PLATE L.GROUP OF WITOTO WOMEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREEGROUP OF WITOTO MEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREE
PLATE L.
GROUP OF WITOTO WOMEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREE
GROUP OF WITOTO MEN BY DOUBLE-STEMMED PALM TREE
To cite another instance of the attitude of the Indian towards the abnormal. A certain Witoto tribe have a tree that they regard as an object almost of veneration. This palm, as may be seen in the photographs, has a forked stem, the trunk dividing into two some few feet above the ground. I met with no more formulated sign of tree-worship than this. Unquestionably, though they did not worship—for as I have said, these Indians worship nothing—the Witoto looked upon this tree as a thing to be respected, prized, and if it were not meted proper treatment perchance to be definitely feared.[371]
Finally, in addition to all these spirits good or evil, the tribes south of the Japura are concerned with the sun and the moon. These are venerated, the sun as a great and sympathetic spirit, but not an incarnation of the great Good Spirit, the moon as his wife, who is sent betimes by the sun into the heavens at night to prevent the evil spirits from depopulating the world. Of the stars these peopleseem to have the vaguest ideas, and only one Boro explained to me that they were the souls of the chiefs and of the great men of his tribe.[372]
The Indian lives in a world of imagined dangers, over and above the real ones that confront him at every turn. There is possible menace in any place, dormant hostility in all surrounding nature, active menace in the unfamiliar and unknown. One might expect to find that he decked his person and his belongings with an unlimited number of charms, to protect against these battalions of evil. But it is not so. The Tukano do, it is said, place certain green, sweet-smelling herbs under the girdle as a love charm, to attract the opposite sex, but nothing of this sort is known south of the Japura, and charms, as the western world knows them, hardly exist. I know of none beyond the medicine-man’s magical stones, the iguana-skin wristlets of the men and the wooden ring placed on a child’s arm, which appear to partake of the nature of charms. Magic is to be met by magic, not by material properties. The hostile evils that threaten a man are only to be turned aside by the exercise of more powerful anti-hostility on the part of his medicine-man. But the Indian must go warily, observe signs and portents, pay due heed to good and evil omens. He must, for example, never shoot a poisonous snake with a blow-pipe. Should he do so one poison will neutralise the other, and destroy not only the poison on the arrow that wounded the snake, but also all poison whatever that was in his possession at the time. It is magic against magic.
As an instance of the Indian belief in omens, I remember that once a small species of wild turkey alighted in a clearing, and kept running round and round in circles. This was taken by the Indians to mean that people were coming to themalokawho might be either friends or enemies. This gave rise to an excited discussion as to which would be the more likely event of the two. It so happened that a party of friendly Indians did arrive that same evening. Casementrelates how a large wood ibis descended among a crowd of Witoto and Muenane in the compound at Occidente.[373]A Muenane wished to shoot the bird, and when persuaded to leave it unmolested, expostulated that the ibis must have been sent by their enemy the Karahone to bring disaster upon them. As a rule, it strikes me, an enemy would appear in a less kindly guise than that of an ibis. In my case no attempt was made by the Okaina to interfere with the bird in any way, in fact it was looked upon as a friend who came to give due notice of approaching visitors, and therefore was to be regarded with gratitude.
Darkness feared by Indians—Story-telling—Interminable length of tales—Variants—Myths—Sun and moon—Deluge traditions—Tribal stories—Amazons—White Indians tradition—Boro tribal tale—Amazonian equivalents of many world tales—Beast stories—Animal characteristics—Difference of animal characteristics in tale and tabu—No totems—Indian hatred of animal world.
Darkness feared by Indians—Story-telling—Interminable length of tales—Variants—Myths—Sun and moon—Deluge traditions—Tribal stories—Amazons—White Indians tradition—Boro tribal tale—Amazonian equivalents of many world tales—Beast stories—Animal characteristics—Difference of animal characteristics in tale and tabu—No totems—Indian hatred of animal world.
Darkness is full of mysterious horrors to the Indian, nor can one wonder that he fills with imaginary demons the weird and terrifying solitudes of the bush by night. The children are openly afraid of the dark, because of the tigers that may then be prowling about, let alone less substantial perils. Adults are not so frank with regard to their fears, but as a matter of course all occupations cease at sun-down, and every one makes for the sheltered warmth of themaloka. There, by the flickering firelight, after the contents of the family hot-pot have been discussed, long tales are told. First one and then another takes up the burden of recital. The chatter dies slowly, maybe it will linger on by the fire of some verbose story-teller, till the chill of coming dawn brings the sleepers from their hammocks to stir the smouldering embers into a blaze, and to gather round them waiting for daybreak to dispel the evil agents of the night.
The tales are endlessly long, and so involved that they are utterly unintelligible to the stranger until they have been repeated many times. Then the drift of myth and tradition, the meaning of fable and story, may be broadly grasped. To win it comprehensively in detail is a matter of time, patience, and intimate knowledge of the speaker’s tongue. Moreover, the tales have such numerous variations, and are so grafted the one on to the other, according to the momentary fancy of the narrators, that it is exceedinglydifficult to differentiate between a variant of a known story and one that may in its essentials have been hitherto unheard.
“It is,” postulates Dr. Rivers, “not the especially familiar and uniform which becomes the object of myth.”[374]The mythopœic influence of that which is seldom seen would lead us to expect that among these Indians, sunk in “the gloom of an eternal under-world of trees,”[375]the heavenly bodies would play a prominent part in tribal folk-tale and myth. But so far as the stars are concerned this is not the case at all;[376]they seem to be ignored; and, as regards the sun and moon, it is the sun—contrary to usual tropical custom—that is the most important, the moon—as with more northern peoples—occupies the subordinate position of wife. Her inconstant appearances are accounted for by the suggestion mentioned in the previous chapter that she is sent periodically by the sun her husband to drive away the evil spirits of the night that await the stray or heedless loiterers in the forest thickets. But this protective character is denied to the moon by other tribes, and some South American Indians will hide young infants lest the moon should injure them.[377]
What I cannot but consider the most important of their stories are the many myths that deal with the essential and now familiar details of everyday life in connection with themanihot utilissimaand other fruits. The tale that follows does not purport to be a literal translation of the myth as related to me, or in my hearing. I have merely attempted to put together, infinitely more concisely than any Indian raconteur would ever dream of doing, the various details of the local story and belief:
The Good Spirit when he came to earth showed the Indians a manioc plant, and taught them how to extract the evil spirit’s influence.[378]But he did not seem to have explained how the plant might be reproduced.The Indians searched for seeds, but found none.They buried the young tuberous roots, but to no effect.The Good Spirit was vexed with them; that is why he did not divulge the secret.But long, long after, a virgin of the tribe, a daughter of the chief, was found to be with child.When questioned she replied that long, long ago, when sick to death, and under the medicine-man’s magic,[379]she wandered far, far into the bush.In the bush she found a beautiful manioc plant.She was seduced by the tuberous root—some Indians say the plant was metamorphosed into a beautiful young hunter—and in due course she gave birth to a girl-child, who could both talk and walk at birth.This child took the women of the tribe to a beautiful plantation of manioc, far, far up a certain river, and there the precocious infant explained how to reproduce the plant with bits of the stalks.So to this day the chief food of all the peoples is cassava.
The Good Spirit when he came to earth showed the Indians a manioc plant, and taught them how to extract the evil spirit’s influence.[378]
But he did not seem to have explained how the plant might be reproduced.
The Indians searched for seeds, but found none.
They buried the young tuberous roots, but to no effect.
The Good Spirit was vexed with them; that is why he did not divulge the secret.
But long, long after, a virgin of the tribe, a daughter of the chief, was found to be with child.
When questioned she replied that long, long ago, when sick to death, and under the medicine-man’s magic,[379]she wandered far, far into the bush.
In the bush she found a beautiful manioc plant.
She was seduced by the tuberous root—some Indians say the plant was metamorphosed into a beautiful young hunter—and in due course she gave birth to a girl-child, who could both talk and walk at birth.
This child took the women of the tribe to a beautiful plantation of manioc, far, far up a certain river, and there the precocious infant explained how to reproduce the plant with bits of the stalks.
So to this day the chief food of all the peoples is cassava.
This story is utterly different from one Spruce heard from more northern tribes at Saō Gabriel. The Barré story has it that a bird discovered to the Indians the use of the mandiocca, then a great and solitary tree. All the tribes came to procure the roots, and when none were left carried off branches; hence the varieties of mandiocca now grown.[380]
Deluge traditions are to be found among practically all the tribes. I repeatedly asked questions on this point, and invariably found, as other travellers had discovered previously elsewhere,[381]that the Indians would tell of a flood that drove their fathers in the long, long ago to seek refuge in canoes, for all the earth was under water. But though Mr. Joyce considers it “strange how this deluge myth not only pervades practically the whole of the Andean region of South America, but extends also to many regions in the northern portion ofthe Continent,” it must be remembered that inundations are frequent in these regions, and a great one probably occurs every few decades. It would only be strange were there no deluge myths. As Sir Everard im Thurn has so aptly put it, when “the Indian tells in his simple language the tradition of the highest flood which covered all the small world known to him, and tells how the Indians escaped it, it is not difficult to realise that the European hearer, theologically prejudiced in favour of Noah, … is apt to identify the two stories.”[382]
With the possible exception of the Eldorado fable, there is no South American legend that has excited so much interest and speculation as the story of the warrior women who in some mysterious forest fastness dwelt apart from men, cultivated masculine attributes, and destroying the male brought up the female progeny resultant from the yearly exception to their celibate rule,[383]to be women of the same stern pattern as their extraordinary selves. Some writers would make them a seventeenth century edition of the modern suffragette, rebel against the “tyranny” of man—and with certainly better reason for rebellion.[384]The story has been treated as mere Spanish romance,[385]or a mistake on the part of the invaders due to the custom of wearing the hair long among many of the tribes.[386]It has been taken to be a deliberate fabrication on the part of Pizarro to explain his failure, a temptation to which Sir Walter Raleigh himself also fell victim.[387]Be it what it may, the tale was told, the land known as the land of these women warriors, and their name of Amazons bestowed upon the great river. The tale of warrior women is, however, not confined to the forests of the Amazon. One comes therewith to the question of nomenclatory origin. The Baron de Santa-Anna Nery devotes the first ten pages of hisLand of theAmazonsto this discussion. It seems to be a case of where doctors disagree.[388]But at least the tale, Asiatic, African, or autochthonic, was localised here, and stories of feminine prowess in the field continued to be quoted even in the nineteenth century. Wallace himself mentions “traditions” said to be extant among the Indians themselves, of “women without husbands.”[389]This is no proof of the local existence at any time of celibate women warriors. The tradition may well exist, the only curiosity again would be if it did not. For three centuries at least the invading white man has talked of, and inquired for, a tribe of such warrior women. It takes less than this to start the most robust of folk-tales. A world agape like the Athenians of old for some new thing, some tale to vary the oft-told stories, does not require three centuries to adopt a novel romance. The question “do such things exist?” is not asked long before it ceases to be a question and becomes an assertion. The more positive the assertion the greater will be the wonder of the tale. When the wonder is sufficient it will be established as a current myth. I do not therefore deny that such a tale is told, or at least may be told, but for my own part I never heard mention of it. Spruce speaks of women assisting their men to repulse an attack on tribal head-quarters,[390]but no story of any woman fighting, or having done so at any time, was ever told me. Moreover it should not be forgotten in this connection that all weapons are strictly tabu to women.
A story that is prevalent throughout South America tells of a race of white Indians who sleep in the daytime, and only go abroad at night. This tale was laughed at when repeated at a recent meeting of the Royal Geographical Society, but it is certainly in existence among the tribes,[391]and Crevauxstates that the Ouayana will not go near one river, “à cause des singuliers habitants qui habiteraient près des sources … des Indiens aux chevaux blonds qui dorment le jour et marchent toute la nuit.”[392]
Of tales as to the reputed origin of any tribe I have no note, though when I cross-questioned a Boro tribe as to why a certain district was almost uninhabited, they told me that the reason was as follows:
Once a large tribe lived there, one of the most powerful of all the tribes, and also one of the most numerous.But long, long ago a chief, anAbihibya, of this tribe of the Utiguene had a daughter, who was not only ugly but bird rumped. TheChekobe, the medicine-man, gave her the name of Komuine.[393]When she grew older and was about five feet high,[394]Komuine went into theBahe, the bush, to pickdio, peppers, and berries, but did not return.The tribe then said that awipa, a tiger, must have carried her off. So a tribal hunt was instituted, and the bush searched for the tiger; but with no success, for when they were in the bush they were attacked by a wicked tribe, which fell upon them and killed them in great numbers.So they returned with great sadness to themaloka.Long, long after this Komuine reappeared in theHa-a, the great house of the tribe, and sang a solo, as is the custom among the people when making a complaint. And this is the complaint Komuine sang:The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,And no one came to find the spoor;The branches were broken, thegwahake-ane, the leaves, were turned,And no one came to find the spoor.And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]That no one came to find the spoor?And while Komuine was dancing, it was noticed, to the disgust of the tribe, that her bird rump was covered withnikwako, hair, so the old women came and rubbed milk[396]upon her to remove the unsightliness. But as they pulled and the unsightliness wasremoved, more unsightliness came, and the hairier she grew. When she was covered with leaves,[397]she told her story:“O my brothers! When I was in the forest picking peppers akomuinecame to me, and taking me by force he deflowered me. He took me with him into the bush to become hisgwame, his woman, and I gave birth to twins, and the second one was buried, for evenkomuinehave but oneehemene, one child. And the child was hairy like akomuine, but had the face of a man. And when I gave him milk the unsightliness came, and I ran from the beasts and came to my own people.”The tribe then had a tobacco palaver, and because of the unsightliness, and the pollution,[398]and the blood-feud with their enemies which had cost the tribe so many warriors, it was decided to destroy her.And when she heard this she fled into the forest, and all thekomuinecame and robbed theemiye, the plantation, and there was nopika, manioc, and nokome, fruit.And when the men of the Utiguene went out to hunt, the lianas were like a net in the path, and so thick no one could pass. And the tribe got thinner and thinner, and now to-day there is no tribe of the Utiguene.[399]
Once a large tribe lived there, one of the most powerful of all the tribes, and also one of the most numerous.
But long, long ago a chief, anAbihibya, of this tribe of the Utiguene had a daughter, who was not only ugly but bird rumped. TheChekobe, the medicine-man, gave her the name of Komuine.[393]
When she grew older and was about five feet high,[394]Komuine went into theBahe, the bush, to pickdio, peppers, and berries, but did not return.
The tribe then said that awipa, a tiger, must have carried her off. So a tribal hunt was instituted, and the bush searched for the tiger; but with no success, for when they were in the bush they were attacked by a wicked tribe, which fell upon them and killed them in great numbers.
So they returned with great sadness to themaloka.
Long, long after this Komuine reappeared in theHa-a, the great house of the tribe, and sang a solo, as is the custom among the people when making a complaint. And this is the complaint Komuine sang:
The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,And no one came to find the spoor;The branches were broken, thegwahake-ane, the leaves, were turned,And no one came to find the spoor.And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]That no one came to find the spoor?
The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,And no one came to find the spoor;The branches were broken, thegwahake-ane, the leaves, were turned,And no one came to find the spoor.And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]That no one came to find the spoor?
The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,And no one came to find the spoor;The branches were broken, thegwahake-ane, the leaves, were turned,And no one came to find the spoor.And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]That no one came to find the spoor?
The Chief’s daughter was lost in the forest,
And no one came to find the spoor;
The branches were broken, thegwahake-ane, the leaves, were turned,
And no one came to find the spoor.
And where were my brothers, and the sons of the chief’s brothers,[395]
That no one came to find the spoor?
And while Komuine was dancing, it was noticed, to the disgust of the tribe, that her bird rump was covered withnikwako, hair, so the old women came and rubbed milk[396]upon her to remove the unsightliness. But as they pulled and the unsightliness wasremoved, more unsightliness came, and the hairier she grew. When she was covered with leaves,[397]she told her story:
“O my brothers! When I was in the forest picking peppers akomuinecame to me, and taking me by force he deflowered me. He took me with him into the bush to become hisgwame, his woman, and I gave birth to twins, and the second one was buried, for evenkomuinehave but oneehemene, one child. And the child was hairy like akomuine, but had the face of a man. And when I gave him milk the unsightliness came, and I ran from the beasts and came to my own people.”
The tribe then had a tobacco palaver, and because of the unsightliness, and the pollution,[398]and the blood-feud with their enemies which had cost the tribe so many warriors, it was decided to destroy her.
And when she heard this she fled into the forest, and all thekomuinecame and robbed theemiye, the plantation, and there was nopika, manioc, and nokome, fruit.
And when the men of the Utiguene went out to hunt, the lianas were like a net in the path, and so thick no one could pass. And the tribe got thinner and thinner, and now to-day there is no tribe of the Utiguene.[399]
The Amazonians have stories equivalent to many worldwide tales, such as that of the lion and the mouse, only in the forest version it is the jaguar who enacts the lion’s part, while the mouse is replaced by the ant, a liana serves instead of a net to keep the great beast captive, and there are other correspondingly local and numerous variations. The hare and the tortoise fable has its counterpart in the story of a race between the deer and the tortoise. The ramifications of this tale are most intricate. These stories are very dissimilar in detail, so far as I could gather, from their equivalents in the Old World, but in each case the same principle is evolved: by a widely different route Old and New reach eventually an identical goal.
There is a marked prevalence of animal stories, tales—and this is a point not to be overlooked—of the familiar forest beasts, the birds and the reptiles of everyday life. In these the birds and beasts have certain accepted characteristics, they stand in the Indian folk-tales as representing definite abstract ideas. Thus, as with us, the tortoise is crafty and slow; the ant and the bee are typical of industry. The snake, that is to say the poisonous snake, in Amazonian myth, as in Biblical story, represents evil, the evil eye. The tapir stands for blindness and stupidity, while cunning and deceit are represented by the dog. These bush dogs approximate to our fox, and like Reynard have sharp up-standing ears. They prowl round themaloka, and will clear off anything they can find, even in close vicinity to the house. The agouti, or capybara, takes with the Indian the place held in African folk-tales by the hare. He is the wittiest of beasts, can outmanœuvre all the others, and is the practical joker of the forest. The boa-constrictor, unlike the poisonous snake, is not evil; it exemplifies the silent and the strong. The chattering parrot represents irresponsibility; it is a woman in disguise, and is certain in Indian animal tales to be noisy and unreliable, and probably will betray some secret. The peccary is for constancy, the hawk for cunning, the sloth for laziness, and the tiger for bravery. The monkey stands for tenacity of life, which is probably due to the fact that owing to constriction of the muscles its hold on a branch does not relax for some time after death.
These characteristics, however, do not appear to govern in any way the question of food tabu concerning the respective animals. On the contrary, the reasons alleged for such tabu often appear to be, if anything, opposed to what one would expect to find from the foregoing classification. It is the material, not the abstract characteristic with which the tabu deals. Moreover the tabu varies. Irrespective of those connected with birth, at certain times of the year there is a restriction, if it does not amount to an actual prohibition or a tabu, with regard to eating heavy meats. Simson assigns such avoidance to a belief current amongIndians “that they partake of the nature of the animal they devour.” This is the case professedly for any tabu on foods for women with child, but the reason given to me for general restriction as regards, say, tapir flesh, was not that the eater would be affected by any characteristic of the animal, material or spiritual, but that the tapir meat if eaten at forbidden seasons was very bad, that is to say unhealthy, and would be the cause of certain skin diseases. It probably would be. Tiger meat, as already explained, is treated much as human flesh is treated. Apart from the tiger, the meat of larger game will, it is sometimes averred by other tribes, make the eater gross and unwieldy.[400]In connection with this question of big game and food, Spruce refers to a “superstition” among the Uaupes Indians that may be a possible survival of a totemic system, though he does not advance the theory. “How should we kill the stag?” they say, “he is our grandfather.”[401]However this may be with other language-groups, among those of the Issa-Japura regions there is no trace of any totemic system, except in so far as that boys and girls are named, as already stated, after birds and flowers respectively. Animal names are made use of occasionally, but only as names of contempt and ridicule. These Indians look upon all animals as enemies. To suggest that any animal is an ancestor would be the direst of insults to people who so strenuously try to avoid all likeness to the brute creation. One need only refer to such customs as the killing of one of twins, or depilation, to give the lie to any theory that would seek to trace in Boro story—for example—for sign of suggested descent from any eponymous animal. Relationship is traced indeed only so far as memory serves; that is to say the oldest man may relate how he remembers his grandfather telling whohisgrandfather’s father was. Also there are invariably tales of bygone chiefs, great warriors whose deeds and characters are outstanding enough to be remembered.
A story is told of a small fish that is to be found in these rivers which may be fact or may be fable. All Indians say that this fish is a parasite that will find its way into the intestines of human beings when they are bathing. This belief is noted elsewhere, and I merely refer to it here because it is so universally credited without—so far as I could ascertain—an atom of corroborative evidence.
Limitations of speech—Differences of dialect—Language-groups—Tribal names—Difficulties of languages—Method of transliteration—Need of a common medium—Ventral ejaculations—Construction—Pronouns as suffix or prefix—Negatives—Gesture language—Numbers and reckoning—Indefinite measure—Time—No writing, signs, nor personal marks—Tribal calls—Drum-language code—Conversational repetitions—Noisy talkers—Ventriloquists—Falsetto voice—Conversational etiquette.
Limitations of speech—Differences of dialect—Language-groups—Tribal names—Difficulties of languages—Method of transliteration—Need of a common medium—Ventral ejaculations—Construction—Pronouns as suffix or prefix—Negatives—Gesture language—Numbers and reckoning—Indefinite measure—Time—No writing, signs, nor personal marks—Tribal calls—Drum-language code—Conversational repetitions—Noisy talkers—Ventriloquists—Falsetto voice—Conversational etiquette.
In speech, as in everything else, the forest Indian is confined within the narrow limits of his immediate surroundings. Unlike the nomadic Indian of the plains, he passes his entire existence in an area little larger than an English parish. He has almost no commercial dealings with his neighbours. The only fresh blood that penetrates his tribe is brought in by the immature children taken prisoners in war. Like the landscape his imagination owns no perspective, no horizon. In the Amazonian bush an Indian may live and die without ever having gazed upon a terrestrial object at the distance of a mile. His mode of life, a community within a single house, under a single roof, makes of household words a dialect, and with the passing of a generation makes that dialect a language.
In a society where each tribe is complete in itself and at deadly enmity with all its neighbours, and where writing is unknown, language must naturally undergo very rapid, very definite change. Moreover Indians will not voluntarily speak the language of other Indians. Thus the Amazonian natives use no common tongue, and there is little in the vocabularies so far collected to explain either the origin or the relationship of the existing dialects. Tribes divided by the breadth of a narrow river speak languages that aremutually unintelligible. On the other hand, tribes distant some hundreds of miles from each other possess a language with a common root, which is fundamentally different from those in use among all the intervening peoples.
So far as I could classify them, the language-groups of this district fall under thirteen headings. By group I comprehend all tribes speaking a language with common roots, though the dialects may vary considerably. These groups, and the approximate number of Indians in each, are as follows:
According to Koch-Grünberg all the tribes on the Tikie speak the Tukano language, and as a result of segmentation the Airi and Tihio speak the Dessana language.
Occasionally tribes, though speaking an entirely diverse tongue, and members of a distinctly different language-group, have some comprehension of the tongue spoken by a neighbouring language-group. For instance, the Muenane can understand Witoto, but they have no knowledge of Boro, probably because they come more in contact with the former people. The Menimehe know some words of Tupi,or lingoa-geral, which is extraordinary, even though their acquaintance with it is very slight.
The tribal names in ordinary use are, as has been said, bestowed by neighbouring tribes, and are merely nicknames. It follows that the name by which a tribe becomes known to a traveller is the name in use among the tribes in the districts through which he passes, so that a visitor from the north probably knows of a tribe by a different extra-tribal name from that known to a new-comer from the south. The difficulties of identification caused by this have already been commented on in an earlier chapter, it is only necessary to refer to them here in so far as the same difficulties beset any attempt to learn the local dialects.
Of the thirteen languages tabulated above, one of the most difficult, and the most guttural, is the tongue spoken by the Resigero group of tribes. Nonuya, also guttural, is perhaps equally difficult, whilst Andoke is possibly the worst, as it is almost ventral. Okaina, though presenting many difficulties, is easier to acquire than the first-named three, and may be characterised as nasal, while Boro and Witoto are neither nasal nor ventral nor impossibly guttural. Muenane is somewhat akin to Boro, but is richer in words. Menimehe approximates more to the speech of the Uaupes River Indians, and it again is nasal.
The endeavour to reproduce the guttural expressions of the Indian in Roman letters is rendered the more complex by the uncertainty of his utterance and the aural variations of his European interpreters. The same word phonetically transcribed by an Englishman, a German, a Frenchman, and a Spaniard bears little or no resemblance to a common inspiration. Each European observer conveys to his written word the error of his national idiosyncrasy of impression and pronunciation.
The difficulty of a phonetic rendition of a foreign language into English has long been apparent, and is one shared—though in a lesser degree—by all Continental linguists. To meet this difficulty the Germans have devised a system almost Chinese in its intricacy, while the French seek to reproduce such simple sounds as that of our English “W”by combinations of diphthongs. Many of these elaborate phoneticisms have been adopted by English writers without consideration of the lingual limitations of their inventors, or of the confusion induced in the mind of the student.
To simplify transliteration, though at the sacrifice of the finer distinctions of the language, the orthographic system of the Royal Geographical Society has been used in this work,[402]and the explanation of the system given in the appendix with the Witoto and Boro vocabularies is taken from the rules laid down by that Society and adopted by the Royal Anthropological Institute.[403]This system ordains that an approximation to the sound should be aimed at only, as any system which attempted to represent the more delicate inflexions of sound and of accent would be so complicated that it would merely defeat itself.
I attempted to make a vocabulary of Andoke words, but the language is, as I have noted, so guttural, not to say ventral, that it renders all attempts impossible without some medium to work upon at the start, such as I had with Boro and Witoto. In these two cases Brown’s knowledge of the latter, and even his very slight acquaintance with the first, were of great use to me as a basis upon which to work.
As an example of the difficulty to be faced without some common medium, I have asked a native, “What is this?” and touched my head or a stick, but could find no clue to whether his answer referred to the thing touched or my action in touching it. Only a long and tedious study can overcome conundrums of this description, and when to these is added the impossibility of conveying accurately by written signs the sound as uttered, the attempt proved beyond my powers and resources.
Mention has been made by one writer of the “‘cluck’ of satisfaction—common to all the tribes of the Provincia Oriental.”[404]I consider the sound emitted by the Issa-Japurapeoples as a sign of assent or pleasure is more ventral than that described by Simson. It is approximatelyHurrr!like a grunted sigh of satisfaction. The exclamation of surprise amongst all these peoples is very similar and may be writtenHuh!This sound, lengthened considerably, is the Witoto affirmativeHuhhh.Huh!huh!huhh!as affirmatives are very freely used in conversation. The more an Indian agrees with the speaker the more ventral do his ejaculations become. The negative will not be used except in direct answer to a question, for it is contrary to Indian custom and etiquette to interrupt or contradict. The absence of the affirmativeHuh!is practically a contradiction, on the ground of doing nothing being itself negative. A similar idea is seen in the tobacco palaver, where the dissentient signifies his disapproval by abstaining from licking tobacco. Should an Indian, however, wish to give an affirmative answer to a negative question, he will then make use of the negative No, for to answer Yes in Indian parlance would be to confirm the negative.
This brings us to the question of construction, and it is at once apparent that in Witoto, for example, the construction of a sentence tallies more with the construction of the deaf and dumb mute’s gesture language than with anything else, that is to say it is the very antithesis of the Chinese, or of our own. It may be said of the Indian, as Tylor wrote of the deaf and dumb mute, that he “strings together … the various ideas he wishes to connect, in what appears to be the natural order in which they follow one another in his mind.”[405]For instance the Witoto say,Benomo honne, literally “here put it”;benomo ekkono, “here open it you”;eijo rie dotoenyino, “much fruit put in it not do you”—“do not put much fruit into it.”
It will be noted that the personal pronoun here has become the suffix of the verb. This is the general rule, as indinitikwe, “I shall carry it”;a chimitekwe, “I am going to see”;ona dueruetckwe, “I want you.” But this rule is not invariable, as we findkwe mona, “I am unable”;ke hanyete, “I do not understand,” with the pronounkweorkeplaced, as weshould put the “I” before the verb; nor is the variation caused by the negative, as “I do not want you” isona dueruenetckwe. In this instance the position of the personal pronounkweis probably determined by the objectiveona, which structurally must precede, otherwise the meaning of the phrase would be inverted and become “You do not want me.” A pronoun is also used as a prefix to a noun to denote possession, astano, “cassava,”ometano, “your cassava.” According to Koch-Grünberg the suffixmakeindicates some other place, or thing; it occurs inbaimake, “other”;naimake“them”; but I am not aware that it acts as a definitely differentiating suffix in these or any other case.
In Witotonyeteas a suffix negatives what proceeds it, the literal meaning of the wordinyete—a compound ofite= are—being the equivalent of the Frenchil n’y en a pas.[406]As examples of its use we getfigora, “good,”figonyete, “bad”;huchite, “twisted,”huchinyete, “straight,” that is to say “not twisted.” The Boro negative isne, as for instance inimine, “good,”nemine, “bad,”i.e.“not good.”
Repetition of a word literally doubles its meaning, as in the Witotonana, “all,” and the Boropaa-paa, “low-low,” that is to say, “lower”;kame-kame, “high-high,”i.e.“higher.”
I have said that the principle of construction in both Boro and Witoto is that of the mute’s gesture language, but gesture language actually is almost unknown, non-existent, among all these tribes. The hand is pointed to show direction, or to identify a person or object. The Indian beckons with one hand, but its movement is downward, not upward as with us. There is also a recognised sign to express desire for sexual intercourse. This is a mere jest, a ribald suggestion, as with boys of a certain age among our lower classes. The right elbow is grasped with the left hand, the elbow being so flexed as to allow the hand to point upwards. It is, in fact, the letter Z of the dumb alphabet.
Fingers and toes are used for reckoning, and are the more needed in that the Indians’ knowledge of numbers is of theslightest. But few can reckon beyond five, though I once found a senior wrangler who counted seventeen, by the aid of all his fingers, all the toes of one foot, and two of the other. The remaining three toes he covered over, to show that they were not required for the total sum. If an Indian wished to enumerate anything over ten he would place both hands to his head and say, “Like the hairs of my head.”[407]In Boro I could only learn of four numerals,tiamie, “one-half”;tsanere, ortsape, “one”;mieke, “two”;sause, “five.” These in combination givetsape-mieke, “three”;mieke-mieke, “four.” The Witoto numerals aredahe, “one”;mena, “two”;dahe-amene—equivalent to the Borotsape-mieke,—“three”;menahere, “four”;dapekwiro, “five”—that is one hand;nagapekwiro, “six.”
It makes absolutely no difference to the value whether you saytsape-miekeormieke-tsape;dahe-ameneormena-dahe.
For measures these tribes have nothing more definite than a handful, a foot- or finger-length, and of weights they possess no knowledge whatever, nor, so far as I am aware from their customs or their language, is there any consciousness of more possible or desirably-accurate definition.
To express a length of time other than the merely immediate past, present, and future, the Indian makes use of what conveys to him an indefinable idea, “As long as the hairs of my head.” This is similar to his notion of expressing any large number. He reckons time by the moon to the extent of saying, “When the moon is small,” or, pointing to it, “As it is now,” but I never heard anything like “so many moons,” or an equivalent value in a word. In fact, time to the Boro, so far as I am aware, is distinguished by onlypekare, “to-morrow,”aiupe, “yesterday.” The Witoto will speak ofbeiruito, “to-day”;wiremoni, “to-morrow”;dawire, “the day after to-morrow,” ornawire, “yesterday”;beinawire, “the day before yesterday,” orbeinawife, “the night before last.”
There is, as I have already mentioned, no writing, not even the most primitive picture-writing. The Indian makes use of no signs as aids to memory; and the only recognised symbol that I met with—other than such symbolic practices as the presentation of wood and thatch by the bridegroom to his parents-in-law—was the tobacco folded in a strip of palm leaf that is the regular invitation card of North-Western Amazonia when festivities are toward. Neither individuals nor families have any recognised name-marks—such as a peculiar notch or number of notches—to distinguish personal property. It must be remembered that in the small private habitations in the bush a man and his wife and children are more or less isolated, and that in the great tribal house the family community have most of their possessions in common. It is difficult with so communal a people to know what may be looked upon as general property, and what as individual, with the exception of personal ornaments. Indians recognise their property only by differential qualities, certain ornamentation, ways of binding or lashing, patterns in basketry, colouring—and division of colours—on pottery; and these differences are known and recognised by others, as well as by the actual owners.
Each tribe has its peculiar call or signal, which I believe is altered occasionally as a precautionary measure. This may be a whistle, or the imitation of the cry of bird or beast. Then there is the so-called drum-language used in signalling, and already noted in a previous chapter, which I certainly believe to be some sort of code. Brown’s assertion that the sound of the word is made with the drum, and the Indians’ description of making the words is, I take it, merely the untaught intelligence striving to explain how an onomatopœic language—such as Boro and Witoto to some extent certainly are—can be further conventionalised to a scope even more circumscribed than the ordinary monotone of the Indian’s speaking voice.
Not only is the Indian voice monotonous, but the conversation is rendered yet duller by the invariable repetition of the last words of a sentence. This is particularly the casewith the Tuyuka, where conversation has a definitely ceremonial form. For instance, if a man leaves a party to bathe, he says, “I go to take a bath,” and the company present reply in chorus, “You go to take a bath.” On his return the formula runs, “I have taken a bath,” and the confirmative echo follows, “Yes, you have taken a bath.” This endless repetition, as was noticed with regard to songs, is characteristic of all Indians.
In quality their voices are strident and rasping, and are always raised in conversation and grow higher with increased excitement. No Indian speaks confidentially, he shouts; and unless something very sacred and secret is under discussion the conversation in an Indian house can be heard a mile away. In the forest the mass of vegetation above appears to act as a sounding-board, and so to lengthen the distance that sound is carried, not, as one might think, to stifle it. But independent of this the Indians possess extraordinary power of throwing the voice, a sort of ventral whisper; and all, to some extent, are ventriloquists. Even semi-civilised Indians of Brazil, who have lost much of the cunning of their brethren, the “Wild Indians” of the forest, have this power.
The Indian is as fond of speaking and singing in a high-pitched voice interspersed with ventral grunts as a Chinese coolie, and this predilection, as regards the falsetto voice, is greatest on the part of the women, whose voices are always higher than the men’s.
When an Indian talks he sits down, no conversation is ever carried on when the speakers are standing unless it be a serious difference of opinion is under discussion; nor, when he speaks, does the Indian look at the person addressed, any more than the latter watches the speaker. Both look at some outside objects. This is the attitude also of the Indian when addressing more than one listener, so that he appears to be talking to some one not visibly present.