route. They go in streaming with perspiration,
but seem to suffer no ill-effects. Bates has described them as “taking
merely a sitz-bath” like a dog,[430] but they seemed to me to bathe as
any ordinary person would who went into the water to get cool.

After returning from war the Indians bathe scrupulously before they
re-enter the house. It is in the nature of a ceremonial washing, and
possibly is a subconscious act of purification, though the Indians,
when asked the reason, told me only that it was _pia_, our custom. In
fact lustration with the Indian is too frequent an action to keep any
ceremonial significance it may ever have had.

It follows as a matter of course with people so familiar with water that
one and all are expert swimmers. The Indian of the Amazons invariably
swims as naturally as he walks, and with as little tuition. From the hour
of his birth he has been conversant with the river, and in a climate
where the temperature of the water varies but little from 75° to 80° or
more, he regards a dip as his chief solace. He never passes a stream
without taking advantage of its proximity to bathe, and the fact that he
may have recently fed, or that he is perspiring freely, does not hinder
him from a plunge, and makes no difference to his enjoyment.

In swimming the Indian paddles like a dog, and does not attempt to attain
to anything approaching the breast-stroke of the European, nor does he
extend the legs widely. He flexes the legs sharply upon the trunk, and,
suddenly stretching them in a straight line, drives the body forward.
The stroke is not a tiring one, and the native is capable of undergoing
long immersion without suffering exhaustion, but the speed he can acquire
is not remarkable. For that matter there are no reasons why the Indian
should desire to make rapid progression. Swimming to him is an adjunct to
bathing, or a means to cross a stream; its finer developments trouble him
not at all. In the muddy rivers of the Amazons there is nothing to tempt
the native to dive, nor are there suitable places to jump off the banks.
The Indian slips in as best suits the occasion, and does not aspire to
exhibition feats, or to water games.

[Illustration: PLATE LIV.

WITOTO TYPES

WITOTO WOMAN WITH LEG LIGATURES]

When bathing the Indian is exposed to a certain element of danger from
fish that inflict varying degrees of injury. There is the stinging eel,
and skate of some sort and another stinging fish,[431] the caneiro, and
the piranha. Electric fish are less common in the upper rivers than in
the main streams, and I never noticed one Indian of the Issa-Japura
tribes take any special precaution against them, though elsewhere the
natives will beat and prod the water with rods before they bathe, to
discover, if possible, whether any eels are lurking in the vicinity.
The caneiro’s method of attack is by suction, not shock. They are
very plentiful in all these rivers, and their power of suction is
most extraordinary. I am not likely to forget the first time I made
acquaintance with one of these voracious little fish. It suddenly
attacked, or rather attached itself with its sucker-like mouth, to the
inner side of my leg. The sensation was most alarming. I made with all
possible speed to land. The caneiro certainly sucks up the flesh rapidly
and painfully, but I am doubtful if it really “tears off pieces of the
skin and flesh,” as it is said to do.[432] The piranha, though quite a
small fish,[433] is even more ferocious. It will attack anything, and is
said to be capable of reducing a large animal to a skeleton in the space
of a few minutes. There is a story, repeated elsewhere, that one very
small fish is actually a human parasite. The Indians aver that it will
enter the body of a man when bathing. Orton mentions this fish, which
according to him is “a slender silurid fish (_Vandellia_)” but remarks
that he never met “with one confirmatory case.”[434] Neither did I. But I
found that all Indians take precautions against it when bathing.

APPENDIX II

MONGOLOID ORIGIN

On the vexed question of original Asiatic extraction what little evidence
I have to offer is in general support of the theory that some at least
of the ancestral stock probably found their way hither from Asia,
or--what is more in accordance with the laws of migration as so far
ascertained--spread from the American to the Asiatic continent. There is
undeniably a marked prevalence of what are recognised as Mongoloid traits
among these peoples. I fully accept Ratzel’s dictum, “We may hold firmly
to the relationship of the Americans with the East Oceanic branch of the
Mongoloid race.”[435] To quote another writer, “As Burton remarks, this
strain demonstrates itself in big round Calmuck skulls, flat faces, with
broad, prominent cheek-bones, oblique oriental eyes, rather brown than
black. They have also dark thick eyebrows, and thin moustaches fringing
large mouths, with pointed teeth and sparse beards hardly covering the
long pointed chin.”[436] The truth of this description can be judged from
the illustrations in this volume. The most casual observer must notice
the prevalence of Mongoloid facial characteristics prevalent among the
South American Indians, such as obliquity of eye, prominent cheek-bones,
broad flat nose. My own observations led me to conclude that the
Mongoloid type was very pronounced in individual cases, so much so that
I estimated at least one per cent to be of a pure Chinese type, and my
common name for them (_vide_ my note on secrecy of individual names, p.
154) was Chin-Chin. I would refer to such illustrations as that facing p.
254 in the second volume of Spruce’s _Notes of a Naturalist_. (See again
Spruce, i. 328; Orton, p. 170, for references to prevalent obliquity of
eye.) On the other hand, Bates remarks of the Tupuyo that “their eyes are
black and seldom oblique like those of the Tartar races” (Bates, i. 78);
and Wallace remarks, “I never could discern an unusual obliquity of the
eyes” (Wallace, p. 332). I cannot agree with this statement. The latter,
however, noted the prominent cheek-bone among the Curetu (p. 354); and
Orton refers to it and to the flat nose (Orton, p. 170).

Further characteristics in common among Mongoloid peoples and these
tribes are the customs of shaving or depilating facial hair, and a
prolonged period of suckling the young (_vide_ Westermarck, p. 484).

APPENDIX III

DEPILATION

All tribes south of the Japura remove hair, except that on the head.

Tukana depilate body hair.

Tuyuha men depilate armpits, not pudenda: women depilate pudenda.

Kuretu--all depilate.

Purakato, according to Koch-Grünberg, do not depilate.

Karahone are said not to depilate. This (see text) is debatable. I
believe that they pluck out the hair of the chin and whiskers, but leave
eyebrows and moustache.

Bara--women only depilate.

Menimehe--all depilate, but the women are not so careful about it as the
Boro.

Boro--all depilate.

Witoto--men more careless, women depilate.

Tuhana, according to Koch-Grünberg, do not depilate.

Okaina--all depilate.

Resigero--all depilate.

Muenane--all depilate.

These tribes have no body hair, except pubic hair, which is very scanty.
The Indian women are most particular about the removal of all pubic hair.
The men are less careful, though it is supposed to be done, but as that
part of their bodies is never voluntarily exposed they are more heedless
than the women.

APPENDIX IV

COLOUR ANALYSIS AND MEASUREMENTS

COLOUR

(_Vide_ Colour Curve. Tintometer.)

1. Menimehe--lightest.
2. Resigero.
3. Okaina.
4. Boro.
5. Nonuya.
6. Andoke.
7. Karahone.
8. Muenane.
9. Witoto.

Robuchon gives the colours of the Witotos as brown-copper colour,
varying between twenty-nine and thirty of the chromatic scale of the
Anthropologicas of Paris.

COLOUR ANALYSIS

_Unexposed Part--Armpit_

+---------------+-----------------------------------------------------+
| Substance | Matching Standards. Colour developed. |
| examined. +------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+
| | Red. | Yellow. | Blue. | Black. | Orange. | Red. |
+---------------+------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+
| Witoto } | | | | | | |
| Muenane } | | | | | | |
| Karahone } | 3.6 | 2.8 | 1.6 | 1.6 | .2 | .8 |
| Andoke } | | | | | | |
| Nonuya } | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | |
| Boro } | | | | | | |
| Okaina } | | | | | | |
| Resigero } | 3.3 | 2.7 | 1.5 | 1.5 | .2 | .6 |
| Menimehe } | | | | | | |
+---------------+------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+

Mean average attempted by means of colour markings and identified
according to Lovibond’s tintometer scale.

There was practically no tribal differentiation of pigmentation in the
units of these groups, as far as the unexposed part of the body is
concerned. This is understandable. The palm of the nigger’s hand differs
little from his white brother’s.

COLOUR ANALYSIS

_Exposed Part--Back_

+---------------+-----------------------------------------------------+
| Substance | Matching Standards. Colour developed. |
| examined. +------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+
| | Red. | Yellow. | Blue. | Black. | Orange. | Red. |
+---------------+------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+
|9. Witoto } | | | | | | |
|8. Muenane } | 10.6 | 9.2 | 6.2 | 6.2 | 3.0 | 1.4 |
| | | | | | | |
|7. Karahone } | | | | | | |
|6. Andoke } | 8.7 | 7.5 | 4.5 | 4.5 | 3.0 | 1.2 |
| | | | | | | |
|5. Nonuya | 8.0 | 7.0 | 4.0 | 4.0 | 3.0 | 1.0 |
| | | | | | | |
|4. Boro } | | | | | | |
|3. Okaina } | 4.9 | 4.4 | 1.5 | 1.5 | 2.9 | .5 |
|2. Resigero } | | | | | | Yellow. |
| | | | | | | |
|1. Menimehe | 3.4 | 4.1 | .7 | .7 | 2.7 | .7[437]|
+---------------+------+---------+-------+--------+---------+---------+

There is here more differentiation. The tribes numbered 1-9 are in order
of shade, from the lightest according to personal observation. This is
borne out by data except the grouping which was not so apparent to the
eye.

Apparently in one tribe only is red non-existent, free yellow taking the
place--No. 1 (_vide_ curve).

[Illustration: COLOUR CURVES OF SKIN PIGMENTATION (INDIANS OF THE MIDDLE
ISSA AND JAPURA VALLEYS)]

_Note._--It will be seen at a glance that differentiation is caused by
increased “sadness” or excess of black, and by the amount of free red.
These are the two governing factors. Orange is constant throughout.

_N.B._--There is extraordinary variation amongst individuals of the
same tribe, as well as amongst tribes of the same language-group and
language-groups themselves.

HUIS’ MEASUREMENTS OF SAMPLES OF WOMEN’S HAIR

No. 1. Maturity.

No. 2. Ante-pubertal.

_Note._--The lighter tips of latter which become eliminated after
puberty, _i.e._ elimination of _orange_.

+--------------+------+---------+--------------+--------+---------+
| | Red. | Yellow. | Blue. Black. | Green. | Yellow. |
+--------------+------+---------+--------------+--------+---------+
| No. 1 | 19.5 | 31.0 | 28.0 = 19.5 | 8.5 | 3.0 |
| | | | | | |
| | | | | Orange.| |
| No. 2 | 18.5 | 26.0 | 17.0 = 17.0 | 1.5 | 7.5 |
| | | | | | |
| Light tips } | | | | Green. | |
| Dark ends } | 19 | 26.0 | 25.0 = 19.0 | 6.0 | 1.0 |
+--------------+------+---------+--------------+--------+---------+

_Descriptive Characters_

_Eye._--1. Dark, _i.e._ black-brown iris. _Note._--Outer angles of eyes
visibly elevated; deep-set; eyeball thick; covers the caruncle; outer
angle slightly compressed and pointed.

_Hair._--_Colours_--1. Black, _not coal_ black. 2. Children’s hair is
some shade lighter than adults’, but still “black.”

_Form of Face._--1. Face inclined to be square and wedge-shaped. 2.
Inclined to concavity. 3. Compare photographs. 4. Chinese, Fig. 6,
but not so pronounced. (_N.B._--There is great variation.) 5. Chin
small, round, retreating. 6. Cheek-bones broad. Face flat (inclination
to, _vide_ photographs). 7. Medium lips--great variation. 8. Ears
medium-sized--flat. 9. Lobes sometimes attached.

MEASUREMENTS OF TYPES[438] IN CENTIMETRES

+-------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| | Head--Round. | Head--Across. |
| Tribe. +-----------------+-----------------+
| | Male. | Female. | Male. | Female. |
+-------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 1. Resigero | 56 | 53 | 14 | 14 |
| 2. Nonuya | 56 | 51 | 16 | 14 |
| 3. Boro | 56 | 52 | 18 | 15 |
| 4. Andoke | 57 | 53 | 17 | 16 |
| 5. Witoto | 54 | -- | 15 | -- |
+-------------+-----------------+-----------------+

+-------------+-------------------+------------------+
| | Head-Length. | Neck. |
| +---------+---------+--------+---------+
| Tribe. | Male. | Female. | Male. | Female. |
+-------------+---------+---------+--------+---------+
| 1. Resigero | 20 | 18 | Short | Short |
| 2. Nonuya | 21.5 | 19 | Long | Short |
| 3. Boro | 24 | 20 | Short | Long |
| 4. Andoke | 22 | 19 | Medium | Short |
| 5. Witoto | 21 | -- | Short | -- |
+-------------+---------+---------+--------+---------+

+-------------+-----------------------+---------------+
| Tribe. | Nose. | Height. |
| +-----------+-----------+-------+-------+
| | Male. | Female. | Male. |Female.|
+-------------+-----------+-----------+-------+-------+
| 1. Resigero | Straight | Broad, | 160 | 138 |
| | | bridged | | |
| 2. Nonuya | Aquiline | Flat | 168 | 149 |
| 3. Boro | Depressed | Depressed | 162 | 146 |
| 4. Andoke | Aquiline | Depressed | 171 | 146 |
| 5. Witoto | Flat | -- | 164 | -- |
+-------------+-----------+-----------+-------+-------+

+-------------+---------------+---------------+
| Tribe. | Chest--Round. | Waist. |
| +-------+-------+-------+-------+
| | Male. |Female.| Male. |Female.|
+-------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+
| 1. Resigero | 85 | 75 | 73 | 71 |
| 2. Nonuya | 87 | 79 | 73 | 75 |
| 3. Boro | 88 | 75 | 77 | 65 |
| 4. Andoke | 89 | 82 | 76 | 76 |
| 5. Witoto | 90 | -- | 77 | -- |
+-------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+

+-------------+---------------+------------------------+
| Tribe. | Hips--Round. |Tip Shoulder-Tip Elbow. |
| +-------+-------+------------+-----------+
| | Male. |Female.| Male. | Female. |
+-------------+-------+-------+------------+-----------+
| 1. Resigero | 82 | 79 | 35 | 28 |
| 2. Nonuya | 83 | 88 | 35 | 32 |
| 3. Boro | 87 | 81 | 34 | 30 |
| 4. Andoke | 90 | 87 | 38 | 33 |
| 5. Witoto | 84 | -- | 36 | -- |
+-------------+-------+-------+------------+-----------+

+------------+---------------------------+-----------------------+
| Tribe. |Elbow to Top Middle Finger.|Eminence Buttock to Tip|
| | | Flexed Knee.[439] |
| +-------------+-------------+-----------+-----------+
| | Male. | Female. | Male. | Female. |
+------------+-------------+-------------+-----------+-----------+
| 1. Resiger | 45 | 39 | 52 | 44 |
| 2. Nonuya | 47 | 41 | 53 | 48 |
| 3. Boro | 46 | 42 | 47 | 45 |
| 4. Andoke | 48 | 40 | 53 | 48 |
| 5. Witoto | 44 | -- | 52 | -- |
+------------+-------------+-------------+-----------+-----------+

+-------------+-----------------------------+------------------------+
| Tribe. |Crutch to Tip of Flexed Knee.|Eminence Knee to Ground.|
| +---------------+-------------+-------------+----------+
| | Male. | Female. | Male. | Female. |
+-------------+---------------+-------------+-------------+----------+
| 1. Resigero | 37 | 28 | 51 | 44 |
| 2. Nonuya | 40 | 31 | 53 | 45 |
| 3. Boro | 36 | 32 | 51 | 45 |
| 4. Andoke | 41 | 33 | 55 | 44 |
| 5. Witoto | 38 | -- | 52 | -- |
+-------------+---------------+-------------+-------------+----------+

+--------------+---------------------------+--------------------------+
| |Length from Centre Nipples | |
| | to Navel. | Navel to Crutch. |
| Tribe. +-------------+-------------+-------------+------------+
| | Male. | Female. | Male. | Female. |
+--------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------+
| 1. Resigero | 23 | 24 | 19 | 19 |
| 2. Nonuya | 25 | 22 | 24 | 20 |
| 3. Boro | 21 | 22 | 20 | 20 |
| 4. Andoke | 25 | 25 | 24 | 23 |
| 5. Witoto | 26 | 22 | -- | -- |
+--------------+-------------+-------------+-------------+------------+

ESSENTIAL MEASUREMENTS

_Two Cases, Women, Witoto_

Centimetres.

1.} Head {Maximum length 17.3 18.15
2.} {Maximum breadth 13.85 13.9
3.} Nose{Length from base to root 4.3 4.0
4.} {Breadth across nostrils 3.0 3.0
5.} {From vertex to root of nose 9.2 10.0
6.} Projection { ” ” mouth 16.0 14.2
7.} of head { ” ” chin 19.0 17.4
8.} { ” ” tragus of ear 10.7 12.0
9. Bizygomalic breadth of face 12.75 12.0
9. Face length from nasim to chin 10.2 9.3
10. Length of upper limb 60.0[440]
11. ” cubit 38.0
12. ” hand along its back 15.0
13. ” foot 23.0
14. Sitting height 72.0
15. Kneeling height 103.75
16. Standing height 139.5
17. (Obvious) height to chin 120.5
18. Height to sternal notch 117.0
19. Height from internal malleolus to ground 6.4
20. Span of arms 140.5

EXTRA NOTES ON TWO WOMEN, WITOTO (chosen types)

No. 1. Very short neck; short sternum; straight shoulders. When standing
at ease the middle finger of hand is half-way between flexion of knee and
hip-joint. Thighs short.

No. 2. Neck short; shoulders straight; good teeth--very large and even.

GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF TWO INDIAN WOMEN FOR EVOLVING A TYPE. BOTH
WITOTO-SPEAKING

No. 1. Woman full grown. No. 2. Still growing, of pubertal age. According
to _Schedule_, pp. 11, Anatomical Observation.

_External Characters._--General condition well nourished--healthy. No. 1.
Stout. No. 2. Medium.

_Descriptive Characters._

A. Colour of skin.
No. 1. Exposed part light reddish-brown.
No. 2. Unexposed part--very much lighter, and
tintometer curve, etc.

B. Colour of eyes. Black.
No. 1. Dark-brown iris.
No. 2. Black iris.

C. Fold of skin at inner angle of eyes.
No. 1. } Covering the caruncle.
No. 2 }

D. Colour of hair.
No. 1. } Black, brown in sunlight,
No. 2. } _i.e._ brown-black.

E. Character of hair (_vide_ Section of Hair).
No. 1. } Straight and coarse (horse hair but finer).
No. 2. }

F. Amount of hair.
No. 1. Body very very scanty, depilation not recent.
No. 2. Face _nil_. Body _nil_.

G. Shape of face.
No. 1. Short. Broad.
No. 2. Pyramidal. Wedge-shaped.

H. Profile of nose.
No. 1. Chinese type.
No. 2. Chinese type, but not so pronounced, between
this and European.

I. Prognathism.
No. 1. Slight.
No. 2. Very slight.

J. Lips.
No. 1. Medium--slightly everted.
No. 2. Medium European type.

K.
No. 1. } Platyoprosopic _not_ excessive.
No. 2. }

APPENDIX V

ARTICLES NOTED BY WALLACE AS IN USE AMONG THE UAUPES INDIANS THAT ARE
FOUND WITH THE ISSA-JAPURA TRIBES

_Household Furniture and Utensils_

Hammocks.
Baskets, flat and deep.
Calabashes and gourds.
Earthenware water-pots.
Earthenware cooking-pots.
Manioc graters.
Manioc squeezers.
Wicker sieves.

_Weapons_

Bows and arrows.
Quivers.
Blow-pipes.
Small pots and calabashes for poison.
Spears.
Nets.
Rods, lines, and palm-spine hooks.
Wicker fish-traps.

_Musical Instruments_

Fifes and flutes of reeds--Menimehe and Napo tribes.

_Dress and Ornaments_

Feather head-dress.
Palm-wood combs.
Necklaces of seeds, beads, and teeth.
Wooden ear-plugs.
Armlets.
Painted aprons.
Rattles and ornaments for legs.
Knitted garters.
Calabashes of red pigment.
Painted earthen pot for _caapi_.
Small pot of dried peppers.
Dancing rattles.
Balls of string.
Baskets for edible ants.
Small dug-out canoe.
Paddles.
Pestles and mortars.
_Bombax_ silk-cotton for arrows.
Stone axes.

APPENDIX VI

NAMES OF DEITIES

Many writers have stated that the Indians of the Upper Amazon forests
have no words in their languages to express a Supreme Being. (See, for
example, Bates, i. 162; Wallace, p. 354; Nery, p. 273; Orton, p. 316;
Bates, ii. 137, 162-3; Markham.) It therefore seemed to me worth while to
make the following list of words expressive of some idea of a superior,
non-human being, good or bad.

APPENDIX VII

VOCABULARIES AND LISTS OF NAMES

_Note re Pronunciation._--Vowels as in Italian and consonants as in
English. The system adopted by the Anthropological and Geographical
Societies has been followed.

SOME WITOTO TRIBES OF THE ISSA-JAPURA WATERSHED

Achopego.
Aifuya.
Aiguya.
Aigwene.
Aimene.
Aiyofo.
Amenane.
Angarofo.
Aniliene.
Arama.
Aronia.

Baienise.

Chaigero.
Chepeye.
Choria.

Dedinuia.
Diguene.

Eguidafo.
Eifuya.
Eikifo.
Emerai.
Emuidifo.
Enao.
Enenea.
Enifofo
Enokaise.
Erai.
Erifo.

Fainya.
Feyagene.
Fitia.
Foetano.
Fueragero.
Futekwene.

Gidone.
Gimene.
Guidua.
Gwamareya

Hane.
Hedua.
Hegero.
Hemui.
Heone.
Heya.
Hifikuine.
Hikoniai.
Himene.
Himua.
Hipunya.
Hitamene.
Homaguya.
Huieku.
Hui-Hui.
Hurae.
Husinene.

Iagero.
Iane.
Iconya.
Ifekwene.
Ipunya.
Isikifo.
Itomangero.
Iyane.

Kaiduya.
Kaio.
Kaniane.
Kaniene.
Kitopeise.
Kokoya.
Kotuene.
Kotwine.
Kuito.
Kumaiere.

Machifuri.
Megiya.
Menia.
Merekweine.
Mereta.
Mikagwe.
Minwa.
Mofuinista.
Mokine.
Monane.
Monanisei.
Monanuise.
Monawike.
Muidofege.
Muititefa.
Muitofeiche.

Naikwene.
Naimene.
Naiuiene.
Nefesa.
Nemuigaro.
Nigwerene.
Nimaita.
Nofuinista.
Nirafo.
Nomene.
Nomuene.
Nongone.
Nonuya.
Nufuidai.
Nufuya.
Nuisai.
Nuiuene.

Owapirei.
Owapure.

Pofaito.
Pueneisa.
Puinaise.
Puineita.
Puruia.

Raikene.
Riai.
Rochegero.
Ruiraga.

Sebua.
Seguene.
Sigwene.
Sikibia.
Sikitaise.

Taigwene.
Taikebua.
Tiase.
Torifa.

Uane.
Uchopego.
Uekanise.
Uguine.
Uiguene.
Uhiya.
Urafo.
Urama.
Utiguene.

Yaaniani.

SOME TRIBES OF THE OKAINA GROUP

Aniokasa.
Dukaiya.
Ekanocha.
Enoya.
Fatite.
Harabahanako.
Konega.
Movanio.
Netarako.
Nimone.
Ofofo.
Pikaha.
Tokoia.
Tonhanoija.
Zohonoija.

SOME BORO TRIBES OF THE ISSA-JAPURA WATERSHED

Atehl.

Bachiwame.
Bakiehe.
Bakohe.

Chemaio.
Chenome.
Chibame.

Dossamehe.

Ibamahe.
Ikepake.
Imene.
Inege.
Itiage.
Ivamehe.

Kontadura.
Kugwamihe.
Kugweme.

Megwae.
Megwamehe.
Mememue.
Metakwe.

Nabeme.
Nevahe.
Nonuya.
Nuremehe.

Oha.
Okaina.

Paheime.
Pei.
Pirehamuena.

Teiere.
Tichibamuene.

Ugwame.
Uhemehe.
Uratefo.
Uwame.

Wanahe.
Warime.
Warine.
Warume.
Wawako.

WITOTO CHIEFS AND MEDICINE-MEN

Aikikwe.
Ainenatofe.
Amenatofe.
Amuiyena.

Bogana.

Diehi.
Diomao.

Eavama.
Echu.
Efuyaima.
Etokwenami.

Fenamena.
Forina.

Hename.
Henatoba.
Hifaro.
Hirevaina.
Huguraitoma
Husinachire.

Itomakuto.

Kaimarigero.
Kutina.
Kutofirima.
Kwegado.
Kwegare.

Magui.
Maiji.
Maiu.
Mayi.
Meinyitofo.
Monagara.

Naimekwe.

Okaima.
Okainama.

Puinanyete.
Puinayeni.
Puineima.

Riaduema.

Sekwana.
Sotaro.
Suneirokwe.

Tifecheamena.

Wamue.

NAMES OF BORO CHIEFS AND MEDICINE-MEN

Adiama.
Adiwako.
Agepa.
Akteume.
Ativa.
Ativatahe.

Bugwaheio.

Chevetahgwe.
Chiako.
Chikaho.

Darapade.
Dekio.
Dihidihe.

Ekeniba.
Evahihaia.
Evahikie.

Gwanebe.

Ibaje.
Ibapakama.
Imenepa.
Inateraka.

Kadokuri.
Katinere.
Kivape.

Magapamena.
Matremiko.
Mewago.
Mucheochime.
Muchichigwako.

Nehevaio.
Nevamarime.
Nevame.
Nipemeiwako.
Nivagwa.
Nivahna.

Poachiiba.

Rimetagwa.

Tchitchitaga.
Teripa.
Tikaame.
Tirakagwako.
Tirakawako.

Uvatipa.

Wadikova.

WITOTO

Darkness (devil) _Apuehana_
Fire _Ireiki_
God _Usiyamoi_
Moon _Fuibui_
Sky _Mona_
Sun _Itoma_
Water _Heinowei_

Hunger _Ameniti_, _naimede_
Laugh _Sateide_, _seteide_
Metal _Okkupe_
Paper (book) _Kwerape_ (literally my leaves)
Paper (leaves) _Rape_
Paper, a speaking leaf _Kwede_, _hweyarape_
Powder (dust) _Himuisa_
Sleep _Inude_, _unyude_, _kwinyakate_
Sleep, dream _Inie_

Bush, the _Aisikumo_
Cliff _Ifere_
Compound _Gicheipwere_
Palm jungle _Amena_
Plantation _Akafo_
River _Imane_
River, a large _Ichue_
Road _Io_
Stream _Hurete_
Streamlet _Ichemo_

Alligator pear _Nomedo_
Coca _Hibia_
Cocoa _Museje_
Fruit (general) _Rie_
Grape fruit _Hurekoi_
Gum (rubber milk) _Hittie_
Leaves _Rape_
Maize _Bechado_
Mango palm _Himeki_
Mango palm drink _Hayabei_, _hagapui_
Manioc (poisonous) _Maika_
Palm _Amena_
Palm _Himepile_, _hitiji_
Palm drink (pjnayo) _Himepwi_
Palm-spines _Edo_
Pepper _Ifigo_
Pineapple _Rosiji_
Plantain _Ogoda_
Plum _Nemawsi_
Rubber _Isire_
Rubber latex _Hittagei_
Sugar-cane _Kananoganei_, _kononga_
Sugar-cane juice _Kananogan’heinowei_, _kononochiki_
Tobacco _Deui_
Tree _Inya_
Trees, felled _Amena_
Tree poles _Neda_
Withe _Vineihi_

Bird (small generally) _Siji_
Bird (small unknown species) _Iguyitoi_
Bird, cock _Eitaba_
Birds (small game) _Ataba_
Birds, chickens _Ataba hissa_
Capybara _Okeina_
Curassoa _Eifoke_
Deer (one species) _Kito_
Deer (generally) _Chaota_
Eggs (generally) _Herga_
Eggs (one kind) _Ataba hige_
Fish (general) _Jukua_
Jaguar _Hekko_
Monkey (general) _Homa_
Monkey (one species) _Hemwi_
Monkey, small _Hidobe_
Parrot _Kwiyoto_
Parrot (another kind) _Kweko_, _Uiyike_
Pig _Mero_
Pig, small _Emo_
Spider _Humakinyo_
Tapir _Zuruma_
Tiger, dog, etc. _Hekko_
Turkey _Muitoka_, _muito_
Turkey (another kind) _Egwe_
Turkey Buzzard _Eifoke_

Boy _Toii_
Girl _Rinyosa_
Lad _Hivisa_
Man _Rema_
Man, old _Weikiroma-superoma_
Man, strong _Reima_
Men, white (Europeans) _Riei_, _riama_
People _Komweine_
Stranger _Oikommo_
Stranger, an enemy _Ikagmake_
Stranger, a friend _Cheinama_
Woman _Rinyo_
Woman, old _Weirinyo-irokwe_

Brother--
Man speaking _Ama_
Woman speaking _Tio_
Brother-in-law _Oima_
Child _Hito_
Father _Moma_
Grandfather _Marama_
Grandmother _Einyoko_
Husband _Une_
Mother _Einyo_
Nephew--
Brother’s child _Enasai_
Sister’s child _Komona_
Niece--
Brother’s child _Enasanyo_
Sister’s child _Momonio_
Sister--
Man speaking _Mirinyo_
Woman speaking _Epunyo_
Sister-in-law _Ofanyo_
Uncle--
Father’s brother _Iso_
Mother’s brother _Vichama_
Wife _Ei_

Anus _Sirafo_
Arm _Onawji_
Fore-arm _Onefai_
Belly _Ero_
Blood _Dueidi_
Body _Namaseapwi_
Bowels _Hepe_
Clitoris _Hito_
Ears _Efo_
Eyes _Uise_
Face _Uyeko_
Feet _Elba_, _epa_
Finger _Onoko_
Flesh _Jukua_
Hair _Ifoterai_
Hair (body) _Heinektere (!)_, _heineitere_
Hair (face) _Eimago_
Hair (pubic) _Hueke_
Hand _Ono_
Head _Ifo_
Heart _Komeke_
Limbs _Rueisi_, _reesi_
Mouth _Fue_
Nails _Onokobi_, _onopeko_
Nails (toe) _Ekobe_
Navel _Modda_
Neck _Kimo_
Nose _Dofo_
Penis _Hechina_
Pudenda _Jana_
Semen _Uke_
Skull _Ifoku_
Teeth _Isido_, _isife_
Testicles _Hinyergo_
Tongue _Hufe_
Urine _Poji_
Vagina _Berirafo_

Ague _Fuibuiko_
Diarrhœa _Nuimuisa_, _Jui_, _chui_
Illness _Duide_, _tuike_
Small-pox _Guiyoko_, _tutuko_

Bark cloth _Vinei_
Beads _Sirie_
Breech cloth _Mokoto_, _makuto iroi_, _hinoi-giroi_
Clothes (general) _Uiniroi_
Cord (belt) _Kirige_
Feather head ornaments _Eniago_
Necklace, dance _Chikai_
Necklace of seeds _Imaidu_
Necklace, of teeth _Efoke_
Slippers, boots _Epa iko_
Socks _Epa iko_ (see Feet and Cap)
White man’s cap _Ifoigiko_, _ifoiko_, _iko_
White man’s shirt _Kaifofero_

Baking-pan _Sipe_
Cassava _Tano_
Firewood _Rege_
Hammock _Kunei_
House _Hofo_
House, large _Ejo hofo_
Hut _Hiochupe_
Light (artificial) _Maha_
Lighted torch _Maha_
Mat _Duriei_
Pot _Inogo_, _ichuki_
Thatch _Ereije_
Tobacco-pot _Kuruke_
Torch _Rekekawdo_, _rekeketo_, _recheki_

Axe _Chovema_
Blow-pipe _Obidiake_
Fish-hook _Fakawasi_
Knife _Chovefa_, _chovetera_
Drum _Hugwe_
Drum mallet _Quaki_
Pan pipes _Piabami_
Sword _Chovega_
Trap, animal _Iregi_
Weapons, stones, shot _Chowefi_, _jowefi_, _chowefei_
Signal-drum _Ware_

Afternoon _Nawipe_
Morning _Wiremoni_
Morning, early _Monanyeno_
Night _Nagona_
Night, last _Nago_, _hahe nago_
Night before last _Beinawife_
To-day _Beiruido_
To-morrow _Wiremonei_ (see Morning)
To-morrow, day after _Dawire_
Twilight _Naruide_, _nagona-yakate_
Yesterday _Nawire_
Yesterday, day before _Beinawire_

All _Nana_
Before _Fuere_
Before (position) _Uikota_
Before (long time) _Heiyei_
Behind _Moina_
Behind (position) _Moina_
Enough _Asirete_
Farther _Beife_
For _Mero_
Full, carefully, good measure _Einue_
Full _Moniteidi_, _monite_
Here _Benomo_
How many? _Nigama?_
How much? _Niga?_
Much _Eijo_
Much, enough _Monome_
Nobody _Buna_
Now _Monokoi_
Only _Dama_
Then, afterwards _Achue_
There _Batinomo_
This _Pie_
Together _Fofona (?)_
Well? _Mei?_
What? _Nifote?_
Where? _Ninomo?_
Who? _Bu?_
Why? _Nibaji_, _nibeiji?_

No _Damaita_
Not _Inyete_
Yes _Huhh_, _U_ (ventral)

I _Kwe_
Thou _O_
He, she, him _Afima_
We _Koko_
You _Omei_
They, them _Afimaki_

Bad _Figonigete_
Big _Eijue_
Bitter _Neimenete_
Black _Ituide_
Cold _Rosirete_
Cool _Maneide_
Dark _Hitirite_
Dead _Teide_
Deeper _Nane efarite_
Dry _Daherede_
Good _Figora_
Hard _Agarrite_
Heavy _Merete_
Hot _Usirete_
Light (sun) _Hite_
Light (weight) _Fekote_
Long _Are_
Red _Larede_
Short _Hiannare_
Small, little _Yewrete_
Soft _Itieide_
Straight _Huchinyete_
Strong _Agarrite_
Thick _Herie_
Thin _Henite_
Twisted _Huchite_
Well (in health) _Gagritte_
White _Userede_

Early, soon _Ono_
Slowly _Puiya_
Soon _Reiri_

To bathe _Noise_
To bring _Ate_
To carry _Ui_
To come down _Anabi_
To come up _Kifobi_
To cool _Rosirete_
To cry _Ede_
To dry _Nokitenyete_, _nohipuinyete_
To eat _Oko_, _gunyo_
To go down _Anahei_
To go quickly _Reiri maka_
To go up _Kifohei_
To hear, listen, understand _Kekate_
To heat _Usirete_
To hurt _Isirete_
To like, love, desire (persons) _Dwere-uite_
To like, love, desire (things) _Oyakate_
To know _Onote_
To make _Nenyo_, _fuiho_
To rain _Nokitede_, _nokipuite_
To sit down _Anarana_
To sleep _Mei-ine_
To speak _Naitode_
To stay _Fuipire_
To take _Gweipi_
To urinate _Chowei_, _pochite_
To wait _Anafue_
To wash _Hokoa_
To work _Biefono_

I am _Iti kwe_
Thou art _Iti-o_
He is _Afima ite_
We are _Iti koko_
You are _Iti omoi_
They are _Afimaki ite_

I was _Kwe ia_
Thou wert _Ia o_
He was _Afima ia_
We were _Koko ia_
You were _Ia omoi_
They were _Afimaki ia_

One _Dahe_
Two _Mena_
Three _Dahe-amene_
Four _Menahere_
Five _Dapekwiro_
Ten _Nagapekwiro_

Ask me _Kwemohikka_
Give me _Kweme_
Give me food _Eka_
A few days ago _Tika irue_
It is dark _Nawite_

It is going to rain { _Teyakate_
{ _Puiyakate_

What tribe do you belong to? { _O Komweine?_
{ _O Memeka bu?_

Move along! { _Hei!_
{ _Ifo!_

Come! _Bi!_

It is very far { _Hikka Ite_
{ _Hikka Are_

It is near _Hiannare_
It is very near _Hikka-iannare_
It is very much farther _Hikka-fe_
Be quick _Reiri_

Be slow { _Pwia hei_
{ _Pwia ifo_

You do not want me _Kwena dueruenyeteo_
I am about to punish you _O feitakkwe_
What do you want? _Nifote oyakateo_
How much do you want? _Niga oyakateo_
I want to see _Eroi yakatekwe_
I want to eat _Okoyakatekwe_
I want to sleep _Iniyakatekwe_
I do not want to sleep _Iniyakanyetekwe_
Let us sleep _Meikoko ini_
Let us walk _Manyakoko maketchi_
Let us bathe _Manya koko noi_
Go and wash _Hokorise_
What are you doing? _Nefoteo nia?_
What are they doing? _Nefoteo nietimeke?_
What have you done? _Nefoteo nieteo?_
What have you others done? _Nefoteo omoi nieteo?_
Are you sick? { _O seicha?_
{ _Tuiko teiteo?_
What is the matter with you? _Neisoi o icha?_
What pains you? _O nino isiritte?_
He is dead _Ei e teide_
He is well again _Ei e hichoet_
Put water to boil _Heinoi kokoita_
We are nearly there _Duki-eikateki_
We have not arrived _Duki nieteke_
It is a long way yet _Nia areiti_
It is a very long way _Nia are are are_
It is very short _Wei iannare_
Put on more wood _Nane rege honne_
Fill it full _Nue oruita_
Be careful not to break it _Chitesai_
Remove the leaves _Rape honne_
Open it carefully _Nue ekonotta_
Cook only manioc and plantains _Dama seteo meika ogoto_
Eat the skins _Igore ine_
Take some crushed maize _Pechato tuta hisano ui_
How many women are there? _Niga rinyona hisa ite?_
From what cause has your
brother died? _Nipeiche tio teide?_
Why did you leave the child
outside? It will be eaten
by the dogs _Nipeiche hito hino o fuaka ia daria_
Go soon and guard the women _Mei rieri rinyona hofona ipeise_
Do not do it again _Mene amanyete omoi_
An unmoral Indian woman _Rinyo Rei-irage_
An immoral Indian woman _Rinyo Kachirete_
With whom have you been having
intercourse? _Bu tika beriteo?_
How many husbands have you had? _Nigama bettora-o?_
Are you (a virgin) married? _Nia rutanyega-o?_
Who ravished you? _Bu-o rutaka?_
You are blind (a fool) _O ui nirite_
Do not delay _Fwepi neri_
Give me something _Feka_
Do not give anything _Fekanyete_
Walk _Mekkate_
Do not walk _Mekanyete_
I do not understand _Kehanyete_
That’s my business (common
expression without intention
of rudeness) _Pia_
My body aches _Kwe apui isirete_
Let me go _Kwe-mosueta_
Hold me _Kwe-mojeno_
Turn round _Jireno_
Do not move _Weihoi_
Why do you shout? _Nipeiche kicheteyo?_
It is big _Ei ichwe_
It is small { _Hurete_
{ _Eichonyete_
It is not good _Fogonyete_
Do you like it? _Kimmarueteo?_
Do you not like it? _Kimmaruenyeteo?_
You are pretty _Nuen otego_
You are ugly _Nuenonyeteo_
You are dirty _Oapwi gagrette_
I want you _Ona dueruetckwe_
I do not want you _Ona dueruenetckwe_
Tie well (the cross poles) _Nue kwina_
Tie higher _Keifofe kwina_
Take care not to break _Titeise_
Well done, you thatch well _Mei omoi ita_
Is everything clean? _Nana ganino fuinore?_
That is dirty, I shall
punish you _Vie gagrette a kioiteo o feitikwe_
It is very sweet _Eicho nimerettega_
I do not like it hot _Usirete ittinyetekwe_
I like it warm _Chiei maneide ittitekwe_
Look well in front of you _Nue oroi_
The plantation is a good one _Nue akafo icha_
The plantation is a bad one _Akafo fogonyete_
Let us go and build a house _Manya ofo koko fuinoche_
There are not sufficient
palisades _Nia amena nana inyete_
All of you bring timber _Omoi amena atiche_
You make the thatches _Are niite omoi_
These boys will bring canes _Bie hettanitino are gweichi_
These others will bring palm
leaves _Bimeke ererite_
Those will make holes _Bimeichino iffweirakte_
I do not want it there _Batinomo ittinyetekwe_
Open it here _Benomo ekkono_
Send me the small boy _Urettema kwemo hito_
Go and throw away that water _Mei ba i heinoi dota_
Wash it well _Nue hokorii_
Do not delay _Are enyeno bi_
You are dirty _Nia gagrette_
Put it there _Batinomo honne_
Put it here _Benomo honne_
Put it yonder _One honne_
Do not put it over there _Batinomo honne nieno_
Why are you sad? _Nipeiche sure iteo?_
Who hurt you? _Bu o faga?_
When did you come? _Nirueteo viteo?_
When did you go? _Nirueteo heito?_
It is so firm I cannot move it _Are agagrette ekkononyette_
Bring the wood _Itofie nue omoi ire_
Do not throw them away _Oni tinyeno nue ofitare_
I am going to see _A chimitekwe_
If you do not bring them, I
shall punish you _Omoi pweya fachiomoi_
Plant them carefully _Nue omoi haire_
Go and clean up _Mei omoi reitiseiri_
Place all the sticks together _Reitekinyo nue omoi ofitare_
You have left the plantation
untidy _Akkafo gagritte omoi fueka_
Why don’t you bring it? _Nipeiche atinyeta omoi?_
Make enough cassava _Eichwe tano fuinore_
Let it be good _Nuere finoiche_
Bring a little _Yewre atitomoi_
Not enough _Dutenyete_
It is soft _Itieide_
What are you doing? _Nifote niecomoi?_
What are you eating? _Nifote okoteomoi?_
Where are they--the rest
of you? _Ninomo iteomoi?_
Why have they (the others)
gone without telling me? _Nipeiche kwe jonyeno heite omoi?_
Bring it to the light _Useritenomo ate_
To-morrow go and see the tribe
and then return here together _Weirimoni dama komweine hoke teiteo
nana fofona orerire_
Split it with the knife _Chovefa do ekkono_
Take out the cane early _Monanyano kononwe ono_
It is rich _Kei maritte_
Wash the pot well before
boiling water in it _I chiko nue hoko heinowei hoku-itechi_
Do not put much fruit in it _Eicho rie dotenyino_
It is very inconvenient _Y otirette_
I am unable { _Kwe mona_
{ _Hitinyete_
I shall carry it _Diuitikwe_
Do not carry it _Uinyetekwe_
I am tired _Aeeiontekwe_
You are going to carry manioc _Meika omoi ui_

BORO

Brother _Tanyabe_
Chief _Abihibya_
Chief’s wife _Abihilya_
Child _Chemene_
Father _Iero_
Fellow-tribesman _Miamuina_
Husband _Tahe_
Liar _Aliraje_
Man _Gwapime_
Medicine-man _Chekobe_
Mother _Gwaro_
People _Akime_
Sister _Tanyali_
Sluggard _Ubeye_
Son _Chukije_
Wife _Tapa_
Woman _Gwame_

Abdomen _Mebigwa_
Arm _Menejeko_
Back _Meatche_
Belly _Epae_
Blood _Tibune_
Body _Kepe_
Bone _Pukene_
Bosom _Neghpane_
Buttocks _Medehe_
Cheek _Mekwa_
Ear _Menimeo_
Eye _Ajike_
Finger _Utsigwako_, _mechiko_
Flesh _Iyame_
Foot _Tia_
Hair _Nikwako_
Hand _Meuche_
Head _Nikwa_
Heart _Meebe_
Knee _Mimoko_
Leg _Take_
Mouth _Mehe_
Navel _Icheba_
Neck _Metchke_
Nose _Metiko_
Penis _Nomeo_
Testicles _Domiba_
Thigh _Kibaje_
Tongue _Menigwa_
Tooth _Igwahe_
Vagina _Elyapo_, _diugwa_

Ague _Chinabe_
Prickly heat _Nikemoi_
Smallpox _Maraipa_
Tick _Chichihe_
Wound _Pepene_

Dance _Machiba_
Falsehood _Achipe_
Fear _Apichune_
Grief _Abiyene_
Ill _Chemei_
Remedy (in general) _Tabota_
Smell _Tukine_
Truth _Imiane_

Agouti _Bute_
Anaconda _Bua_
Ant-eater _Ehe_
Armadillo _Tie_
Bird _Karaha_
Capybara _Uba_
Deer _Nibigwa_
Fish _Amome_
Flea _Ikookwa_
Frog _Nihagwa_
Hawk _Ane_
Head-louse _Knawni_
Jigger-flea _Mipahe_
Land crab _Nekwalige_
Monkey _Kemuime_
Mosquito _Nee_
Paca _Tahe_
Parrot _Yabe_
Pig _Mene_
Tapir _Ukahe_
Tiger, wild dog _Wipe_
Tucan _Neiche_
Turkey-buzzard _Pikahe_
Wild turkey _Imiko_

Cane _Imuepa_
Cassava _Mao_
Cassava (cake) _Topohe_
Coca _Ipe_
Fruit _Kome_
Grain _Tsokome_
Guarana fruit _Inye_
Guava _Tuche_
Gum _Makhine_
Leaf (letter) _Gwahake-ane_
Lemon _Teheba_
Maize _Ihio_
Manioc (flour) _Chobéma_
Manioc (Poisonous) _Pika_
Manioc (Sweet) _Baheri_
Millet _Matsaka_
Palm needle _Aneto_
Peppers _Dio_
Pine-apple _Kitsea_
Plantain _Uhiko_
Plantation _Emiye_
Stinging-herb _Ate_
Twig _Katine_
Withe _Ahéba_, _mo_
Yam _Kate_

Basket _Minyeba_
Baulks of timber _Imei_
Comb _Pidogwa_
Cooking pot _Iguanye_
Door _Cheugwa_
Drinking gourd _Jirijo_
Firewood _Kuba_
Grater _Chilye_
Hammock _Gwapa_
House _Ha-a_
Manioc squeezer _Buahe_
Mirror _Mekeme_
Oil _Diripa_
Platter _Patahe_
Salt _Kanama_
Small timber _Igwa_
Soap _Nishtie_, _tagwa_
Spoon _Daihigwa_
Tobacco _Banye_
Tobacco stick-match _Kugwao_
Torch _Diripa_
Water jar _Ijo_

Arrow _Beremehe_
Arrow-poison _Bakua_
Boat, canoe _Kihikwame_
Blowpipe _Dodike_
Dance rattle _Tekie_
Fish-net _Tsene_
Gun _Anihe_
Head feathers _Aboka_
Knife, sword _Nitsikwa_
Mallet _Imepachura_
Paddle _Bodugwa_
Rope (vegetable cable) _Igwanye_
Signalling drum _Kimwe_
Sword _Pitoho_
Whip _Gwachike_

Beads _Ichkabe_
Clothes _Kwaiame_ (loin-cloth)
Garment _Kameha_
Head ornament _Gwatako_
Loin-cloth _Ike_, _pakehe_, _kwaiame_
Man’s bracelet _Manyame_
Metal _Tsitsi_

Bush, the _Bahe_
Dawn _Tsitsibeko_
Death _Tsihibeko_
Devil _Navena_
Dust _Anijio_
Fire _Kihigwa_
God _Neva_
Good Spirit _Neva_
Gunpowder _Anijio_
Morning _Neva_
Night _Beko_
Plantation _Emie_
Rain _Nihava_
Shadow _Nave_
Star _Mikirigwa_
Stream _Te-e_
Sun _Neva_
Thunder _Tsitsi_
Water _Nepakio_

Now _Ikuka_
To-morrow _Pekore_
Yesterday _Aiupe_

Yes _Eh_
No _Cha_

To call attention of a man _Mupe!_
To call attention of a woman _Muije!_

All _Bemere_
Enough, much _Lirane_
Other _Chipe_
Same _Tedere_

Slowly _Tsikene_
Quickly _Chukure_

Far _Chiejene_
Far away _Kamine_
Here _Iji_
Near _Perine_
There _Eji_
What _Itsebane_, _ina_
When _Mukoka_
Where _Kia_
Why _Ivekie_

Angry _Kaiyupa_
Bad _Nemine_, _imitine_
Black _Kiribebe_
Cold _Tsigore_
Good _Imine_
High _Kame_
Higher _Kame-kame_
Lazy _Urenere_
Little _Neku_
Long, big _Kameme_
Low _Paa_
Lower _Paa-paa_
Old _Kieme_
Purple _Chepanye_
Small _Chuchine_
Strong _Kupene_
Thin _Arenegwe_
Warm _Kogore_
White _Alijimuinya_
Young _Balyika_

I }
Me }
We } _O_
Us, Mine }
Ours }
You }
Yours } _Di_
My _Ta_

One _Tsanere_, _tsape_
Two _Mieke_
Three _Tsape-mieke_
Four _Mieke-mieke_
Five _Sause_
One-half _Tiamie_

To advance _Ikeyi_
To bathe _Maboigete_
To beat flat _Kihigwa_
To bind, sew _Tsiko_
To break wind _Nepo_
To bring _Tsate_
To call _Pibwa_
To catch hold _Dekeba_
To come _Dichabe_
To crush _Megwasako_
To cut, shorten _Gwatairo_
To drink _Mado_
To eat _Macho_
To go _Opeko_
To go away _Gwadipe_
To hang _Nehigwa_
To make, do _Mene_
To move _Chinye_
To open _Paiyeke_
To rain _Nihaba_
To rest _Paribe_
To run away _Imiba_
To scratch _Medonakons_
To search _Neku_
To see _Aktime_
To speak _Dibaje_
To strike _Kaboko_
To throw _Wago_
To tie _Chichi_
To wait _Ubi_
To wash _Nitie_
To work _Wakimei_

Where are you going? _Kia bwipe ite?_
Where do you come from? { _Kia-te itse?_
{ _Minekwe?_
Do not go away _Tsa petine_
Stand still _Tachure_
Sit down _Takebe_
Bring here _Chibahe_
Let us go _Mahu Mepei_
Leave me alone _Ubiédere_
Give me _Okedake_
Where (is it?) _Kia_
Whose (is this?) _Mu_
There is none _Tsa ikatine_
I do not know { _Ureta_
{ _Tsa quaha Kétine_
How many? _Muitemeko?_
What is the matter? } _Ina ichabie?_
What is hurting you? }
What are you called? _Muipa dimene?_
Are you willing? _Imeje?_
Cover it up _Gwatako_
Hold your tongue _Kéktere_
It is well _Imine_
Good-bye _Opeko_

APPENDIX VIII

_Oikommo_ is within the _hofo_,[451]
With our tribe there is _Oikommo_,
And whence cometh _Oikommo_,
And from where does he come?
He comes from the clouds,
From the clouds he comes;
And why does he come so far?
And why does he come?
In his land are no bread and few women
In his land is no bread;
And what is the name of the stranger,
And what is his name?
His name is Whiffena _Ri-e-i_,[452]
His name is Whiff-en-a,
And partly his name is Itoma,[453]
Itoma is also his name;
And what is he called by his man friends.
And what is his other name?
His privy name is _Ei-fo-ke_,[454]
_Ei-fo-ke_ is his privy name;[455]
And why is he called _Ei-fo-ke_?

FOOTNOTES

[1] My arrival in England was postponed to some months later through an
attack of beriberi.

[2] It was unknown to me till afterwards that Dr. Koch-Grünberg of Berlin
had, in 1904, ascended the Uaupes to, I believe, 71° west longitude.

[3] A rifle, where possessed, is never used against an animal but kept
for use against the white man.

[4] Turtle eggs are, curiously enough, not considered fœtal.

[5] For my share I had the honour to receive, through the Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs, the thanks of the French Government.

[6] Steamers have been on the Amazon since 1853, and navigation is
continuous throughout the year (cf. _Brazilian Year-Book_).

[7] I never saw the Andes actually from these districts, but the
suggestion is always there, they are seen in the mind’s eye; an ultimate,
if invisible, limit to what would otherwise seem more than illimitable.

[8] Wallace, p. 246.

[9] Spruce, ii. 379-380.

[10] Robuchon’s estimate of distances is 471 geographical miles from
Iquitos to the mouth of the Issa; thence to the Cotuhe, which he places
at 2° 53′ 12″ S. and 69° 41′ 10″ W., 150 geographical miles. From
the Cotuhe to the Igara Parana, 252 miles, a total distance of 873
geographical miles from Iquitos to the Igara Parana.

[11] Robuchon gives latitude 1° 43′ 9″ S., longitude 71° 53′ 36″ W.

[12] Spruce, i. 7, ii. 100.

[13] September to January is the hottest portion of the year, the heat
being at its worst in December. 90° would be extreme heat, and 70° the
lowest the mercury would probably reach; the average being from 75° to
85°. Robuchon is responsible for the statement that the temperature at
the mouth of the Cotuhe in September was 43° Cent. in the shade, but
that after a brisk shower it fell to 31°. The water of the Amazon has a
temperature of 81°; the Japura is a warmer river and reaches 85°. Wallace
gives the mean temperature of the Rio Negro water in September--that is,
during the hot season--as 86°, and the corresponding temperature of the
air as from 76° to 92.5°. The water, he considers, is probably never
less than 80° at any time. The temperature of the Uaupes has been noted
as invariably 76° at three to six feet below the surface (_Geo. Journ._,
1910, p. 683).

[14] The Amazon at its mouth is 158 miles across from bank to bank.

[15] This I take to be the _Yacitara_ mentioned by Spruce, i. 30.

[16] Wallace noted a butterfly frequenting “the dung of some carnivorous
animal” in Malacca, and remarks that many tropical butterflies suck
liquid from muddy places, “and are generally so intent upon their meal
that they can be easily approached and captured” (Wallace, _The Malay
Archipelago_, pp. 29, 114).

[17] Spruce, ii. 366.

[18] Bates, ii. 262.

[19] Spruce, i. 49.

[20] One tree is reputed to be so poisonous that no Indian will touch it.
See Maw, p. 294.

[21] These tribal houses differ from the communal long-houses of the Fly
Delta, British New Guinea, not only in shape, but in that there are no
platforms and no divisions for each family; the whole interior is open.
For description of Kiwai and Daudai long-houses see _Expedition to Torres
Straits_, iv. 112-117.

[22] _Maloka_ = Indian lodge or tribal house (lingoa-geral).

[23] _Manicaria saccifera_ (cf. Spruce, i. 56).

[24] Eugene André noted that two kinds were commonly used on the Causa,
the _mulato_, a kind of _Aroideae_, and the _murcielago_, which belongs
to the _Bignoniaceae_ family.

[25] Several kinds of palm-leaves are used for this purpose, and
whichever was most easily procurable in the district where the house
was built would be used by the tribe. Hardenburg mentions the leaves of
the _Phytelephas macrocarpa_, the vegetable ivory-tree, as in use among
the Witoto, and the _Bactris ciliata_ or Chonta palm for the posts and
rafters (p. 135). The leaves of the Bussu palm, _Manicaria saccifera_,
will make a thatch that lasts for ten or twelve years, by some accounts
(cf. Waterton, p. 479).

[26] Wallace, p. 341.

[27] This is architecturally interesting in view of Foucart’s theory of
the evolution of the Egyptian grooved stone pillar from wooden originals,
bundles of reeds.

[28] Simson mentions such a “door,” p. 237.

[29] Wallace, p. 341.

[30] Among the Jivaro one partitioned half of the house is kept for the
women (Orton, p. 171). There is no such distinction among the Issa-Japura
tribes.

[31] Cf. Wallace, p. 354.

[32] Crevaux has described the process. He watched an Indian “qui fait du
feu en roulant vivement un roseau dans une cavité creusée dans une tige
de roncon” (_Voyage dans l’Amérique du sud_, p. 214). Wallace mentions
this method among the Kuretu, _op. cit._ 355.

[33] If a jigger is removed at once with a needle it will not hurt, and
scarcely makes a puncture.

[34] Vampires in this country are few and far between, but Simson
mentions them as a plague at Agnano (Simson, p. 131).

[35] Bates, i. 246. For the taming of a full-grown _Coita_ see p. 247.
Another pet mentioned by Bates, a “strange kind of wood-cricket,” is also
unknown to me as a pet, and though I have often heard loud-voiced insects
of the cricket class they have never been in captivity (cf. Bates, i.
250).

[36] Cf. Martius, _P.R.G.S._ ii. 192.

[37] See Appendix.

[38] Deniker, p. 552.

[39] Marriage by capture was a Carib custom (Westermarck, p. 383). It is
unknown nowadays to the tribes south of the Japura.

[40] Partial couvade is found also among tribes in the north of America,
that is to say, certain things are tabu to the father after the child’s
birth. Cf. Dorsey, _Siouan Cults_, p. 511; Venegas, i. 94; Tylor, pp.
294-7.

[41] im Thurn, p. 173. Joyce locates the original Caribs on the upper
Xingu, from whence, he considers, they spread over Guiana and the lesser
Antilles (_South American Archæology_, p. 256). Rodway, on the authority
of Spanish chronicled Arawak information, suggests they were the original
inhabitants of the north-west coast, migrant from Mexico (_Guiana_, pp.
41, 45).

[42] _Ibid._ pp. 171-2.

[43] Crevaux, _Fleuves de l’Amérique du Sud, Yapura_, F. 5 et 7.

[44] Crevaux, _Vocabulaire français-roucouyenne_.

[45] Koch-Grünberg, _Journal de la Société des Américainistes de Paris_,
tome iii. No. 2 (1906).

[46] Koch-Grünberg, _Zeitschrift für Ethnologie_, xxxviii, 189.

[47] It must be remembered that I came to all these people from the
Witoto country.

[48] Crevaux, _Voyages dans l’Amérique du Sud_, p. 368.

[49] Martius, _Beiträge_, ii. 340.

[50] The Inca were called _Orejones_ by the Spaniards on account of the
large studs they wore in the lobes of their ears. See Joyce, p. 110;
Ratzel, ii. 172.

[51] Simson, p. 210.

[52] Koch-Grünberg, _Zeitschrift für Ethnologie_, xxxviii. 188 (1906).

[53] Cd. 6266, pp. 9, 10, 12, 25, 26.

[54] Rice, p. 690.

[55] Wallace, p. 354.

[56] See Appendix.

[57] Hardenburg, _Man_, p. 134.

[58] This combination is of so exceptional a character that it is hardly
to be recognised as a definite trait of organisation, and it follows that
though such exceptional cases may point to a possible past unity of clans
as a tribe, these clans are now practically small tribes, being incapable
of combining for common action. The expressions language-group, tribe,
and tribesman are therefore more correct than tribe, clan, and clansman
would be.

[59] Cf. im Thurn, p. 185.

[60] This is exactly the reverse of the matrilocal customs related by Sir
Everard im Thurn.

[61] Or their artists and publishers.

[62] “The natives are ashamed, as they say, to be clothed” (Humboldt,
_Travels_, iii. 230; cf. also Wallace, p. 357). Clothes, in fact, are
often donned by savages at periods of license only. See Westermarck,
_History of Human Marriage_, chap. ix.

[63] There are several trees in these forests that supply the needed
fibrous bark. im Thurn suggests that the bark used is that of the
_Lecythis ollaria_, but Spruce states that tauari is made from the bark
of certain species of _Tecoma_ of the _Bignoniaceae_ order, and tururi, a
thinner bark-cloth, from various figs and _Artocarps_. Naturally natives
use the tree that is handiest when required (cf. im Thurn, pp. 194, 291;
Spruce, i. 27).

[64] Dr. de Lacerda in his journal for July 22, 1798, describes just such
a manufacture of bark-cloth carried on by the Muizas, who traded this
with their neighbours the Maraves. See _Land of Carembe_, R.G.S., 1873,
p. 71. Loin-cloths made from the bark of the _Artocarps_ are also found
among the Semang of Kedah and other wild tribes of the Malay Peninsula.
See Skeat and Blagden, i. 143-4, 157, 376, etc.

[65] A similar geographical progression has been noted among the women of
British New Guinea. See Williamson, _The Mafulu_, p. 28.

[66] Sandals known as _alparagatas_, with soles of plaited aloe-fibre,
are usually worn by travellers in the Amazons. These can be cleaned and
washed in the same way. See also Simson, p. 83.

[67] Wallace, p. 351.

[68] Feather ruffs are worn by Napo Indians, but not by these tribes.

[69] im Thurn, p. 305.

[70] One feather head-dress in my possession is made with rough cotton
yarn, obtained presumably by barter, for none of these tribes make cotton
yarn themselves, and it is very rarely to be found among them. The
feathers are bound into the hank with very fine fibre.

[71] _Oenocarpus distichus._

[72] Wallace, p. 351.

[73] According to Koch-Grünberg the Yahabana and other Kuretu-speaking
tribes part the hair in the middle and plait it with bast. After bathing,
the hair is dried, combed, and arranged with a bandage.

[74] Red was the favourite colour for a djibbeh. White ones were not much
liked.

[75] This corresponds with the bead _tanga_ described by Wallace, but the
Uaupes’ apron is “only about six inches square,” and these girdles or
garlands are two feet long or more (Wallace, p. 343).

[76] Value, I believe, about ninepence exchange or less.

[77] So uncommon is it that I was under the impression that it was
entirely unknown until I examined the necklace in question very carefully
after my return to England. Certainly I never saw any of these tribes
preparing cotton or making use of it in any way except in its natural
state to tip their blow-pipe arrows. String or yarn of any sort, except
the fibre thread, I always found to be absolutely unobtainable anywhere
throughout these districts.

[78] Possibly one of the _Histeridae_ mentioned by Bates, i. 211.

[79] _Pace_ Maw, p. 226.

[80] Belts of apparently similar minute plaiting are worn by the Mafula
of British New Guinea. These natives also wear armlets and leglets of the
same material, but not tightened to swell the muscles. The thread these
are made of is manufactured from vegetable fibre in the identical manner
employed by the Issa-Japura Indians (Williams, _The Mafula of British New
Guinea_, pp. 32, 53, 54).

[81] Compare illustration with pictures of ligatures in D. Rannie’s _My
Adventures among South Sea Cannibals_, pp. 80, 170, 179.

[82] The Spaniards called the Inca _Orejones_ on account of the large
studs worn by them in the lobes of their ears. See Joyce, p. 110.

[83] Wallace states that all the Indians “have a row of circular
punctures along the arm” (Wallace, p. 345). These tribes have nothing of
the sort.

[84] Wallace describes the mark as “three vertical blue lines on the
chin” (Wallace, p. 345). This is not correct; _vide_ drawing.

[85] Crevaux, p. 264.

[86] The _Bixa Orellana_ (Spix and von Martius, p. 228).

[87] _Genifa americana_ (Spix and von Martius, p. 228).

[88] Hardenburg, p. 138.

[89] “Covering, if not used as a protection from the climate, owes its
origin, at least in a great many cases, to the desire of men and women
to make themselves mutually attractive” (Westermarck, p. 211). “Clothing
was first adopted as a means of decoration rather than from motives of
decency. The private parts were first adorned with the appendages that
were afterwards used by a dawning sense of modesty to conceal them”
(Johnston, _The River Congo_, p. 418).

[90] The result of this is that a traveller is forced to have women
as well as men in his escort, or he would find that half the services
required would not be rendered him. For instance, no male Indian will
prepare food, neither will he wash clothes, nor clean the cooking
vessels. This refers to the untouched districts, and must not be confused
with the forced “willingness” of the Rubber Belts.

[91] A. R. Wallace, p. 349.

[92] E. B. Tylor notes that the savage is often skilled in map-making as
a form of picture-writing (_op. cit._ p. 90), and quotes Prescott for
the existence of maps in Peru before Europeans reached South America
(Prescott, _Peru_, i. 116). Ancient maps or books like “rolled up palm
leaves” (Ratzel, ii. 169).

[93] See Chap. XVIII.

[94] _Pudenda maioris statuae muliebris nigra, labia maiora rubra picta
sunt; sed et in maiore et in minore statua vagina tam profunde perforata
est ut transitum ab vulva ad uterum suggerere videatur. Scrotum statuae
virilis nigrum, praeputium rubrum, pictum est; membrum autem ipsum,
quamvis quiescens, erectum tamen est et sic ad abdomen parallelum._

[95] See Chap. XVII.

[96] Keane tells of the Mojos valley natives that so uncommon is stone
in that district that if a man set out on a journey to the uplands where
stone is procurable he would be asked to bring some back as a curiosity
(Keane, p. 12). For some use of stone implements of the past still
employed among present-day peoples, see Mitchell, _Past in the Present_,
p. 12, etc.; Routledge, _With a Neolithic People_; Spencer and Gillen,
_Native Tribes of Central Australia_, pp. 592-4, etc.; Skeat and Blagden,
_Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula_, i. 242, 296.

[97] Spruce mentions a white pitch obtained from _Icica_ trees, I never
saw any white pitch. These Indians use only black.

[98] Some tribes near the Napo also use circular shields of tapir hide,
p. 116.

[99] The use of the potter’s wheel was even unknown to the Incas (Joyce,
p. 193).

[100] Crevaux, p. 193.

[101] The caraipé tree is, according to Spruce and Bentham, one of the
_Licania_ genus of the _Chrysobalaneae_ order (Spruce, i. 13).

[102] Spruce, i. 14.

[103] The _Cerropia peltata_, according to Spix and Martius, p. 259.

[104] Tylor mentions the hammock as one of “the inventions which it seems
possible to trace to their original districts,” and states that it has
spread from South America and the West Indies “far and wide over the
world, carrying with it its Haitian name, _hamac_” (_op. cit._ p. 175).
It is interesting to note in this connection that a hammock is known as a
_hamaka_ among the Yakuna; the Tariana call it _hamaka_ or _amaka_; and
the Yavitero Indians call it _aimaiha_ (Koch-Grünberg, _Aruak-Sprachen
Nordwestbrasiliens und der angrenzenden Gebiete_, p. 65). The Baré
Indians call it _mi_; the Baniwa _bidzaha_ or _bisali_; the Siusi _pieta_
or _piete_; the Katapolitani change the _t_ to _d_ and have _pieda_; the
Kurutana call it _makaitepa_; the Uarekena say _soalita_ (Koch-Grünberg,
_op. cit._); while the Pioje call hammocks _jangre_ (Simson, p. 268). The
Witoto word is _kinai_ and the Boro _gwapa_.

[105] Hamilton Rice gives the distances between the meshes as the space
of thumb to little finger stretch for the Witoto, palm-length for the
Karahone, four fingers for the Cubbeo (p. 700). I knew the spacing
differed, but never heard that it was a tribal distinction.

[106] The palm employed is, according to Bates, an _Astrocaryum_ (Bates,
ii. 209). Wallace and im Thurn mention the _Mauritia flexuosa_ (A. R.
Wallace, p. 342; im Thurn, pp. 283, 290), which, according to Spruce,
“seems confined to the submaritime region” (Spruce, i. 15). He gives
_Bromelia karatas_, ii. 520. Spix and Martius give the Tucuma palm
(_Astrocaryum vulgare_) and others of the same genus (Spix and Martius,
p. 248).

[107] “A species of _Desmoncus_” (A. R. Wallace, p. 336).

[108] Women make both cassava-squeezers and graters. This may be a
coincidence, as I have seen men making the mats for the doorways, usually
women’s work.

[109] _Guilielmia speciosa._

[110] Spruce, ii. 447.

[111] Spencer and Gillen, _Native Tribes of Central Australia_, pp.
668-9, and _Across Australia_.

[112] Any hard wood may be used, but cedar makes the best canoe. Hamilton
Rice says _cachicama_ (Rice, p. 691). Spruce mentions “a heavy laurel,
probably _Paraturi_,” used by the Tussari for making their _cascos_
(Spruce, i. 413). Bates mentions the _Itauba amarello_, “the yellow
variety of the stone-wood” (Bates, ii. 117). But all trees will not do,
for some will not open properly when they are fired (André, pp. 241-2).

[113] _Iriartea ventricosa._

[114] This is said to be the only kind of canoe used by the Auhishiri
(cf. Simson, p. 199).

[115] Viz. the Maca, the Guaharibo, and the Guahibo (Spruce, i. 477).

[116] Wallace, p. 358.

[117] For example, the Zaparo (Simson, pp. 169, 295); the Uaupes Indians
(Wallace, p. 349).

[118] Among other tribes this is not always the case. Manioc and banana
cultivation with the Rucuyens is carried on by the men (Ratzel, ii. 128).

[119] There is a wild species on some of the rivers, but the Indians make
no use of it (cf. Bates, i. 194).

[120] _Anauana sativa_ (Wallace, p. 336).

[121] Spruce, i. 180-81.

[122] Among the Issa-Japura tribes it is rather sustaining than
stimulating, _i.e._ it is not fermented.

[123] _Theobroma_, the food of the gods (Spruce, i. 79).

[124] I would suggest that _manioc_ is the true name for the plant,
_cassava_ for the “bread” made therefrom. _Mandiocca_ is only
American-Spanish for manioc.

[125] Bates i. 194, n.

[126] Spruce, i. 215.

[127] _Capsicum frutescens_ (Spix and Martius, p. 259). _Artanthe eximia_
and other _Artanthe_ and _Peperomia_ (Spruce, ii. 283-4).

[128] For processes of growing and preparation, see Markham, pp. 148-9.

[129] _Erythroxylon coca_ and _E. cataractarum_ (Spruce, ii. 446-8).

[130] Cf. E. B. Tylor, p. 170.

[131] An illustration in Sir H. Johnston’s _Liberia_, ii. 406, shows a
West African native climbing with only one ring and both arms and ankles
free. Bates mentions an Indian climbing with only one ring used for
the feet (Bates, ii. 196). The same method is to be found in Ceylon,
among the Malays, etc. (cf. Skeat and Blagden, i. 51, 62, 85; Tennant,
_Ceylon_, ii. 523; Partridge, _Cross River Natives_, p. 150, etc.).

[132] This is no uncommon thing among peoples of lower culture, but
that it does not of necessity follow as a corollary to life in the bush
is proved by some of the West African tribes who are most indifferent
sportsmen. This is the case among sundry of the peoples of the Northern
Territories of the Gold Coast, where a British official has before now
had to train his shikari, if he hoped for successful sport.

[133] The blow-pipe, the _gravitana_ in lingoa-geral, is known as the
_zarabatana_ among the Teffe tribes (Bates, ii. 236); the _bodoquera_
on the Napo. Koch-Grünberg gives the following names for it: _todike_,
Imitritä Miranya; _uataha_, Yavitero; _uilipona_, Uarekena; _uapana_,
Yukuna; _Mauipi_, Katapolitani; _mauipi_ or _moipi_, Siusi; _mauipi_ or
_mauipi_, Tariana (_Aruak-Sprachen_, p. 73).

[134] A species of _Arundinaria_.

[135] _Bactus ciliata._

[136] The wood used is _paxiaba-i_, the _Iriartea setigera_ (Spruce, ii.
522). This small palm grows from ten to fifteen feet high, with a stem
of an inch to two inches in diameter. When dry the soft inner pith is
removed, and the bore polished with a bunch of tree-fern roots pulled up
and down (Wallace, p. 147).

[137] _Jacitara_ (Bates, ii. 236).

[138] From the _arbol-del-lacre_ (Hardenburg, Man, p. 136);
_Pao-de-lacre_, _Vismia guianensis_ (Spruce, ii. 522).

[139] _Bombax_ (Wallace, p. 147); _Eriodendron sp._ (_Sterculiaceae_),
(Spruce, ii. 523; Bates, ii. 237).

[140] _Oenocarpus Batawa_ (Spruce, ii. 522).

[141] These blow-pipes appear to be similar to those still in use among
the Orang Kuantan Malays, of which a specimen is to be seen in the
British Museum. It is made of two grooved halves of a hard wood, bound
with cane, and coated with “a gutta-like substance” (Skeat, _Man_, 1902,
No. 108). This is, however, a shorter instrument than the Witoto or
Boro use, the measurements given being only 5 feet 2 inches for total
length, with an interior diameter of seven-sixteenths of an inch at the
mouthpiece and three-eighths of an inch at the muzzle-end. The blow-pipe
is found among all Malayan tribes. For distribution in the South Seas,
cf. map in Skeat and Blagden’s _Pagan Tribes_, i. 254.

[142] Deniker states that the Miranha hunt “like the ancient Quechuas by
means of nets stretched out between the trees, into which they drive,
with cries and gestures, the terrified animals” (Deniker, p. 561). I have
never seen or heard of such nets among them.

[143] Orton, pp. 169-70.

[144] Cf. method of poisoning adopted by natives of Torres Straits
(_Torres Straits_, iv. 159).

[145] _Jacquinia armillaris._ According to Spix and Martius _babasco_
poison is made from the leaves and blossom of the _Budleya connata_ (Spix
and von Martius, _Reise_, 1820, p. 98).

[146] Simson, p. 131.

[147] _Paullinia pinnata_ (_Sapindaceae_) (Spruce, ii. 523; Bates, ii.
82-3). Spruce also mentions _cunambi_, poison obtained from the roots of
_Ichthyothera cunambi_ (Spruce, ii. 520); and Yuca-raton, the root of
_Gliricidiae sp._ (Spruce, ii. 455).

[148] The frame is made of _timbo-titica_, _Heteropsis sp._ (Spruce, ii.
523).

[149] Such very hard wood is procurable, and so abundant is it that even
tribes like the Botucudo, who could use shell, stone, or metal, use wood
in preference, and many tribes prefer their lithic axes to metal ones.
The inference is obvious--these peoples are not, and never have been,
metal-using races, and poisoned wood suits sufficiently their purposes
for arrow-heads.

[150] Oakenfull, p. 30.

[151] Compare with customs of the Mafulu in British New Guinea
(Williamson, p. 179; _Fiji_, Thompson, p. 35).

[152] Clough, pp. 104-5; Wallace, p. 353.

[153] Partridge, _Cross River Natives_, p. 59; “Upper Congo Cannibals,”
_J.R.A.I._, xxiv. pp. 298-9.

[154] For example, Maw, p. 160.

[155] Wallace, pp. 346-7.

[156] Ratzel, ii. 138-9; Orton, pp. 171-2.

[157] See British Museum, Cambridge Museum, Munich Museum.

[158] Bates, ii. 132.

[159] I was never present at a cannibal feast. This information is based
on Robuchon’s account, checked by cross-questioning the Indians with whom
I came in contact.

[160] Johnson, _Liberia_, ii. 898.

[161] On the other hand earth-eating is prevalent among the Torres
Straits people, where salt is not rare. The pregnant woman eats it to
make her infant light in colour and strong and brave (_Torres Straits
Exped._, iv. 139).

[162] Crevaux, p. 287.

[163] Bates, ii. 195.

[164] _Ibid._

[165] Some tribes, for example the Jivaro (Simson, pp. 93-4), are said to
be more provident in this respect, but the Boro and Witoto groups are not
among them. Occasionally a store of pines may be made in October, when
pines are most plentiful, but this is all.

[166] It may be noted here that all the denizens of the forest, including
even the larger carnivora, are by popular report fruit-eaters, and are
specially fond of the wild alligator pear (cf. Spruce, ii. 362-3).

[167] _Tapirus americanus._

[168] All animals when wounded appear to take to water.

[169] _Coelogenys paca._

[170] _Hydrochaerus capybara._

[171] _Dasyprocta agouti._

[172] I captured some and brought them away as pets.

[173] Spruce, i. p. 182.

[174] _Dicotypes tajacu_ is the only one I observed in these parts, but
_D. labiatus_ is common in the bush. The peccary is called _kairooni_
by the Arawak; _mero_ and _emo_ by the Witoto according to the species;
_mene_ by the Boro; and _whinga_ by the Macusi.

[175] See Wood’s _Natural History_, “Mammals.”

[176] Oakenfull, p. 30.

[177] Turning turtles is prohibited by law in Brazil, but no law reaches
these wilds.

[178] The Indians of British Guiana who eat the turtles’ and iguana eggs,
also “will not touch the egg of a fowl” (im Thurn, p. 18).

[179] They do not, however, object to their food being decidedly “high”
(cf. Simson, p 115).

[180] In this they share the tastes of the Liberian women (cf. Johnston,
_Liberia_, ii. 954).

[181] Spruce, ii. 381.

[182] _Manihot aypi._

[183] The description given by Fr. Pinto in Dr. de Lacerda’s
eighteenth-century journal of the preparation of manioc flour by the
Murunda Kaffirs differs only from the Indian method in that the root is
not squeezed, merely soaked till “almost rotten,” then dried and pounded
(R.G.S., _The Lands of Cazembe_, 1873, p. 129).

[184] It would seem that the Boro use what is known in Brazil as _Farinha
de aqua_, and the Witoto make _Farinha secca_ (cf. Spruce, i. 11-12).
Brazilian arrowroot and tapioca are products of the manioc prepared in
different ways. Only the Boro and Menimehe make _Farinha de aqua_.

[185] “A mandiocca oven (called _budari_ in Barré)” (Spruce, ii. 477-8).

[186] Bates noted that he saw Indians on the Tapajos season this sauce
with ants in place of fish (Bates, i. 318-19).

[187] Wallace, p. 340.

[188] Simson mentions salt-licks in the neighbourhood of the Rio Salado
Grande (Simson, p. 238).

[189] The ashes of the drum tree (_Cecropia peltata_) “are saline and
antiseptic” (Spruce, ii. 447). “A kind of flour which has a saline taste”
is extracted from the fruits of the _Inaja_ palm (_Maximiliana regia_),
and the _Jara_ palm (_Leopoldinia major_), and the _Caruru_, a species of
_Lacis_ (Wallace, p. 340). _Cuaruru_ is given by Spruce as a native name
for _Pogostemon sp._; when this is burnt the ashes give salt (Spruce, ii.
520).

[190] Cf. _Torres Straits_, “The chief meal of the day is taken at night,
soon after sundown; the remains are eaten in the morning,” iv. 131.

[191] This is probably the puruma (_Puruma Cecropiaefolia Martius_)
mentioned by Bates (Bates, ii. 217).

[192] _Yerba Luisa_ (Simson, p. 61).

[193] This may be _Mimusops sp._ (_Sapotacae_) or _Callophora sp._
(_Aponcynaccae_) (Spruce, i. 50, 224; ii. 520). Bates, i. 69; Spruce, i.
51; Orton, pp. 288, 500, 581.

[194] _Caapi_ is known as _aya-huasca_, the drink of Huasca, the greatest
king of the Inca, to the Zaparo and other tribes farther west (Spruce,
ii. 424).

[195] Spruce, ii. 419-21.

[196] _Banisteria Caapi_ (Spruce, ii. 414).

[197] _Haemadictyon amazonicum_ (_ibid._ p. 415). This is only added by
the Uaupes tribes.

[198] Both _Manihot utilissima_ and _Manihot Aypi_ (Spruce, ii. 414).

[199] Cf. Tylor, pp. 179-80.

[200] _Paullinia cupana_ (Spruce, i. 180).

[201] _Guarana_, “_pro panacea peregrinantum habetur_” (von Martius), is
made from the roasted seeds. It is “almost identical in its elements with
theine and caffeine” (Spruce, i. 181). It is cultivated on the Negro as
an article of trade. According to Bates it is made from the seeds of a
climbing plant (_Paullinia sorbilis_) (Bates, ii. 134).

[202] _Coca Erythroxylon._

[203] Spix and von Martius, p. 153.

[204] Joyce, p. 97.

[205] Markham, _Peruvian Bark_, p. 151.

[206] According to Bates the leaves of the candelabrum tree (_Cecropia
palmata_) are used (Bates, ii. 211-12). Spruce has the _imbauba_ or drum
tree (_Cecropia peltata_) (Spruce, ii. 447). Markham gives the quinoa
plant (Markham, _op. cit._ p. 151).

[207] _Re_ effects. Spruce notes that it had little effect on him
(Spruce, ii. 448). One of my companions though “at first affected … with
slight nausea … soon became accustomed to it, and found it very useful on
many occasions” (Hardenburg, p. 137-8). This is interesting in relation
to my own continued intolerance. “In Peru its excessive use is said to
seriously injure the coats of the stomach” (Spruce, ii. 448). At Ega it
was regarded as a vice only to be indulged in secretly (Bates, ii. 211).
Markham, on the other hand, considers it “the least injurious, and the
most soothing and invigorating” narcotic (Markham, _op. cit._ p. 152). He
even recommends it as a preventative of loss of breath to Alpine climbers
(_ibid._ p. 153). With this I cannot concur.

[208] See Appendix for this and other notes.

[209] Spruce relates that a Guahibo told him, “With a chew of _caapi_ and
a pinch of _niopo_ … one feels so good! No hunger--no thirst--no tired!”
(Spruce, ii. 428).

[210] _Mimosa acaciodes_ (Bentham). “A species of Inga” (Bates, i. 331).
The seeds of _Acacia Niopo_ (Humbolt). _Piptadenia peregrina_ (L.)
(Bentham and Spruce, ii. 427).

[211] The Guahibo use no quicklime (Spruce, ii. 426).

[212] This is curious, but I can advance no reason.

[213] Or “a bit of the leg-bone of the jaguar, closed at one end with
pitch” (Spruce, ii. 427).

[214] And by the natives on the upper Orinoco (Spruce, ii. 423).

[215] “Two feet long and as thick as the wrist” (Spruce, ii. 420). It
“is smoked in the ordinary way”. A long cigar is also smoked on the
Equatorial Pacific coast, but “held in the mouth _at the lighted end_”
(_ibid._ p. 436). This is common amongst negroes.

[216] Like the eyes of a cocoanut--to allow passage to the budding
rootlets.

[217] Spruce, ii. 413-55.

[218] Bates, ii. 288.

[219] Also called _curari_, _ourali_, _worara_, _woorari_, _urari_,
_ervadura_. “A powerful South American arrow-poison occurring in commerce
as a blackish extract, somewhat resinoid in appearance,” used for
tetanus, hydrophobia, epilepsy (_Dict. Mat. Med._).

[220] _Strychnos castelmoeana_ and _Cocculus toxicoferus_ (Hardenburg, p.
136).

[221] “Many ingredients are used, such as several kinds of barks, roots,
peppers (_Capsicum_), ants, and the poison-fangs of snakes” (im Thurn, p.
311).

[222] Crevaux gives a long description of the preparation of this poison
(Crevaux, pp. 268-337).

[223] According to Bates, salt is considered to be an antidote for this
poison (Bates, i. 247).

[224] Bates, ii. 200. This agrees with Darwin, _Descent of Man_, i. 128.

[225] Dr. Galt considered “that there is no more fertile race than the
pure-blooded Indian of the Marañon” (Orton, p. 465).

[226] Menstruation has been known to commence in England at the age of
eleven, generally in cases of well-nourished blondes, and in exceptional
cases even earlier. It has been known to occur at nine years, but this
was induced by a severe accident. This is unknown among the forest
people. I made out the age of puberty to be not less than fifteen for
girls, and eighteen for boys, among the tribes I was with.

[227] Cf. Thomson, _The Fijians_, pp. 179-80; Codrington, _The
Melanesians_, p. 228, etc.

[228] Tapir flesh is undoubtedly rich, and over-indulgence would have
evil effects upon any woman independent of other conditions, for equally
it would upset a man.

[229] A tribe in British Guiana, the Macusi, carry this idea even
further, and impose such restriction on a man before his actual marriage
(im Thurn, p. 222). I have never met with this.

[230] Wallace in his account of the Uaupes Indians states that “the women
are generally delivered in the house, and do no work for four or five
days” (Wallace, p. 345). This does not tally with the customs among the
Issa and Japura tribes, at least I never found it to be the case.

[231] These Indians adopt a sitting, _i.e._ continental (not English left
lateral) position for parturition.

[232] For similar treatment elsewhere see Schomberg, _Reisen in Britisch
Guiana_, ii. 66.

[233] Hardenburg, p. 135.

[234] I cannot help thinking that some infanticides may be due to the
fear by the wife that the husband would refrain from the fulfilment of
his _debitum conjugale_ did he find that it resulted in his having to
support an unduly increasing family.

[235] Infanticide is a subject open to unlimited misapprehension and
misrepresentation. Compare with the above, for instance, the statements
of a missionary among some of the Indian tribes farther south. Mr. Grubb
speaks of “a shrill cry of pain when a child perhaps has been cruelly
murdered” (_An Unknown People in an Unknown Land_, p. 17). A reviewer
with much knowledge and experience of Paraguay, remarks, “I never
remember hearing the women’s shrill cry of lamentation. The children are
killed almost immediately after birth, as secretly as possible, and no
one pays much attention to the fact” (Seymour H. C. Hawtrey, for R.A.I.).
This is certainly the case with the Issa and Japura groups.

[236] Among the Ucayali deformed children are killed because they “belong
to the devil” (Orton, p. 321).

[237] A similar practice is reported among the Kuni of British New Guinea
(Williamson, _The Mafulu_, p. 178).

[238] Among Zaparo tribes also this is the case (Simson, pp. 175, 183).

[239] _Early History of Mankind_, p. 247.

[240] This is one of the many supposed indications of a possible Asiatic
origin of these peoples, “remnants of a race driven into the mountains
by the present dwellers in the plains,” as Tylor says of the Miau-tsze,
who also practice the couvade (_op. cit._ p. 295). The practice is as
widespread as the performance of the medicine-man or shaman, though
not invariably an accompaniment of so-called shamanism or kindred
performances: for example the Arunta have medicine-men but do not
practise the couvade, the Basque people have couvade but no medicine-man.

[241] In support of this theory note that in Melanesia proper couvade
has only been observed “where the child follows the father’s kindred”
(Codrington, p. 228).

[242] According to one writer some Indians go so far as to remove all
weapons and furniture from the house (Clough, p. 104).

[243] With the Issa-Japura tribes the father is subjected to no such
torturing processes at the hands of his friends as are recorded of
other tribes and peoples, “in such sort that from being sick by pure
imagination they often make a real patient of him” (Tylor, _loc. cit._ p.
288 _et seq._; _J.A.I._ xviii. 248; cf. also Crevaux, Spix, and Martius,
p. 381; Schomburg, _Reisen in Britisch Guiana_, ii.).

[244] Bird names, as is commonly the case in South America, are attempts
to repeat the cry of the birds themselves. _Kweko_, for instance, is a
most suggestive name for a parrot. Birds, it may here be noted, very
seldom sing in Amazonia.

[245] See Brinton on this subject, _Religions of Primitive Peoples_, p.
196. Cf. Howitt, p. 739.

[246] Witoto.

[247] Boro.

[248] Cf. Tylor, _Early History of Mankind_; im Thurn, p. 220; Hodson,
_Naga Tribes_, p. 176; Spencer and Gillen, _op. cit._ p. 139; Brinton, p.
195, etc.; Seligmann, p. 140; André, p. 16; Lang, _Origin of Religion_,
etc.

[249] See _Folklore Journal_; Mitchell, _Past in the Present_.

[250] Every Indian man has two names, his own name and his secret name
(name of genitalia). The latter is generally a significant name, and is
used in ribald jesting round the fire, _e.g._ “the _Okaina_ (a rodent)
went to the stream to bathe,” etc. etc., _ad nauseam_.

[251] The converse of this holds good elsewhere, for the names of the
dead are often tabu. See Rivers, _Todas_, pp. 625-6; Tylor, p. 142;
Brinton, pp. 94-5.

[252] Brinton, p. 197.

[253] _Pace_ Ratzel, ii. 128.

[254] Simson, p. 92; Ratzel, ii. 128.

[255] Markham, Clough, p. 104.

[256] Wallace, p. 360.

[257] According to Waitz the Carib medicine-man was accorded the _jus
primae noctis_ (_Anthropologie der Naturvölker_, iii. 382); Westermarck,
p. 76. Von Martius also attributes this custom to certain Brazilian
tribes, the chief, not the medicine-man, claiming the right (i. 113, 428,
485).

[258] Letourneau, _The Evolution of Marriage_, p. 52.

[259] Wallace, p. 355.

[260] This is quite usual of course. See Westermarck, pp. 445-7.

[261] Cf. custom among the Muskoks (Ratzel, ii. 125. See also im Thurn,
p. 221; Westermarck, p. 18).

[262] Wallace, p. 346.

[263] Westermarck puts the disparity of years at from five to six among
natives of Brazil (_op. cit._ p. 137; Spix and Martius, ii. 248).

[264] This invariably takes place in the forest, for no intimacy, even
between husband and wife, is ever permitted in the publicity of the
house. According to Westermarck a similar custom prevailed in Fiji (_op.
cit._ pp. 151-2), but this is denied by Thomson, _The Fijians_, p. 202.

[265] im Thurn, pp. 186, 221.

[266] As De Morgan remarked of a somewhat similar practice among the
Sakai of Perak, this is a form of marriage by purchase “modified by the
smallness of the price paid … a purely formal substitute” (_Bulletin de
la Société Normande de Géographie_, vii. 422; Skeat and Blagden, ii.
60-61).

[267] Or _potacea_, a nut of bitter taste the size of an acorn.

[268] See von Martius, i. 113. For similar instances cf. Westermarck, p.
151.

[269] This confirms the account given by Wallace, p. 346; von Martius, i.
600.

[270] See for similar etiquette, Alcedo-Thompson, _Dictionary of America
and the West Indies_, i. 416; E.R. Smith, _The Aurocanians_, p. 215;
Westermarck, pp. 383-4.

[271] This seems to be the same as the Hottentot custom (Kolben, _Present
State of the Cape of Good Hope_, i. 157).

[272] These are, I believe, the same ants that are used in the
manufacture of the _curare_ poison. They are fairly common. In
lingoa-geral they are called _tucaudera_.

[273] “The Carayas maintain quasi-husbands for widows at the public
cost, lest they should be a source of disturbance to the general peace”
(Ratzel, ii. 126). Widows are _repi_, prostitutes among some Melanesians
(Codrington, p. 235).

[274] See, for similar belief among the Zaparo, Simson, p. 174.

[275] For example, among the Bororo when the medicine-man has announced
that the patient will die in a given time, “if at the end of this time he
still lives, the executioner, sent of course by the priest, will suddenly
appear in the hut, sit astride his stomach, and strangle him to death”
(Cook, p. 55).

[276] See Joyce, p. 249.

[277] See _supra_, p. 151.

[278] The idea of blood crying for vengeance is familiar enough, and the
most universally-known example is that of the fratricide Cain informed
that his brother’s blood cried for vengeance from the ground (Gen. iv.
10).

[279] See _supra_, p. 31.

[280] “A microscopic scarlet _Acarus_” (Orton, p. 485).

[281] “To an Indian smallpox is certain death--the most dreaded enemy,
who has over and over again swept off entire tribes, and the name or
passing suspicion of which from youth up has always been trembled at and
fled from as from death itself” (Simson, p. 142).

[282] There are many varieties of this complaint. In one kind the
patient wastes away. With another it assumes the characteristics of
elephantiasis, the legs swell, the flesh becomes soft and podgy, the skin
unhealthy and white. It is said by the rubber-gatherers that a cure can
only be effected when the patient sees the sea, in other words through
complete change of air.

[283] Simson speaks of a “skin-disease common amongst all Indians of
the higher Marañon, called ‘carata.’ The skin is ‘scaly and blotched
all over with black’” (Simson, p. 178). This seems to be similar to
the “cutaneous disease” mentioned by Bates, except that he explicitly
mentions “the black spots were hard and rough but not scaly” (Bates, ii.
382). The Purupura Indians have also a skin complaint that causes them
to be “spotted and blotched with white, brown, or nearly black patches”
(Wallace, p. 357).

[284] I did myself, and so did my boy Brown and others of the party.

[285] André, pp. 16-110.

[286] Spix and Martius, p. 31.

[287] Simson, pp. 148, 194. A very common practice among Indians.

[288] Koch-Grünberg, pp. 134, 165.

[289] I do not mean the body of an infant killed at birth, which, as I
have said, is done as quietly and secretly as possible.

[290] “Primary urn-burial is characteristic in the main of the
Tupi-Guarani family” (Joyce, p. 270).

[291] For the same reason that prompted similar proceeding among the
Norsemen, an influence still alive in many parts of our own country. Cf.
Mitchell, _Past in the Present_. An instance is reported from Hampshire
within the last few years of a child’s toys being broken on its grave.
(Read, _Folklore Journal_, vol. xxii. p. 322.)

[292] Ratzel, ii. 155.

[293] Shaman is in more general use among Americans. It should be
remembered that the Zaparo, with whom Simson mentions the _shimano_
(Simson, pp. 174-5, 177), have had considerably more intercourse
with western civilisation than the tribes away from the Napo line of
communication.

[294] Vol. xxiv.

[295] “The chief ‘medicine’ of the Payes on the affluents of the Amazon,
both northern and southern, and on the Orinoco” (Spruce, ii. 436).

[296] Crevaux, p. 300.

[297] im Thurn, p. 312; Wallace, p. 347; Crevaux, p. 299.

[298] im Thurn, p. 368.

[299] Spruce mentions Barré Indians “sucking out the rheumatism” from
each other’s shoulders (Spruce, ii. 435).

[300] I am unable to say whether the medicine-man believes that an actual
stick has been literally in the patient’s flesh, or whether he believes
that the stick concealed in his mouth becomes a habitation for the
supernatural power causing the sickness, or if he merely does the whole
thing to impress his audience, and confirm their belief in his magical
powers. Quite possibly all these reasons combined in varying degrees are
present in any case. See Marett, _Anthropology_, p. 247.

[301] A boy “with epileptic tendency being preferred,” as im Thurn noted
was the case in British Guiana (im Thurn, p. 334).

[302] Waterton, p. 449.

[303] Cf. im Thurn, p. 349.

[304] Cf. Westermarck, p. 152.

[305] Spruce, ii. 430-31.

[306] I have never seen the medicine-man’s palm-leaf boxes mentioned by
Spruce, ii. 431.

[307] Among the Mungaberra the medicine-men “can and often do assume the
form of eagle-hawks,” and thus attack other tribes (Spencer and Gillen,
p. 533). It may be that the medicine-men of Indian tribes nearer the
mountains, where these birds have their habitat, assume the form of a
condor, as the medicine-man of the forest districts does that of the
jaguar, for the condor is “sacred throughout practically the whole of the
Andean region.” See Joyce, p. 175.

[308] The jaguar and the anaconda are both magical beasts. See Chap. XIX.

[309] Note: Among the Arunta the medicine-man has “a particular kind
of lizard distributed through his body, which endows him with great
suctional powers” (Spencer and Gillen, p. 531).

[310] See im Thurn, pp. 329-31.

[311] Spruce, ii. 432. Cf. Rochfort, _Histoire naturelle et morale des
Isles Antilles_, p. 472.

[312] Spruce, ii 431.

[313] That the words are now incomprehensible may have arisen from the
fact that the songs were originally intended only to recall things to
those already instructed, in the same way that Mexican picture records
“do not tell their stories in full, but only recall them to the minds
of those who are already acquainted with them” (E. B. Tylor, p. 96). As
instruction and memory lapsed the words would become mere gibberish.
Certainly all these tribes appear to have songs they can no longer
interpret. _La danse est accompagnée des chantes; je regrette de n’avoir
pu saisir le sens de leurs paroles_ (Crevaux, p. 104). There are old
dances with words no longer understood among the Tukano (Koch-Grünberg,
p. 254). This is, of course, by no means peculiar to the Amazonian
Indians. Some of the singing games played by children in British New
Guinea have words whose meanings are either obscure or lost (Barton,
_J.R.A.I._, p. 269). Among the Naga tribes the language of the songs “is
known in many cases to be now unintelligible to those who sing them”
(Hodson, _Naga Tribes_, p. 68). Corrobborees are passed from one tribe
to the other among the Australian natives, “the result is that the words
are, as a general rule, quite unintelligible to the performers” (Spencer
and Gillen, _Central Australia_, p. 281). Zulu charm songs are said to
be incomprehensible to the singers (Callaway, _Religious System of the
Amazulu_, p. 413). These instances might be multiplied, but they suffice
to show that this survival of words with lost meanings is world-wide.

As a curious contrast to this we find that the Spanish missionaries in
South America complained that they had great difficulty in getting their
converts to remember the Ave Maria and the Paternoster “seeing that
the words were mere nonsense to them” (Tylor, p. 96). It should not be
forgotten though, in this connection, that the potency of a word is in
inverse ratio to its incomprehensibility. Cf. Brinton, _Religions of
Primitive Peoples_, p. 92.

[314] Possibly there may be a second pine harvest and dance, but the
great feast takes place in October.

[315] Koch-Grünberg mentions the same among the Opaina.

[316] Koch-Grünberg.

[317] Maw describes quite a different arrangement in a dance at
Tabitinga. “The dancers were usually linked three together, one principal
character supported by two others, one on each side; and there were
generally two sets dancing at the same time, each set being followed by
women and children dancing or jumping in the similar manner” (Maw, p.
220).

[318] Koch-Grünberg mentions a dance among tribes north of the Japura
where the men and women dance together in pairs. The women do not wear
aprons, and at the end of the figure they disappear.

[319] Spruce, i. 313.

[320] One is irresistibly reminded of the clown, especially of the
comic man who usually puts in an appearance at military sports. It is
possible that this custom of dressing-up to secure attention when airing
a grievance is what has been mistaken by some writers for a part of the
dance. Sir Roger Casement, quoting Maw in the _Contemporary Review_,
September 1912, talks of “the masked men” as “a necessary part of each
performance.” It is certainly quite unknown to me, for I never saw or
heard of anything of the kind, though in the first edition of Bates’s
_Naturalist on the River Amazon_ the frontispiece of the second volume
gives a masked dance of the Tukuna, so I do not suggest that masked
dancers do not exist, only that they are not known among the tribes of
the Issa-Japura valleys.

[321] It must be remembered that Indians are extraordinarily generous,
or improvident, in the matter of food. I should never hesitate to
join a family party when feeding, without waiting for an invitation.
The complaint in question probably refers to a whole basket of manioc
bartered in the plantation, which transaction would belong to quite
another category.

[322] Crevaux gives an account of an initiation dance where the torture
applied is by means of the application of stinging ants to the naked
bodies of the neophytes (Crevaux, pp. 245-50).

[323] Koch-Grünberg, p. 188. The German doctor also gives an account of
a dance where boys and girls perform in couples. When the figures are
ended the couples withdraw into the forest, and night covers subsequent
proceedings. This takes place among the Yahuna of the Kuretu group. The
men of these tribes when summoned by drum to a dance leave their women
behind them.

[324] Bates, ii. 207.

[325] Manioc.

[326] Plantation.

[327] Manioc root.

[328] Cassava.

[329] What is it? what is it?

[330] It is good.

[331] As proof that this dance is borrowed, and not common to all the
tribes that dance it, is the fact that all tribes, whatever their
language-group, use the Muenane words for the answer.

[332] See Appendix.

[333] The individual in question was labouring under the most
extraordinary sexual excitement. This may have been due to coca
influence, to the lubricity of the song words, or to the intoxication due
to rhythmic movement. The first two possible causes are eliminated by the
fact that Indians are almost continually under the influence of the drug,
and that no song could be more lewd than the ordinary conversation of
these people.

[334] These Muenane riddle dances somewhat resemble the _Pirapurasseya_,
or fish dance, seen by Bates at Ega. The performers joined hands in a
ring and questioned the leader in the centre, who finally might try to
rush the ring, and when successful was succeeded by whoever might be
responsible for his escape (Bates, ii. 276). im Thurn’s description of a
Guiana animal dance also tallies more or less with these dances. See im
Thurn, p. 324.

[335] R. L. Stevenson, _In the South Seas_ (Pocket Edition, 1908), p. 100.

[336] “Dancing to the accompaniment of the human voice only. The word
_ballad_ is derived from this.” Ital. _ballare_ = to dance. See _Games,
Sports, and Pastimes_, by D. H. Moutray Read, in the new _Folklore
Handbook_.

[337] North of the Japura the tribes use what are known as _Yapurutu_
pan-pipes, which are usually played in pairs. The Tukana call them
_bupupo_ or _yapurato_ (Koch-Grünberg, p. 300).

[338] Cf. Howitt, _Native Tribes of South-East Australia_, p. 345, chap.
xi., etc. Bull-roarer too sacred for women to see in Muralug Island,
Torres Straits (_Expedition Torres Straits_, iv. 276; v. 217).

[339] Cf. Spencer and Gillen, _Native Tribes of Central Australia_.
Sound supposed by women and children to be the voice of the great spirit
assisting at the boy’s initiation.

Also Howitt, pp. 594-5; Andrew Lang on “the Bull-roarer” in _Custom and
Myth_; Haddon, _Study of Man_, p. 309.

[340] See Koch-Grünberg; Humbolt, ii. 363; Nery, p. 261; Spruce, ii. 416;
Wallace, pp. 348-9.

[341] There are two in the British Museum on the top shelf in the South
American room.

[342] _Mauritia flexuosa._

[343] Cf. Spencer and Gillen, _op. cit._ p. 517.

[344] The one exception being where parturition is imminent, and no
helpmate is available.

[345] See Appendix.

[346] Compare with identity of the white culture-hero of the higher South
American cultures, Quetzalcoatl of the Nahua, Uiracocha of Peru, Tsuma of
Venezuela. Note this being came from the East. See Joyce, p. 12. He is in
fact the _Atahocan_ of the Algonquin “remote from the world, to whom no
worship was paid”(Ratzel, ii. 144).

[347] According to the Malays’ anthropomorphic ideas concerning the
tiger, “the tiger-folk … have a town of their own, where they live in
houses, and act in every respect like human beings” (Skeat, _Malay
Magic_, p. 157). In Perak tigers with human souls live in similar
villages (Sir W. E. Maxwell, _J.R.A.S._, No. vii. p. 22). The natives of
Korinchi in Sumatra are credited with the power to assume tiger form at
will (Sir H. Clifford, _In Court of Kampong_, pp. 65-6).

[348] When Markham says of the Ticuna that “they fear the evil spirit,
and believe of the good one that, after death, he appears to eat fruit
with the departed and takes them to his home, this would seem to be a
distinct survival of missionary teaching, for these Indians were preached
to between 1683 and 1728.” Christian influence is also shown in their
naming ceremonies (Markham, p. 200).

[349] These holes in the heavy mould of the forest are caused by
subsidences. The Indians do not understand how they came to be, and
explain the fact by asserting they are the work of devils.

[350] Among the Kuretu the soul is believed to hover near the body for
one day after death, and then to flit away, and finally to retire to a
beautiful house at the source of a mysterious river.

[351] Skeat, _Malay Magic_, p. 52.

[352] im Thurn, p. 343. Cf. also Skeat, _Pagan Malay_, p. 47.

[353] See Simson, p. 175; Orton, p. 170.

[354] Cf. Spencer and Gillen, p. 498.

[355] This is so frequently the case among primitive peoples as hardly to
need amplifying. It is very general among the Indian races. See André, p.
16; im Thurn, pp. 158, 220.

The Algonquin hold that the mention of a man’s name offends his personal
deity (H. R. Schoolcraft, _Oneota_, pp. 331, 456; _Indian Tribes of the
U.S._ ii. 65). Australian natives only mention secret names in a whisper
(Spencer and Gillen, p. 139). See also note on names in Chap. XI.

[356] This belief is also held by the Dyaks. “Their theory is that during
sleep the soul can hear, see, and understand, so what is dreamt is
really what the soul sees. When any one dreams of a distant land, they
believe that his soul has paid a flying visit to that land” (E. H. Gomes,
_Seventeen Years among the Sea Dyaks of Borneo_, p. 161). Howitt writes
of the South Australian native: “While his body lies motionless, his
spirit goes out of him on its wanderings” (Howitt, pp. 410-11). See also
Seligmann, p. 191.

[357] im Thurn, pp. 329, 343.

[358] See im Thurn, p. 349. In Australia “one black fellow will often
tell you that he can and does do something magical, whilst all the time
he is perfectly well aware that he cannot, and yet firmly believes that
some other man can really do it” (Spencer and Gillen, p. 130).

[359] Spruce relates a custom unknown to me practised by some tribes
when astray in the bush. The Indian when lost “names the Curupira, and …
twists a liana into a ring … throws it behind him … follows the direction
in which it has fallen” (Spruce, ii. 437-8). The Bororo use a bull-roarer
to drive the bad spirits off (W. A. Cook, _The Bororo Indians of Matto
Grosso_, p. 55).

[360] The Caribs of the Pomeroon river actually attempt to counter the
attack of epidemic sickness by blocking the forest tracks “to stop the
passage of the spirits” (im Thurn, p. 356). In Guiana disease is regarded
as an evil spirit that prowls around (Brett, _Indian Tribes of Guiana_,
p. 225).

[361] Bates, ii. 115.

[362] Jurupari is unknown south of the Japura. I can therefore give no
particulars or description from personal investigation and knowledge of
aught concerning this all powerful demoniac deity of the northern tribes.

[363] J. D. Pfleiderer, _Die Genesis des Mythus der indogermanischen
Völker_, p. 48.

[364] Elsewhere this appears not to be the case. See Bates, ii. 114.

[365] _Yacu_ = water, _mama_ = mother, _Mai d’agoa_ (Tupi). _Pachamama_,
the earth, was worshipped in Peru, and the Inca also reverenced
_Mamaccocha_, the sea mother (Joyce, pp. 154, 225).

[366] Bates mentions a boy at Ega being devoured by one of these huge
creatures (Bates, ii. 113-15).

[367] Clough, p. 60.

[368] For description see Wallace, pp. 127-8.

[369] Bates, ii. 264.

[370] For dance at tiger’s “wake” see Skeat, _Malay Magic_, p. 169.

[371] Cf. Darwin, p. 64.

[372] “They consider the sun as the fountain-head of majesty and power
and even of beneficence, and as the abode of the Great Priests who have
passed to the spirit world and fear him” (W. A. Cook, _op. cit._ p. 55).

[373] Occidente is on the left bank of the Igara Parana, a tributary of
the Issa.

[374] _Folklore Journal_, 1912, p. 314.

[375] Casement, _Contemporary Review_, September 1912, p. 325.

[376] Indians on the main river, however, according to Dr. Silva
Coutinho, “not only give names to a great number of celestial bodies
[stars], but they have legends about them” (Nery, p. 252).

[377] Markham, pp. 93-4.

[378] Poison.

[379] Narcotic.

[380] Spruce, i. 314. In South America manihot is propagated by means of
slips or cuttings; but in the Torres Straits the _manihot sp._ introduced
by the white man is grown from pieces of the old roots (_Exped. Torres
Straits_, iv. 149).

[381] Clough, p. 212; Humboldt, ii. 182; Oakenfull, pp. 34-5; im Thurn,
p. 375; Joyce, p. 167.

[382] im Thurn, p. 375.

[383] Humboldt, ii. 400-1; Chanoine Bernadino de Souza, _Para e Amazon_;
see Nery, pp. 8-9.

[384] Humboldt, pp. 88, 400.

[385] Spruce, ii. 561.

[386] Spruce wisely remarks on this point, “that the Spaniards had
been for two whole years among Indians who wore their hair long,” and
therefore were not likely to mistake men for women (Spruce, ii. 459).

[387] Nery, p. 6.

[388] The French traveller rejects the ἀ-, μαζός theory in favour of the
ἄμα ζώνη--bound with a belt (Nery, p. 2).

[389] Wallace, p. 343.

[390] “I have myself seen that Indian women can fight.… The women pile up
heaps of stones, to serve as missiles for the men” (Spruce, ii. 457-8).
This, _vide_ “stones,” is not possible in the Issa-Japura district.

[391] Where tribal differentiation of colour is so marked as among these
people it is only natural that tales should be told of some mythical
“white” folk.

[392] Crevaux, _Voyages dans l’Amérique du Sud_, p. 284.

[393] _Komuine_ = monkey (Boro).

[394] “So high”--demonstrated with the hand.

[395] These would be her natural protectors.

[396] Rubber latex. See Depilation.

[397] To hide the unsightliness.

[398] Of the chief’s daughter.

[399] This may be a folk-tale of the monkey-people stealing Indian women
for their mates. Cf. Skeat, _Malay Magic_, p. 185; Clifford, _Studies in
Brown Humanity_, p. 243.

But it should not be overlooked that the Boro depile most carefully,
while the Andoke medicine-man does not depile at all, and the Andoke
are mortal foes of the Boro. The Karahone also are said not to depile,
and on this score would be regarded by the Boro as no better than brute
beasts. So this story may be a traditional account of the actual rape of
a chief’s daughter by a hostile tribe, the Amazonian version of Helen and
Troy.

[400] Simson, p. 168.

[401] Spruce, i. 332. im Thurn relates of the Arawak Indians that “each
family is descended--their fathers knew how, but they themselves have
forgotten--from its eponymous animal, bird, or plant” (im Thurn, pp. 184,
376).

[402] The general principle is well known, and is now used both by the
authorities of the United States and of Great Britain. It consists in
giving to the vowels in native words their Italian significance, and to
the consonants that which they have in the English language.

[403] _Notes and Queries on Anthropology_ (1912), pp. 187-96.

[404] Simson, p. 94.

[405] Tylor, p. 25.

[406] Koch-Grünberg transliterates it as _ingetā_, or _ingétā_; and gives
_marā_ for good, _maringetā_, _marinyetā_, bad; _faréti_, fat; _faré
ingetā_, thin (_Die Uitóto Indianer_, pp. 10-11).

[407] Orton stated that the Zaparo “have no words for numbers above
three, but show their fingers” (Orton, p. 170). Simson gives words for
four and five as in use among those tribes, and after that _manunu_,
meaning “many-many” (Simson, p. 179).

[408] The reference to monkey or beast is due to the fact that the
Karahone do not depilate all body and face hair.

[409] Spencer and Gillen, _Across Australia_, ii.

[410] Cf. Ratzel, ii. 125.

[411] For example the Maca, the Guaharibo, and the Guahibo (Spruce, i.
477).

[412] _Vide_ Chap. VI. p. 101, where it is stated that the dug-out is not
the autochthonic boat of this country.

[413] These canoes, it must be remembered, are not affairs of everyday
manufacture. They are tribal possessions, not many in number, and needing
time, skill, and, above all, experience, to make successfully.

[414] For instance the wrong wood might have been chosen; some trees will
not open when heated (cf. André, pp. 241-2).

[415] _The Decadence of Useful Arts._

[416] There are no stones in this region it should be remembered.

[417] Wallace gives 5 feet 9 inches or 5 feet 10 inches as not uncommon
for the height of a Uaupes man (Wallace, pp. 335, 353), and the Isanna
as very similar. The Bugre are shorter, 5 feet 4 inches, and misshapen
in the leg (Oakenfull, p. 33). The Tukana, 160 to 170 centimetres
(Koch-Grünberg).

[418] I had no calipers, and the breadth in all cases is approximate
only, taken from point to point where it was individually greatest, not
where, as I subsequently discovered, scientific measurement decrees.

[419] Tukuya, two types dolichocephalic. Koch-Grünberg. Napo,
brachycephalic (Orton, p. 166). According to Orton the “long-headed
hordes” came from the south (Orton, p. 316).

[420] Bates noted that the Tapuyo have “small hands and feet” (i. 78),
and Orton mentions it as a characteristic of races of Tupi origin (Orton,
p. 316).

[421] The women are muscular in the neck, and will carry considerable
weights in baskets slung on a band passed round the forehead. They will
carry through the thickest bush as much as sixty pounds and more in
the same manner, their strength in lilting and carrying weights being
confined to the neck.

[422] Robuchon states that the women’s mammae are pyriform, and the
photographs show distinctly pyriform breasts with digitiform nipples.
I found them resembling rather the segment of a sphere, the areola not
prominent, and the nipples hemispherical.

[423] Orton and Galt, however, note that “one will sometimes find the
skin of the Indian rough, hard, and insensible, like the skin of the
larger lower animals” (Orton, p. 591). _Skin--Colour and Texture._--“Je
remarque que ces Indiens, comme les Roucouyennes et les Oyampis, out les
plis de la peau beaucoup plus saillants que chez les races blanches et
noires. Les plis du genou resemblent à une peau d’orange. Je voudrais
représenter exactement ces détails, qui m’intéressent au point de vue
anthropologique, mais je trouve la difficulté insurmontable. Il me vient
toutefois une idée; je fais barbouiller un Indien avec du roucou des
pieds à la tête, et, à moyen d’un papier mince que j’applique avec la
main, j’obtiens tous les détails de structure. Le roucou agit comme de
l’encre d’imprimerie. Avec un pen d’exercice je recueille les détails
anatomiques de toutes les parties du corps, et particulièrement des
pieds, des mains, du genou et des coudes. Il est à noter que la peau
d’enfant à la mamelle présente des plis aussi accentués que ceux d’un
blanc à l’âge adulte. La peau d’un jeune homme vue à l’œil me semble
grossie trois fois à la loupe” (Crevaux, p. 303). We have already noted
that there Issa-Japura tribes are free from the skin diseases that Napo
and other Indians frequently develop. This probably accounts for the
contradiction of my observances with the notes of other writers.

[424] See note on Depilation, p. 282.

[425] According to Wallace, though the Uaupes Indians remove facial or
body hair the Isanna tribes do not (Wallace, pp. 353, 356).

[426] Wallace, p. 354.

[427] I have found this amongst all people who sleep on the ground, I
take it, for obvious buffer reasons.

[428] Simson, p. 93.

[429] During menstruation women wash more frequently, with intent to
arrest as well as to hide their condition. A girl at such times will
bathe as often as twenty times in a day. The cold water acts as a styptic.

[430] Bates, i. 200.

[431] Simson, p. 234.

[432] Simson, p. 235.

[433] Four inches to fourteen inches in length (Keane, p. 551).

[434] Orton, pp. 482-3.

[435] Ratzel, ii 170.

[436] Oakenfall, p. 26.

[437] The only yellow free colour.

[438] Approximate measurements.

[439] Outer measurements not, as they should have been, from head of
fibula to top of great trochanter.

[440] _N.B._--As Case 2 was growing, further measurements will be useless
if not misleading. These were taken with the help of a medical man and
are therefore more correct than other measurements.

[441] _Neva_ = also sun, morning.

[442] _Navena_ = ghost, devil.

[443] _Bope_ = also disembodied soul.

[444] _Yaya_ = father.

[445] _Yaperikuli_ = heroes.

[446] Originally father or creator, not Great Spirit.

[447] Soul of father or parents.

[448] Soul of Evil.

[449] Heroes of the tribe.

[450] Also great-great-grandfather.

[451] House.

[452] _Ri-e-i_, white man.

[453] _Itoma_, sun.

[454] _Ei-fo-ke_, Turkey-buzzard.

[455] Privy name. Reference to the fact that all Indians have two names.
See p. 154 for note on _nomen penis sui_.

LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO

ALCOCK, FREDERICK, F.R.G.S.

_Trade and Travel in South America._ 2nd edit. London, 1907.

ANDRÉ, EUGENE, F.R.G.S., F.Z.S., M.S.A.

_A Naturalist in the Guianas._ London, 1904.

BANCROFT, HUBERT HOWE.

_Native Races of the Pacific States._ 1875-76.

BANCROFT, EDWARD, and STEDMAN.

_Essay on Natural History of Guiana._ 1769.

BATES, HENRY WALTER.

_The Naturalist on the River Amazons._ 2 vols. London, 1863.

BRAZILIAN YEAR BOOK. 1908.

BRINTON, DANIEL G.

_Religions of Primitive Peoples._ London and New York, 1897.

CLOUGH, R. STEWART.

_The Amazons._ London, N.D.

CREVAUX, DR. J.

_Voyages dans l’Amérique du sud._ Paris, 1883.
_Fleuves de l’Amérique du Sud, Yapura._
_Vocabulaire français-roucouyennes._

DARWIN, CHARLES.

_Narrative of the Voyages of the Beagle._ 1839.

DENIKER, JOSEPH, SC.D. Paris.

_The Races of Man._ 1900.

ENOCH, C. REGINALD, F.R.G.S.

_The Andes and the Amazons._ London, 1907.
_Peru._ London, 1908.

FOUNTAIN, PAUL.

_The River Amazon._ London, 1914.

HARDENBURG, W. E.

_The Putumayo._ London, 1912.

_History of South America_, by an American. 1899.

HUMBOLDT.

_Personal Narrative of Travels to the Equinoctial Regions by
the New Continent, 1799-1804._ 3 vols. Bohn edition. 1852-53.

IM THURN, SIR EVERARD F., K.C.M.G.

_Among the Indians of Guiana._ London, 1883.

JOYCE, THOMAS A.

_South American Archæology._ London, 1912.

KOCH-GRÜNBERG, DR. THEODOR.

_Aruak-Sprachen Nordwestbrasiliens und der angrenzenden Gebiete._
_Journal de la Société des Américainists de Paris._
_Zwei Jahre unter den Indianern: Reisen in Nordwest-Brasilien,
1903-1905._ 2 vols. Berlin, 1910.
_Zeitschrift für Ethnologie._

MARKHAM, SIR CLEMENTS R., K.C.B.

_Expeditions into the Valley of the Amazons._ Hakluyt Society, 1911.
_Peruvian Bark: Introduction of Chinchona Cultivation into India,
1860-1880._ 1880.

MAW, HENRY LISTER.

_Journal of a Passage from the Pacific to the Atlantic._ London, 1829.

NERY, BARON DE SANTA-ANNA.

_The Land of the Amazons._ London, 1901.

OAKENFULL, J. C.

_Brazil in 1909._ 1st edit. Paris, 1909.

ORTON, JAMES.

_The Andes and the Amazon._ New York, N.D.

RATZEL, F.

_History of Mankind._ 3 vols. Translated from 2nd German edition by
Sir A. J. Butler, M.A. London, 1897.

RICE, HAMILTON.

_Quito to Iquitos by the River Napo._
_Further Explorations in the North-West Amazon Basin. The River
Uaupes._

RODWAY, JAMES.

_Guiana: British, Dutch, and French._ London, 1912.
_In the Guiana Forest._ 1894.

SCHOOLCRAFT, H. R.

_Historical and Statistical Information respecting the History, etc.,
of the Indian Tribes of the United States._ Philadelphia, 1851.

SIMSON, ALFRED.

_Travels in the Wilds of Ecuador and Exploration of the Putumayo
River._ 1886.

SPIX, JOHN BAPTIST VON, and MARTIUS, C.F.P. VON.

_Travels in Brazil, 1817-20._ Translated by H. E. Lloyd. 1824.

SPRUCE, RICHARD, Ph.D.

_Notes of a Botanist on the Amazon and Andes._ 2 vols. London, 1908.
_The Great River. Notes on the Amazon and its Tributaries._
London, 1904.

TYLOR, E. B.

_Researches into the Early History of Mankind._ London, 1865.

VON MARTIUS, C. F. P.

_Zeitschrift für Ethnologie._
_Beiträge zur Ethnographie und Sprachenkunde Amerikas zumal
Brasiliens._

WALLACE, ALFRED R.

_A Narrative of Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro._ London, 1853.
_On the Rio Negro._ Pamphlet. 1853.

WATERTON, CHARLES.

_Wanderings in South America._ New edition. London, 1879.

WESTERMARCK, EDWARD.

_The History of Human Marriage._ 3rd edit. London, 1901.

WOODROFFE, JOSEPH F.

_The Upper Reaches of the Amazon._ London, 1914.

[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF THE NORTH WESTERN AFFLUENTS OF THE AMAZON
RIVER

BY CAPTAIN THOMAS W. WIFFEN.]

[Illustration: THE AMAZON RIVER WITH ITS NORTHERN AFFLUENTS

Compiled from various sources and corrected from observations BY CAPTAIN
THOMAS W. WIFFEN.]

INDEX

Agriculture--
crops, 104;
harvest, 193;
plantations, 103;
sowing, 104;
women’s work, 67, 102, 103-4, 105, 131

Amazons, legends of, 239-40

Animals--
characteristics, 243-4;
no domestic, 52, 102;
scarcity of, 128

Agouti, 127;
ant-bear, 127;
armadillo, 128;
bats, 51;
capybara, 127, 147;
deer, 128, 147;
dogs, 102;
jaguar, 36, 182, 185, 221, 231, 232, 244;
monkey, 52, 128;
paca, 127;
peccary, 128-9, 148;
tapir, 126-7, 147, 174, 244;
tiger (_see_ jaguar)

Anthropophagy--
dances, 204-5;
feasts, 119-23;
practices, 119;
reasons for, 120-21, 177

Arts and Crafts--
basket-making, 96-7;
carving, 91-2, 93, 211-12;
painting, 91 (_see_ Ornaments);
pottery, 62, 95, 96

Bates, Henry Walter, 52, 122, 125, 146, 199, 229, 232, 278, 280

Birds, 129;
shooting, 108, 109;
condor, 183-4;
parrots, 129

Birth--
customs, 146-52, 273 (_see_ Couvade);
of twins, 120, 150, 244

Boats--
how made, 100-101;
canoes, 29, 101, 265;
rafts, 101, 265

Bridges, 28-9

Brown, John, 3, 8, 9, 14, 38, 249, 253

Burial, 175-7, 224;
customs, 74, 81, 176, 226

Casement, Sir Roger, 234-5, 246

Cassava--preparation of, 132-4, 144;
grater, 99, 131-2;
squeezer, 98, 132;
Boro, 98, 132;
manufacture of, 98-9;
Witoto, 55, 98-9, 132

Cazes, Mr. David, 2

Charms, 234

Chiefs, 64-5, 67, 71, 193, 200, 244, 257, 258-9;
death of, 65, 70, 119, 176-177;
dress of, 71, 73, 76;
house of, 47, 64;
influence of, 64;
wife of, 73, 123, 159, 200-201;
women of, 64, 159-60, 163;
Katenere, 63;
Nonugamue, 63

Children, 88, 124-5, 135, 146-58, 208, 236, 257, 269, 276;
boys, 76, 108, 165;
capture of, 69-70, 274;
girls, 68, 157-8, 164-5;
marriage of, 162;
stealing by spirits and tigers of, 219-20, 224, 232;
treatment of, 155-8;
toys, 93, 108, 156

Chorrera, 4, 5, 6, 21

Climate, 22-4, 25

Clough, R. Stewart, 158

Coca, 104, 106, 135, 141-2, 179, 187;
effects of, 142-3, 264, 277;
preparation of, 141

Couvade, 55, 148, 151-3

Crevaux, Dr., 55, 57, 72, 87, 96, 240-41, 276

Dances, Chapter XV.;
complaints at, 196-7;
decoration and dress for, 75, 191;
effect of, 202-3, 204;
invitation to, 192, 253;
preparation for, 140, 191-2, 273.
Varieties--
animal, 201-2;
harvest, 193, 199-201, 208;
initiation, 197-9;
Jurupari, 157, 158, 198, 212-13;
riddle, 201-2, 209;
war, 203-5

Dancing-ground, 42, 102, 192, 194

Dancing staff, 193-4, 195

Dancing steps, 193, 194, 195-6, 203, 204

Death, 167, 168, 170, 173, 187;
how regarded, 61, 175, 178;
of chief, 65;
homicide, 118, 171-2;
infanticide, 146, 149-51, 170-71

Deniker, J., 54

Depilation, 120, 181-2, 241-2, 273, 281, 282

Disease, 168, 178, 186, 229;
chronic, 170;
infections, 169, 173;
mental, 169;
skin, 174, 175;
beriberi, 13, 174;
fever, 173, 188;
smallpox, 174;
sun-sickness, 173

Divorce, 165-6

Dress, 71-6;
ceremonial, 74;
travellers’, 15, 16;
men’s, 72, 73;
women’s, 72, 79;
breech-cloth, manufacture of, 73;
never removed, 74;
ligatures, 73, 77, 83, 84, 271.
_See_ Chief, Medicine-man, etc.

Drinks, 101;
fruit, 104, 139;
herb, 138, 277;
intoxicating, 139-41;
unfermented, 138-9

Drugs, 140, 175, 182-3, 187.
_See_ Poison, Snuff, etc.

Escort, 3, 5, 71;
management of, 4

Field of exploration, 17-18

Fire, 48-50, 133, 136;
by friction, 48;
method of making unknown, 48;
plan of, 49, 50

Fish, 130-31, 245, 279

Fishing, 112;
nets, 112;
poison, 113-14;
spears, 113

Floods, 22, 32;
traditions of, 238-9

Folk tales, 221-3, 231, 236-45;
animal stories, 243-4

Food, 50, 126, 128-30, 257;
difficulty of obtaining, 15, 38;
eggs not taken for, 130;
influence of, 121, 147-8;
preparation of, 68, 105, 135-6;
scarcity of, 120, 121, 126;
when eaten, 134-5;
animal, 128-9;
peppers, 105, 134;
pepper-pot, 129, 134, 135-6;
reptiles, 129;
salt, 124, 134;
sauces, 133-4, 139;
sugar, 104;
turtles, 129-30;
vermin, 130.
_See_ Cassava, Fish, Fruit, etc.

Forest--
birds in, 26;
description of, 26-8;
depressing influence of, 14, 35-6, 265, 266;
lost in, 37;
noises in, 34;
silence of, 34;
tracks in, 28;
travellers’ danger in, 29;
travelling in, 14, 34-5, 37

Fruit, 104, 135, 136-7

Games, 157;
singing, 208-9;
toys, 93, 108, 156

Geophagy, 124-5

Hair, 274, 282, 285;
how worn, 77-8, 274

Hammocks, 55;
how slung, 47, 50;
made by women, 97-9;
Witoto, 54, 91

Hardenburg, W. E., 62, 88, 149, 163

Head hunters, 122

Houses--
private, 47-8, 161;
temporary, 47;
tribal--
Maloka, 40-52;
construction of, 43;
light in, 49, 186;
plan of, 41, 43, 45, 46;
sites of, 42, 118;
thatch of, 43-4

Hunting, 104, 107-9, 110;
rights, 112;
traps, 110-11.
_See_ Weapons

Igarape Falls, 6

Implements--
household, earthenware, 133;
human bone, 123-4;
knives, 94;
pestle and mortar, 99, 141;
tools, 95, 214;
troughs, 99, 140-41

im Thurn, Sir Everard, 55, 76, 152, 239, 274

Indian--
beliefs, Chapter XVII.;
character, 4, 13, 61, 110, 156, 202, 236, 256-64, 275-6;
cruelty to infirm, 169-70, 257;
ethics, 65, 66, 68, 260-62;
kinship, 67, 244, 276;
life, 50, 236, 246, 276-7, 278;
origin not decadent remnants, 54, 264-6;
physical traits, 269, Appendices;
treachery, 4, 258, 259-60;
types, classification of, 53;
Neolithic, 94, 266;
voice, 207, 253-4;
woodcraft, 106-7

Indians, story of white, 240-41

Initiation, 157-8, 165;
dances, 197-9

Insects, 30, 52;
ants, 32, 33, 51, 97;
beetles, 82;
bees, 31, 51, 130;
butterflies and moths, 31-2;
flies, 30;
harvest boys, 31;
jiggers, 51, 173-4, 273;
lice, 130, 173, 273;
mosquito, 31, 51;
pium, 30-31, 51, 173;
sand-fly, 31;
spiders, 51;
ticks, 31, 273;
wasps, 31, 130

Joyce, Thomas A., 238

Jurupari, 229, 231.
_See also_ Dances

Koch-Grünberg, Dr., 46-7, 60, 77, 111, 121, 151, 159, 175, 188, 194,
198, 247, 251, 262, 275, 282

Language, Chapter XIX.;
drum, 215-216, 253;
gesture, 251;
groups, 56, 57, 247

Manioc, 68, 104-5, 237-8;
cultivation of, 104-5, 131;
preparation of, 98-99, 131-4

Map--Witoto, 92-3

Markham, Sir Clements, 158

Marriage, 60-61, 66-7, 103, 159-67;
arrangement of, 158, 159-60, 161;
betrothal, 162;
ceremonies, 160-164;
fidelity in, 69, 166-7, 262

Medicine-man, 140, Chapter XIV., 273;
dress of, 73, 95, 183;
functions of, 151, 153, 168-9, 175, 185-6;
influence of, 64;
magic powers of, 172, 178, 179-81, 182, 183-4, 185, 186-7, 188-9,
224, 228, 232;
poison made by, 144, 178-9;
succession of, 181-2

Music, 207-8;
instruments, 210-17;
castanets, 213;
drums, 204, 210, 214-17;
signal drums, 192, 214-17, 253;
flutes, 123, 192, 194, 195, 197, 204, 210, 211-12;
pan-pipes, 192-3, 204, 210-211;
rattles, 83, 64, 194, 195, 210, 213-14;
trumpets, 211-12;
whistles, 194, 212;
Jurupari, 212-213

Names, 56, 244, 248;
boys’ and girls’, 153;
not mentioned, 57, 153-4, 220, 226-7, 280

Nery, Baron de Santa-Anna, 239

Ornaments, 76;
beaded garlands, 79-80, 81, 191;
beads, 79-80, 82-3, 213;
bracelets, 82-3, 213;
combs, 77-8;
earrings, 85, 86, 275;
feather head-dress, 75-6;
feathers, 76-7, 83, 85, 86, 191;
labret, 86;
necklaces, 81, 82, 192;
nose-pin, 86, 275;
paint, 87, 192;
scarification, 66;
tattoo, 86, 87

Orton, James, 279, 280, 281

Palms, 30;
_Aeta_, 26;
_Astrocaryum_, 30;
_Chambiri_, 97;
edible varieties, 137;
_Iriartea ventricosa_, 29

Poisons, 91, 111, 116-17, 168-9, 219, 259-260;
preparation of, 144-5, 179

Proverbs, 259-60

Rainfall, 22

Reptiles, 33;
anaconda, 184, 231;
boa-constrictor, 36;
frogs, 129;
iguana, 129;
lizard, 184;
snakes, 129;
fear of, 30

Rice, Hamilton, 97

Rivers, Dr. W. H. R., 237, 266

Rivers--
Acre, 11;
Aiary, 198;
Amazon, 17, 18, 20, 33;
fascination of, 17, 205;
scenery of, 25;
soil of basin, 24-5;
Apaporis, 10, 59;
Avio Parana, 7, 8;
black water streams, 19;
Fue, 6;
Igara Parana, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 18, 58;
description of, 20;
Ira, 58;
Issa, 5, 17, 19, 24, 31, 58, 173;
description of, 19, 22;
fish in, 131;
Issanna, 140;
Japura, 6, 8, 11, 12, 17, 18, 33, 58, 70, 73;
camp on, 5;
scenery, 22;
Kahuinari, 7, 11, 13, 31, 58;
description of, 22;
journey up, 5;
Kara Parana, 18, 21;
Kuemani, 58;
Miriti, 74;
Napo, 18, 24, 222;
houses on, 44;
trip up, 2;
Negro, 18, 19, 104, 222;
Papunya, 8, 20, 58;
Tapajos, 113;
Tauauru, 58;
Tikie, 61;
Uaupes, 18, 59, 91, 112;
black water, 19;
description of, 18-19;
houses on, 46;
proposed journey up, 1, 2, 13;
Wama, 58;
white water streams, 19

Robuchon, Eugene, 20, 31, 46, 65, 86, 88, 89, 99, 119, 122, 123, 163,
210, 270, 272;
deserted by carriers, 7, 8;
disappearance of, 5-12;
dog “Othello,” 7, 8, 10, 11;
last camp of, 9, 10;
last message from, 8;
previously lost, 11;
relief expedition, 8, 11;
survivors of, 6

Route, 2, 3, 5, 8, 9, 10, 13

Rubber--
Belt, 3, 4, 11, 40, 72, 80, 91, 101, 174, 257;
gatherers, 2, 3, 48, 63-4

Simson, Alfred, 243, 250

Slaves, 5, 69-70, 124, 170, 263, 273.
_See_ Tribes, Maku

Snuff, 143, 179

Songs, 190, 196-7, 199-201, 206-10;
meaning of words lost, 190, 207-8

Spelling, 57, 248-9

Spines, 30, 35;
used for combs, 77

Spirits, 92, Chapter XVII.;
evil, 179, 185, 186, 218, 219-20, 223-5, 228-9, 233;
Good, 218-19, 221, 223, 224-5, 226;
appeared to man, 93, 221-3, 237-8;
land of, 225-6;
return of, 172, 176, 177, 182, 224-7;
transmigratory, 224-5, 227-8

Spruce, Richard, 19, 32, 33, 99, 101, 128, 140, 188, 238, 240, 244, 280

Stone--
absence of, 20, 24, 94, 265;
found at Chorrera, 21;
axes, 94, 260;
magic stones, 163, 184

Tabu, 90, 243;
birth, 121;
coca, 68, 105, 143, 152;
food, 121, 135, 147-148, 152, 155, 243-4;
medicine-man’s, 162;
removal of, 180;
tobacco, 68, 105, 143-4;
women’s, 68, 105, 123, 135, 140, 143-4, 147-8, 165, 197, 212-13,
240, 244

Teeth, 275;
necklaces of human, 81, 124;
painted black, 88

Theft, 171

Tobacco, 104, 105, 187;
ceremonial licking, 153, 163, 221, 259;
drinking, 65-6, 179;
not smoked, 143, 158;
preparation of, 143-4.
_See_ Tabu

Tobacco palaver, 46, 64, 65-6, 117, 165, 197, 222

Tobacco pot, 65, 144, 259

Trade, 61-2, 79, 91, 105-6, 108, 134, 144, 164, 217

Travelling in bush, 14, 15, 258-9;
dress, 75;
equipment, 15-16

Tree-climbing, method of, 106

Tribal Council, 65;
house (_see_ Houses, Maloka);
marks, 61, 66, 158;
signals, 253;
system, 62-5

Tribes, 54, 56, 57, 58, 256;
localities changing, 59, 62
Aiary, 198
Akaroa, 247
Andoke, 132, 133, 157, 162, 231, 273;
appearance of, 60, 269, 275;
cannibals, 120;
character, 257, 259, 277;
chief, 5, 65;
country of, 5, 58, 201;
dress of, 78;
language of, 14, 248;
manufactures, 108;
medicine-man, 73, 95, 178, 179, 182, 183, 184;
ornaments, 88, 89;
statistics, 59, 247
Apaporis, 74, 75, 116, 158, 175
Arekaine, 120
Arawak, 54
Auhishiri, 60
Bara, 59, 61, 108, 140, 157, 188, 282;
statistics, 247
Boro, 55, 56, 71, 104, 112, 127, 132, 133, 152, 153, 154, 162, 178,
216, 276;
appearance of, 58, 60, 61, 77, 269, 271, 274-5, 282;
beliefs of, 230-31, 234;
cannibals, 119;
character, 277;
chief, 63, 197;
dances, 194, 199-201;
dress, 75, 78, 83, 84;
folk-tales, 221-2, 241-2, 244;
houses, 44, 48;
language, 14, 220, 221, 247, 248, 251, 252, 253, and Appendices;
localities, 58;
manufactures, 91, 96, 108;
ornaments, 82, 85, 86;
statistics, 59, 247;
tribal marks, 87;
tribes, 9, 11, 12, 62;
women, 149
Botocudo, 129
Carib, 54
Catanixi, 101
Chepei, 6
Cobeu, 120
Coto, 58
Issa, 79, 124
Issanna, 140, 160
Japura, 59, 60, 75, 79, 116, 124
Jivaro, 115-16, 122, 158
Karahone, 55, 57, 61, 140, 174-5, 178;
appearance, 269, 274, 282;
character, 257-8, 259-60;
dress, 74, 77;
manufactures, 96;
ornaments, 87;
poisons made by, 91, 111, 118, 144, 168, 259-60;
slave boy, 5, 273;
statistics, 59, 62, 247;
women, 80
Kuretu, 104, 139, 140, 147, 150, 164, 176, 226;
appearance, 275, 281, 282;
character, 60;
country, 59, 75;
dress, 75;
houses, 48;
language-group, 58-9;
ornaments, 84, 86;
statistics, 247
Maku, 60, 61, 257, 262;
appearance, 269;
country, 59, 70;
slaves, 70
Makuna, country, 75;
dress, 75, 77;
houses, 44;
ornaments, 86;
statistics, 247
Menimehe, 10, 56, 61, 75, 115, 139, 140, 143, 144, 276;
appearance, 273, 274, 283, 284;
beehives made by, 51, 130;
character, 11;
country, 11, 58, 74;
dress, 74, 76;
language, 247, 248;
monkeys kept by, 52;
ornaments, 86;
pottery, 62, 91, 95;
shooting fish, 113;
statistics, 59, 247;
tribal marks, 61, 86, 158;
weapons, 95, 115, 116, 117, 194;
women, 10
Muenane, 56, 61, 235;
appearance, 77, 282;
character, 277;
country, 8, 63, 201;
dance, 201, 208-9;
language, 247, 248;
ornaments, 86, 275;
statistics, 59, 247
Napo, 58, 60, 74, 76, 82, 85, 112, 113, 116, 140, 174, 175, 211, 217
Nonuya, 56;
character, 277;
chief, 63;
country, 58, 63;
dress, 76;
houses, 44, 46;
language, 248;
statistics, 59, 247
Okaina, 56, 60, 99, 132, 188, 216, 235;
appearance, 269, 275, 282;
country, 56;
dances, 194;
dress, 81, 83;
language, 248;
ornaments, 89;
statistics, 59, 247;
tribes, 62
Opaina, 59;
country, 74;
dress, 75;
statistics, 247
Orahone, country, 58;
dress, 74;
houses, 46;
medicine-man, 73, 183;
name, 58, 85;
ornaments, 85, 88
Orahone, 60
Ouayana, 241
Pegua, 247
Piohe, 60
Resigero, 60, 61, 132;
appearance, 274, 282, 283, 284;
baskets for ants, 97;
cannibals, 120;
character, 277;
chief, 63-4;
country, 8, 58, 63, 201;
dress, 77;
language, 248;
ornaments, 86;
statistics, 59, 247
Rio Negro, 140, 221
Roucouyennes, 57
Saha, 247
Saka, 86
Tapajos, 113
Tikie, 61, 104, 111, 147, 159, 194, 247, 270, 274, 275
Tukana, 59, 61, 112, 135, 194, 195, 213, 234, 247, 270, 274, 275, 282
Tureka, 194
Turuka, 191, 194, 196
Tutapishco, 58
Tuyuka, 86, 143, 151, 254, 282;
houses, 47
Uacarra, 161
Uaenambeu, 160
Uaupes, 59, 76, 85, 116, 140, 143, 188, 198, 244, 248
Umaua, 74, 247
Witoto, 54, 55, 56, 57, 61, 71, 104, 115, 126, 132, 133, 151, 152,
153, 162, 178, 211, 231, 235;
appearance, 58, 60, 269, 270, 271, 274, 282;
arts, 92, 93;
character, 277;
country, 58;
dance, 209-10;
dress, 76, 63, 84;
fishing, 112, 113;
houses, 44, 46, 48;
language, 14, 72, 220, 221, 248, 250, 251, 252, 253;
language-group, 56, 247;
manufactures, 91;
ornaments, 82, 86, 88, 89;
statistics, 59, 60, 62, 247;
tribes, 6, 62, 93;
tree venerated by, 233;
women, 3, 149, 155, 223, 260, 275
Yahabana, 84, 86
Yahua, 247
Yahuna, 10, 116, 143, 194, 247
Yakuna, 86
Yuri, 56, 247
Zaparo, 226

Tylor, E. B., 152, 264

Vampires, 51-2

Vegetable life, 24-5, 26, 104, 130, 131

von Martius, Dr., 57, 264

Wallace, Dr. Russell, 1, 19, 44, 46, 60, 91, 101, 121, 134, 158, 160,
161, 197, 240, 275, 280

War, 61, 62, 117-19;
blood feuds, 61;
causes, 61;
dance, 203-5;
defensive, 5, 14, 118;
dress, 74;
preparations for, 5, 185;
prisoners in, 118-19, 120-21, 159-60;
strategy, 117

Waterton, Charles, 181

Weapons, 16, 115;
arrows and darts, 109, 115-17, 145;
blow-pipes, 91, 107, 108-9;
club, 115, 116, 194;
fish-spears, 113;
guns, 91, 115;
javelins, 111, 113, 115, 116, 145;
shields, 115, 119;
swords, 115, 116, 260;
traps, 110-11, 118

Women, 47, 51, 67-9, 195;
behaviour of, 262;
duties and work of, 90-91, 95, 96, 97, 98, 102, 134, 173-4, 263;
mothers, 147-55;
physical traits, 271-2, 282;
position of, 135, 159-160, 161, 164-5, 166, 240;
prostitutes, 159-60, 167;
widows, 167

THE END

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The North-West Amazons - Notes of some months spent among cannibal tribes" ***

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