CXVI. BORNEO--Continued…

CXVI. BORNEO--Continued

WAR--Concluded.

THE BORNEAN SHIELD, ITS USUAL SHAPE AND DECORATIONS -- MODE OF USING IT -- A CURIOUS SHIELD IN MY COLLECTION -- HEAD HUNTING AND ITS ACCOMPANYING HORRORS -- OBJECTS OF SIR JAMES BROOKE’S MISSION -- HIS MODE OF SUPPRESSING THE PRACTICE -- “OPENING MOURNING” -- THE FISH SPEARING AND THE FEAST -- VALUE OF HEADS -- TREACHERY AND CUNNING -- THE BAFFLED HEAD HUNTERS -- DYEING AND PRESERVING THE HEADS -- THE HEAD HOUSES -- COURAGE IN WAR -- STORMING A NATIVE FORT -- A NAVAL BATTLE -- TRAPS AND PITFALLS -- MAKING PEACE.

By way of defensive weapons, the Dyaks use the shield, which is made of wood, and is generally of an oblong form. Like the parang, it is decorated with various ornaments, the chief of which are hair, beads, and feathers. The hair is made into flat tufts, and fastened at regular intervals all over the shield, as is seen in an illustration at the foot of next page, which represents a fine specimen in the magnificent collection of the late Mr. Christy. In the centre of this shield there is a rude and evidently conventional representation of the human face, the eye being circular, of very great size, and painted white in the centre. At the top and bottom of the shield are similar figures, but of smaller size. Some shields, which are now very seldom seen, have the entire human form painted on them, the legs issuing from the chest, and the neck being entirely dispensed with. The tufts of hair on this shield are black.

The mode of using the shield and sword is shown in their sword dances, and Mr. Brooke, who had great experience in the Dyak weapons, gives the following opinion of their value:--Sword dances with shields were going on. Each tribe has a peculiar step and code of its own; but as an attack and defence in earnest they all seemed to be equally ridiculous.

“However, in the event of an opponent using a shield, I feel convinced that an European could not stand against them, as they are able to crouch their bodies entirely behind it, and can spring immediately from such an attitude behind it without losing their balance. But without a shield a man with a rapier would be more than a match for any of them, unless, as is possible, a heavy Dyak weapon were to cut a light sword in two. This, however, no dexterous fencer would be likely to allow, and, after the first blow from a heavy weapon had fallen, the opponent would be at the mercy of a light swordsman.”

With due respect to the opinion of so competent an authority, I cannot but think that, even when furnished with this shield, the Dyak ought not to overcome a good fencer. The very fact that he is obliged to hold his shield before him, and consequently to stand either with his left side or at least his breast fronting his adversary, shows that he can have but a very short reach with his weapon, while his opponent, armed with a small sword, and using only the point, can remain entirely out of reach of the parang’s edge, while he himself is within easy distance of the Dyak, and ready to bring in the fatal point of his weapon at the slightest opening made by his opponent.

The reader may remember that the parang described on page 1125 has attached to it, among other ornaments, a single feather. This feather has been taken from the rhinoceros hornbill, a bird which the Dyaks hold in much respect, and which they will not eat, however hungry they may be. The quill feathers of the wing and tail are black, with a band of white, and by both Malays and Dyaks they are thought to possess certain virtues, and are used as talismans. The bird is considered to be an emblem of war, and for this reason the sword sheaths, shields, and cloaks worn in war time are decorated with its feathers; and the huge horny beak of the bird is scraped thin, polished, and made into earrings.

I insert also on page 1129, a figure of a shield in my collection, which I believe to be of Bornean make, the materials and mode of employing them being evidently Bornean. In shape it exactly resembles the small shields used by horsemen in the early age of English history, and, small as it is, it forms a very efficient defence. It is twenty inches in length, and thirteen inches in width, and it is wielded by means of a separate handle, firmly lashed to the body of the shield by strips of rattan. The characteristic feature of the shield is the manner in which it is built up of a number of pieces, the whole, though merely bound together by rattan, being as firm as if it were cut out of one piece of wood.

If the reader will look at figure 2, which shows the back of the shield, he will see that it is made of four flat pieces of wood, which are laid side by side. These pieces are of a lightish colored wood, and are but slightly smoothed. The handle is cut from a separate piece of wood, which runs the whole length of the shield. As is usual with Bornean weapons, the handle is much too small for the grasp of an European.

The front of the shield is made of a single flat piece of wood, to which the others are lashed, or rather sewed, by means of rattan passing through holes. In order to hold all these cross-pieces more firmly together, a deep groove has been cut in a thick rattan, which has been bound round the shield so as to receive the edges of the wood in the groove, and has been sewed to them by rattan at regular intervals.

The shield is further strengthened by an upright piece of wood, which runs along the front, and to which the handle at the back is lashed by rattan, so that the handle and the corresponding piece in front actually strengthen the shield instead of being a strain upon it. The materials have been chosen with the eye for color which the Dyak usually possesses. The thin flat wooden plate which forms the front of the shield is nearly black, the central piece is yellowish white, and the rattans with which it is edged and sewed are of a bright yellow. The weight of the shield is exactly a pound and a half. Besides the centre ornament on the front, a section of the shield is also given, so as to show the form of the handle, and the slight curvature of the whole implement.

The perpetual feuds that rage among the Dyak tribes are mostly caused by the practice of “head hunting,” which is exactly analogous to the scalp hunting propensities of the North American tribes. Mr. Boyle has sketched the outlines of this horrid custom in a few nervous words, which will afterward be examined in detail. “The great tribes of Sakarrang and Saribas have never been more than nominally subject to the Malays of Kuching or Bruni, and Sir James Brooke is the first master whom they have really obeyed. Every year a cloud of murderous pirates issued from their rivers and swept the adjacent coasts. No man was safe by reason of his poverty or insignificance, for human heads were the booty sought by these rovers, and not wealth alone. Villages were attacked in the dead of the night, and every adult cut off; the women and grown girls were frequently slaughtered with the men, and children alone were preserved to be the slaves of the conquerors.

“Never was warfare so terrible as this. Head hunting, a fashion of comparatively modern growth, became a mania, which spread like a horrible disease over the whole land. No longer were the trophies regarded as proofs of individual valor; they became the indiscriminate property of the clan, and were valued for their number alone. Murder lurked in the jungle and on the river; the aged of the people were no longer safe among their own kindred, and corpses were secretly disinterred to increase the grisly store.

“Superstition soon added its ready impulse to the general movement. The aged warrior could not rest in his grave till his relations had taken a head in his name; the maiden disdained the weak-hearted suitor whose hand was not yet stained with some cowardly murder.

“Bitterly did the Malay Pangerans of Kuching regret the folly which had disseminated this frenzy. They themselves had fostered the bloodthirsty superstition in furtherance of their political ends, but it had grown beyond their control, and the country was one red field of battle and murder. Pretexts for war were neither sought nor expected; the possession of a human head, no matter how obtained, was the sole happiness coveted throughout the land.”

It was in order to stop this terrible custom that Sir James Brooke undertook his rule. The sultan of Bruni, in despair at the state of things, and utterly unable to check the increasing rage for head hunting, ceded the territory to him, hoping that the Englishman, with his small forces, would succeed where he himself with all his soldiers had failed. Although these tribes were nominally his subjects, they never thought of obeying him, and the only sign of their subjection was a small tribute very irregularly paid. The sultan was right in his conjecture, and we know how the Englishman, with his steady, unflinching rule, succeeded in abolishing head hunting as an acknowledged practice, and, by his system of inflicting heavy fines on any one who took a head, gradually and steadily put an end to the practice. For several years the Dyaks could not understand the prohibition, and the English rajah and his officers were continually pestered with requests from Dyaks to be allowed to go and take heads. An old man, for example, had lost his wife, and begged piteously to be allowed to take just one head, so that she might rest quietly in her grave. Then a young man would come, who had been rejected by a Dyak damsel, lay his case before the authorities, and beseech them to permit him to take a head, and so to win the hand of the disdainful lady. One man, after meeting with the usual refusal, proposed a compromise, and asked whether he might not go and take the head of a Pakarran, because Pakarrans really could not be considered as men. In fact, as Mr. Brooke well remarks, the Dyaks behaved just like children crying after sugar-plums. No plan could have been devised which was more effective than that which was carried out by the English rajah. Whenever a party of Dyaks started surreptitiously off on a head hunting expedition, a force was always despatched after them, in order to cut them off and bring them to justice, when they were fined heavily. If they succeeded in procuring heads, their trophies were taken away from them, and they were fined still more heavily. Those who refused to submit to the punishment were declared to be enemies to the government, and their houses were burnt down. Dyaks of more peaceful tribes were always employed in such expeditions, as, owing to the feuds which had existed for so long, they had been exasperated by the numerous murders which had been perpetrated by the more warlike tribes. The English rule, unlike that of the Malay sultan, was irrespective of persons, and the highest chiefs were punished as swiftly and surely as the lowest of the people. On one occasion, a quarrel arose between two parties of Dyaks, one of which, commanded by a chief named Jannah, was entirely in the wrong, having first trespassed on the property of the other party, and then got up a quarrel because they had hurt themselves against the spiked bamboos, which were planted by way of fences. In the fight that ensued Jannah himself shot the other chief; but he gained little by his act. As soon as the facts were known, Mr. Brooke sent a large force against him, and he was fined nearly two hundred pounds. He and his party took to the bush, but they were soon starved out, and had to submit. The other chiefs were delighted at the result, and were accustomed ever afterward to check those who wished to go head hunting by telling them to remember Jannah and his two hundred pounds. It is rather curious that this high-handed proceeding inspired Jannah with the greatest respect and affection for Mr. Brooke, for whom he afterward entertained a sincere friendship. He asserted that the three years subsequent to this episode in his life had been marked by very much better harvests than he had before obtained from his land, and attributed his prosperity to his friendship for the white man.

One ingenious portion of the system was, that a large share of the fines was distributed among chiefs who had abstained from head-hunting. This plan had a double effect; it proved to the Dyaks that they were not fined for the benefit of the English, and it induced them to be always on the look-out for those who were going to hunt after heads.

* * * * *

It has been mentioned that the heads are wanted to “open the mourning” after the death of any person. This phrase requires some little explanation. When a chief loses a relative, he closes some stream during the time of mourning. This is done by driving spears into the bank, on either side, and fastening bamboos to them across the stream. No one is allowed to pass this obstruction until the mourning is over, an event which cannot take place, according to Dyak custom, until a head had been obtained.

When he has brought home the required trophy, he leaves it at the head house to be prepared, while he makes ready for the feast with which a new head is received. He takes some plants, the juice of which has a stupifying quality, pounds them, and throws them into the river. The fish come floating to the surface, and are then captured by means of barbed spears, which are flung at them from the bank. The spears are very light, their shafts being made of bamboo, so that they always float, and enable the thrower to recover both the spear and the fish which it has struck. The spears and poles which closed the stream are removed in order to allow the fishermen to use their weapons, and thus, by the arrival of the coveted head, the stream is again thrown open.

One of these fish spears is shown on page 1129. It is five feet in length, and the shaft, which is three-quarters of an inch in diameter, is made of hollow bamboo, and is exceedingly light. The four prongs are made of iron, and very slightly barbed. Owing to the manner in which they are lashed to the shaft, they are very elastic, so that their slight barbs are perfectly capable of retaining the fish. With the natural love of ornament which distinguishes the Dyaks, the owner of this spear has decorated it with several broad belts of split rattan, plaited in a very artistic manner. One was placed just below the head of the spear, another was placed at the centre of gravity, so as to guide the hand at once to the “balance” of the weapon, and the third was near the butt. Of the three, however, only the central belt remained when the spear reached me.

Owing to the enormous demand for heads, quantity rather than quality was the chief requisite, so that at the time when Sir James Brooke undertook the task of putting down the practice of head hunting, no practical distinction was made between the head of a stalwart warrior and that of a tender girl. A head was a head; the body to which it belonged was of no consequence.

The rage for heads was so great that in one head house an Englishman, who happened to know something of comparative anatomy, espied a head which seemed scarcely human, and which, on examination, turned out to be that of an orang-outan. The proprietors of the head house at first indignantly denied that any imposture had been practised, and adhered to the human origin of the head. At last, however, they were obliged to yield to a certain degree, but they only said that the head in question was that of an Antu or goblin, which had infested the village for a considerable time, and had at last been killed.

One exception was made in the value of these trophies, the head of a white man being beyond all price, and being so valued that a Dyak who had obtained one would not place it in the common head house, but would build a special house to contain it. One of these Dyak warriors was seen exposing himself to great danger in his anxiety to secure a white man’s head. A boatman had been killed, and one of the Dyak murderers was observed dragging up the hill the body of the slain man, hacking with his knife at the neck so as to secure the head, regardless of the fact that he was likely to be shot in the endeavor.

As the possession of a head is the height of a Dyak’s ambition, it is not extraordinary that the natives should use all their powers of force or craft to secure the trophy. One example of treachery is narrated by Mr. Brooke (the present Rajah).

“Five years ago the Saribas Malays were living at the mouth of their river, and, with very few exceptions, were hostile to us. Still they were on friendly terms so far as gaining trade, and making use of the merchandise they could only get by communication with Sarawak. A party of five people, three men and two women, left Sakarrang to go to Saribas for the purpose of meeting some of their relatives. After they had been absent a considerable time, the news was brought back that they had been beheaded by Dyaks in the river.

“It happened thus: They met a boat’s crew of Dyaks while in Saribas, and spoke together, saying they were traders, and were also seeking for fish. When the Malays were leaving Saribas to return, the Dyak boat followed in their wake, entered this river together, and on the following day proceeded to carry out their sly and murderous design.

“In the morning they offered their swords for sale, and sold or exchanged one, suffering the Malays to make an exceedingly profitable bargain. They then proposed fishing with a hand net on the mud bank, and persuaded a Malay named Limin (who was well known, and considered a brave man) to separate from the others and cast the net. This was done, and for some time they were successful in bagging fish, and were going further and further from the boats.

“At length the net fouled on a stump at the bottom, and one of the Dyaks immediately took off his sword and dived down, as poor Limin thought, to clear it, but, instead of doing so, the wily rascal twisted it firmly round and round, came up to take breath, and then again dived, and again twisted it in various ways round the stumps; he then rose, and said he could not clear it, but asked Limin to try. Limin unsuspectingly took off his sword, dived, and, on approaching the surface breathless, the two Dyaks struck and decapitated him without a sound. They then took his head and returned to their boat.

“A third Malay was persuaded to administer some cure to a Dyak’s foot, which was bleeding slightly. While the Malay was leaning over and looking to the wound, one of them chopped off his head from behind. After this, the woman was decapitated. They lost one head, which tumbled into the water, but the other four, with all the property belonging to the Malay party, were taken and carried away to Sadok.”

On another occasion, a party of Dyaks in a canoe met a boat containing a man, his wife, and their young daughter. They stopped the boat, and offered betel-nut for sale. As soon as they came within reach, they drew their swords, struck off the woman’s head, and took the girl prisoner, but the father had just time to jump overboard and swim ashore.

This occurred in the Saribas River, and, strangely enough, the murderer, whose name was Sadji, nearly came in contact with Mr. Brooke, who had gone out expressly to check his head hunting propensities. Mr. Brooke passed him on the river, but, not being acquainted with him, did not arrest him. This, as was afterward learned, was fortunate for Sadji sat in the boat with his sword drawn, and if the captive girl had called for help, or if the English had shown any signs of arresting him, he would have struck off her head, jumped with it into the river, swum ashore, and escaped together with his followers through the jungle.

The same author gives another example of head hunting, which is a curious mixture of the terrible and the ludicrous. A young man named Achang was brought before Mr. Brooke in irons. He was only nineteen years of age, and yet he had gray hair, the natural color having vanished in consequence of his troubles. Some time previously, he had fallen in love with a young Dyak girl, who spurned all his advances because he had never taken a head, and so proved himself to be a warrior. She was evidently a girl of energy, for she proposed that he should go to the Saribas fort, and take the head of Bakir, the Dyak chief, or of the Tuan Hassan, i. e. Mr. Watson.

Being thus pressed, Achang, with another lad of his own age, set off for the fort, and on the way suffered the usual drawbacks of bad birds, bad dreams, and missing the path, so that when they came within sight of the fort they thought they had better change their plans. They determined on going to a Chinaman’s house under pretext of purchasing his goods, and taking his head while he was off his guard. When well cooked and dried, one head would do as well as another, and they thought that they would have no difficulty in passing off the Chinaman’s head for that of the white man.

Accordingly, they went to a Chinaman’s house, had their supper with him very amicably, and then retired to rest, after agreeing that at midnight they would strike the fatal blow. Now it happened that Achang overslept himself, and his friend thought that he might as well take advantage of his drowsiness, and secure the head for himself. Accordingly, at midnight, hideous yells were heard from the Chinaman’s house, and when the people rushed into the room, they found the unfortunate owner with his face gashed all down one side, the Dyak youth having missed his blow in his haste. The actual perpetrator escaped, but Achang was found still fast asleep, and was instantly put in irons.

Next day he was brought down to Sakarrang, with a chain round his waist, and on the way he was followed by a body of Dyaks, who were trying to bribe his keepers to let them take his head. They actually held an auction for his head as they went along, each bidding higher than the other, and the horrors of that twelve-mile march were such that the poor lad became gray before the next morning.

After all, Achang was really a most gentle and innocent lad, and was only following the habits of his country in obeying the behests of his mistress. He was kept in irons for about a month, and then released, after which he attached himself to the service of the white men, worked in the garden, and, as the saying is, made himself generally useful.

The heads are subjected to a sort of drying process, called “cooking,” which is tolerably effectual, but is far inferior to that which is employed by the New Zealanders, and, for a considerable time after the heads are cooked, they are very offensive to European nostrils, though Dyaks seem to be quite unconscious of the evil odor. They are always kept in the pangarangs, or head houses, which are very unlike the ordinary dwelling-houses of the Dyaks. A very good account of a head house is given by Mr. F. S. Marryat:--

“We were escorted, through a crowd of wandering Dyaks, to a house in the centre of the village, which was very different in construction from the others. It was perfectly round, and well ventilated by numerous port-holes in the roof, which was pointed. We ascended to the room above by means of a rough ladder, and when we entered, we were rather taken aback by finding that we were in the head house, as it is termed, and that the beams were lined with human heads, all hanging by a small line passed through the top of the skull.

“They were painted in the most fantastic and hideous manner. Pieces of wood painted to imitate the eyes were inserted in the sockets, and added not a little to their ghastly, grinning appearance. The strangest part of the story, and which added very much to the effect of the scene, was, that these skulls were perpetually moving to and fro, and knocking against each other. This, I presume, was occasioned by the different currents of air blowing in at the port-holes cut in the roof; but what with their continual motion, their nodding their chins when they hit each other, and their grinning teeth, they really appeared to be endowed with new life, and to be a very merry set of fellows.

“However, whatever might be the first impression occasioned by this very unusual sight, it very soon wore off, and we amused ourselves with their motions, which were not life, as Byron says; and in the course of the day we succeeded in making a very excellent dinner in company with these gentlemen, although we were none of us sufficiently Don Giovannistic to invite our friends above to supper.”

These head houses are, as we have just seen, the places wherein guests are received, and we can therefore understand that the natives of any village would have a pride in showing to their visitors the trophies won by themselves. One of these houses scantily furnished with heads would be held as a scandal to the village, so that the three emotions of pride, love, and sorrow have all their effect in aiding the custom of head hunting.

In these head houses, the unmarried men of the village sleep. The reason for this custom is two-fold. In the first place, the bachelors are kept out of mischief; and in the next, they are always ready with their arms at hand to turn out in defence of the village should it be attacked. In such expeditions, the head house is always the central object of attack, and by having the young warriors at hand the Dyaks ensure the security of their cherished trophies.

Some of the horrors of the head hunting custom are well described by Mr. St. John:--“About thirteen years ago, I heard the Natuna people give an account of a horrible transaction that took place in one of their islands. A party of Saribas Dyaks were cruising about among the little isles near, and had destroyed several women and many fishermen, when they were observed, toward evening, creeping into a deep and narrow inlet to remain during the night.

“The islanders quietly assembled and surprised their enemies, killing all but seven, who were taken prisoners--six men and one lad. The former they roasted over a slow fire, and they declared that the bold fellows died without uttering a cry of pain, but defying them to the last; the lad, who stood trembling by, uncertain of his fate, was sent back to the coast, with a message to his countrymen that, if ever they came there again, they would all be treated in the same way. This fearful warning was sufficient to deter their seeking heads again in that direction.

“Parties of two and three sometimes went away for months on an inland incursion, taking nothing with them but salt wrapped up in their waist-cloths, with which they seasoned the young shoots and leaves, and palm cabbages found in the forests; and when they returned home, they were as thin as scare-crows.

“It is this kind of cat-like warfare which causes them to be formidable enemies both to the Chinese and the Malays, who never felt themselves safe from a Dyak enemy. They have been known to keep watch in a well up to their chins in water, with a covering of a few leaves over their heads, to endeavor to cut off the first person who might come to draw water. At night they would drift down on a log, and cut the rattan cable of trading prahus, while others of their party would keep watch on the bank, knowing well where the stream would take the boat ashore; and when aground they kill the men and plunder the goods.”

In war Dyaks have often proved themselves to be valiant soldiers. Mr. Brooke relates that when he was attacking the fort of a hostile chief having with him a mixed force of Malays and Dyaks, the latter were; by far the better soldiers. The former advanced to thirty or forty yards of the house, i. e. just beyond the range of the Sumpitan arrows, which were being blown from the fort, and ensconced themselves behind trees and stumps, where they could fire without exposing themselves to the deadly darts. The Dyaks, however, dashed boldly at the house, clambering up the posts on which it was built, carrying their weapons with them, hacking at the breaches which had previously been made with shot, and trying to force their way into the fort.

At last, one Dyak succeeded in getting into the house, and remained there for about five minutes, when he was obliged to retreat and slide to the ground down the post. After much fighting, the Dyaks managed to set fire to the building at both ends, thus forcing the inmates to rush out among their enemies. Scarcely any of them escaped, some perishing in the flames, others being badly wounded, and the rest being taken prisoners.

The victorious Dyaks were mad with excitement, and rushed about with furious shouts, carrying heads in their hands, and insensible to the wounds which many of them had received. One lad came yelling by, having a head in one hand, and with the other holding on one side of his face. An enemy’s sword had nearly sliced off the whole of that side of his face, but he was almost unconscious of the fact, and his excitement prevented him from feeling any pain. In a few minutes, however, he fainted from loss of blood, and, in spite of the terrible wound which he had received, eventually recovered.

Sometimes the Dyaks are exceedingly cruel to their captives, not being content with merely taking their heads, but killing them slowly by torture. Generally, however, the competition for heads is so keen that a man who has overcome an enemy has no time for torturing him, and is obliged to content himself with getting off the head as fast as he can.

Some of these forts are most perilous places to attack. The approaches are guarded with “ranjows,” i. e. slips of bamboo sharpened at the end and stuck in the ground. Ranjows are troublesome enough on open ground, but when they are stuck among leaves, grass, and herbage, they become terrible weapons, and impede very effectually the advance of the attacking force.

Then the Dyaks set various ingenious traps. They place bent bows near the path, so constructed that as soon as a man comes opposite them, the string is liberated, and an arrow is tolerably sure to transfix both his legs. Sometimes they bend a young tree down, and lay a javelin, so that when the tree is freed, it strikes the end of the javelin and urges it onward with terrific violence, just like the mangonel of olden times. They dig numberless pitfalls of no very great size in depth, but each having a sharp bamboo stuck upright in the centre, so that any on who falls into the pit must inevitably be impaled.

The forts themselves have been much modified since the introduction of fire-arms, the stockades which surround them being made of the hardest wood, about two feet in thickness, and capable of resisting the fire of any small arms. In fact, nothing but artillery is of much use against one of these forts. Many of them are furnished with a sally-port through which, when the place becomes untenable, the defenders quietly escape, just as is done with the pahs of New Zealand.

The Sea Dyaks, as their name implies, are a maritime set of tribes, and fight chiefly in canoes. They have some ideas of tactics, and can arrange their canoes in regular array when they meet with an enemy. One of their favorite tactics is to conceal some of their larger boats, and then to send some small and badly-manned canoes forward to attack the enemy. They are, of course, soon repulsed, and obliged to retreat. The enemy, thinking himself victorious, follows them exultingly, and, as soon as he passes the spot where the larger canoes are hidden, he is attacked by them in the rear, while the smaller canoes, which have acted as decoys, turn and join in the onslaught. The rivers are almost invariably chosen for this kind of attack, the overhanging branches of trees and the dense foliage of the bank affording excellent hiding-places for the canoes. An illustration of a “Canoe fight” is given on page 1139.

When peace is declared, or when people desire to renew friendship to each other, they declare themselves friends by a ceremony which is identical in principle with that which is practised in many parts of Africa, each of the contracting parties partaking of the blood of the other. Sometimes the blood is actually drunk, but generally it is taken by mixing it with tobacco and smoking it. Mr. St. John, in his “Forests of the Far East,” describes this ceremony with much force:--

“Siñganding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it is placed within a native cigar, and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony, which is called Berbiang by the Kayans, Bersabibah by the Borneans.

“I landed with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk, to give time for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad veranda of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum-Lia took a small piece of wood shaped like a knife-blade, and, slightly piercing the skin, brought the blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off. Then one of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Siñganding, and a small cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blade was spread on the tobacco.

“A chief then arose, and, walking to an open place, looked forth upon the river, and invoked their god and all the spirits of good and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was then lighted, and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination.

“They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to the Kiniahs, who live further up the river, and are intermarried with the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods, and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then killed, and, after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the wound, and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.”

The stranger thus admitted into membership with the Kayans is called Niau, or friend, and in some cases the experiment proves to be successful. Generally, however, the honor, such as it is, is greater than the profit, the Kayans assuming that their newly-admitted member ought to make plenty of rich presents to his tribe, in order to show his sense of the privileges that have been conferred upon him.

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CXVII. BORNEO--Continued

SOCIAL LIFE.

MARRIAGE AMONG THE DYAKS -- COURTSHIP, ACCEPTANCE OR REJECTION -- A SIBUYAN WEDDING -- CURIOUS DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS -- PRIDE OF BIRTH -- STATE OF MORALITY -- FACILITIES OF DIVORCE -- JEALOUSY, AND ITS RESULTS -- HOW TO TREAT A RIVAL -- FORBIDDEN DEGREES -- SPORTS AND GAMES -- BEE HUNTING -- THE BORNEAN SWING -- TRIALS OF STRENGTH AND EQUILIBRIUM -- TRICKS WITH STRING -- COCK FIGHTING -- THE SWORD DANCE -- A DYAK WAR DANCE WITH HEADS -- THE CAT-O’-NINE TAILS -- DYAK FESTIVALS -- STRANGE COOKERY -- THE DURIAN FRUIT -- THE NATIONAL DRINK, ITS ODOR AND TASTE -- HABIT OF INTOXICATION -- A DYAK CIRCE -- STOUT DRINKERS AND STRONG HEADS -- THE FORCE OF RIDICULE.

Passing from war to peace, we will begin with marriage as practised among the Dyaks.

In some parts of the country marriage is a very simple business, the two parties living together as long as they like each other, and separating if either feels dissatisfied. In any case, as we shall see, the facilities for divorce are extreme, and the bonds of matrimony are worn with marvellous looseness.

The reader cannot but have remembered the singular coincidence that often exists between customs of savage and of civilized life.

Among the Sinambau Dyaks there is a mode of courtship which still prevails in some parts of Europe, though it is generally falling into disuse. A young Sinambau Dyak, when struck with the charms of a girl, shows his preference in various ways, such as helping her in her daily labor, carrying home her load of wood for her, and making her such presents as are in his power to give.

After he has carried on these attentions for some time, he thinks that he may proceed to a more explicit declaration. At night, when the family is supposed to be asleep, he quietly slides back the bolt of the door, steals to the spot where his beloved is sleeping under her mosquito curtains, and gently awakes her. He always brings with him an abundant supply of betel-nut and sirih leaf, and the two sit talking together throughout the greater part of the night. It cannot be expected that the parents of the girl, who sleep in the same room, should be wholly ignorant of the proceeding, but they are conventionally supposed to be so, and if they approve of the young man they take no notice, while if they do not, they use their influence with the girl to induce her to dismiss him.

The mode of rejection is in keeping with the rest of the proceedings. Should the girl dislike the too adventurous suitor, she declines accepting the betel-nut, and merely asks him to blow up the fire or light the lamp, a request which is tantamount to instant dismissal.

When the marriage takes place a feast is made, and then the parties are made man and wife without any more ceremony. It is very seldom that the young couple begin housekeeping on their own account, and, as a general rule, the bridegroom enters the household of his father-in-law, or, at all events, of some of his wife’s relations, and so becomes one of the family, laboring for the common stock, and taking his share when the head of the household dies. Occasionally this plan is reversed, and when the bride is one of a large family of brothers and sisters, or if the bridegroom is the sole support of his parents, she accompanies her husband, and becomes part of his household.

The ceremony of marriage among the Sibuyan Dyaks of Lundu is worthy of notice. The artist has given an admirable representation of this unique ceremony on the following page. Two bars of iron are laid on the ground in the spot appointed for the ceremony, and the young couple are brought from opposite ends of the village. The first part of the ceremony consists in seating them on the bars of iron, as token that the blessings of their married life are to be as strong as iron. The priest gives to each of the pair a cigar and some betel-nut and sirih leaf, which they hold in their hand until the next part of the ceremony is completed. Taking two fowls in his hands, the priest waves them over the heads of the couple, and, in the course of a long address, invokes every blessing upon them. He then solemnly knocks their heads together three times, after which the bridegroom places the betel-nut in the mouth of his bride, and inserts the cheroot between her lips, she afterward doing the same by him, this ceremony being the public acknowledgment of accepting each other as husband and wife.

After they have thus declared their acceptance of each other, the fowls are killed, and their blood received in two cups, the color of the blood being carefully inspected by the priest, and its hue being held as an omen of the future well-being or misery of the newly married pair. One of the feasts which will presently be described closes the ceremonies.

It has already been mentioned that in most cases the bridegroom enters the family of his wife. But in any case he is bound to honor the father of his wife even above his own father. The young husband may never even pronounce the name of his father-in-law, he may not eat from the same dish, drink from the same cup, or rest on the same mat.

Among another tribe of Dyaks, the Balaus of Lingga, the ceremonies of marriage are rather different. By way of a propitiatory offering, the mother of the bridegroom gives to the relatives of the bride some domestic utensil, such as a plate or a basin, and three days afterward the very simple ceremony is performed.

The bridegroom’s mother takes a quantity of the areca-nut prepared for chewing, divides it into three portions, places them in a basket, and sets them on a sort of altar in front of the bride’s house. The friends of both parties then assemble, and chew the nuts while they discuss the future prospects of the young couple, and they decide as to the amount of fine which the husband shall pay to his wife in case he separates from her after she is a mother, or when she is likely to be so. In fact, in their own rough-and-ready way, these Dyaks have contrived to organize a tolerably complete code of marriage settlements, which, in consequence of the very easy system of divorce, is absolutely necessary for the protection of the women.

These Sea Dyaks of Lingga have, in common with all the sea tribes, the greatest pride of birth; and if a girl were to listen to the addresses of a man of much inferior rank, her parents would prohibit the match. In one such case the two lovers fled into the jungle, poisoned themselves with the juice of the tuba plant, and were found dead next morning in each other’s arms. So full are they of their family pride, that they look upon any mixture of their noble blood as a dire disgrace, and this is carried to so great an extent that, although within their own degree their morals are of the laxest order, the men would scorn an intrigue with a woman of low condition.

The Dyaks of Sibuyan are remarkable for the superiority of their morals when compared with the generality of the Dyak tribes, believing that immorality is an offence against the higher powers, and that, if a girl becomes a mother before she is married, she angers the deities of the tribe, who show their wrath by visitations upon the whole of the tribe. If, therefore, such a case be discovered, both the erring lovers are heavily fined, and a pig is sacrificed in order to avert the anger of the offended deities. Nor do the delinquents always escape the fine even after the sacrifice of the pig, for every one who was smitten with sickness, or met with an accident, within a month of the sacrifice, has a claim on them for damages, as having been the cause of the misfortune, while, if any one has died, the survivors claim compensation for the loss of their relative.

The reader will remember that the young people of both sexes live with their parents, contributing their labor to the common stock, and being therefore incapable of possessing property of their own. In consequence of this arrangement, the fines which are levied upon the lovers practically fall upon the parents, who therefore take care to look after their daughters, while the young men are partly kept out of mischief by being obliged to sleep together at the head house.

The Dyaks of the Batang Lupar are more lax in their notion of morality than the Sibuyans, and it is seldom that a girl is married until she is likely to become a mother. When this is the case, the lover marries her as a matter of course, but in those cases where a man denies his complicity, and the girl is unable to prove it, she is so bitterly scorned and reproached by her kindred that she generally runs away from the village. Some such delinquents have been known to take poison in order to escape the contempt of their relatives and acquaintances. They are thought to have brought such a disgrace on their family, that the parents sacrifice a pig to the higher powers, and wash the door of the house with its blood, in order to propitiate the offended deities.

When the pair are married, they almost invariably remain faithful to each other. There is, however, small credit to them for it, inasmuch as they can be divorced on the slightest pretext. An evil omen in the night, such as a “bad bird,” will frighten both parties so much that they will separate by mutual consent on the next day. Mr. St. John mentions that many men and women are married seven or eight times before they finally fix upon a partner with whom they mean to spend the rest of their lives, and as an example of the exceeding facility for divorce which exists among the Dyaks, states that he saw a young girl of seventeen who had already had three husbands.

Still, it is very seldom that married couples part after they are parents; and if they do so, the family of the women expect a heavy fine from the fickle husband. Now and then, a married pair are really so attached to each other that they do not like to part, even when they hear the voice of a “bad bird.” In such a case they avert the anger of the superior powers by sacrificing a pig, and are then able to remain together without fear. It often happens that a man and wife quarrel, and divorce themselves. After a while, however, they begin to think that they have made a mistake, and are allowed to renew their matrimonial relations without any ceremony or fresh rites of marriage.

Mr. St. John mentions a curious case of jealousy after a divorce, and its consequences.

The Pañgeran Mumein took a Murout girl, and paid her father as a marriage portion a heavy weight of brass guns--a curious sort of currency which is much valued by the Dyaks, and perfectly useless for any practical purposes. He left her for some time, and then, after she had borne him a child, repudiated her, telling her father that he did not want her any more, unless she liked to follow him to Brunei. This, however, the girl refused to do, so the Pañgeran made her father refund the brass guns, and besides pay a fine of double the amount, as a penalty for not allowing the girl to go to Brunei, where he meant to have sold her as a slave. The father paid the fine, and was told that the girl might then go where she liked, and marry whom she chose, as was only just after the previous event.

Accordingly, some little time afterward, she did marry one of her countrymen, whereupon the Pañgeran flew into a fit of jealousy, and ordered the head man or Orang-Kaya of the village to seize them and bring them to him. The Orang-Kaya was afraid, and hid himself, so that the Pañgeran had to employ the Bisayas, who captured the husband and brought him to their employer. The unfortunate man was then tied up to the Orang-Kaya’s landing place, and the Pañgeran cut him to pieces with his own hand, finishing by making a present of his head to the Gadong Murut Dyaks. Having thus wreaked his vengeance on the man who excited his jealousy, he allowed the girl and her father to go unharmed. Dyak history is full of similar tales.

Jealousy is by no means confined to the men, the women being far more jealous of the men than they of their wives, and with good reason. There is a tacit law that, whenever a wife detects her husband in flirting, she may beat her rival to her heart’s content, provided that she use nothing except a stick, and, if the woman be married, her husband may beat the disturber of his domestic peace, if he can. The usual result of discovery in such cases is, that the man goes off into the bush under the pretext of head hunting, and stays there until he thinks his wife’s anger has cooled down. If he is fortunate enough to return with a head, his success as a warrior ensures a condonation for his shortcomings as a husband.

The Dyaks have a code of forbidden degrees for marriages, differing slightly in the various tribes, but tolerably uniform on the whole. Marriage with first cousins is not permitted, they being looked upon as brother and sister; neither, as a general rule, is an uncle allowed to marry his niece. To this latter rule, however, there are exceptions. Marriage with a deceased wife’s sister is almost universally permitted, and, in fact, encouraged, provided that the parents of the woman approve of the match, because in that case all the children belong to one family.

* * * * *

Of sport, as we understand the word, the Dyaks have no idea, though they possess all the capabilities for it, being active, daring, and quick sighted. All these characteristics are shown in the mode by which they supply themselves with honey. They do not keep hives in or near their houses, but seldom fail to see a bees’ nest in a tree, though the unaccustomed eyes of an European can see nothing of the bees at the great height at which the nests are usually found.

Sometimes the stem of the tree rises for a hundred feet without a branch, and is from fifteen to twenty-five feet in circumference. The Dyaks, however, ascend such a tree with ease. They bore holes in the trunk of the tree as high as they can reach, and drive into them wooden pegs rather more than a foot in length. A stout rattan or a bamboo is then driven into the ground, and the ends of the wooden pegs are lashed to it so as to form a sort of ladder, of which the bamboo forms one side, and the trunk of the tree the other. On this slender ladder they ascend, drive in more pegs, and lash them to the bamboo, adding one bamboo after another until the nest is reached.

Nothing looks more insecure than this primitive ladder, which sways fearfully as the man ascends, the rattan lashings cracking and creaking as if the whole structure were coming to pieces. It is, however, perfectly adapted for its purpose, and, armed with a flaming torch, the almost naked Dyak ascends, and fearlessly takes the nest, which he lowers down by means of a rattan.

The nest is generally attacked at night, the Dyaks saying the bees always fly after the sparks that fall from the torch, believing them to be the enemy that is disturbing the nest, the man himself escaping unhurt. Some of the tribes have another plan, and before they ascend the tree light beneath it a large fire in which they throw a quantity of green branches. The smoke from these branches drives the bees out of their nest, and stupefies them for a time, so that the combs can be taken without danger.

Of games which are, in fact, an imitation of war, the Dyaks are equally ignorant, and, although so warlike a people, they do not wrestle, nor box, nor race. It would be expected that a people who trust so much to the sword would exercise with sham weapons, for the purpose of accustoming themselves to the proper management of the sword and shield. This, however, they never do, thinking that all such exercises are unlucky.

They have one game which somewhat resembles our swing, but which partakes in some degree of the nature of a religious ceremony. A strong derrick is erected some forty or fifty feet high, and to this is suspended a stout single rattan, which reaches within a few feet of the ground. The derrick is strengthened by rattan stays lashed to a neighboring tree. The end of the rattan is formed into a large loop.

At some distance from the derrick, just where the end of the rattan describes its circle, a slight bamboo stage is erected. One of the swingers mounts on the stage, draws the rattan to him by means of a string, places his foot in the loop, and swings off with as much impetus as he can give himself. As he returns, another leaps on the swing, and sometimes two at a time will do so, until ten or twelve are all swinging away at the same time. Of course, they cannot all put their feet in the loop, but content themselves with clinging to the arms and legs of those who have done so. As they swing, they strike up a monotonous song, which sounds like a dirge. It is, however, merely an invocation to the deities for a plentiful harvest and a good fishing season. As may be imagined, they often get bad falls from those swings.

The boys and youths have a game which is familiar to all gymnasts. The two competitors sit opposite each other on the ground, the soles of their feet being placed in contact. They then grasp a short stick, and each tries to pull the other on his face or to raise him off the ground. There is also a game which bears a close resemblance to our “prisoners’ base,” twenty or thirty players joining in the game; and there is another game, which is very much like the “cock fighting” of English school-boys. The players stand on one foot, holding the other foot in one hand and try to upset each other, or at least to make their antagonists put both feet to the ground.

In “cat’s cradle” they are wonderful proficients. Mr. Wallace thought that he could instruct them in the game but found that they knew much more about it than he did. They were acquainted with all the mysteries of the English modification of the game, and produced a vast number of additional changes from the string. Indeed, the Dyaks can do almost anything with a piece of string, and they could well instruct our own conjurors in this branch of legerdemain.

Cock fighting is an amusement of which the Dyaks are very fond, though they do not indulge in that amusement with the reckless enthusiasm of the Malays. Mr. St. John writes of the birds used for this purpose: “We did not see more than a few of these birds in Dyak houses, but since they are usually kept, when not in training or exercise, closely wrapped in linen bands and hung on nails in a dry place, they might easily escape our notice.

“Not having the fear of police magistrates and Humane Society prosecutions before our eyes, we assisted at one or two brief combats, evidently mere trial matches to assist the calculations of the ‘bookmakers,’ by testing each bird’s pluck and skill. When this object was attained by a few minutes’ struggle, held with much secrecy in the veranda by the gray light of early morning, the cocks were picked up before any injury was inflicted, and carefully swathed in their bandages, from the midst of which they soothed their ruffled feelings with an occasional crow of defiance.”

Allusion has already been made to the feasts held by the Dyaks on several occasions, and it is only on such festivities that the men ever use their weapons in sham fight. Even in those cases, they do not so employ them by way of practising themselves, but merely because they form part of the movements of the dance. In one of these dances, described by Mr. Keppel, two swords are laid on a mat in the middle of the room, and two men advance toward them from opposite sides, waving their arms, revolving on their toes, and performing various manœuvres with their legs.

As soon as they come to the mat, they suddenly stoop, seize the swords, and go through the movements of actual combat, crossing swords, advancing, retiring, cutting at each other, kneeling at one moment as if to collect force, and then springing up with renewed energy. Both dancers have previously studied and practised the various movements, each of which they make simultaneously.

Sometimes the sword dance is performed with the shield as well as the sword, and of this dance Mr. Marryat has written so graphic an account that his own words must be used. The guests were asked if they wished for a specimen of the war dance.

“Having expressed our wishes in the affirmative, the music struck up; it consisted of gongs and tom-toms. The Malay gong, which the Dyaks also make use of, is like the Javanese, thick with a broad rim, and very different from the gong of the Chinese. Instead of the clanging noise of the latter, it gives out a muffled sound of a deep tone. The gong and tom-tom are used by the Dyaks and Malays in war, and for signals at night, and the Dyaks procure them from the Malays. I said that the music struck up, for, rude as the instruments were, they modulate the sound, and keep time so admirably, that it was anything but inharmonious.

“A space was now cleared in the centre of the house, and two of the oldest warriors stepped into it. They were dressed in turbans, long loose jackets, sashes round their waists descending to their feet, and small bells were attached to their ankles. They commenced by first shaking hands with the rajah, and then with all the Europeans present, thereby giving us to understand, as was explained to us, that the dance was to be considered only as a spectacle, and not to be taken in its literal sense, as preparatory to an attack upon us, a view of the case in which we fully coincided with them.

“This ceremony being over, they rushed into the centre and gave a most unearthly scream, then poising themselves on one foot they described a circle with the other, at the same time extending their arms like the wings of a bird, and then meeting their hands, clapping them and keeping time with the music. After a little while the music became louder, and suddenly our ears were pierced with the whole of the natives present joining in the hideous war cry. Then the motions and the screams of the dancers became more violent, and everything was working up to a state of excitement by which even we were influenced.

“Suddenly a very unpleasant odor pervaded the room, already too warm from the numbers it contained. Involuntarily we held our noses, wondering what might be the cause, when we perceived that one of the warriors had stepped into the centre, and suspended round the shoulders of each dancer a human head in a wide-meshed basket of rattan. These heads had been taken in the late Sakarran business, and were therefore but a fortnight old. They were encased in a wide network of rattan, and were ornamented with beads. Their stench was intolerable, although, as we discovered upon after-examination, when they were suspended against the wall, they had been partially baked, and were quite black. The teeth and hair were quite perfect, the features somewhat shrunk, and they were altogether very fair specimens of pickled heads; but our worthy friends required a lesson from the New Zealanders in the art of preserving.

“The appearance of the heads was a sign for the music to play louder, for the war cry of the natives to be more energetic, and for the screams of the dancers to be more piercing. Their motions now became more rapid, and the excitement in proportion. Their eyes glistened with unwonted brightness, the perspiration dropped down their faces; and thus did yelling, dancing, gongs, and tom-toms become more rapid and more violent every minute, till the dancing warriors were ready to drop. A farewell yell, with emphasis, was given by the surrounding warriors; immediately the music ceased, the dancers disappeared, and the tumultuous excitement and noise were succeeded by a dead silence.

“Such was the excitement communicated, that when it was all over we ourselves remained for some time panting to recover our breath. Again we lighted our cheroots, and smoked for awhile the pipe of peace.

“A quarter of an hour elapsed, and the preparations were made for another martial dance. This was performed by two of the Rajah’s sons, the same young men I have previously made mention of. They came forward each having on his arm one of the large Dyak shields, and in the centre of the cleared space were two long swords lying on the floor. The ceremony of shaking hands, as described, preparatory to the former dance, was gone through; the music then struck up, and they entered the arena.

“At first they confined themselves to evolutions of defence, springing from one side to the other with wonderful quickness, keeping their shields in front of them, falling on one knee, and performing various feats of agility. After a short time, they each seized a sword and then the display was very remarkable, and proved what ugly customers they must be in single conflict. Blows in every direction, feints of every description, were made by both, but invariably received upon the shield. Cumbrous as these shields were, no opening was left; retreating, pursuing, dodging, and striking, the body was never exposed.

“Occasionally, during this performance, the war cry was given by the surrounding warriors, but the combatants held their peace; in fact, they could not afford to open their mouths, lest an opening should be made. It was a most masterly performance, and we were delighted with it.”

A rather curious dance was witnessed by Mr. Boyle at a feast of which an account will presently be given. First two chiefs each took a sword, and began a maniacal sort of dance, which was intended to be very imposing, but only succeeded in being very ludicrous, owing to the fact that both were too much intoxicated to preserve their balance, and, being of opposite tempers in their cups, one was merry and the other was sulky.

After this performance was over, a tall chief stepped forward with a whip, much like a cat-o’-nine-tails, another produced a human head, and the two began to chase each other round the veranda of the building. Presently, the chief with the head stopped, and with one foot in the air began to pirouette slowly, while he swung the head backward and forward, the chief with the whip lashing vigorously at the spectators, and laughing derisively at each cut.

After a while these performers became too tired to proceed without refreshment, and their place was taken by four or five others carrying blocks of wood having a feather at each end. The foreign guests took these objects to represent canoes, but were told that they were rhinoceros hornbills, and were thought by all competent judges to be fine works of art. Suddenly a number of gongs were beaten, and over the mass of human beings arose swords, heads, rhinoceros hornbills, and cat-o’-nine-tails in profusion, the Dyaks being for the time half mad with excitement.

It was remarkable that in this wild scene no harm was done, no blow was struck in anger, and no quarrel took place. Decorum was maintained throughout the whole of the festival, though not one of the revellers was sober, and then, as Mr. Boyle remarks, “a scene which, according to all precedent, should have been disgusting, turned out to be pleasantly amusing.”

This feast was a very good example of a Dyak revel. It was given by the chief Gasing, who was gorgeously attired for the occasion in an old consular uniform coat, covered with gold lace, the top of a dragoon’s helmet tied on his head with a handkerchief, a brass regimental breastplate on his forehead, and a plated tureen cover on his breast. This tureen cover, by the way, was the most valued of Gasing’s possessions, and one which was madly envied by all the neighboring chiefs. Being a tall, thin man, the effect of his naked, lean, yellow legs, appearing from beneath all this splendor, was remarkable.

He had prepared his long house carefully for the festival. He had erected a bamboo railing on the edge of the veranda, as a necessary precaution against accidents, for the veranda was at a considerable height from the ground, and the guests are all expected to be very unsteady on their feet, even if they can stand at all. From the top of the rail to the eaves of the veranda he had thrown a quantity of cloths, so as to allow the chiefs who sat under them to be sheltered from the rays of the sun.

For this festival Gasing had been making preparations for months past, half-starving himself in order to collect the requisite amount of provisions, and being likely to find himself rather deeply in debt before the preparations were completed. Unfortunately for the English guests, the smell of Dyak cookery is anything but agreeable, and one of their favorite articles of food, the fruit called the durian, exhales a most intolerable odor, so that, if they had not been furnished with plenty of tobacco, they would have been obliged to retire from the scene.

The Dyaks roast fowls without removing the feathers, tear them joint from joint, and so eat them. They have a most extraordinary liking for viands in a nearly putrid state, such as fish or molluscs in a very advanced state of decomposition, eggs black from age, and rotten fruit, the chief being the durian, which smells like all the other dishes put together, but with a sort of peculiar fragrance of its own. Even foreigners have learned to like the durian, but they have not found that it acclimatizes them to the bad eggs, burnt feathers, and very high fish.

This very remarkable fruit is about as large as a cocoa-nut, slightly oval, and is covered with a thick, tough skin, armed with sharp, short, and stout spines, the bases of which touch each other. The skin is so strong, that even when it falls, as it always does when ripe, from a considerable height, it does not break, and the spines are so sharp and hard, that, if a durian falls on a man, it inflicts a very severe wound, and causes great loss of blood.

When possible it is eaten fresh, as it falls ripe from the tree, but it is often cooked while still green, and, when especially plentiful, is preserved in jars by means of salt. In this state its natural odor is very greatly increased, and the very opening of a jar of preserved durians is enough to drive a stranger to the country out of the room.

Mr. Wallace gives a very interesting account of the durian, mentioning that, although for some time the odor of the fruit completely deterred him from tasting it, he once found a ripe durian just fallen from the tree, overcame his repugnance to the fruit, tried it, ate it, and became from that moment a confirmed durian eater. The following passage contains his description of the peculiar flavor of the durian:--

“The five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval mass of cream-colored pulp, embedded in which are two or three seeds about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its consistence and flavor are indescribable. A rich, butter-like custard, highly flavored with almonds, gives the best general idea of it, but intermingled with it come wafts of flavor that call to mind cream cheese, onion sauce, brown sherry, and other incongruities.

“Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy, yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience.”

Mr. Wallace, in summing up the merits of the various fruits with which we are acquainted, says that if he had to fix on two only, which would represent the very perfection of flavor and refreshing qualities, he would choose the durian and the orange, which he terms the king and queen of fruits.

Their national drink, called “tuak,” is worthily matched with the viands. It is in color like thin milk, and its odor has been forcibly compared to that of five hundred negroes drunk in a slave-pen. The same traveller, having fortified his palate with the strongest tobacco, drank some of the liquid in honor of his host, and gives a very vivid description of its flavor. When first taken into the mouth, it gives the idea of cocoa-nut milk gone very sour, and holding in solution a considerable quantity of brown sugar and old cheese. When it is swallowed, the victim is conscious of a suffocating sensation, as if the liquid were thickened with starch and a great quantity of the strongest cayenne pepper, the general effect produced on the novice being comparable to nothing but a very bad attack of sea sickness.

Strange to say, this abominable liquid retains the strongest hold on three millions of human beings, who can conceive no greater luxury than the privilege of drinking it without stint. At their feasts it is kept in huge bathing jars, and is handed about in all kinds of vessels, which are continually emptied and sent back to be replenished, so that a continual stream of full and empty vessels passes from and to the large jars.

Even if the warriors who are invited to the festival were to feel inclined to sobriety, they would be forced to drink by the women, who seem to think themselves bound to make every man completely intoxicated. “No Delilah of Europe better knows her power to make a fool of a strong man than one of these Dyak syrens, nor is more inclined to exert her fascinations.

“The presence of the female element was soon felt in the noise and confusion, which absolutely seemed to increase. Several of the girls were so charming as to excuse the infatuation of their victims, and I need scarcely say that the prettiest were the most culpable. But ugly or beautiful, old or young, all instantly employed their most cunning arts in enticing the bravest and most famous warriors to drink and drink again.

“We saw a little beauty seat herself lovingly beside a tall fellow with a simple face and honest eyes, whom she coaxed to toast her from a large jar which she offered to his lips, until he fairly fell backward upon the floor. This satisfactory conclusion attained, his tormentor, who, we heard, was affianced to him, ran screaming with laughter to bring seven other wretches as mischievous as herself to jeer at the vanquished lover. Raising her hopes to sport of a higher order, she shortly after brought her jar to the spot where we sat, in the hope, no doubt, of beguiling the white men into the same condition as her other admirers; but in Europe we are accustomed to run the gauntlet of more dangerous fascinations, and she relinquished the attempt in despair.”

Mr. St. John mentions that the men are in no way behind the women in their efforts to seduce their guests to intoxication, and it is their greatest pride to have as much tuak drunk as possible, to drink their own share and remain comparatively sober, while all their guests are laid prostrate and insensible. In fact, if we substitute punch and port for tuak, and an open veranda for a closed dining-room, there is little difference between the hospitality of the present Dyak chief and that of the average English squire of the last century.

A chief, for example, who prides himself on his strong head, will sit before a huge jar of tuak, and pledge every one around. For every one whom he serves he drinks one cup himself, and it is his ambition to keep his seat after all his companions are insensible. Of course, it is impossible that any man can drink an equal amount with ten or twelve others, and it is most likely that he forces the tuak on them so fast that they are soon rendered incapable of seeing whether their host drinks or not. They are very proud of being fresh on the following morning, and boast that although their guests, who belonged to another tribe, had severe headaches, they themselves suffered nothing at all.

It is partly by means of appealing to this pride that the girls are able to make the men drink to the extent which has been mentioned, and they derive so much amusement from exercising their power that they lose no opportunity that falls in their way, and essay their blandishments even when there is no definite feast.

Once, when Mr. St. John had travelled from the Sibuyan Dyaks to the Bukars, he and his guides were received, as usual, in the head house. While the English guests were making their toilet, two young Dyak girls came very gently up the ladder and slipped into the chamber. Now the head house is, as the reader may remember, the bachelors’ hall, and consequently the girls had no business there. So, pretending not to see them, the white men proceeded with their toilets, and quietly watched their proceedings.

The two girls, after glancing cautiously at the strangers, and thinking themselves unobserved, made their way to the Dyak guides, each having in her hands a vast bowl of fresh tuak, which they offered to the visitors. The young men, knowing their object, declined to drink, and thereby drew on themselves a battery of mixed blandishments and reproaches. Above all, they were entreated not to inflict on the girls the shame of refusing their gift, and making them take it back, to be laughed at by all their friends.

Cajolery, honied words, and caresses having been resisted, they tried the effect of ridicule, and their taunts succeeded where their coaxings failed. “What!” said they, “are the Sibuyans so weak-headed as to be afraid of drinking Bukar tuak?” This touched the visitors on a very tender point. The Sibuyans specially pride themselves on the strength of their heads and of their tuak, and a refusal to drink was thus made tantamount to a confession of inferiority in both respects. So they raised the huge bowls to their lips, and were allowed no peace until they had drained the last drops, when their tempters ran away laughing, knowing that in a very short time their two victims would be senseless.

It is a most extraordinary thing that the Dyak women, most of whom do not drink at all, and very few drink even moderately, take such a delight in forcing the men into intoxication. The young girls are the most successful temptresses. They take advantage of their youth and beauty, and employ all their fascinations to inveigle the men into drinking. No man is safe from them.

Their brothers, friends, and even their betrothed, fall, as we have seen, victims to their blandishments. They will make up to perfect strangers, get up a flirtation, and lavish all their enchantments upon them like Circe of old, until they have reduced their helpless admirers to a state little better than that of the mythological swine. Even after the men have sunk on the ground, and are incapable of raising the cup to their lips, the women think their task not quite completed, and pour the tuak down the throats of the helpless men. In the “Dyak Feast,” which the artist has so finely drawn on the opposite page, the appeal and dresses of these Eastern syrens are illustrated.

Yet, although on such occasions they give themselves over to utter drunkenness, the Dyaks are a sober race, and except at these feasts, or when beset by women, they are singularly temperate, the betel-nut supplying the place of all intoxicating liquor.

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CXVIII. BORNEO--Continued

ARCHITECTURE--MANUFACTURES.

AERIAL HOUSES -- THE LONG HOUSE AND ITS ARRANGEMENTS -- THE ORANG-KAYA’S ROOM -- STRUCTURE OF THE FLOORING -- REASONS FOR THE DYAK ARCHITECTURE -- THE NIPA PALM AND ITS USES -- THE ATAPS -- SALT AND SUGAR MANUFACTURE -- ERECTION OF THE FIRST POST -- VARIOUS MODES OF PROCURING FIRE -- CONSTRUCTION OF THE DYAK BRIDGE -- A NARROW ESCAPE -- MANUFACTURES -- THE ADZE AXE OF THE DYAKS -- ITS ANALOGY WITH THE BANYAI AXE -- SMELTING AND FORGING IRON -- BASKET MAKING -- THE DYAK MAT -- SPLITTING THE RATTAN -- THE BORNEAN KNIFE, AND MODE OF USING IT -- THE SACRED JARS AND THEIR PROPERTIES.

The architecture of the Dyaks is very peculiar. The reader may find a Dyak village represented on page 1153.

In the first place, the houses are all built on posts, some of them twenty feet in height, and the mode of access to them is by climbing up a notched pole, which answers the purpose of a ladder. The chief dwelling in every village, and indeed practically the village itself, is the long house, which is of wonderfully large dimensions. One of these houses, measured by Mr. St. John, was more than five hundred and thirty feet long, and was inhabited by nearly five hundred people.

Throughout the entire length of the house runs the broad veranda or common room, which is open to all the members, and at the side are rooms partitioned off for the different families, as many as sixty or seventy such rooms being sometimes seen in one long house. Although the veranda is common ground to all the tribe, and in it the members go through their various sedentary occupations, each family occupies by tacit consent the portion of the veranda opposite their own rooms.

These rooms are strictly private, and none except the members of the family, or their intimate friends, would think of entering them. The chief or Orang-kaya of the long house has a much larger room than the others, and the space in front of his room is considered to be devoted to the use of the lesser chiefs and councillors, and, although free to all the inhabitants, is frequented almost entirely by the old men and warriors of known courage.

One of the rooms inhabited by the Orang-kaya was visited by Mr. Boyle, and was not an attractive apartment. On each side of the entrance there was a piece of furniture somewhat resembling an old English plate-rack, upon the lower shelf of which was placed a flat stone. In spite of the heat, which was terrific, a large fire was burning on the stone, and on the range above were wood, rice, pots, and other utensils. There was no chimney to the house, but a sort of flap in the roof was lifted up, and kept open by a notched stick. This flap answered both for window and chimney, and when it was closed the room was in total darkness, beside being at once filled with smoke.

The height of the chamber was barely seven feet, and the space was rendered still more limited by the weapons, girdles, mats, mosquito curtains, strings of boars’ tusks, aprons, and other property, that hung from the rafters. The sides were adorned with a quantity of English and Dutch crockery, each piece being in a separate rattan basket and suspended from the wall. The house being an old one, the smell was abominable; and the Orang-kaya’s chamber was, on the whole, a singularly uncomfortable residence.

A number of fire-places, varying according to the population of the house, are arranged along the veranda, and, as a general rule, one of the primitive ladders already mentioned is placed at either end, so that when a visitor enters the house, he sees throughout its entire length, the range of his eye being only interrupted by the posts, which after supporting the floor pass upward and serve also to support the roof. Outside this veranda extends another, called the outer veranda. It has no roof, and is exposed to the blazing sunbeams. It is used, not as a habitation, but as a kind of storehouse and drying ground.

As the flooring is made of bamboo, the Dyaks can easily, if they choose, keep the interior of their rooms clean. This, however, they seldom choose to do, limiting their cleanliness to the simple process of sweeping any offal through the floor so as to fall under the house. They never think of removing it after it has fallen, so that by degrees the heaps of refuse become higher and higher, and gradually diminish the distance between the floor of the house and the soil beneath. In some of the older houses, these heaps of rubbish have increased to such an extent that when the pigs are grubbing in them their backs touch the bamboo flooring of the house.

The reason for building the Dyak houses on piles are several, the chief being that such a house acts as a fort in case of attack. The custom of building on piles is universal, but only those tribes that are liable to invasion employ piles of the height which have been mentioned. This mode of architecture also protects the inhabitants from floods and from the intrusion of reptiles. The Dyaks do not use the bow and arrow, and before they learned the use of fire-arms, a house built on piles some twenty or thirty feet in height made a very secure fort, which could not be fired, and which exposed the storming party to certain and heavy loss. Even since the English have taken up their residence in Borneo, some of these houses, belonging to revolted chiefs, have given great trouble before they could be taken, artillery appearing to be the only weapon to which they at once succumb.

The piles are made of the hardest iron-wood, and are very thick, much thicker than is needed for the support of the house. The reason for this strength and thickness is, that in case of attack, the assailing party dash under the house, protecting themselves from missiles by a canoe which they turn keel upward, and hold over their heads while they chop at the posts, so as to bring the house and its defenders down together. If the posts are but moderately stout, they will sometimes succeed; but if they are very thick and strong, the defenders can remove part of the floor, and throw on the attacking party weights sufficiently heavy to break through their roof and kill them.

It is probable that the custom of building houses on piles is partly derived from the Malay fashion of erecting buildings over the water. The Dyaks copied this plan, and became so used to it that when they built inland they still continued the practice. The same theory accounts for the habit already mentioned of throwing all kinds of offal through the open bamboo flooring. This custom was cleanly enough when the houses were built over the water, but became a source of utter pollution when they were erected on land, and the offal was allowed to accumulate below, undisturbed except by the dogs and pigs.

Most of these houses are built rather high up the rivers, especially upon the tributary streams; and booms, composed of bamboos and rattans, are fastened across the stream below them, so as to hinder the advance of the enemy’s canoes. The thatch, as well as a considerable portion of the material, is obtained from the nipa palm, a tree which to the Borneans is almost a necessity of existence, and supplies a vast number of their wants. It grows in large numbers at the water’s edge; its huge leaves, fifteen or twenty feet in length, projecting like the fronds of vast ferns.

When dried, the leaves are woven into a sort of matted fabric called “ataps,” which is used sometimes as thatch, sometimes as the indispensable covering of boats, and sometimes even as walls of houses, the mats being fastened from post to post. By the use of these ataps certain portions of the roof can be raised on sticks in trap-door fashion, so as to answer the double purpose of admitting light and securing ventilation.

Various other mats are made of the nipa palm leaf, and so are hats and similar articles. The entire leaf is often used in canoes as an extemporized sail, the leaf being fastened upright, and driving the boat onward at a very fair pace. Besides these uses the nipa leaves, when young, are dressed as vegetables, and are both agreeable and nutritious, and the fine inner leaves, when dried, are rolled round tobacco so as to form cigars.

From the root and stem a coarse sugar is made, which is used for all general purposes; for, although the sugar-cane grows magnificently in Borneo, the natives only consider it in the light of a sweetmeat. It seems rather strange that sugar and salt should be extracted from the same plant, but such is really the case, and salt-making is one of the principal occupations of some of the tribes.

They gather great quantities of the nipa root, and burn them. The ashes are then swept together, and thrown into shallow pans half filled with water, so that the salt is dissolved and remains in the water, while the charcoal and woody particles float at the surface, and can be skimmed off. When the water is clear, the pans are placed over the fire and the water driven off by evaporation, after which the salt, which remains on the bottom and sides of the pans, is scraped off. It is of a coarse and decidedly bitter character, but it is much liked by the natives, and even the European settlers soon become accustomed to it. Salt is imported largely from Siam, but the Borneans prefer that of their own manufacture for home use, reserving the Siamese salt for preserving fish.

The nipa and the mangrove grow in similar localities and on the same streams, and are useful to those who are engaged in ascending rivers, as they know that the water is always shallow where the mangrove grows, and deep near the nipa.

In the olden times, when a long house was projected, the erection of the first post was always accompanied by a human sacrifice, precisely as has been mentioned of several other parts of the world. Mr. St. John saw one of these houses where a human sacrifice had been made. A deep hole was dug in the ground, and the huge post, which, as the reader may remember, is cut from the trunk of the hardest and heaviest wood which can be found, was suspended over it by rattan lashings. A girl was laid at the bottom of the hole, and at a given signal the lashings were cut, permitting the post to drop into the hole, and crush the girl to atoms.

The same traveller saw a ceremony among the Quop Dyaks, which showed that the principle of sacrifice still remained, though the victim was of a different character. The builder wanted to raise a flag-staff near his house, and proceeded on exactly the same plan. The excavation was made, the pole was suspended by a rattan, but, instead of a human being, a fowl was bound and laid at the bottom of the hole, so as to be crushed to death when the lashings were cut.

These houses are often approached by bridges, which are very curious structures, so apparently fragile that they seem unable to sustain the weight of a human being, and of so slight a character that to traverse them seems to imply the skill of a rope dancer. As these houses are often built on the side of a steep hill, a pole is laid from the platform to the hill, and, if it be a tolerably long one, supported by several rattan ropes fastened to trees. A very slight bamboo handrail is fastened a little above it, and the bridge is considered as complete.

One of these simple bridges is shown in illustration No. 2, on the 1153d page, which gives a good idea of the height of the house and its general style of architecture. Near the foreground is a man engaged in making fire by means of twirling one stick upon another, precisely as is done by the Kaffirs and other savage tribes. There is, however, one improvement on the usual mode. Instead of merely causing a pointed stick to revolve upon another, the Dyaks use instead of the lower stick a thick slab of very dry wood, with a deep groove cut on one side of it, and a small hole on the other, bored down to the groove.

When the Dyak wishes to procure fire, he places the wooden slab on the ground with the groove undermost, and inserts his pointed stick in the little hole and twirls it rapidly between his hands. The revolution of the stick soon causes a current of air to pass through the groove, and in consequence the fire is rapidly blown up as soon as the wood is heated to the proper extent. In consequence of this arrangement, much labor is saved, as the firemaker is not obliged to stop at intervals to blow upon the just kindled dust which collects in the little hole around the firestick. Some tribes merely cut two cross grooves on the lower piece of wood, and insert the point of the firestick at their intersection.

The Saribas and Sakarrang Dyaks have a very remarkable instrument for obtaining fire, called by them “besi-api.” It consists of a metal tube, about three inches in length, with a piston working nearly air-tight in it. A piece of dry stuff by way of tinder is introduced into the tube, the piston rod is slapped smartly down and withdrawn with a jerk, when the tinder is seen to be on fire. Europeans find that to manage the besi-api is as difficult a task as to procure fire by two sticks. The reader may remember that a machine of similar construction is sold at the philosophical instrument makers, and that a piece of German tinder is lighted by the sudden compression of the air.

Another form of the besi-api is thus described by Mr. Boyle:--“Among some of the Dyak tribes there is a manner of striking fire much more extraordinary. The instrument used is a slender cube of lead, which fits tightly in a case of bamboo. The top of the cube is hollowed into a cup, and when fire is required this cup is filled with tinder, the leaden piston is held upright in the left hand, the bamboo case is thrust sharply down over it, as quickly withdrawn, and the tinder is found to be lighted. The natives say that no metal but lead will produce the effect.”

The same traveller gives an account of another mode of obtaining fire:--“Another interesting phenomenon these natives showed us, which, though no doubt easily explained on scientific principles, appeared very remarkable. As we sat in the veranda my cheroot went out, and I asked one of the Dyaks squatted at our side to give me a light.

“He took from his box of bamboo a piece of pitcher and a little tinder; put the latter upon the pitcher and held it under his thumb, struck sharply against the bamboo, and instantly offered me the tinder lighted. Several times subsequently we watched them obtain fire by this means, but failed to make out a reasonable theory for the result.”

Even rivers are bridged over in the same simple, but really efficacious manner, as the approaches to the houses. The mountain streams alternate greatly in depth and rapidity, and it is no uncommon occurrence for a heavy rain to raise a river some forty feet in its deep and rocky channel, and even after a single heavy shower the fords are rendered impassable. In consequence of this uncertainty, the Dyaks throw across the chasms such bridges as are described by Mr. St. John:--

“How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look! One, in particular, I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite to each other. Long bamboos lashed together formed the main portion, and were fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a woman and child pass over it we drew our breath until they were safe on the other side. And yet we knew that they were secure.

“I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once, when pressed for time, I was passing rapidly across with many men following close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack! crack! was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men were fortunately not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks below. After that, we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.”

* * * * *

The domestic manufactures of the Dyaks are of a very high order, and display a wonderful amount of artistic taste. The mode of building canoes has already been mentioned, but the principal tool of the canoe maker is too curious to be passed over. The implement in question is singularly ingenious, combining within itself a number of qualifications. The general appearance of it can be seen by reference to the illustration, which is drawn from a specimen presented to me by C. T. C. Grant, Esq.

It is apparently a most insignificant tool, hardly worthy the hands of a child; and yet, when wielded by a Dyak, it produces the most remarkable results. The handle is only ten inches in length, and the blade measures barely an inch and a quarter across the widest part. The handle is made of two portions, united with a strong lashing of rattan, backed up by cement, The lower portion, which is curved exactly like the hilts of the Dyak swords, is made of a soft and light wood, while the upper part, which carries the head, is made of a hard, strong, and moderately elastic wood.

The head is made of iron, mostly imported, and is in all probability formed on the model of a stone implement that was formerly in use. As the reader may see, it is fastened to the wood by rattan, exactly as the stone heads of the Polynesian axes are held in their places by lashings of plaited sinnet.

But here the resemblance ends. The head of the Polynesian axe is immovable, whereas the essence of the Bornean axe is that the head can be shifted at will, by taking it out of the rattan lashing, reversing and replacing it, so that it forms an axe or an adze, as the user desires. The reader may remember that the Banyai tribe of Southern Africa have an axe made on a similar principle, though in their case the reversal is accomplished by cutting holes at right angles to each other, through which the shank of the iron head can be passed. (See p. 364, figs. 4, 5.)

With this tiny instrument the Dyaks not only shape their planks, but cut down the largest trees with a rapidity that an English workman could scarcely equal, in spite of the superiority of his axe. They have a very curious method of clearing away timber from a space of ground. They first cut away all the underwood with their parangs, or choppers, and then, with their little axes, cut the larger trees rather more than half through, leaving the largest to the last. This tree is then felled, and, as all the trees are bound together with rattans and other creepers, it brings down all the others in its fall.

Although the iron which the Dyaks use is mostly imported, they are capable of smelting their own metal by a very simple process. By way of a crucible, they dig a small pit in the ground, and perforate the sides with holes, through which currents of air can be passed by means of the native bellows. Charcoal is first placed in the pit, and then the ore, well broken, is laid on the charcoal; and so the Dyak workmen proceed to fill the pit with alternate layers of charcoal and ore. A light is then introduced by means of a hole, the bellows are worked, and in a short time the metal is smelted. Although each man is generally capable of making his own tools on a pinch, there is generally a man in each village who is a professional blacksmith, and makes his living by forging spear heads and parang blades, as well as by keeping the weapons of the villagers in repair.

The basket work of the Dyaks is exceedingly good, color as well as form being studied in the manufacture. The basket called tambok is made of the nipa palm leaf, cut into strips not quite the twelfth of an inch wide, and stained alternately yellow and red. These are interwoven so as to produce a considerable variety of pattern, somewhat resembling that which is used in the sarongs and other woven fabrics. These patterns are nearly all combinations of the square, the zigzag, and the diamond; the last form, however, being nothing more than the square turned diagonally.

Although made in cylindrical form, the tambok is slightly squared by means of four strips of hard red wood, which are tightly fastened to the basket by rattan lashing. The bottom of the basket is squared in a similar manner, so as to flatten it and enable it to stand upright, and is defended by thicker strips of wood than those which run up the sides. The lid is guarded by two cross-strips of wood, and both the lid and the top of the basket are strengthened by two similar strips bound firmly round their edges. This basket is exceedingly light, elastic, strong, easily carried, and fully warrants the estimation in which it is held. Tamboks are made of almost all sizes, and are extensively used by the Dyaks, the Malays, and the European colonists.

Mats of various kinds are made by this ingenious people. One of these mats, which is in my possession, is a wonderful specimen of Dyak work. It is nine feet long and five wide, and is made of rattan, cut into very narrow strips--not wider, indeed, than those of the enlarged patterns of the tambok basket. These strips are interwoven with such skill as to form an intricate and artistic pattern. The centre of the mat is occupied by a number of spiral patterns, two inches in diameter, the spiral being produced by extensions of the zigzag already mentioned.

Around the spirals are three distinct borders, each with a definite pattern, and the whole is edged by a sort of selvage, which gives strength to the fabric, and prevents it from being torn. This kind of mat is exceedingly durable, the specimen in question having been long used in Borneo, then brought over to England, and employed as a floor-cloth; and, although cut in one or two places by chair-legs, is on the whole as firm as when it was made. As the rattan has not been dyed, the color of the mat is a pale yellow; but the pattern comes out with wonderful distinctness, just as is the case with good English table linen.

Like all uncivilized people, the Dyaks never hurry themselves about their manufactures. Time is no object to them; there is none of the competition which hurries European workmen through life. The women, who make these beautiful mats, go about their work in a very leisurely way, interweaving the slender rattan strips with infinite care, and certainly producing work that is thorough and sound.

The rattan is split in rather a curious manner. On account of the direction and length of its fibre, it will split almost ad infinitum into perfectly straight strips of very great length, so that the only difficulty is to cut the slips of precisely the same width. The knives with which this task is performed are rather peculiar. One of them has already been described on page 1125, as an appendage to the Bornean sword; but there is another which is so remarkable that it deserves a separate description.

The handle is bent at an angle like that of the parang-latok, described and figured on the page to which reference was just made. In order to produce this effect, the handle is made of two pieces of wood, the ends of which are bevelled off, so that when they are placed together they produce the angular form which is desired. The two pieces are fitted very neatly together, and the joint is strengthened by a thick coating of cement. The handle is further ornamented by having a long piece of brass wire coiled tightly round it, and is finished off at the end with the same kind of cement as that which is used at the joint.

Not only does the handle resemble that of the parang, but there is a great resemblance between the blades of the sword and the knife. The blade of this knife has been forged out of a square bar of steel, which has been first flattened, and then beaten out into the slightly curved form which is so largely used throughout the whole of this part of the world.

As is the case with the sword knife already described, this implement is used by putting the handle under the left arm and holding the blade firmly in front of the body, while both hands are at liberty to press the end of the rattan against the edge of the knife, and so to split it into as many strips as are needed. In spite of the comparative roughness of the manufacture, which dispenses with a finish and polish, the knife can take a very fine edge; and my own specimen, after having suffered rather rough usage, is so sharp that I have just mended a pen with it, and cut a piece of note paper edgewise. The blade of this knife is eleven inches in length.

In order to preserve the sharpness of the edge, the Dyak carries the knife in a sheath made simply of a small joint of bamboo, closed at the lower end of the natural knot, and carefully wrapped at each end with rattan to prevent it from splitting.

The cotton fabrics are entirely made by the women, from the preparation of the thread to the weaving of the stuff. They beat out the cotton with small sticks, and, by means of a rude sort of wheel, spin it out into thread very rapidly. They cannot compete with the English manufacturer in fineness of thread, but in durability there is no comparison between the two, the Dyak thread being stronger than that made in England, and the dye with which it is stained being so permanent that no fabric wears so well as that which is of native manufacture.

Although we can hardly rank the Dyak jars among native manufactures, they play so important a part in the domestic life of these tribes that they cannot be passed over without some notice.

The Dyaks have no real currency, and can scarcely be made to understand it. They perfectly comprehend direct barter, but the secondary barter by means of a circulating medium is, as a rule, beyond an ordinary Dyak. He will take some goods to the market for the purpose of exchanging them for some article which he wants; but he has no idea of selling his goods for money, and buying with that money the needed article.

The reader may remember that brass guns have already been mentioned as a sort of currency. These are nothing more or less than cannon of various sizes, which are valued by weight, and form a sort of standard by which prices are measured, like the English pound or the French franc. They are bored to carry balls from one to two pounds weight, and, though regarded chiefly in the light of money, are serviceable weapons, and can throw a ball to a considerable distance. There is an advantage about this kind of currency. It is not easily stolen, and outside the chiefs’ houses may be seen rows of brass guns lying on the ground unmounted and owing their safety to their weight.

There is also a second standard of value among the Dyaks. This is the Jar, an institution which, I believe, is unique. These jars are of earthenware, and as far as can be judged by appearance, must have been of Chinese manufacture. They are of different descriptions, and vary greatly in value. The commonest jars, called Naga or Dragon jars, are worth about seven or eight pounds, and derive their name from figures of dragons rudely scrawled on them. They are about two feet in height. The Rusa jar, which is next higher in value, is worth from ten to fifteen pounds, according to its quality, and is known by the figures of the Rusa deer which are drawn upon it.

But the most costly is the Gusi, which is worth almost any sum that the owner chooses to demand for it. The Gusi jar is neither large nor pretty. It is of a dark olive green color, and about two feet in height. These jars are very scarce, and are considered as being worth on an average about five hundred pounds. Seven or eight hundred pounds have been paid for a Gusi jar, and there have been one or two so valuable that many thousands pounds have been offered and refused for them.

Mr. St. John mentions a jar of this kind belonging to the Sultan of Brunei, which derived its chief value from the fact that it spoke on certain great occasions. For example, the Sultan declared that on the night before his wife died the jar uttered hollow moaning sounds, and that it never failed to apprize him of any coming misfortune by wailing pitifully. This jar is kept in the women’s apartments, and is always covered with gold brocade, except when wanted for consultation, or to exhibit its medicinal properties. Water poured into a Gusi jar is thought by the Dyaks and by the Malays to be the best possible medicine for all kinds of diseases, and, when sprinkled over the fields, to be a certain means of procuring a good crop. As the people are willing to pay highly for this medicated water, there is some reason for the enormous cost of these jars.

One of them is said to possess a quality which belongs to itself. It increased everything that was put into it. If, for example, it were half filled with rice in the evening it would be nearly full in the morning; and if water was poured into it, a few hours would increase the depth of water by several inches. It is remarkable that the art of making these jars is lost. The Chinese, admirable imitators as they are, have always failed when they have endeavored to palm off upon a Dyak a jar manufactured by themselves.

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CXIX. BORNEO--Concluded

RELIGION--OMENS--FUNERALS.

THE STATE OF RELIGION AMONG THE DYAKS -- THEIR BELIEF IN A SUPREME BEING -- THE VARIOUS SUBORDINATE GODS -- THE ANTUS, AND THEIR FORMS -- CATCHING A RUNAWAY SOUL -- THE BUAU AND HIS NATURE -- ORIGIN OF LAND LEECHES -- CHARMS, AND THEIR VALUE -- OMENS -- THE GOOD AND EVIL BIRDS -- A SIMPLE CAUSE OF DIVORCE -- THE ENCHANTED LEAF -- THE ORDEALS OF DIVING, BOILING WATER, SALT, AND SNAILS -- THE ENCHANTED WATER -- A CURIOUS CEREMONY -- DYAK FUNERALS -- THE OFFICE OF SEXTON.

The religion of the Dyaks is a very difficult subject, as the people themselves seem to have an exceedingly vague idea of it, and to be rather unwilling to impart the little knowledge which they have. It is tolerably clear that they have an idea of a Supreme Being, whom they call by different names, according to their tribes; the Sea Dyaks, for example, calling him Batara, and the land Dyaks Tapa. Next to the Supreme, by whom mankind was created, were some very powerful though inferior deities, such as Tenabi, who made the earth and the lower animals; Iang, who taught religion to the Dyaks, and still inspires them with holiness; and Jirong, the lord of life and death.

Besides those chief deities there are innumerable Antus or minor gods, which correspond in some degree to the fauns and satyrs of the ancients. They are called by many names, and as, according to Dyak ideas, there is scarcely a square rod of forest that does not contain its Antu, the people live as it were in a world peopled with supernatural beings. Some of them even declare that they have seen the Antus, the chief distinction of whom seems to be that they have no heads, the neck being terminated in a sharp point. They are capable of assuming the form of a human being or of any animal at will, but always without heads, so that they can be at once recognized.

The story of one of these Antu-seers is a very strange one. He declared that he saw a squirrel in a tree, threw a spear at it, and brought it to the ground. When he went to pick it up, it suddenly rose, faced him, and changed itself into a dog. The dog walked a few paces, changed again into a human being, and sat slowly down on the trunk of a fallen tree. The body of the spectre was parti-colored, and instead of a head it had a pointed neck.

The Dyak ran off in terror, and was immediately smitten with a violent fever, his soul having been drawn from the body by the Antu, and about to journey toward the spirit world. The doctor, however, went off to the spot where the Antu appeared, captured the fugitive soul, brought it back, and restored it to the body by means of the invisible hole in the head through which the Antu had summoned it. Next morning the fever was gone, and the man was quite well.

They tell another story of one of these inimical beings, who are supposed to be ghosts of persons killed in battle, and called Buaus. A Buau pounced upon a woman named Temunyan during her husband’s absence, carried her off, and by his magic arts fixed her against a rock from which she could not move. When the husband returned, he went in search of his wife, and, having found her, concocted a scheme by which the Buau was induced to release her. By stratagem the husband contrived to destroy the Buau, and took his wife home.

She had, however, scarcely reached her home when she gave birth to a horrible being, of which the Buau was the father. Her husband instantly chopped it into a thousand pieces with his parang, and flung it into the jungle, when each fragment took life, and assumed the blood-sucking character of the demon parent. And thus the Buau was the original parent of land-leeches.

In order to propitiate these beings, the Dyaks are in the habit of making offerings of food, drink, and flowers to them before they undertake any great task, mostly putting the food into dishes or baskets, and laying it in the jungle for the use of the Antus.

Satisfied apparently with the multitude of their deities, the Dyaks possess no idols, a fact which is really remarkable, as showing the character of their minds. Charms, however, they have in plenty, and place the greatest reliance on them. Some charms are credited as rendering the wearer invulnerable, and it is likely that those attached to the parang described on page 1125 are of that character.

Mr. St. John mentions an amusing example of the value set upon these charms. There was a chief of very high rank, who possessed some exceedingly potent charms, which had been in his family for many generations, and had been handed down from father to son. They consisted of two round pebbles, one flat pebble, a little stone which had been found in a banana, and some sand. All these valuables were sewed up together and fastened to a string, by which they could be attached to the waist in times of peril.

Unfortunately, the chief lent these charms to a man who lost them, and was sued by the aggrieved owner before the English court. He gained his case, but was nearly as much dissatisfied with the court as with the defendant, inasmuch as he estimated the value of the charms at a Rusa jar, i. e. about thirty dollars, or seven pounds, whereas the value set on them by the court, and paid by the defendant, was fivepence.

Allusion has been already made to the birds on which the Dyaks so much rely as omens. These are three in number, the Kushah, the Kariak, and the Katupung. When a Dyak is about to start on an expedition, he goes to the place near the village where the feasting sheds are built, and there waits until he hears the cry of one of these birds. Should either the kushah or the katupung cry in the front, or on either side, and not be answered, the omen is bad, and the man gives up his expedition. It is a good sign, however, if the bird should first cry on one side and then be answered on the other. The most important bird is the kariak. If the cry of the kariak be heard on the right, the omen is good; if on the left, it is doubtful. But if the cry be heard behind the diviner, the omen is as bad as it can be, and portends at least sickness, if not death.

The Dyaks scarcely engage in any undertaking without consulting the birds, whom they believe to be half Dyaks, all birds having proceeded from the union of an Antu with a Dyak woman.

Mr. Brooke, in treating of this subject, has the following forcible remarks:--“Some of our party of Dyaks had proceeded, but most were yet behind, and will be sweeping down for the next week or more. Many go through the forms of their forefathers in listening to the sounds of omens; but the ceremony is now very curtailed, compared with what it was a few years ago, when I have known a chief live in a hut for six weeks, partly waiting for the twittering of birds to be in a proper direction, and partly detained by his followers. Besides, the whole way in advancing, their dreams are religiously interpreted and adhered to; but, as in all such matters, interpretations are liable to a double construction. The finale is, that inclination, or often fear, is most powerful. A fearful heart produces a disagreeable dream, or a bad omen in imagined sounds from birds or deer, and this always makes a force return. But they often loiter about so long, that the enemy gains intelligence of their intended attack, and is on the alert.

“However absurdly these omens lead the human race, they steadily continue to follow and believe in such practices. Faith predominates, and hugs huge wonders, and tenaciously lives in the minds of the ignorant. Some of the Dyaks are somewhat shaken in the belief in hereditary omens, and a few follow the Malay custom of using a particular day, which has a strange effect on European imaginations. The white man who commands the force is supposed to have an express bird and lucky charm to guide him onward; and to these the Dyaks trust considerably. ‘You are our bird, we follow you.’ I well know the names, and can distinguish the sounds of their birds, and the different hands on which the good and bad omens are interpreted.

“The effect of these signs on myself was often very marked, and no Dyak could feel an adverse omen more than myself when away in the jungle, surrounded by these superstitious people. Still, I could sympathize with the multitude, and the difficulty lay in the question, whether any influence would be sufficient to counteract such phantoms. It must not be thought I ever attempted to lead the Dyaks to believe that I was the owner of charms and such absurdities, which could not have lasted above a season, and could never be successful for a length of time. A maias’ (orang-outan’s) head was hanging in my room, and this they thought to be my director to successful expeditions.”

The cries of various animals are all interpreted by the Dyaks, those which have evil significations far outnumbering the good-omened cries. The worst of all omens is the cry of a deer, which will make a Dyak abandon any project on which he is engaged, no matter how deeply his heart may be set on it.

On one occasion, a Dyak had married a young girl for whom he had a very strong attachment, which was returned. On the third day after the marriage, the English missionary entered the head house and was surprised to see the young husband sitting in it hard at work on some brass wire. This was a very strong circumstance, as the head house is tenanted only by the bachelors. The missionary naturally asked him what he was doing there, and what had become of his wife, to which he answered sorrowfully that he had no wife, a deer having cried on the preceding night, so that they were obliged to dissolve the marriage at once.

“But,” said his interrogator, “are you not sorry for this?”

“Very sorry!”

“What are you doing with the wire?”

“Making ornaments for the girl whom I want for my new wife.”

It seems that the belief in the Antus is so ingrained in the minds of the Dyaks, that whenever any one meets with an accident, some Antu or other is presumed to have been the author of the injury, and to require appeasal. Mr. Brooke mentions that he once found the leaf of a palm tree folded in a peculiar manner, lying near his house. This was an offering to the Antu, because a man had fallen down there and injured himself.

The leaf was supposed to be possessed by the Antu, who would avenge himself if his leaf were disturbed by causing the arm of the offender to swell. However, Mr. Brooke picked up the leaf and threw it away, and within two days his arm became swollen and inflamed, and remained in that state for nearly a fortnight afterward.

In connection with this subject must be mentioned the ordeals by which disputes are often settled. These are of various kinds, but the favorite plan is the ordeal of diving. The two disputants are taken to the river and wade into the water up to the chin. At a given signal they plunge beneath the surface, and the one who can remain longest under water wins the case. There was a very curious instance of such an ordeal where the honor of a family was involved. The daughter of a chief was found to have disgraced herself, and laid the blame upon a young man of rank. He, however, utterly contradicted her story, and at last the dispute was brought to an end by the ordeal of diving. The young chief won his cause, and the result was that the offending girl had to leave the village, and her father was deserted by his followers, so that he was also obliged to seek another home.

Then there is the salt ordeal. Each litigant is provided with a lump of salt of precisely the same weight, and he whose salt retains its shape longest in water is held to be the winner. There is also the boiling-water test, which is exactly the same as that which was practised in England in former days, the hand being dipped into the hot liquid, and coming out uninjured if the appellant be innocent. Lastly, there is the snail ordeal. Each party takes a snail and puts it on a plate, and lime juice is poured over them, when the snail that first moves is considered to have indicated that its owner is in the wrong.

The reader may remember that the Dyaks are in the habit of purchasing water that has been poured into the sacred jars, and sprinkling it over their fields by way of ensuring fertility. They believe that water which has touched the person of a white man will have the same effect, especially if he be a man of some rank. So as soon as English officers arrive at a Dyak village, the natives have a custom of seizing them, pulling off their shoes and stockings, and washing their feet, the water being preserved as an infallible charm for promoting the growth of their crops.

They carry this principle to an extent which to us seems exceedingly disgusting. Long bamboos filled with dressed rice are brought to the visitors, who are requested to spit in them. The rice thus medicated is distributed among the assembled crowd, who press eagerly round, each attempting to secure a portion of the health-giving food. Some of the more cunning among the people try to secure a second and some a third supply, and Mr. St. John mentions an instance when one horrid old woman managed to be helped six times.

The same traveller mentions that the blood of fowls is thought to be a very powerful charm, and the Dyaks have a ceremony connected with the shedding of blood which is almost identical with the Jewish Passover. (See Exod. xii. 22.) A festival had been given in honor of the visitors. Their feet had been washed, and the water put aside. Their rice had been duly medicated, and the Orang-kaya began some curious ceremonies, flinging rice out of the windows, and accompanying the act with a prayer for fertility to the fields and prosperity to the village. He was evidently repeating a well-learned lesson, and it was ascertained that the words which he used were not understood by himself, so that we find among the Dyaks the relics of an expired language, the few remnants of which are preserved by religion, just as is the case with the inhabitants of New Zealand and other islands.

This portion of the ceremony being ended a sort of sacred dance was performed, the Orang-kaya and the elders going successively to the white visitors, passing their hands over their arms, and going off in a slow, measured tread, “moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat. Then came another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue out of us, another yell, and off they went again--at one time there were at least a hundred dancing.

“For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a couple of hours I awoke, my companion was still sleeping uneasily, the din was deafening, and I sat up to look around.

“Unfortunate moment! I was instantly seized by the hands of two priests, and led up to the Orang-kaya, who was himself cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands. Holding him by his legs I had to strike the lintel of the doors, sprinkling a little blood over each. When this was over, I had to wave the fowl over the heads of the women and wish them fertility; over the children, and wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out of the window, and invoke good crops for them.”

* * * * *

Funerals among the Dyaks differ slightly in the various tribes. The common people are buried or even burned with scarcely any ceremony, but the bodies of chiefs and their relatives are treated with a whole series of rites.

As soon as a chief dies, the corpse is dressed in his finest clothes, every ornament that he possessed is hung upon him, and his favorite swords and other weapons are laid by his side. The body is then placed on an elevated platform, and is watched and tended as if the dead man were still alive, food, drink, tobacco, and sirih being continually offered him, and the air kept cool by constant fanning. The men assemble on one side of the corpse, and the women on the other, and romp with each other as if the occasion were of a joyful rather than a sorrowful character. These games are continued until the corpse is far gone in decomposition, when it is placed in a coffin made of a hollowed tree trunk, and buried in a grave which must not be more than five feet deep.

Knowing the customs of the people, the Malays are apt to rifle the graves of dead chiefs, for the sake of obtaining the swords and other valuables that are buried with them. Formerly, after the body was laid in the grave, the sword, a jar or two, clothes, ornaments, and a female slave were placed in a canoe, the woman being firmly chained to it. When the tide was ebbing the boat was sent adrift, and was supposed to supply the spirit of the departed with all the goods that were on board. This custom, however, has been long discontinued, as the Dyaks found that the canoe and its contents almost invariably fell into the hands of the Malays, who thus procured slaves without paying for them, and enriched themselves besides with the swords, gold, and clothing.

The sexton’s office is hereditary, and whenever the line fails the Dyaks have great difficulty in finding some one who will not only take the office upon himself, but must also entail it upon his descendants. The office, however, is a very lucrative one, varying from a rupee to two dollars, a sum of money which can procure for a Dyak all the necessaries and most of the luxuries of life for several weeks.

The Kayan Dyaks do not bury their dead, but place the body in a very stout coffin made of a hollowed tree, and elevate it on two stout carved posts, with woodwork projecting from each corner, like the roofs of Siamese houses.

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CXX. TIERRA DEL FUEGO

APPEARANCE--ARCHITECTURE--MANUFACTURES.

POSITION OF THE COUNTRY AND SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME -- CONFORMATION OF THE LAND AND ITS ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE LIFE -- APPEARANCE OF THE FUEGIANS -- ERRONEOUS IDEAS CONCERNING THEM -- COLOR, COSTUME, AND MODE OF WEARING THE HAIR -- INDIFFERENCE TO DRESS -- PAINT AND ORNAMENTS -- FUEGIAN ARCHITECTURE -- THE POINTED AND ROUNDED HUTS -- THE SPEAR AND ITS HEAD -- BOWS AND ARROWS -- STONE THROWING -- WONDERFUL STRENGTH OF THE FUEGIANS -- SKILL WITH THE SLING -- STUDY OF PARTICULAR WEAPONS -- FOOD OF THE FUEGIANS -- ANGLING WITHOUT HOOKS -- THE DOGS, FISHERS AND BIRD CATCHERS -- THE DOG RESPECTED BY THE FUEGIANS -- CANNIBALISM -- THE TREE FUNGUS -- CANOES -- THE LARGE AND SMALL CANOES, AND THEIR USES -- SHIFTING QUARTERS AND TRANSPORTING CANOES -- COOKERY -- GENERAL TEMPERAMENT OF THE FUEGIANS -- JEMMY BUTTON -- FUEGIAN GOVERNMENT.

At the extreme southern point of America is a large island, or rather a collection of islands separated by very narrow armlets of the sea. It is separated from the mainland by the strange tortuous Magellan’s Strait, which is in no place wide enough to permit a ship to be out of sight of land, and in some points is exceedingly narrow. As Magellan sailed through this channel by night, he saw that the southern shore was studded with innumerable fires, and he therefore called the country TIERRA DEL FUEGO, or Land of Fire. These fires were probably beacons lighted by the natives in order to warn each other of the approach of strangers, to whom the Fuegians have at times evinced the most bitter hostility, while at others they have been kind and hospitable in their way.

The country is a singularly unpromising one, and Tierra del Fuego on the south and the Esquimaux country on the north seem to be exactly the lands in which human beings could not live. Yet both are populated, and the natives of both extremities of this vast continent are fully impressed with the superiority of their country over all others.

Tierra del Fuego is, as its proximity to the South Pole infers, a miserably cold country, and even in the summer time the place is so cold that in comparison England would seem to be quite a tropical island. In consequence of this extreme cold neither animal nor vegetable life can be luxuriant. The forests are small, and the trees short, stumpy, and ceasing to exist at all at some fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. There is a sort of evergreen beech (Fagus betuloides).

There is only one redeeming point in the climate of Tierra del Fuego. The mosquito that haunts alike the hottest and coldest countries, and equally a terror in tropical and Arctic America, cannot live in Tierra del Fuego, the damp, as well as the cold, being fatal to it. Indeed, there are very few insects in this strange land, and reptiles are altogether absent.

Absence of vegetable life naturally results in absence of animal life, the herbivorous animals being starved out for want of their proper food, and the carnivora being equally unable to live, as finding no animals on which to feed. Man being omnivorous, has a slightly better chance of living, but even he could not multiply and fill the country when food is so limited, provided he were limited to the land, but, as he is master of the waters as well as of the earth, he can draw his living from the sea and rivers when the land refuses to supply him with food. Such is the case with the Fuegians, who are essentially people of the sea and its shore, and who draw nearly the whole of their subsistence from its waters, as we shall see in a future page.

Perhaps in consequence of the scantiness, the irregularity, and the quality of their food, the Fuegians are a very short race of men, often shorter than the average Bosjesman of Southern Africa, and even lower in the social scale. They ought not to be called dwarfs, as is too often the case, their bodies being tolerably proportioned, and their figures not stunted, but simply smaller than the average of Europeans, while the muscular development of the upper part of the body is really wonderful. As a rule, the average height of the Fuegian men is about five feet, and that of the women four feet six inches. In some parts of the islands there are natives of much larger size, but these are evidently immigrants from the adjacent country of Patagonia, where the stature is as much above the average of Europeans as that of the Fuegians is below it.

The color of the natives is a dark coppery brown, the reddish hue being only perceptible in spots where they happen accidentally to be clean. The limbs are generally slight, so that the knees and elbows seem to be disproportionately large, and their heads are covered with masses of black hair, that possesses no curl, and falls in long, wild tangled locks over their shoulders. The men are almost entirely beardless.

An illustration on the opposite page of a Fuegian man and woman gives a correct representation of the ugliness of feature and want of intelligence which characterize this people.

Both sexes allow their hair to run to its full length, except over the forehead, where it is roughly cut with a shell to prevent it from falling into the eyes. The people have a strange superstitious reverence for hair, and that portion which is cut off is deposited in a basket, and afterward carefully disposed of. Once, when the captain had snipped off a little hair from a Fuegian’s head, he found that he had given great offence, and was obliged to restore the severed hair and put away the scissors before the angry feelings of the native could be smoothed. On another occasion, the only mode of pacifying the offended native was by restoring the lock of hair, together with a similar lock from the head of the white man. The cut hair is generally burned.

Captain King’s account of the Fuegian women is not attractive.

“The hair of the women is longer, less coarse, and certainly cleaner than that of the men. It is combed with the jaw of a porpoise, but neither plaited nor tied; and none is cut away, except from over their eyes. They are short, with bodies largely out of proportion to their height; their features, especially those of the old, are scarcely less disagreeable than the repulsive ones of the men. About four feet and some inches is the stature of these she-Fuegians, by courtesy called women. They never walk upright; a stooping posture and awkward movement is their natural gait. They may be fit mates for such uncouth men; but to civilized people their appearance is disgusting. Very few exceptions were noticed.

“The color of the women is similar to that of the men. As they are just as much exposed, and do harder work, this is a natural consequence. Besides, while children they run about quite naked, picking up shell-fish, carrying wood, or bringing water. In the color of the older people there is a tinge of yellow, which is not noticed in the middle-aged or young.”

As is the case with many savage tribes, the teeth of the Fuegians are ground down to an almost flat surface. This is most conspicuous in the front teeth. There is little apparent distinction between the canine and the incisor teeth, both being ground down to such an extent that the only remains of the enamel are on the sides, and, as Captain King graphically remarks, “the front teeth are solid, and often flat-topped like those of a horse eight years old ... the interior substance of each tooth is then seen as plainly in proportion to its size as that of a horse.”

The mouth is large, and very coarsely formed, and as there is not a vestige of beard its full ugliness is shown to the best advantage.

One of the strangest phenomena connected with the Fuegians is their lack of clothing. In a climate so cold that in the middle of summer people have been frozen to death at no great elevation above the level of the sea, it might well be imagined that the natives would follow the same course as that adopted by the Esquimaux, and make for themselves garments out of the thickest and warmest furs that can be procured.

They might do so if they chose. In some parts of their country they have the thick-woolled guanaco (probably an importation from the mainland), and in others are deer and foxes, not to mention the dogs which they keep in a domesticated state. Besides, there are few furs warmer than those of the seal, and seals of various kinds abound on the Fuegian coasts, some, such as the sea-lion, being of very large size. Then there are various water birds, whose skins would make dresses equally light and warm, such as the penguin, the duck, the albatross, and the like.

It is evident, therefore, that if the Fuegian is not warmly and thickly clothed, it is not from want of material, and that he is naked not from necessity but choice. And he chooses nudity, neither sex wearing any description of clothes except a piece of seal or deer skin about eighteen inches square hung over one shoulder. No other covering is worn except this patch of skin, which is shifted about from one side of the body to the other according to the direction of the wind, the Fuegian appearing to be perfectly indifferent to frost, rain, or snow. For example, a Fuegian mother has been seen with her child in her arms, wearing nothing but the little patch of seal-skin on the windward side, and yet standing unconcernedly in the snow, which not only fell on her naked shoulder, but was heaped between her child and her breast, neither mother nor infant seeming to be more than ordinarily cold. During mild weather, or when the Fuegian is paddling or otherwise engaged in work, he thinks that even the piece of seal-skin is too much for him, and throws it off.

Though careless about clothing, he is not indifferent to ornament, and decorates his copper-colored body in various ways. He uses paint in profusion, generally laying on a white ground made of a chalky clay, and drawing patterns upon it of black or dull brick-red. The black is simply charcoal reduced to powder. He likes necklaces, which are mostly white, and are made of the teeth of fishes and seals, or of pieces of bone. Ornaments of the same character are worn upon the wrists and ankles, so that, although the Fuegian has no clothes, he has plenty of savage jewelry.

Both sexes keep their long, straggling locks out of their eyes by means of a small fillet made of sinews, or the hair of the guanaco, twined round the forehead. Feathers and similar ornaments are stuck into this fillet; but if they be white, the spectator must be on his guard, for white down and feathers on the head are signs of war. Red, on the contrary, denotes peace; so that these people entirely reverse the symbolism of color which is accepted almost over the entire world. Sometimes a native may be seen so covered with black paint that the coppery color of the skin is entirely lost, and the complexion is as black as that of a negro. This is a sign of mourning, and is used on the death of a relation or friend.

The houses of the Fuegians are as simple as their dress, and practically are little but rude shelters from the wind. Any boy can make a Fuegian house in half an hour. He has only to cut a number of long branches, sharpen the thicker ends, and stick them into the ground, so as to occupy seven-eighths or so of a circle. Let him then tie the sticks together at the top, and the framework of the house is completed. The walls and roof are made by twisting smaller boughs among the uprights and throwing long coarse grass on them, and the entire furniture of the hut is comprised in a few armfuls of the same grass thrown on the ground.

The opening at the side is always made in the direction opposite the wind, and there is no attempt at a door; so that, in fact, as has been said, the Fuegian’s only idea of a house is a shelter from the wind, so that the natives have no idea of a home or even of a dwelling-place. This is the form of hut used by the Tekeenika tribes of south-eastern Fuegia. A Fuegian settlement, with houses and surrounding scenery, is well represented on the 1169th page.

That which is generally employed in other parts of Fuegia is even more simple. It is barely half the height of the Tekeenika hut, and looks something like a large bee-hive. It seldom, if ever, exceeds five feet in height, but, as the earth is scraped away within, another foot in height is given to the interior. It is made simply by digging a circular hole a foot or so in depth, planting green boughs around the excavation, bending them over, and tying their tops together. Upon this rude framework are fastened bunches of grass, sheets of bark, and skins; so that, on the whole, a habitation is formed which is equal in point of accommodation to a gipsy’s tent. These huts vary much in diameter, though not in height; for, while a number of huts are from four to five feet in height, their diameter will vary from six to twenty feet.

The Fuegians are a quarrelsome people, and the different tribes are constantly at war with each other; and, although they can scarcely be divided into definite tribes, the spirit of local jealousy is sufficiently strong within them to keep the inhabitants of one district at perpetual feud with those of another. The conformation of the country aids this feeling of jealousy, the land being divided by numerous ravines, armlets of the sea, and precipitous mountains; but, fortunately for the Fuegians, this very structure prevents destruction in war, although it encourages the ill-feeling which leads to war; and the battles of the Fuegians are, at the best, nothing but detached skirmishes, without producing the least political effect.

Their weapons are the bow and arrow, the spear, and the sling. These weapons are primarily intended for hunting, and are much more used for killing seals, guanacos, deer, fish, and birds than in slaying men. In the use of them the Fuegians are wonderfully expert. Capt. Parker Snow mentions a case where a number of Fuegians had assembled in their canoes round his vessel. A large fish happened to pass, whereupon the natives instantly speared it, and pitched it on board the ship.

The shafts of the spears sometimes reach the length of ten feet, and, instead of being rounded, as is mostly the case with spear shafts, are octagonal. The heads are made of bone, about seven inches in length, and have a single barb about four inches from the point. The Patagonians use a very similar weapon, as we shall presently see. There is another kind of spear head, which has a whole row of small barbs down one side. This weapon is used as a javelin, and is thrown with great force and accuracy, the native grasping it near the middle, poising for a moment, so as to look along it, and then hurling it.

The bow and arrow are mostly used for killing birds, the arrows being made of hard wood, about two feet long. They are headed with pieces of flint or obsidian, which are merely stuck in a notch at the end of the arrow, so that, when the shaft is withdrawn, the head remains in the wound. The bow is strung with twisted sinews. Birds are also killed by stones, some thrown by hand, and others with the sling, the wonderful strength of these strange people enabling them to use their missiles with terrible effect.

Although not tall, the Fuegians are very thick-set and enormously powerful. One of them, named by the sailors York Minster, was a match in point of muscular strength for any two of the men belonging to the ship. The women are as strong as the men. On one occasion, when three Fuegians, a man and two women, had treacherously attacked a white sailor, and were trying to beat out his brains with stones, they were interrupted, and the sailor rescued. The man was shot. One of the women tried to conceal herself under the bank, and the other was seized by the captain and his coxswain, who tried to pinion her arms. She struggled and fought so stoutly that they could scarcely achieve their object, and had no idea that they were contending with a woman until they heard some one announce the sex of their captive. As to the other woman, who was the oldest of the party, she clung so tightly to the bank that two of the strongest sailors could scarcely remove her.

The fate of the man was very curious, and illustrates the reckless, not to say senseless, courage of these people. He was mortally wounded, and fell back for a moment, allowing the maltreated sailor to escape. However, he instantly recovered himself, and, snatching stones from the bed of the stream in which he was standing, began to hurl them with astounding force and quickness. He used both hands, and flung stones with such truth of aim that the first struck the master, smashed his powder-horn to pieces, and nearly knocked him down. The two next were hurled at the heads of the nearest seamen, who just escaped by stooping as the missiles were thrown. All this passed in a second or two, and with an attempt to hurl a fourth stone the man fell dead.

Some time before this event the sailors had been astonished at the stone-throwing powers of the Fuegians, who nearly struck them with stones thrown by hand when they thought themselves even beyond musket shot. They generally carry a store of pebbles ready for use in the corner of their little skin mantles.

The sling is made of a cup of seal or guanaco skin, to which are attached two cords similar in material to the bow-strings, thus combining apparent delicacy with great strength. The cords of the sling are more than three feet in length. The skill which the Fuegians possess with this weapon is worthy of the reputation attained by the Balearic islanders. Captain King has seen them strike with a sling-stone a cap placed on a stump at fifty or sixty yards’ distance, and on one occasion he witnessed a really wonderful display of dexterity. He asked a Fuegian to show him the use of the weapon. The man immediately picked up a stone about as large as a pigeon’s egg, placed it in the sling, and pointed to a canoe as his mark. He then turned his back, and flung the stone in exactly the opposite direction, so that it struck the trunk of a tree, and rebounded to the canoe. The men seem to think the sling a necessity of life, and it is very seldom that a Fuegian is seen without it either hung over his neck or tied round his waist.

It is rather a curious fact that the Fuegians always devote themselves to one particular weapon. One, for example, will be pre-eminent in the use of the bow, another will excel in throwing stones with the hand, and a third will give all his energies to the sling. Yet, although each man selects some particular arm in the use of which he excels, they all are tolerable masters of the other weapons, and it sometimes happens that a Fuegian crosses over to the Patagonian coast, procures the singular weapon called the “bolas,” of which the reader will learn more presently, and becomes almost as expert in its use as the man from whom he obtained it.

* * * * *

As for the food of the Fuegians, it is, as I have already mentioned, chiefly drawn from the sea. He is an excellent fisherman, and manages to capture his prey without even a hook. He ties a bait on the end of the line, dangles it before the fish, and gradually coaxes it toward the surface of the water. He then allows it to bite, and, before it can detach its teeth from the bait, jerks it out of the water with his right hand, while with the left he catches or strikes it into the canoe. It is evident that by this manner of angling it is impossible to catch fish of any great size. As soon as he has caught the fish, the Fuegian opens it by the simple plan of biting a piece out of its under surface, cleans it, and hangs it on a stick.

Molluscs, especially the mussels and limpets which are found on the sea-shores, form a very considerable portion of the Fuegian’s diet; and it is a curious fact that these natives never throw the empty shells about, but carefully lay them in heaps. They are especially careful not to throw them back into the sea, thinking that the molluscs would take warning by seeing the shells of their comrades, and would forsake the coast. Every woman is furnished with a short pointed stick of hard wood, with which she knocks the limpets off the rocks.

There is a very large species of mussel found on these shores, which is particularly useful to the Fuegian, who employs its shell as a knife. These tools are made in a very simple manner. The Fuegian first knocks off the original edge of the shell, which is brittle and rather fragile, and, by grinding it against the rocks, produces a new edge, which is sharp enough to cut wood and even bone.

By means of the spear and arrows, the Fuegian contrives even to capture seals and sea-otters, but the pursuit in which he shows his greatest ingenuity is the capture of fish by means of dogs. These dogs are little, fox-like looking dogs, which appear utterly incapable of aiding their masters in hunting. Yet they are singularly intelligent in their own way, and have learned a most curious fashion of taking fish. When a shoal of fish approaches the land, the dogs swim out and enclose them, splashing and diving until they drive the shoal into a net, or into some creek when the water is sufficiently shallow for the spear and arrow to be used. The dogs are also taught to catch the birds while sleeping. They creep up to the birds quietly, pounce upon them, carry them to their masters, and return for more, and all so silently that the birds around are not disturbed.

These animals are regarded with very mingled feelings. The Fuegian neglects them and illtreats them, scarcely ever taking the trouble to feed them, so that if they depended on the food given them by their masters they would starve. However, their aquatic training gives them the power of foraging for themselves, and, when not required by their masters, they can catch fish on their own account. They are odd, sharp nosed, bushy tailed animals, with large, pointed, erect ears, and usually with dark rough hair, though a few among them have the fur nearly white. They are watchful and faithful to their masters, and the sight of a stranger, much more of a clothed stranger, sets them barking furiously.

Although the Fuegian neglects his dog, he has a great respect and even affection for the animal. It often happens that the mussels and limpets fail, that the weather is too tempestuous for fishing, and that in consequence the people are reduced to the brink of starvation. It might be presumed that, having their dogs at hand, they would avail themselves of so obvious a source of food. This, however, they never do, except when reduced to the last extremity, and, instead of eating their dogs, they eat their old women, who, as they think, are worn out and can do no good, while the dogs, if suffered to live, will assist in catching fish and guanacos.

When they have determined on killing an old woman, they put a quantity of green wood on their fire, so as to cause a thick, suffocating smoke, and in this smoke they hold the poor creature’s head until she is stifled. Unless there is very great distress, the women eat the upper part of the victim and the men the lower, the trunk being thrown into the sea.

Several species of echinus, or sea urchins, are eaten by the Fuegians, who dive for them and bring them to the surface, in spite of the sharp prickles with which the entire surface is beset.

The Fuegian’s great feast, however, takes place when a whale is stranded on the shore. All the people within reach flock to the spot, while fleets of canoes surround the stranded monster, and its body is covered with little copper-colored men carving away the blubber with their shell knives. Each cuts as much as he can get, and when he has torn and carved off a large piece of blubber, he makes a hole in the middle, puts his head through the aperture, and thus leaves his hands free to carry more of the dainty food. Besides this animal food, the Fuegian eats a remarkable kind of fungus, which is found on the antarctic beech, the tree which has already been mentioned. Mr. Webster gives the following description of it:--

“The antarctic beech is the common and prevailing tree. It is an elegant evergreen. It grows to the height of thirty or forty feet, with a girth of from three to five feet, and sometimes, doubling these dimensions, it forms a majestic tree. In December it puts forth a profusion of blossoms, with anthers of bright pink, large and pendent. This evergreen beech frequently has round the upper part of the trunk, or on some of the larger branches, large clusters of globular fungi of a bright orange color. Each fungus is about the size of a small apple, of a soft pulpy nature, with a smooth yellow skin. As it approaches maturity it becomes cellular and latticed on its surface, and when it drops from the tree, dries, and shrivels into a brown mass resembling a morel.

“The Fuegians eat this fungus with avidity. The gelatinous mass is pale, without taste or odor; at the part in contact with the tree are two germs or processes. From twenty to thirty of these fungi are clustered together, and encircle the tree. They form a very conspicuous object, and wherever they are attached they produce a hard knot, or woody tumor, of considerable density. I did not observe them on any other tree than the evergreen beech.”

Passing so much of his time on the sea, the Fuegian needs a boat of some kind, and, debased as he is in many points, he is capable of constructing a vessel that answers every purpose he requires. There are several kinds of Fuegian canoes. The simplest form is made of the bark of a sort of birch, and is in fact formed much like the primitive canoes of the Australians. It is a single sheet of bark stripped from the tree, and tied firmly together at each end. Several sticks placed crosswise in the middle serve to keep it open; and if any part has a tendency to bulge in the opposite direction, a skin thong is passed across the boat and keeps it in shape. The ends of the canoe, as well as any cracks or holes in the bark, are caulked with dry rushes and a pitchy resin procured from trees.

Like the Australian, the Fuegian carries fire in these tiny canoes, placing a lump of clay in the bottom of the boat, building the fire on it, and so being able to remain at sea for a considerable time, cooking and eating the fish as fast as he catches them. Such a boat as this, however, is too frail to be taken far from land, or indeed to be used at all when the weather is tempestuous. Moreover, it only holds one or two persons, and is therefore unfitted for many purposes for which a Fuegian requires a canoe. A much larger and better kind of canoe is therefore made, which has the useful property of being made in separate parts so that the canoe can be taken to pieces, and the various portions carried overland to any spot where the canoe may be wanted. Such a vessel as this is about fifteen feet in length and a yard in width, and, being very buoyant, is capable of holding a whole family, together with their house, and weapons, and utensils. It is considerably raised both at the bow and the stern, and the various pieces of which it is made are sewed together with thongs of raw hide.

The very character of a Fuegian’s life shows that he must, to a certain degree, be a nomad. He never cultivates the soil, he never builds a real house, he never stores up food for the future, and so it necessarily follows that when he has eaten all the mussels, limpets, oysters, and fungi in one spot, he must move to another. And, the demands of hunger being imperious, he cannot wait, but, even if the weather be too stormy to allow him to take his canoe from one part of the coast to another, he is still forced to go, and has therefore hit upon the ingenious plan of taking his canoe to pieces, and making the journey by land and not by sea. An illustration on the following page shows him shifting quarters.

All he has to do in this case is to unlace the hide thongs that lash the canoe together, take it to pieces, and give each piece to some member of the family to carry, the strongest taking the most cumbrous pieces, such as the side and bottom planks, while the smaller portions are borne by the children. When the snow lies deep, the smaller canoe is generally used as a sledge, on which the heavier articles are placed. As to the hut, in some cases the Fuegians carry the upright rods with them; but they often do not trouble themselves with the burden, but leave the hut to perish, and cut down fresh sticks when they arrive at the spot on which they mean to settle for a time.

The Fuegians are good fire makers, and do not go through the troublesome process of rubbing two sticks upon each other. They have learned the value of iron pyrites (the same mineral which was used in the “wheel-lock” fire-arm of Elizabeth’s time), and obtain it from the mountains of their islands. The tinder is made either of a dried fungus or moss, and when the pyrites and a pebble are struck together by a skilful hand, a spark is produced of sufficient intensity to set fire to the tinder. As soon as the spark has taken hold of the tinder, the Fuegian blows it until it spreads, and then wraps it up in a ball of dry grass. He rapidly whirls the grass ball round his head, when the dry foliage bursts into flames, and the fire is complete.

Still, the process of fire making is not a very easy one, and the Fuegians never use their pyrites except when forced to do so, preferring to keep a fire always lighted, and to carry a firestick with them when they travel. Fire is, indeed, a necessary of life to the Fuegians, not so much for cooking as for warming purposes. Those who have visited them say that the natives always look cold and shivering, as indeed they are likely to do, considering that they wear no clothes, and that even in their houses they can but obtain a very partial shelter from the elements.

Their cookery is of the rudest description, and generally consists in putting the food into the hot ashes, and allowing it to remain there until it is sufficiently done for their taste--or, in other words, until it is fairly warmed through. Cooking in vessels of any kind is unknown to them, and the first lessons given them in cooking mussels in a tin pan were scarcely more successful than those in sewing, when the women invariably made a hole in the stuff with the needle, pulled the thread out of the eye, and then insinuated it through the hole made by the needle. They were repeatedly taught the use of the eye in carrying the thread, but to little purpose, as they invariably returned to the old fashion which they had learned with a fish-bone and fibre of sinew.

Though so constantly in the water, the Fuegians have not the most distant idea of washing themselves. Such a notion never occurs to them, and when Europeans first came among them, the sight of a man washing his face seemed to them so irresistibly ludicrous that they burst into shouts of laughter. In consequence of this utter neglect of cleanliness, and the habit of bedaubing themselves with grease and clay, they are very offensive to the nostrils, and any one who wishes to cultivate an acquaintance with them must make up his mind to a singular variety of evil odors. Moreover, they swarm with parasites, and, as they will persist in demonstrating friendly feelings by embracing their guest with a succession of violently affectionate hugs, the cautious visitor provides himself either with an oil-skin suit, or with some very old clothes, which he can give away to the natives as soon as he regains his vessel.

Although the Fuegians are often ill-disposed toward strangers, and indeed have murdered many boats’ crews, Captain Parker Snow contrived to be on very friendly terms with them, going on shore and visiting them in their huts, so as to place himself entirely in their power, and allowing them to come on board his ship. He was fortunate in obtaining the services of a native, called Jemmy Button, who had been partially educated in England, with the hope that he might civilize his countrymen. However, as mostly happened in such cases, he was soon stripped of all his goods; and when Captain Snow visited Tierra del Fuego, twenty-three years afterward, he found Jemmy Button as naked and dirty as any of his countrymen, as were his wife and daughter.

The man, however, retained much of his knowledge of English, a few words of which he had engrafted upon his native language. When first he arrived on board, the English words came with difficulty; but he soon recovered his fluency, and had not forgotten his manners, touching his forehead as he stepped on the quarter-deck, and making his bow in sailor fashion when he addressed the captain, to the entire consternation of the sailors, who could not understand an absolutely naked savage speaking English, and being as well-mannered as themselves.

The faculty of acquiring language is singularly developed in the Fuegian. Generally, the inhabitants of one country find great difficulty in mastering the pronunciation, and especially the intonation, of a foreign land; but a Fuegian can repeat almost any sentence after hearing it once, though of course he has not the slightest idea of its meaning.

A very absurd example of this curious facility of tongue occurred to some sailors who went ashore, and taught the natives to drink coffee. One of the Fuegians, after drinking his coffee, contrived to conceal the tin pot, with the intention of stealing it. The sailor demanded the restoration of his property, and was greatly annoyed that every word which he uttered was instantly repeated by the Fuegian. Thinking at last, that the man must be mocking him, and forgetting for the instant that he did not understand one word of English, the sailor assumed a menacing attitude, and bawled out, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” The Fuegian, nowise disconcerted, assumed precisely the same attitude, and exclaimed in exactly the same manner, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” As it turned out, “the copper-colored rascal” had the pot tucked under his arm.

The natives evidently seemed to think that their white visitors were very foolish for failing to comprehend their language, and tried to make them understand by bawling at the top of their voice. On one or two occasions, when a number of them came on board, they much annoyed Captain Snow by the noise which they made, until a bright thought struck him. He snatched up a speaking trumpet, and bellowed at his visitors through it with such a stunning effect that their voices dropped into respectful silence, and they began to laugh at the manner in which they had been out-bawled by a single man.

As far as can be ascertained, the Fuegians have no form of government. They live in small communities, not worthy of the name of tribes, and having no particular leader, except that the oldest man among them, so long as he retains his strength, is looked up to as a sort of authority. Their ideas of religion appear to be as ill-defined as those of government, the only representative of religion being the conjuror, who, however, exercises but very slight influence upon his fellow countrymen.

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CXXI. THE PATAGONIANS

APPEARANCE--WEAPONS--HORSEMANSHIP.

POSITION OF PATAGONIA -- STATURE OF THE INHABITANTS -- SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME -- HORSE FURNITURE -- THE STIRRUP AND BOOT -- AN INGENIOUS SPUR -- THE GIRTH AND ITS CONSTRUCTION -- PRIMITIVE BUCKLES -- THE BRIDLE AND ITS ACCOMPANYING WHIP -- THE PATAGONIAN AND SPANISH BITS -- SIZE AND STRENGTH OF THEIR HORSES -- HORSE-RACING -- THE BOLAS, THEIR CONSTRUCTION, AND DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF FORM -- WAR IN PATAGONIA -- THE SPARE HORSES AND THEIR USE -- THE RETURN FROM BATTLE -- A HUNTING EXPEDITION -- CHASING THE GUANACO -- A TERRIFIED HERD -- THE DISADVANTAGE OF CURIOSITY -- DECOY GUANACOS -- PARTRIDGE CATCHING -- THE POWER OF FASCINATION.

Separated from Tierra del Fuego by a strait so narrow that in certain spots human beings might converse across the water, is the land called Patagonia.

It derives this now familiar title from a nickname given to the inhabitants by Magellan’s sailors. As we shall presently see when treating of their costume, the Patagonians wear a sort of gaiter to protect their ankles against thorns. These gaiters are made of the furry skin of the guanaco, the long hair spreading out on either side of the foot. The sailors, ever ready to ridicule any custom new to them, remarked this conspicuous part of the dress, and nicknamed the natives Patagones, i. e. duck-feet, a name which has ever since adhered to them, and even been applied to their country.

The narrow armlet of sea, to which reference has been made, divides two lands utterly opposed to each other, and inhabited by people totally distinct in appearance and habits. Tierra del Fuego has scarcely a level spot in it, but is composed of even set ravines clothed with trees, and precipitous, snow-clad mountains. Patagonia, on the contrary, abounds in vast level plains, unfertile and without a tree on them.

The human inhabitants of these countries are as different as the lands themselves, the Fuegians being below the average height, and the Patagonians above it. Yet, just as the Fuegian is not such an absolute dwarf, as has often been stated, the Patagonian is not such an absolute giant, a regiment of English Lifeguards being as tall as an equal number of Patagonians. It is true that if a Patagonian regiment of picked men were raised they would overtop even the Guardsmen, but the old tales about an average of seven or even eight feet are unworthy of credit. Some of the older voyagers even attribute to the Patagonians a much loftier stature, saying that some of them were twelve feet in height, and that when one of them stood with his legs apart, an ordinary man could walk between them without stooping.

The color of the Patagonians is somewhat like that of the Fuegians, being a dark copper brown, the reddish hue coming out well on any part of the skin that happens to be less dirty than others. The hair is coarse, long and black, and is allowed to hang loosely about their faces, being merely kept out of their eyes by a small fillet of guanaco hair. There is scarcely any eyebrow, a deficiency which always gives an unpleasant expression to the eyes, and indeed, even in the old men, the face is almost devoid of hair. The face is roundish, the width being increased by the great projection of the cheek-bones, and the chin is rather broad and prominent. The small, restless eyes, are black, as is the hair, and rather hidden under the prominent brows. The nose is narrow between the eyes, but the nostrils are broad and fleshy. The mouth is large, and the lips rather thick, but altogether the face is not a bad one. The illustration on the 1163d page, of a Patagonian man and woman furnishes a striking contrast with the Fuegians, their neighbors.

The dress of the Patagonians is simple, but sufficient, and in this respect they form a great contrast to the absolutely naked Fuegians of the opposite shores. The chief part of the costume consists of a large mantle made of guanaco skins. The guanaco is, as the reader may possibly be aware, one of the llama tribe, and is about the size of a deer. It is covered with a thick woolly coat, the long hair of which is valuable, not only to the Patagonians, but to Europeans, by whom it is made into various fabrics.

It is very plentiful in this country, fortunately for the Patagonians, to whom the guanaco is the very staff of life, the creature that supplies him with food, clothes, and dwelling. Sometimes it is seen in great droves of several hundreds in number, but it generally associates in smaller herds of twenty or thirty individuals. It is a shy animal, as well it may be, considering the many foes that are always ready to fall upon it; and as it is swift as well as shy, great skill is required in capturing it, as will presently be seen.

The guanaco-skin mantle is very large, and when folded round the body and clasped by the arms, falls as low as the feet; and when a tall Patagonian is seen in this mantle, which adds apparently to his height, he presents a very imposing appearance. Generally, the mantle is confined round the waist by a belt, so that when the wearer chooses, he can throw off the upper part of it, his hands remaining at liberty for action. Under the mantle he wears a small apron.

Next come the curious gaiters, which have been already mentioned. At first sight they look like boots reaching from the knee downward, but when examined more closely, they are seen to be devoid of sole, having only a strap that passes under the middle of the foot, so that the heel and toes and great part of the sole are left unprotected. The reason of this structure is, that the Patagonian is nearly always on horseback, and the toe is made to project beyond the gaiter in order to be placed in the stirrup, which is very small and triangular.

As the Patagonians are so devoted to horsemanship no sketch of this people would be adequate without an account of their horse accoutrements. I have a complete set in my possession. The saddle is made of four pieces of wood, firmly lashed together with raw-hide thongs, and both the front and back of the saddle are alike. From the sides depend the stirrups, which are appended to leathern thongs, and are made in a very simple manner. A hole is made at each end of a stout leathern strap, and a short piece of stick about half an inch in diameter is thrust through them, being retained in its place by a groove near each end. The strap being attached by its middle to the thongs which act as stirrup-leathers, the article is complete.

As the space between the grooves is rather less than three inches, it necessarily follows that the Patagonian horseman can only insert his great toe in the stirrup. This, however, is sufficient hold for him, as he is an admirable though careless looking rider, the greater part of his life, from childhood upward, having been spent on horseback.

The spur is as primitive as the stirrup, and exactly resembles in principle the prick-spurs of the ancient knights. It consists of two pieces of stick, exactly like those employed for the stirrups, and two short straps of cowhide. A hole is made at each end of the strap, and the sticks are pushed through them, being held in their places, like those of the stirrups, by a groove cut half an inch from their ends, so that the two sticks are held parallel to each other.

To the upper ends of each stick a leathern thong is applied, and these thongs, being tied over the instep, hold the spur in its place. At the other ends of the sticks holes are bored, into each of which a sharp iron spike is inserted. In my own specimen, the maker has been economical of his iron, and has only inserted spikes in one of the sticks, so that when the spurs are worn with the spiked stick inward, they are quite as effective as if both sticks were armed. Still, the hole for the reception of the spikes has been bored in all the sticks, and there is no doubt that the Patagonian who made the spurs would have inserted the spikes at some time or other.

The spur is worn as follows: The armed sticks come on either side of the foot, the strap which is next to the spiked ends goes round the heel, the other strap passes under the hollow of the foot, and the hide thongs are tied over the instep. Such a spur as this is not only an effective but a cruel instrument, really as bad as the huge metal spurs, with rowels four inches in diameter, which the Gauchos wear. It is impossible to see this simple form of spur without recalling the old story of “Sandford and Merton,” and referring to the adventure of Tommy Merton, who, on being forbidden to use spurs, stuck pins into the heels of his boots, and was run away with in consequence.

The girth is a singularly ingenious piece of work. The strength of the girth itself is prodigious. At first sight it looks as if it were a single broad belt of leather, but a nearer inspection shows that it is made of twenty-two separate cords, each about the eighth of an inch in thickness, laid side by side, and united at intervals by several rows of similar cords of strings. Each of these cords is made of two strands of raw hide, probably that of guanaco, and looks as strong as ordinary catgut. Buckles are unknown to the Patagonian, who has invented in their stead a mode of tightening the girth by passing straps through holes, hauling upon them, and fastening off the ends.

The bit and bridle are equally ingenious. It consists of a squared bar of iron four and a half inches long, the ends of which are passed through holes in doubled pieces of hide, and hammered when cold into a sort of rivet-like shape, so as to retain the leather in its place. To the lower part of the leathers are attached a couple of stout thongs, which are passed under the lower jaw of the horse, and then tied, so that they keep the bit in its place, and at the same time act as a sort of curb.

To the upper part of the leathers are fixed the long plaited thongs which are used as reins, and which seem strong enough to hold an elephant, much more a horse. The Patagonian uses no separate whip, but has a long double strap of stout hide, which is fixed to the junction of the reins, so that there is no danger of losing it.

This is the ordinary bit of a Patagonian hunter, but those who can obtain it like to use the cruel Spanish bit, which they fit up in their own way with thongs of plaited hide. One of these bits is shown in illustration No. 4 on the following page. The principal distinguishing point about these bits is the large iron ring, which passes over the horse’s jaw, and gives to the rider a leverage so powerful that he could break the jaw of any horse without making any very great exertion. By the use of this bit, the horse is soon taught to stop almost suddenly, to wheel in a very limited area, and to perform the various evolutions which are needed in carrying out the pursuit in which the Patagonian depends for much of his livelihood.

The reins which are attached to this bit are of enormous strength, and are plaited in a square form, so that no amount of pulling which any horse could accomplish would endanger them. The whip is attached to these reins like that of the last mentioned apparatus, but is more severe, thicker, and heavier, and is made of a long and broad belt of hide, cut into four strips, which are plaited together, flat and narrow strips about four inches long answering as the lash. It will be seen that the Patagonian is by no means merciful to his beast, but that he uses a bit, spur, and whip which are, though so simple in appearance, more severe in practice than those which have a far more formidable aspect.

The horses which he rides are descended from those which were introduced by the Spaniards, and which have multiplied so rapidly as almost to deserve the name of indigenous animals. They are of no great size, being under fifteen hands high, and belonging to that well-known mustang breed which is more celebrated for strength and endurance than for aspect, qualities which are indispensable in an animal that has to carry so heavy a rider after creatures so fleet as the guanaco or the rhea.

The Patagonians are fond of racing, but never make their courses longer than a quarter of a mile. The reason for these short races is, that their horses are not required to run for any length of time at full speed, but to make quick and sudden dashes, so as to enable the rider to reach his prey, and hurl the singular missiles with which he is armed.

There is yet an article needed to complete the equipment of a Patagonian. This is the celebrated “bolas,” a weapon which looks almost contemptible, but in practised hands is exceptionably formidable. It consists of two or sometimes three balls at the end of hide thongs. The form most in use is that which is represented in illustration No. 3 on the next page. The native name for the two-ball bolas is somai, and that for the three-ball weapon is achico.

The first point in making the bolas is to procure the proper balls, and the second to prepare the proper rope to which they are fastened. The ordinary balls are made of stone, and are nearly as large as cricket balls. They are made by the women, who pass much of their time in supplying the men with these necessaries of life. To cut and grind one of these stones is a good day’s work, even for an accomplished workwoman.

A still more valuable ball is made of iron, which has the advantage of being so much heavier than stone that the ball is considerably smaller, and therefore experiences less resistance from the air, a quality which is of the first consequence in a missile weapon. The most valuable are those which are made of copper, as is the case with the specimen from which the illustration is taken. Each of these balls weighs eighteen ounces, in spite of its small size, so that the weapon is a very formidable one.

The thong to which the balls are attached is nine feet in length, and is made in the following manner: two pairs of thongs of raw hide are cut, and, while they are still fresh and wet, each pair is twisted together so as to form a two-stranded rope. These ropes are again twisted into one, so that the aggregate strength of the four is enormous.

Round each of the balls is then laid a circular piece of guanaco hide, with holes bored all round the edge. The ends of the thongs being passed through the holes and laced tightly, the raw hide is drawn over the balls, and encloses them in a sort of pocket, as is seen by the enlarged figure in the illustration. This specimen is one of the three-ball weapons. In this case a third thong five feet six inches in length has been twisted, one end fastened to a ball, and the other interlaced with the strands of the first thong exactly at its centre. We have now the three-ball bolas, which is made in such a manner that, when the thongs are grasped at their points of junction, two of the balls hang at equal depths from the hand, and the third is just a foot below them.

The bolas is to the Patagonian what the kris is to the Malay, the boomerang to the Australian, the lasso to the Gaucho, the club to the Fijian, and the bow to the Andamaner. From early childhood upward no Patagonian is without this weapon, which seems to him an absolute necessity of existence. Generally he carries it twisted round his waist, like an officer’s sash of the olden days, the balls dangling at the side like the tassels of the sash.

It is, however, coiled on the body with such consummate skill that it can be cast loose with a turn of the hand, the eye being fixed on the object of attack, and in a moment the Patagonian is fully armed. Putting aside warfare, which in Patagonia is scarcely known, the tribes, or rather the families, not being strong enough to wage real war upon each other, the so-called battles are unworthy of any name except that of skirmishes, which among themselves seem to do no great harm, however formidable they may be to opponents who happen to be unacquainted with the mode of fighting practised by the Patagonians.

For example, a dozen trained riflemen, on foot, who could thoroughly depend on each other, would overmatch ten times their number of mounted Patagonians, who, every whit as brave as themselves, are ignorant of discipline, and fight every man for his own hand.

Let the riflemen once allow the Patagonians to come within thirty yards, and they would be annihilated; but as long as the foe could be kept out of throwing distance, they are comparatively harmless.

When a Patagonian intends to attack either a human enemy, or some animal of chase, or even, as often happens, some wild beast or bird, he slips the ever-ready bolas from his waist, grasps the thongs at their point of union, drives his primitive spurs into the flanks of his rough-coated steed, and dashes off at full gallop, whirling the bolas round his head by a dexterous movement of his flexible wrist.

As soon as he comes within throwing distance, which materially varies according to the strength of the thrower and the structure of the bolas, he hurls his singular weapon with unerring skill. No sooner does it leave his hand than the centrifugal force causes the balls to diverge, and they fly round and round in the air with a motion exactly resembling that which an English street acrobat imparts to a couple of padded balls at the ends of a string, when he wants to clear the ground.

Urged by the stalwart arm of the Patagonian, the bolas flies straight to its mark, and no sooner does it strike it, than the impetus communicated to the balls causes the thongs to twist round the unfortunate victim, and bring him at once to a halt. Indeed, should a man be struck by the bolas, he may congratulate himself if in three minutes afterwards he finds himself alive, neither having been strangled by the cords twisting round his neck, nor brained by the heavy balls coming in contact with his skull.

The skill which the Patagonians attain is really marvellous. At any distance short of fifty yards a victim marked is a victim slain. So terrific is the gripe of the bolas thong, that Europeans who have been struck with it have been found to suffer from weals as well marked as if they had been made by the stroke of a “cow-hide” whip upon the bare flesh.

An excellent description of the various kinds of bolas is given by Captain King:--

“Sometimes two balls, each of which has a cord about a yard in length, are fastened to the thong of the larger set. This is to entangle the victim more effectually. They do not try to strike objects with these balls, but endeavor to throw them so that the thong shall hit a prominent part; and then, of course, the balls swing round in different directions, and the thongs become so ‘laid up’ (or twisted), that struggling only makes the captive more secure.

“They can throw them so dexterously as to fasten a man to his horse, or catch a horse without harming him. If an animal is to be caught without being thrown down suddenly--an inevitable consequence of these balls swinging round his legs while at full speed--a somai is thrown upon his neck. The two balls hang down, and perplex him so much by dangling about his fore-legs that his speed is much checked, and another set of balls or a lasso may be used to secure without throwing him down. The lasso is not much used, so adroit, are they with the balls.

“A formidable missile weapon is the single ball, called by the Spaniards ‘bola perdida.’ This is similar to the other in size and substance, but attached to a slighter rope about a yard long. Whirling this ball, about a pound in weight, with the utmost swiftness around their heads, they dash it at their adversary with almost the force of a shot. At close quarters it is used, with a shorter scope of cord, as an efficient head-breaker. Several of these original and not trifling offensive weapons are kept in readiness by each individual, and many a Spaniard, armed with steel and gunpowder, has acknowledged their effect.”

The raids which are dignified by the name of warfare are more for plunder than conquest, inasmuch as the Patagonian cares nothing for territory, of which he has enough and to spare, and almost nothing for military fame. Sometimes he wants plunder; sometimes he means to make a hunting expedition into a district held by another tribe; and sometimes he prepares a short campaign against an inimical tribe in revenge for a real or fancied insult.

When preparing for such an excursion, or while expecting the attack of another tribe, the Patagonians keep themselves in constant preparation for war. They put on three of their thickest mantles in order to deaden the blow of the bolas, or withstand the point of the spear and arrow. These mantles are not wrapped round them in the ordinary fashion of peace, but are worn like ponchos, the head being thrust through a hole in the middle. The innermost mantle is of guanaco skin, with the hairy side inward, while the others are simple leather, without hair, the place of which is taken by paint. Their heads are guarded by conical caps, made of hide, and often adorned by a tuft of feathers from the rhea.

Those who are wealthy enough purchase a sort of armor composed of a thick hide tunic, with a high collar and short sleeves, and a hat or helmet made of double bull’s hide. This garment is very heavy and clumsy, but it will resist every weapon except bullets, and will make even the blow of the “bola perdida” fall harmless. Those who are too poor to possess a horse, and are obliged to fight on foot, carry shields made of several layers of hide sewed together.

Sometimes they come unexpectedly upon enemies, and a skirmish is the immediate result. In this case they mostly fling aside their cumbrous mantles, and fight without any clothing except the girdle and their spurs. When they make expeditions against inimical districts, they take spare horses with them, one of which is intended to bear the plunder as they return, and to take its share in carrying the warrior to battle. As soon as the Patagonian finds that his weight is beginning to tell upon the horse which he rides, he vaults upon the other without checking them in their gallop, and thus makes sure of a fresh and unwearied horse upon going into action. The second horse is afterward used for the conveyance of slaves, skins, weapons, and other booty.

As they return, they fling off the cumbrous armor of coats and mantles, and ride, according to their fashion, naked to the waist, the innermost mantle being retained in its place by a leathern thong, which acts as a belt. In some of these expeditions a whole troop of loose horses is driven in front of the warriors, and when a man feels his own horse becoming wearied, he rides alongside one of the loose horses, shifts the bit, and leaps on the fresh animal, not troubling himself about the saddle.

When the Patagonian goes out hunting, he carries no weapon except the bolas and a knife, the latter being considered rather as a tool than a weapon. Should he see a herd of guanacos, he makes silently toward them, imitating the cry of the young one in distress, and doing all in his power to attract the animals. Anything very strange is sure to attract them, just as it attracts cows, which are horribly afraid of the new object, but, victims of a sort of fascination, are led nearer and nearer by a spirit of curiosity, for which they pay with their lives. When a small herd--say six or eight--of guanacos is seen, they can generally be enticed within range of the bolas by a hunter on foot, who steals as near them as he can manage to do without alarming them, and then plays various antics, such as lying on his back and kicking his legs in the air, tying a strip of hide or a bunch of feathers to a stick, and waving it about. The inquisitive creatures seem unable to resist the promptings of their curiosity, and, though they are really afraid of the strange object, come closer and closer, until the hunter is able to hurl the terrible bolas at them.

When, however, the herd is a large one, the guanacos are much more timid, and, until the introduction of the horse, the Patagonians could seldom do much with them. Now, however, the possession of the horse, together with their knowledge of the guanaco’s disposition, enables them to capture and kill great numbers of the animals.

In this mode of chase the Patagonians make use of two characteristics which belong to the guanaco. In the first place, it is a hill-loving animal, and when pursued, or even afraid of pursuit, leaves the plains and makes for some eminence. Like all gregarious animals, the guanacos invariably have sentinels posted on the most elevated points, and trust their safety to their watchfulness, the squeal of alarm being instantly followed by the flight of the herd. Knowing this peculiarity, the hunters are sure that if a herd of guanacos be in the plain, and a hill be near them, the animals will be almost certain to take to it.

The second characteristic is, that the guanacos, when thrown into confusion, entirely lose their presence of mind, running a few steps in one way and then a few steps in another, being quite unable to fix upon any definite plan of escape.

A large party of hunters, sometimes nearly a hundred in number, arm themselves with their long, light, cane-shafted spears, called chuzos, summon their dogs, and set off toward the spot where a herd of guanacos is known to be. Having fixed upon some grassy hill, half of the hunters push forward and take up a position on the further side, while the others drive the guanacos gently toward their well-known grazing place.

As soon as the animals are fairly on the hill, the hunters spread out so as to enclose them in a semicircle, and then dash forward, driving the herd up the hill. The detached band on the other side, as soon as they hear the shouts, spread themselves out in a similar manner, the two bodies completely surrounding the hill, so that when the guanacos reach the summit they find themselves environed by enemies.

After the usual custom in such cases, the guanacos lose all presence of mind, some running one way, some another, mutually hindering each other’s escape, so that the hunters are able to pierce with their long spears the finest animals, and thus secure in a very short space of time so great a number, that they are amply supplied with skins and meat.

Although they carry the spear on these occasions, they are not without the bolas, it being used for capturing the young guanacos, which are kept in a domesticated state like sheep. Now and then a guanaco, which possesses more sense than its comrades, takes a line of its own, and dashes through the circle of its enemies. Still it has but little chance of escaping, for round the circle of horsemen there is another circle of men on foot, accompanied by dogs. As soon as a guanaco breaks through the first circle, it is instantly seized by the dogs, which terrify it to such an extent that it is unable to move, and neither tries to escape nor resist.

On the preceding page is a spirited engraving which represents Patagonian scenery, and the natives in their favorite pursuit of hunting game. The hot chase, the flying bolas, the bewildered guanacos are vividly pictured.

The young guanacos which have been mentioned as being domesticated are not solely intended to furnish food, or even bred merely for the sake of their skins. They are employed for the sake of decoying the adult animals. Taking the young guanaco to the feeding grounds, the hunter ties it to a bush, and then conceals himself behind it. By imitating the mother’s cry, he induces the captive to utter the plaintive bleating sound by which a young one calls for its mother. This is a sound which the adult guanacos cannot resist, and as soon as they come within twenty yards or so of the bush, the bolas is launched, and the animal at which it is aimed falls to the ground, enveloped in the fatal coils.

The power of the bolas is eminently shown in the chase of the rhea, or American ostrich. This bird is as swift and wary as the true African ostrich, and, but for the bolas, the hunters would scarcely be able to secure it. In the chase of this bird the Patagonians employ the same device which is used in capturing the guanacos. They know that the rhea shares with the guanaco the tendency to become confused and uncertain in its movements when it is pressed simultaneously from opposite directions. They therefore try to surround the herd and converge upon it, or, at all events, two or three of them attack it from opposite quarters, driving it first one way and then another, so that the bird becomes so perplexed that it cannot make up its mind to run in one direction, and escape its foes by its superior speed, but allows them to come within range of the bolas, when its fate is sealed.

The hunters also know that, in common with all the ostrich tribe, and, indeed, with many wild animal of chase, the rhea always runs against the wind. It is therefore easy for them to ascertain the direction which the bird will take, and by sending two or three horsemen several miles windward the retreat of the bird is easily cut off. The Patagonian can even kill the little cavies with the bolas, so accurate is his aim.

The reader may easily imagine that such a weapon as this would be serviceable in warfare. When the Patagonian uses it in battle, he does not always fling it, apparently because he does not like to deprive himself of his weapon. Sometimes he dashes alongside of a foe, and throws one of the balls at him, just as if he were throwing a stone, retaining the other ball in his hand, so as to recover the weapon after the blow has sped. When the Patagonian carries the three-ball bolas, which has already been described, he uses the third ball, which, as may be remembered, is attached to the longest thong, as an English robber uses his “life-preserver,” or an American his “slung-shot.”

Another mode of procuring game is practised by the Patagonians, and is identical with that which is used by the North Africans in taking the partridge, the South Africans in killing the bustard, as well as by the inhabitants of other parts of the earth. There is a sort of partridge which is common on the plains, and is called the Pampas partridge. Its scientific name is Nothuria major. The weapon, or rather implement, required for this sport is a very simple one. It is nothing more than a light reed, some eight feet in length, at the end of which is a noose composed of a strip cut from the side of a long feather. This noose has sufficient pliability to be drawn tight when pulled and sufficient elasticity to keep itself open.

Furnished with this implement, the Patagonian looks out for a partridge on the ground and, when he finds one, begins riding round and round it in an ever decreasing circle. The bird is much perplexed by this conduct, and, instead of flying away, it simply crouches closely to the ground. By degrees, the young hunter--this sport being only practised by boys--comes so close to the bird that he slips the noose over its neck, and, before it can spread its wings for flight, jerks it into the air.

An expert bird catcher will secure three or four birds in an hour by this curious mode of hunting, which may be pursued on foot as well as on horseback. The only drawback to it lies in the very limited time during which it can be attempted. It has been found that, if the shadow of the hunter should fall upon the partridge, the bird seems to shake off the strange feeling which paralyzes its energies, and flies away before it can be captured. Consequently, the sport can only be pursued so long as the sun is toward the meridian; and as soon as the shadows lengthen sufficiently to throw them on the bird, the young hunter abandons his sport. All practical naturalists are aware of the alarm caused by a shadow falling on some animal which they are watching or trying to capture; and entomologists in particular have learned that, to approach most insects, it is necessary to keep the insect between themselves and the sun.

As to the strange sort of fascination which forces the bird to crouch instead of flying away, it exists in very many birds, of which the domestic poultry or any of the common cage-birds are familiar examples. Any one who is accustomed to deal with these birds can take one, stand it or lay it on a table, go away, and return after an absence of hours, knowing that the bird will not dare to move. During the time that I kept and bred canaries, I used to free them from the dreaded red mite by sprinkling insect powder under their feathers, laying them on a piece of paper covered with insect powder, and leaving them there for an hour or two, until the powder had destroyed all the parasites.

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CXXIII. THE PATAGONIANS--Concluded

DOMESTIC LIFE.

PATAGONIAN MARRIAGE -- APPEAL OF A SUITOR -- REJECTION OF THE OFFER, AND RESULT OF THE NEGOTIATION -- CURIOUS MODE OF SMOKING -- PRESCRIPTION FOR A SICK CHILD -- PATAGONIANS AT HOME -- NATIVE COOKERY -- PATAGONIAN ARCHITECTURE -- TREATMENT OF WOMEN, CHILDREN, AND SLAVES -- MODE OF GOVERNMENT -- POWER OF THE CACIQUE -- NOTIONS OF RELIGION -- OFFERINGS AND LIBATIONS -- FUNERALS IN PATAGONIA -- SECLUSION OF WIDOWS -- VISITS OF CONDOLENCE.

We will now glance at the domestic life of the Patagonians, if the word “domestic” can be rightly applied to people who have no settled home or domus.

How marriage is conducted among them is described by Captain Bourne, who was kept a prisoner for a considerable time, and had every opportunity of studying their manners and customs. It appeared that in the house of the chief to whom he belonged there was a daughter--a widow, with a young child. One evening, the tramp of many feet was heard on the outside of the hut, together with the mutterings of voices. Presently, one voice was heard louder than the rest, evidently addressed to some one within the hut. It was the voice of a suitor come to ask the hand of the young widow. The chief scornfully refused the offer, saying that he was not worthy to be her husband, having no horses or other property. The man admitted that at the present time he did not happen to have any horses, but that he was a remarkably good thief, and that, if the lady would only accept him, he would steal horses, catch guanacos, and give her plenty of grease.

These overtures being rejected as contemptuously as the last, the suitor addressed himself to the lady, who was very willing to accept him, and entirely yielded when he repeatedly promised to bring home plenty of grease for her. She then besought her father to listen to the suitor’s application, but was angrily refused. Her mother then tried to pacify the angry father, saying that the young man might fulfil his promises, catch plenty of horses, and become a great chief.

This was too much for the old man. He jumped up in a towering passion, seized the cradle in which his little grandchild was lying, flung it out of the hut, snatched up every article which his daughter possessed, threw them after the cradle, and then ordered her to follow her goods. This was exactly what she wanted; so, accompanied by her mother, she left the hut, and was joined by her intended husband.

A curious mode of smoking is practised among the Patagonians, which somewhat resembles that which is used by the Damaras, as recorded on a preceding page.

When one of these smoking parties is organized, the guests assemble together, sometimes in a hut, and sometimes in the open air. They gravely seat themselves in a circle, round a vessel of water,--sometimes an ox-horn stuck in the ground, and sometimes a sort of basin made of raw hide. All being assembled, one of them takes a stone pipe, and fills it with a mixture of tobacco and the shavings of some yellow wood.

The pipe being prepared, all the company lie flat on their faces, with their mantles drawn up to the top of their heads. The pipe is then lighted and passed round, each drawing into his lungs as much smoke as he can swallow, and retains it as long as he can exist without breathing. As soon as the smoke is expelled, the men begin a series of groanings and gruntings, which become louder and louder, until they are absolutely deafening. By degrees they die away; and when quiet has been restored, each takes a draught of water, sits silently for a space, and then slowly rises and moves away.

Captain Bourne is of opinion that this ceremony has in it something of a religious element. The groaning and grunting might be due to the tobacco, or the substance which is mixed with it, but the sounds seemed to him to be louder and more emphatic than they would have been if entirely involuntary; and the breathings, writhings, and other accompaniments, the profound gravity, and the abstinence from speech, all appeared to have some religious signification.

The same traveller gives a very amusing account of a visit paid by a Patagonian physician to the hut of a chief. The party were just preparing to shift their quarters, after the Patagonian fashion, when one of the daughters came in, carrying a child who was crying loudly, and who was supposed in consequence to be very ill. The journey was stopped, and a messenger despatched for the wise man, who soon came, and brought with him his magic medicines, rolled up in two pieces of skin.

These were laid on the ground, and the doctor squatted by the side of them, fixing a steady gaze on the child, who presently ceased crying. Encouraged by this success, the wise man ordered a clay plaster to be applied. This was done. Some yellow clay was brought, moistened until it was like paint, and with this substance the child was anointed from head to foot. The clay seemed to have but little good effect, for the child began to cry as badly as ever.

The two mysterious packages were now untied, and out of one the doctor took a bunch of rhea sinews, and from the other a rattle. The doctor then fingered all the sinews successively, muttering something in a very low tone of voice, and after he had muttered for some five minutes or so, he seized his rattle and shook it violently. He next sat in front of the patient, and stared at him as he had done before. After an interval of silent staring, he turned to the chief and asked whether he did not think that the child was better. A nod and a grunt expressed assent, and the mother on being asked the same question gave a similar response.

The same process was then repeated--the silent stare, the painting with clay, the lingering of the sinews, the muttering of inaudible words, the shaking of the rattle, and the concluding stare. The treatment of the patient was then considered to be complete. The chief gave the doctor two pipefuls of tobacco by way of fee. This was received gratefully by the man of skill, who gave his rattle a final shake by way of expressing his appreciation of the chief’s liberality, and went his way. As soon as he had gone, the child resumed its crying, but the parents were satisfied that it was better, and, as Captain Bourne testifies, it soon became quite composed, and throve well afterward.

The general mode of life among the Patagonians is not particularly alluring to persons of civilized habits, if we may judge from the graphic picture drawn by Captain Bourne:--

“A few dry sticks and a bunch of dry grass were brought; mine host drew from a convenient repository a brass tinder-box with a stone and a piece of steel, and soon produced a blaze that brilliantly illuminated the scene. By its light I was enabled to survey the first specimen of Patagonian architecture that had blessed my vision. It was constructed in a ‘pointed’ style, though not very aspiring, consisting of a row of stakes about eight feet high, each terminating in a crutch or fork, with a pole laid across them; two parallel rows of stakes on either side about two feet high, with similar terminations and a similar horizontal fixture; and a covering composed of skins of the guanaco sewed together with the sinews of the ostrich, the only thread used by the people. This covering is thrown over the framework and fastened by stakes driven through it into the ground. For purposes of ventilation, some interstices are left; but these again are half closed by skins attached to the outside, so that the air from without and the smoke from within (in default of a chimney) must insinuate themselves through these apertures in great quantities.

“In truth, my first survey was rather hurried; the first cheerful gleam had scarcely set my eyes on the look-out, when I was fain to shut them against an intolerable smoke. In no long time I felt as bacon, if conscious, might be supposed to feel in the process of curing. No lapse of time was sufficient to reconcile the eyes, nostrils, and lungs to the nuisance. Often have I been more than half strangled by it, and compelled to lie with my face to the ground as the only endurable position. ‘Talk that is worse than a smoky house’ must be something out of date, or Shakespeare’s imagination never comprehended anything so detestable as a Patagonian hut. The chief and his numerous household, however, seemed to enjoy immense satisfaction, and jabbered and grunted and played their antics and exchanged grimaces as complacently as if they breathed a highly exhilarating atmosphere.

“My meditations and observations were shortly interrupted by preparations for a meal. The chiefs better-half--or rather fifth-part, for he had four wives--superintended the culinary operations, which were as rude and simple as the hut where they were carried on. And now my fancy began to conjure up visions of the beef, fowls, and eggs, the promise of which had lured my men from the boat, had proved stronger than suggestions of prudence, and had made me a prisoner. But these dainties, if they existed anywhere within the chief’s jurisdiction, were just at present reserved.

“The old hag threw down from the top of one of the stakes that supported the tent the quarter of some animal, whether dog or guanaco was past imagining. She slashed right and left with an old copper knife with might and main, till it was divided into several pieces. Then taking a number of crotched sticks about two feet long, and sharpened at the points, she inserted the forked ends into pieces of the meat, and drove the opposite points into the ground near the fire, which, though sufficient to smoke and comfortably warm the mess, was too feeble to roast it. At all events, time was too precious, or their unsophisticated appetites were too craving, to wait for such an operation, and the raw morsels were quickly snatched from the smoke, torn into bits by their dirty hands, and thrown upon the ground before us.

“The Indians seized them with avidity, and tossed a bit to me; but what could I do with it? I should have no appetite for the dinner of an alderman at such a time and place, but as for tasting meat that came in such a questionable shape, there was no bringing my teeth or resolution to it. While eyeing it with ill-suppressed disgust, I observed the savages, like a horde of half-starved dogs, devouring their portions with the greatest relish, seizing the fragment with their fine white teeth, giving every sign of enjoyment, except what one is accustomed to see in human beings.

“The old chief remarked the slight I was putting upon his hospitality. ‘Why don’t you eat, man? This meat very good to eat--very good to eat. Eat, man, eat.’

“Seeing him so much excited, and not knowing what deeds might follow his words if I refused, I thought it expedient to try to ‘eat what was set before me, asking no questions,’--thinking, moreover, that if there were any evil spirit in it that the fire had failed to expel, it could not possibly have resisted the smoke. So, being sorely divided between aversion to the strange flesh and fear of showing it, I forced a morsel into my mouth. Its taste was by no means as offensive as its appearance, and I swallowed it with less disgust than I had feared. This was my first meal with the savages, and a sample of many others, though better viands afterward varied their monotony now and then.”

It is most probable that the meat which was so rapidly cooked and eaten was that of the guanaco. The Patagonians are in no way fastidious as to their diet, and eat almost every animal which they kill, whether it be guanaco, rhea, or cavy. They have a repugnance to the flesh of dogs, though they cannot, like the Fuegians, be accused of eating the flesh of human beings rather than that of dogs.

Their chief dainty is the flesh of a young mare, and it is rather curious that these strange people will not, if they can help themselves, eat that of a horse, unless it be disabled by an accident. They are fond of the fat of mares and rheas, separating it from the flesh by boiling, and pouring it into bladders, much as lard is treated in this country. Yet the fat obtained from the guanaco is not stored like that of the mare and rhea, but is eaten raw. As is the case with the Fuegians, the Patagonians obtain a considerable amount of food from the seashore, great quantities of limpets, mussels, and similar creatures being gathered by the women and children.

Besides animal food, vegetables are consumed, though rather sparingly, by the Patagonians. Two roots form part of their ordinary diet. One is called “tus,” and looks something like a yam or potato. It is bulbous, and when cleaned and properly cooked bears a strong resemblance to a baked potato. The second root is called “chalas,” and is a long, slender root, scarcely so thick as an ordinary pencil.

It is rather remarkable that the Patagonians do not seem to have invented any intoxicating drink. They soon learn to appreciate rum and other spirits, and will intoxicate themselves whenever they can procure the means, but they obtain all fermented and distilled liquors from the white traders, and not from their own manufacture. They have a sort of cooling drink made of the juice of barberries mixed with water, but it is drunk in its natural state, and is not fermented.

The dwellings of the Patagonians are worthy of a brief description, inasmuch as they show the distinction between the Patagonian and Fuegian ideas of architecture. The reader will remember that the principal portion of the Fuegian hut consists of sticks and branches, whereas the Patagonian only uses the sticks and poles by way of a framework whereupon he can spread his tent of skins.

These huts, called by the Spanish “toldos,” and by the Patagonians “cows,” are of variable dimensions. Generally they are little more than sloping sheds, six or seven feet high in front, and only two feet high at the back. The length of each toldo is about twelve feet, and its width about nine feet. As east winds are hardly ever known in Patagonia, the opening of the hut is always to the east, the skin covering of this simple tent being impervious to wind and rain. A Patagonian village, showing the form of these huts, is represented on the 1187th page.

This is the ordinary kind of dwelling, but in some places a much larger description of hut is erected for the chief or the medicine man. These houses are gabled, being eight feet or so in height in the middle, and sloping on either side to the wall, which is five feet or so in height. Huts of this kind are nearly square, their depth rather exceeding their length.

The sleeping accommodation of these habitations is very simple, and consists of skins, which are spread on the floor. Other skins rolled up are laid along the side of the hut, and serve as pillows, the children lying in a corner by themselves, and the dogs sleeping at the feet of their owners. Those children who are unable to walk are laid in simple cradles made of square pieces of guanaco skin, hung hammockwise by four ends to the rafters of the hut.

During the daytime the infants are kept, or rather packed, in cradles made of flat pieces of board, over which some pliable sticks are bent in a semicircular form. The child is placed between two pieces of guanaco skin, fastened in the cradle, and can then be carried about without trouble. Even when the family is shifting quarters, the cradle can be hung on the saddle-bow of the mother’s horse, the little occupant being perfectly contented with its situation.

It might seem from this statement that children are treated with neglect. Such, however, is not the case, the Patagonians being remarkable for their parental affection, and being much more inclined to spoil their children by over-indulgence than to behave unkindly toward them. Indeed, when a Patagonian chief wishes to change his quarters, and the people do not wish to part with him, they take one of his children, indulge it in every way, and declare that he must leave it behind him. The affectionate parent cannot bring himself either to leave his child, or to deprive it of the society of those who are kind to it, and in consequence he remains with his people.

The condition of the women is a very tolerable one. They certainly have to work hard all their lives unless their husband be rich enough to purchase slaves, or be fortunate enough to procure them by a raid on some other tribe. Many such slaves are obtained from the Fuegians, who do not scruple even to sell their own relatives when they can procure a good price for them. Even the wives of the chief men are not exempt from labor unless their husbands happen to possess slaves.

Generally the wives are faithful to their husbands, but there are cases where the woman has thought herself ill-treated, and has betaken herself to another protector. Should he be an inferior, the aggrieved husband makes him pay for his offence; but if a superior, he is obliged to put up with his loss. Generally, however, the husband and wife live happily together, and the husband thinks it a point of honor to take his wife’s part if she should fall into a dispute, no matter whether she be right or wrong. He will scold her severely in private, and even inflict corporal punishment on her, for involving him in such a dispute, but he will make a point of upholding her in public.

The mode of punishment of the Patagonians is rather variable, but is generally a modification of the patriarchal system. The heads of families or tribes possess hereditary rank, and take the lead in all important events of peace or war. Their power is, however, not very great, and they are not able to raise taxes, nor enforce compulsory labor without payment. These chiefs, or caciques, as they are termed, can, if they choose, refuse the rank, and many do so, preferring to become subjects of some other cacique to the trouble and responsibility which accompany the post.

According to Falkner, “the cacique has the power of protecting as many as apply to him; of composing or silencing any difference; or delivering over the offending party to be punished with death, without being accountable for it. In these respects his will is the law. He is generally too apt to take bribes, delivering up his vassals, and even his relations, when well paid for it.

“According to his orders the Indians encamp, march, or travel from one place to another to hunt or to make war. He frequently summons them to his tent, and harangues them upon their behavior, the exigencies of the time, the injuries they have received, the measures to be taken, &c. In these harangues he always extols his own prowess and personal merit. When eloquent he is greatly esteemed; and when a cacique is not endowed with that accomplishment, he generally has an orator who supplies his place.”

The religion of the Patagonian is a polytheism, the natives believing that there are great numbers of deities, some good and some evil. Each family is under the guardianship of one of the good deities, and all the members of that family join him when they die. Beside these gods there are subordinate demons, good to their own friends, but bad toward all others, so that on the whole the bad predominates in them. They are called by the name of Valichu.

Yet among some of the Patagonian tribes there is even an approach to personal religion. It has been thought that the Patagonians are totally destitute of such religion. This, however, is certainly not the case, as even our limited knowledge of these people, their language, and their habits shows that, even though they may not possess any definite system of religion, they are still impressed with the idea of some Being infinitely greater than themselves, who knows everything that they do. Thus they believe in an omniscient Being; and such a belief as this, limited and imperfect though it may be, is yet a step toward true religion.

To this unknown Being they return thanks when they have obtained a supply of food after long famine, so that we find them acknowledging that the great Being, who knows all their deeds, watches over them, and is the Giver of all good things. When, for example, they have procured a seal after having been half-starved for months, they assemble round a fire, and the oldest man present cuts for each person a piece of the seal, uttering over each portion a sort of prayer, and looking upward in devotion to the unseen God, who had sent them meat in their need. Undisciplined as are the Patagonians, totally unaccustomed to self-denial, and mad with hunger, not one of them will touch the food until this invocation has been repeated.

The mode of burial among the Patagonians varies in detail according to the particular tribe, but there is a general resemblance in the ceremonies throughout the country. When a man dies, his body is wrapped in his best mantle, placed on his favorite horse, and conveyed to the place of burial, where a square pit has already been dug, some six feet in depth and two or three feet in width. In this pit the body of the deceased is placed in a sitting position, his bolas, spears, and other property laid beside him, and the pit is then covered with branches, on which a quantity of earth is thrown. The horse is next sacrificed. It is held at the grave by one man, while another kills it by a blow on the head from the bolas, and the skin is then removed, stuffed, and supported at the grave on four posts. At the grave of a cacique four horses are sacrificed. The clothing which is not buried with the deceased is burned, and a feast on the body of the horse closes the proceedings. On page 1187 the reader may find an engraving of a Patagonian burial ground.

The widows are obliged to remain in a state of the strictest privacy for an entire year, keeping themselves within their huts, never mixing in society, and not even showing themselves unless absolutely obliged to do so. They must blacken themselves with soot, and not eat the flesh of the guanaco, the mare, or the rhea. Should a woman break the rule of seclusion, and be detected in an intrigue, she would at once lose her life at the hands of her dead husband’s relations.

Among some of the tribes the tomb is periodically opened, and the skeleton of the deceased, which has been prepared with the greatest care, is washed and clothed in new robes. This office belongs to an old matron, who is specially selected for the task, which becomes in process of time a long and tedious one, as the warriors are placed side by side in the grave, each year gradually adding to the number of those who have to be washed and clothed annually.

Among some of the tribes the skeletons are prepared by laying the bodies on platforms woven from canes and twigs, and during the time that is occupied in cleaning and bleaching the skeleton the platform is guarded by the friends of the dead man, draped in long mantles, and bearing spears or staves with which they strike the ground, while they sing mournful strains in order to drive away the Valichus or spirits, who may possibly be well disposed toward the dead man, but are more likely to be unfriendly.

Should the deceased have been a wealthy man, many visits of condolence are paid to the relatives, the mourners weeping loudly, and pricking their arms and legs with thorns in order to prove their affection by the effusion of their blood. For these tokens of respect they are rewarded with beads, brass ornaments, and other presents; and it need scarcely be said that the sorrow felt for the deceased and the sympathy excited for his friends depend very much on the amount of property at the disposal of the relatives.

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