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Title: Waikna
Or, adventures on the Mosquito Shore
Author: E. G. Squier
Release date: December 29, 2024 [eBook #74987]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: Harper & Brothers
Credits: Peter Becker and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAIKNA ***
[Illustration:
WAIKNA;
Adventures
on the
MOSQUITO SHORE.
by
Saml. A. Bard.
New-York;
HARPER & BROS.]
WAIKNA;
OR,
ADVENTURES
ON THE
MOSQUITO SHORE.
BY SAMUEL A. BARD.
“Whatever sweets salute the northern sky,
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die;
These here disporting, own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter’s toil;
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand,
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.”
GOLDSMITH.
WITH SIXTY ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS.
329 & 331 PEARL STREET.
1855.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New York.
PREFACE.
SCENE.—_A lonely shore._
_Enter YANKEE and MOSQUITO MAN._
Well, my dark friend, who are you?
“_Waikna!_” A man!
And what is your nation?
“_Waikna!_” A nation of men!
Pretty good for you, my dark friend! There was once a great
nation—a few old bricks are about all that remains of it
now—whose people were proud to call themselves —— but then what
do you know about the Romans?
“Him good for drink—him grog?”
Bah! No!
“Den no good! bah, too!”
_Exeunt ambo._
Now such a dialogue took place, or might have taken place, on the
Mosquito Shore. For all artistic purposes it did take place; and, as my
book is chiefly devoted to the Mosquito man and his country, it shall be
called WAIKNA—a word that, in the Mosquito tongue, means simply MAN, but
which is proudly claimed as the generic designation of the people of the
entire coast.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Jamaica, and how the Author got there—A solemn Soliloquy—An
Artist Tempted—Painting a Portrait—The Schooner Prince
Albert—Captain and Crew—Antonio—Superstitions—Gathering of the
Storm—A Scene of Terror—The Shipwreck 13
CHAPTER II.
“El Roncador”—The Escape—Coral Cays—Scene with the Dead—A Night
of Fever—Delirium—Island Scenes—Turtles—A cruel Practice—Sail
ho!—An Encounter—Revolvers _versus_ Knives—Departure from “El
Roncador”—Island of Providence—A Scene of Revelry—Away for the
Mainland 36
CHAPTER III.
Approach to Bluefields—An Imperial City—New Quarters—Mr.
Hodgson—The Mosquito King—“George William Clarence!”—Grog
_versus_ Gospel—The “Big-Drunk”—A Mosquito Funeral—Singular
Practices—Superstitions—An ill-fated Colony—Sad Reflections 56
CHAPTER IV.
Rama Indians—Departure from Bluefields—Canoe Voyage—Strange
Companionship—The “Haulover”—Our first Encampment—Epicurean
Episode—Night under the Tropics—Life on the Lagoons—Pearl
Cay Lagoon—Climbing after Cocoa-Nuts—A Solitary
Grave—Mangroves—Soldier Crabs—Roseate Spoonbill—River
Wawashaan—Deserted Plantation—Sambo Settlement—“A
King-Paper”—Extraordinary Reception—Captain Drummer—King’s
House—Vanilla Plant—Philanthropy—A Dance—“Spoiled
Head”—Fire-light Fishing—Night Scene 76
CHAPTER V.
Visit to the Turtle Cays—Spearing Turtle—Jumping
Turtle—Return to the Lagoon—Off again—Native Indigo—Another
_Haulover_—Tropical Torments—Braving the Bar—Great
River—Temporal Camp—Continuous Rain—Doleful Dumps—Freaks of the
Flood—Rain, Rain!—Craw-Fish—“El Moro”—The Manzanilla—Guavas—The
Release 105
CHAPTER VI.
On the River—Strong Currents—An Indian Village—A Woolwa
Welcome—Ceremonious Reception—Relations of the Indians—Their
Habits—A Tabooed Establishment—Projected Sport—Hunting
the Manitus—Habits of the Animal—The Attack—Great
Excitement—Successful Capture—Division of the Spoil—Instruments
of the Chase—Another Epicurean Episode 122
CHAPTER VII.
Departure—The Plantain-Tree—Bisbire—Nocturnal
Noises—“Stirring up the Animals”—At Sea Again—Mollusca of the
Caribbean—Walpasixa—The Moonlit Ocean—Prinza-pulka River—Vines
and Verdure—Savannahs—Village of Quamwatla—Inhospitable
Reception—A Retreat—Fatal Encounter—A Trial of Cunning—Tropical
Thunder-Storm—A Second Encounter—The Fight, and the
Triumph—Flight—Asylum in the Forest—The Explanation 138
CHAPTER VIII.
Tapir Camp—A Picturesque Retreat—Wild Life—Palm Wine—Queen of
the Forest—Pine Ridges—Parrots and Paroquets—A Fright—“Only a
Dante”—Trapping the Tapir—Successful Result—Narrow Escape—“An
Army with Banners”—Honey-bees—Communion with Nature—Once more
on the Lagoons 162
CHAPTER IX.
Lagoons of the Mosquito Shore—Indians and Sambos—Life among
the Lagoons—Aquatic Birds—Silk-Cotton Tree—Water Plant—Night
Traveling—Tongla Lagoon—Fishing—A Disagreeable Discovery—The
Chase—Prospect of a Fight—Successful Device—Diamond cut
Diamond—Safely off—Wava Lagoon—Attack of Fever—Primitive
Physic—Poisonous Reptiles—My Poyer Boy Bitten—The Cure 179
CHAPTER X.
Leave Fever Camp—Towkas Indians—Formal Reception—Singular
Practices—Towka Marriage—Extraordinary Ceremonies—Presents
Propitiatory—Shouldering the Responsibility—Marriage
Festival—How to get Drunk—The End of it—Wild Animals—Indian
Rabbits—The Curassow—Chachalaca—Gibeonite—River Turtle—Savory
Cooking 200
CHAPTER XI.
Duckwarra Lagoon—Aboriginal Relics—Sandy Bay—Mosquito
Fashions—Sambos of Sandy Bay—General Peter Slam—An English
Captain—Brutality—Interference—A Drunken Debauch—Mishla
Drink—Dances and Songs—A Sukia Woman—Opportune Warning—Hurried
Departure—Power of the Sukias—Making Mishla—A Disgusting
Operation 215
CHAPTER XII.
Cape Gracias—Its Inhabitants—Fine Savannah—Sambo
Practices—Novel Mode of Hunting—Island of San Pio—Mangrove
Oysters—Trial of the Sukia—A Mysterious Seeress—Superstitions
of the Sambos—Wulasha and Lewire—Character and Habits of
the Mosquitos—Drunkenness—Decrease—Festival of the Dead—New
Plans—River Wanks or Segovia—Iguanas—Armadillos 234
CHAPTER XIII.
River Bocay—New Scenery—End of the Savannahs—Indian Village—The
Messenger—A Night Adventure—Sanctuary of the Sukia—Hoxom-Bal,
the Mother of the Tigers—Mysteries—Ruins among the
Mountains—Serious Impressions—A Tale of Wanks River—Harry F.
and the Padre of Pantasma 251
CHAPTER XIV.
Up the Cape River—Imposing Scenery—Storm among the
Mountains—Influence of the Moon’s Rays—River Tirolas—Mountain
Streams—Picturesque Embarcadero—A Sweet Encampment—An
Accident—Laid up—Send off the Poyer Boy for Help—Speedy
Recovery—Monkeys—An Encounter with the Pigs—To Eat or to be
Eaten, a wide Difference—Return of the Poyer—Abandonment of
the Canoe—“El Moro” again—Ascent of the Mountains—Another
Temporal—Reflections on Fire 272
CHAPTER XV.
The Crest of the Mountains—A Desert Waste—Descent—Rio
Guallambre—Gold Washing—The Poyer Village—Habits of the
Poyers—Plantations—Poisoning Fish—Primitive Arts—Indian
Naiads—Patriarchal Government—Departure—Rio Amacwass—Rio
Patuca—“Gateway of Hell”—Approach to the Sea—Brus Lagoon 290
CHAPTER XVI.
Arrival at Brus—A Festival—Hospitality—Loss of the Poyer
Boy—Civilization of the Caribs—Cocoa-Groves—Sanitary
Precautions—Wild-Fig or Banyan-Tree—Habits of the
Caribs—Industry—The Mahogany-Cutters—Celebration of their
Return—A Carib Dandy—Polygamy—Singular Practices—A Carib
Crew—Departure—The Bay of Honduras—The Bottom of the Sea—Island
of Guanaja—Night—Sombre Soliloquies—Antonio’s Secret—The
Rousing of the Indians—Deep-laid Schemes of Revenge—The Voice
of the Tiger in the Mountains 312
APPENDIX.
A—HISTORICAL SKETCH 335
B—NOTES AND EXTRACTS 354
C—MOSQUITO VOCABULARY 363
ILLUSTRATIONS.
NUMBER PAGE
1. ILLUSTRATIVE TITLE 1
2. MAP OF MOSQUITO SHORE 12
3. THE ARTIST 13
4. MY LANDLADY 22
5. ANTONIO CHUL 28
6. THE SHIPWRECK 35
7. THE ESCAPE 36
8. “SHELLING” TURTLES 46
9. A SAIL! A SAIL! 48
10. “EL RONCADOR” 52
11. APPROACH TO BLUEFIELDS 56
12. GOING TO THE FUNERAL 67
13. A MOSQUITO BURIAL 70
14. AFLOAT IN THE LAGOON 76
15. CLIMBING AFTER COCOAS 84
16. A MANGROVE SWAMP 85
17. THE ROSEATE SPOONBILL 89
18. CAPTAIN DRUMMER 93
19. TURTLE CAYS 105
20. SPEARING TURTLE 109
21. TEMPORAL CAMP 117
22. A FRESHET IN THE RIVER 122
23. HUNTING THE MANITUS 133
24. HARPOONS AND LANCES 136
25. TROPICAL VERDURE 138
26. MARINE MOLLUSCA 143
27. ON THE MOONLIT SEA 144
28. VILLAGE OF QUAMWATLA 149
29. FIGHT NEAR QUAMWATLA 153
30. TAPIR CAMP 162
31. PALMETTO ROYAL 166
32. THE DEATH OF THE TAPIR 172
33. BIRDS OF THE LAGOONS 179
34. LIFE AMONG THE LAGOONS 182
35. CHASE ON TONGLA LAGOON 189
36. FEVER CAMP 200
37. TOWKAS INDIANS 202
38. THE END OF IT! 210
39. TOWN OF SANDY BAY 215
40. A GOLDEN IDOL 217
41. GENERAL PETER SLAM 221
42. SUKIA OF SANDY BAY 228
43. CAPE GRACIAS A DIOS 234
44. HUNTING DEER 237
45. RIVER BOCAY 251
46. THE MOTHER OF THE TIGERS 256
47. SANCTUARY OF THE SUKIA 259
48. SCENERY ON THE RIVER WANKS 272
49. EMBARCADERO ON THE TIROLAS 276
50. THE WAREE 283
51. THE MOUNTAIN CREST 290
52. A POYER VILLAGE 295
53. “THE GATEWAY OF HELL” 309
54. VIEW AT BRUS 312
55. APPROACH TO GUANAJA 325
56. REVEALING THE SECRET 332
[Illustration: MAP of MOSQUITO SHORE
The route of the author is indicated in the Map by a dotted line.]
THE MOSQUITO SHORE.
Chapter I.
[Illustration]
A month in Jamaica is enough for any sinner’s punishment, let alone
that of a tolerably good Christian. At any rate, a week had given me a
surfeit of Kingston, with its sinister, tropical Jews, and variegated
inhabitants, one-half black, one-third brown, and the balance as fair
as could be expected, considering the abominable, unintelligible
Congo-English which they spoke. Besides, the cholera which seems to
be domesticated in Kingston, and to have become one of its local
institutions, had begun to spread from the stews, and to invade the
more civilized parts of the town. All the inhabitants, therefore, whom
the emancipation had left rich enough to do so, were flying to the
mountains, with the pestilence following, like a sleuth-hound, at their
heels. Kingston was palpably no place for a stranger, and that stranger a
poor-devil artist.
The cholera had cheated me of a customer. I was moody, and therefore
swung myself in a hammock, lit a cigar, and held a grand inquisition on
myself, as the poets are wont to do on their souls. It ran after this
wise, with a very little noise but much smoke:—
“Life is pleasant at twenty-six. Do you like life?”
Rather.
“Then you can’t like the cholera?”
No!—with a hurried pull at the cigar.
“But you’ll have it here!”
Then I’ll be off!
“Where?”
Any where!
“Good, but the exchequer, my boy, how about that? You can’t get away
without money.”
There was a long pause, a great cloud of smoke, and much swinging in the
hammock, and a final echo—
_Money!_ Yes, I _must_ have money!
So I got up, spasmodically opened my portmanteau, dived deep amongst
collars, pencils and foul linen, took out my purse, turned its contents
on the table, and began to count.
Forty-three and a half, forty-four, forty-five, and this handful of small
silver and copper. Call it fifty in all.
“_Only_ fifty dollars!” ejaculated my mental interrogator.
Only fifty! responded I.
“’Twon’t do!”
I lit another cigar. It was clear enough, it wouldn’t do; and I got into
the hammock again. Commend me to a hammock, (a _pita_ hammock, none of
your canvas abominations,) and a cigar, as valuable aids to meditation
and self-communion of all kinds. There was a long silence, but the
inquisition went on, until the cigar was finished. Finally “I’ll do it!”
I exclaimed, in the voice of a man determined on some great deed, not
agreeable but necessary, and I tossed the cigar stump out of the window.
But what I determined to do, may seem no great thing after all; it was
only to paint the portrait of my landlady.
“Yes, I’ll paint the old wench!”
* * * * *
Now, I am an artist, not an author, and have got the cart before the
horse, inasmuch as my narrative does not preserve the “harmonies,” as
every well-considered composition should do. It has just occurred to me
that I should first have told who I am, and how I came to be in Jamaica,
and especially in that filthy place, Kingston. It isn’t a long story, and
if it is not too late, I will tell it now.
As all the world knows, there are people who sell rancid whale oil, and
deal in soap, and affect a great contempt for artists. They look down
grandly on the quiet, pale men who paint their broad red faces on canvas,
and seem to think that the few greasy dollars which they grudgingly pay
for their flaming immortality, should be received with meek confusion and
blushing thanks, as a rare exhibition of condescension and patronage.
I never liked such patronage, and therefore would paint no red faces.
But there is a great difference between red, bulbous faces, and rosy
faces. There was that sweet girl at the boarding-school in L—— Place, the
Baltimore girl, with the dark eyes and tresses of the South, and the fair
cheek and elastic step of the North! Of course, I painted her portrait, a
dozen times at least, I should say. I could paint it now; and I fear it
is more than painted on my heart, or it wouldn’t rise smiling here, to
distract my thoughts, make me sigh, and stop my story.
An artist who wouldn’t paint portraits and had a soul above
patronage—what was there for him to do in New York? Two compositions
a year in the Art Union, got in through Mr. Sly, the manager, and a
friend of mine, were not an adequate support for the most moderate
man. I’ll paint grand historical paintings, thought I one day, and
straightway purchased a large canvas. I had selected my subject,
Balboa, the discoverer of the Pacific, bearing aloft the flag of Spain,
rushing breast-deep in its waves, and claiming its boundless shores and
numberless islands for the crown of Castile and Leon. I had begun to
sketch in the plumed Indians, gazing in mute surprise upon this startling
scene, when it occurred to me—for I have patches of common sense
scattered amongst the flowery fields of my fancy—to count over the amount
of my patrimonial portion. Grand historical paintings require years of
study and labor, and I found I had but two hundred dollars, owed for a
month’s lodging, and had an unsettled tailor’s account. It was clear that
historical painting was a luxury, for the present at least, beyond my
reach. It was then some evil spirit, (I strongly suspect it was the ——,)
taking the cue doubtless from my projected picture, suggested:—
“Try landscape, my boy; you have a rare hand for landscapes—good flaming
landscapes, full of yellow and vermillion, you know!”
Although there was no one in the room, I can swear to a distinct slap on
the back, after the emphatic “you know” of the tempter. It was a true
diabolical suggestion, the yellow and vermillion, but not so sulphurous
as what followed:—
“Go to the tropics boy, the glorious tropics, where the sun is supreme,
and never shares his dominion with blue-nosed, leaden-colored,
rheumy-eyed frost-gods; go there, and catch the matchless tints of the
skies, the living emerald of the forests, and the light-giving azure of
the waters; go where the birds are rainbow-hued, and the very fish are
golden; where—”
But I had heard enough; I was blinded by the dazzling panorama which
Fancy swept past my vision, and cried, with enthusiastic energy,
“Hold; I’ll go to the glorious tropics!”
And I went—more’s the pity—in a little dirty schooner, full of pork and
flour; and that is the way I came to be in Jamaica, dear reader, if
you want to know. I had been there a month or more, and had wandered
all over the really magnificent interior, and filled my portfolio with
sketches. But that did not satisfy me; there were other tropical lands,
where Nature had grander aspects, where there were broad lakes and
high and snow-crowned volcanoes, which waved their plumes of smoke in
mid-heaven, defiantly, in the very face of the sun; lands through whose
ever-leaved forests Cortez, Balboa, and Alvarado, and Cordova had led
their mailed followers, and in whose depths frowned the strange gods of
aboriginal superstition, beside the deserted altars and unmarked graves
of a departed and mysterious people. Jamaica was beautiful certainly, but
I longed for what the transcendentalists call the sublimely-beautiful,
or, in plain English, the combined sublime and beautiful—for, in short,
an equatorial Switzerland. And, although Jamaica was fine in scenery,
its dilapidated plantations, and filthy, lazy negroes, already more than
half relapsed into native and congenial barbarism, were repugnant to my
American notions and tastes. They grinned around me, those negroes, when
I ate, and scratched their heads over my paper when I drew. They followed
me every where, like black jackals, and jabbered their incomprehensive
lingo in my ears until they deafened me. And then their odor under
tropical heats! Faugh! “’Twas rank, and smelt to heaven!”
I had, therefore, come down from the interior to set up my easel in
Kingston, paint a few views, and thereby raise the wind for a trip to
the mainland. Of course, I did not fly from painting red-faced portraits
in the United States, to paint ebony ones in Jamaica. My scruples,
however, did not apply to customers. There was a “_brown man_,” which is
genteel Jamaican for mulatto, who was an Assembly-man, or something of
the kind, and wanted a view of the edifice at Spanish-town, wherein he
legislated for the “emancipated island.” I had agreed to paint it for
the liberal compensation of twenty pounds. But one hot, murky morning,
my brown lawgiver took the cholera, and before noon was not only dead,
but buried—and my picture only half-finished! _Mem._ As people have a
practice of dying, always get your pay beforehand.
Voltaire, I believe, has said, that if a toad were asked his ideal of
beauty, he would, most likely, describe himself, and dwell complacently
on a cold, clammy, yellow belly, a brown, warty, corrugated back, and
become ecstatic on the subject of goggle eyes. And, I verily believe,
that if my landlady had been asked the same question, she would have
coquettishly patted up her woolly curls over each oleaginous cheek, and
glanced toward the mirror, by way of reply. Black, glossy black, and
_fat_, marvelously fat, yet she was possessed, even she, of her full
share of feminine vanity. There was no mistaking, from the first day
of my arrival, that her head was running on a portrait of herself. She
was fond of money and penurious, and careful, therefore, not to venture
upon a proposition until she had got some kind of a clew as to what her
immortality would be likely to cost. I had, however, diplomatically
evaded all of her approaches, up to the unfortunate day when my
Assembly-man died. She brought me the news herself, and saw that it
annoyed rather than shocked me, and that I stopped painting with the air
of a man abandoning a bad job. She evidently thought the time favorable
for a _coup de main_; there was a gleam of cunning in her little, round,
half-buried eyes, and the very ebony of her cheek lightened palpably, as
she said:
“So your picture will be no good for nothing?”
No!
“You have not got the——?”
And she significantly rubbed the forefinger of one hand in the palm of
the other.
No!
There was a pause, and then she resumed:
“I want a picture!”
Eh?
“A picture, you know!”
And now she complacently stroked down her broad face, and exhibited a
wide, vermillion chasm, with a formidable phalanx of ivories, by way of a
suggestive smile.
No, I never paint portraits!
“Not for ten pounds?”
No; nor for a hundred,—go!
And my landlady rolled herself out of the room with a motion which, had
she weighed less than two hundred, might have passed for a toss.
It was on the evening of this day, and after this conversation, one half
of the Assembly-house at Spanish-town staring redly from the canvas in
the corner, that I lay in my hammock and soliloquized as aforesaid. It
was thus and then, that I resolved to paint my landlady.
* * * * *
And having now, by means of this long parenthesis, restored the harmonies
of my story, and got my horse and cart in correct relative positions, I
am ready to go ahead.
I not only resolved to paint my landlady, but I did it, right over the
half-finished Assembly-house. It was the first, and, by the blessing of
Heaven, so long as there are good potatoes to be dug at the rate of six
cents the bushel, it shall be my last portrait. I can not help laughing,
even now, at that fat, glistening face, looking for all the world as if
it had been newly varnished, surmounted by a gaudy red scarf, wound
round the head in the form of a peaked turban; and two fat arms, rolling
down like elephants’ trunks against a white robe for a background, which
concealed a bust that passeth description. That portrait—“long may it
wave!” as the man said, at the Kossuth dinner, when he toasted “The day
we celebrate!”
[Illustration: MY LANDLADY.]
My landlady was satisfied, and generous withal, for she not only paid
me the ten pounds, and gave me my two weeks board and lodging in the
bargain, but introduced me to a colored gentleman, a friend of hers, who
sailed a little schooner twice a year to the Mosquito Shore, on the coast
of Central America, where he traded off refuse rum and gaudy cottons for
turtle-shells and sarsaparilla. There was a steamer from Kingston, once
a month, to Carthagena, Chagres, San Juan, Belize, and “along shore;”
but, for obvious reasons, I could not go in a steamer. So I struck up a
bargain with the fragrant skipper, by the terms of which he bound himself
to land me, bag and baggage, at Bluefields, the seat of Mosquito royalty,
for the sum of three pounds, “currency.”
* * * * *
Why Captain Ponto (for so I shall call my landlady’s friend, the colored
skipper) named his little schooner the “Prince Albert,” I can not
imagine, unless he thought thereby to do honor to the Queen-Consort; for
the aforesaid schooner had evidently got old, and been condemned, long
before that lucky Dutchman woke the echoes of Gotha with his baby cries.
The “Prince Albert” was of about seventy tons burden, built something on
the model of the “Jung-frau,” the first vessel of the Netherlands that
rolled itself into New York bay, like some unwieldy porpoise, after a
rapid passage of about six months from the Hague. The wise men of the
Historical Society have satisfactorily shown, after long and diligent
research, that the “Jung-frau” measured sixty feet keel, sixty feet beam,
and sixty feet hold, and was modeled after one of Rubens’ Venuses. The
dimensions of the “Prince Albert” were every way the same, only twenty
feet less. The sails were patched and the cordage spliced, and she did
not leak so badly as to require more than six hours’ steady pumping out
of the twenty-four. The crew was composed of Captain Ponto, Thomas, his
mate, one seaman, and an Indian boy from Yucatan, whose business it was
to cook and do the pumping. As may be supposed, the Indian boy did not
rust for want of occupation.
It was a clear morning, toward the close of December, that Captain
Ponto’s wife, a white woman, with a hopeful family of six children,
the three eldest with shirts, and the three youngest without, came
down to the schooner to see us off. I watched the parting over the
after-bulwarks, and observed the tears roll down Mrs. Ponto’s cheeks as
she bade her sable spouse good-by. I wondered if she really could have
any attachment for her husband, and if custom and association had utterly
worn away the natural and instinctive repugnance which exists between
the superior and inferior races of mankind? I thought of the condition
of Jamaica itself, and mentally inquired if it were not due to a grand,
practical misconception of the laws of Nature, and the inevitable result
of their reversal? It can not be denied that where the superior and
inferior races are brought in contact, and amalgamate, there we uniformly
find a hybrid stock springing up, with most, if not all of the vices,
and few, if any of the virtues of the originals. And it will hardly
be questioned, by those experimentally acquainted with the subject,
that the manifest lack of public morality and private virtue, in the
Spanish-American States, has followed from the fatal facility with which
the Spanish colonists have intermixed with the negroes and Indians. The
rigid and inexorable exclusion, in respect to the inferior races, of
the dominant blood of North America, flowing through different channels
perhaps, yet from the same great Teutonic source, is one grand secret of
its vitality, and the best safeguard of its permanent ascendency.
Mrs. Ponto wept; and as we slowly worked our way outside of Port Royal, I
could see her waving her apron, for she was innocent of a more classical
signal, in fond adieus. We finally got out from under the lee of the
land, and caught in our sails the full trade-wind, blowing steadily in
the desired direction. I sat long on deck, watching the receding island
sinking slowly in the bright sea, until Captain Ponto signified to me,
in the _patois_ of Jamaica, which the deluded people flatter themselves
is English, that dinner was ready, and led the way into what he called
the cabin. This cabin was a little den, seven feet by nine at the utmost,
low, dark and dirty, with no light or air except what entered through
the narrow hatchway, and, consequently, hot as an oven. Two lockers, one
on each side, answered for seats by day, and, covered with suspicious
mattresses, for beds by night. The cabin was sacred to Captain Ponto and
myself, the mate having been displaced to make room for the gentleman who
had paid three pounds for his passage! I question if the “Prince Albert”
had ever before been honored with a passenger; certainly not since she
had come into the hands of Captain Ponto, who therefore put his best foot
forward, with a full consciousness of the importance of the incident.
Ponto had been a slave once, and was consequently imperious and
tyrannical now, toward all people in a subordinate relation to himself.
Yet, as he had evidently been owned by a man of consequence, he had not
entirely lost his early deference for the white man, and sometimes forgot
Ponto the captain in Ponto the chattel. It was in the latter character
only, that he was perfectly natural; and, although I derived no little
amusement from his attempts to enact a loftier part, I shall not trouble
the reader with an episode on Captain Ponto. He was a very worthy darkey,
with a strong aversion to water, both exteriorly and internally. The
mate, and the man who constituted the crew, were ordinary negroes of no
possible account.
But Antonio, the Indian boy, who cooked and pumped, and then pumped and
cooked—I fear he never slept, for when there was not a “sizzling” in the
little black caboose, there was sure to be a screeching of the rickety
pump—Antonio attracted my interest from the first; and it was increased
when I found that he spoke a little English, was perfect in Spanish, and
withal could read in both languages. There was something mysterious in
finding him among these uncouth negroes, with his relatively fair skin,
intelligent eyes, and long, well-ordered, black hair. He was like a
lithe panther among lumbering bears; and he did his work in a way which
accorded with his Indian character, without murmur, and with a kind
of silent doggedness, that implied but little respect for his present
masters. He seldom replied to their orders in words, and then only in
monosyllables. I asked Captain Ponto about him, but he knew nothing,
except that he was from Yucatan, and had presented himself on board only
the day previously, and offered to work his passage to the main land. And
Captain Ponto indistinctly intimated that he had taken the boy solely on
my account, which, of course, led to the inference on my part, that the
captain ordinarily did his own cooking. He also ventured a patronizing
remark about the Indians generally, to the effect that they made very
good servants, “if they were kept under;” which, coming from an ex-slave,
I thought rather good.
[Illustration: ANTONIO.]
All this only served to interest me the more in Antonio; and, although I
succeeded in engaging him in ordinary conversation, yet I utterly failed
in drawing him out, as the saying is, in respect to his past history, or
future purposes. Whenever I approached these subjects he became silent
and impassible, and his eyes assumed an expression of cold inquiry,
not unmingled with latent suspicion, which half inclined me to believe
that he was a fugitive from justice. Yet he did not look the felon or
knave; and when the personal inquiries dropped, his face resumed its
usual pleasant although sad expression, and I became ashamed that I had
suspected him. There was certainly something singular about Antonio;
but, as I could imagine no very profound mystery attaching to a cook,
on board of the “Prince Albert,” after the first day, I made no attempts
to penetrate his secrets, but sought rather to attach him to me, as a
prospectively useful companion in the country to which I was bound. So
I relieved him occasionally at the pump, although he protested against
it; and finally, to the horror of Captain Ponto, and the palpable high
disdain of the mate, I became so intimate with him as to show him my
portfolio of drawings. His admiration, I found to my surprise, was always
judiciously bestowed, and his appreciation of outline and coloring showed
that he had the spirit of an artist. Several times, in glancing over the
drawings, he stopped short, looked up, his face full of intelligence, as
if about to speak, and I paused to listen. Each time, however, the smile
vanished, the flexible muscles ceased their play and became rigid, and a
cold, filmy mist settled over the clear eyes which had looked into mine.
Whatever was Antonio’s secret, great or small, it was evidently one that
he half-wished, half-feared to reveal. I was puzzled to think that there
could exist any relation between it and my paintings; but Antonio was
only a cook, and so I dismissed all reflection on the subject.
On our third day out, the weather, which up to that time had been clear
and beautiful, began to change, and night settled black and threatening
around us. The wind had increased, but it was loaded with sultry
vapors—the hot breath of the storm which was pressing on our track.
Captain Ponto was not a scientific sailor, and kept no other than what
is called “dead reckoning.” He had made the voyage very often, and was
confident of his course. Upon that point, therefore, I gave myself no
uneasiness; not so much from faith in Captain Ponto, as because there
was nothing in the world to be done, except to follow his opinion.
Nevertheless the captain was serious, and consulted an antediluvian chart
which he kept in his cabin. It was a Rembrandtish picture, that negro
tracing his forefinger slowly over the chart, by the light of a candle,
which only half revealed the little cabin, while it brought out his
grizzly head and anxious face in strong relief against the darkness.
What Captain Ponto learned from all this study is more than I can tell;
but when he came on deck, he ordered a reef to be made in the sails,
and a variation of several points in our course, for the wind not only
freshened, but veered to the north-east. The hot blasts or puffs of air
became more and more frequent, and occasional sheets of lightning gleamed
along the horizon. The sea, too, was full of phosphorescent light; fiery
monsters seemed to leap around us and wreath and twine their livid
volumes in our wake. I could hear the hiss of their forked tongues where
the waters closed under our stern. I stood, leaning over the bulwarks,
gazing on the gleaming waves, and thinking of home—for the voyager
on the great deep always thinks of home, when darkness envelops him,
and the storm threatens—when Antonio silently approached, so silently
that I did not hear him, and took his place at my side. I was somewhat
startled, therefore, when, changing my position a little, I saw, by the
dim, reflected light of the sea, his eyes fixed earnestly on mine. “Ah,
Antonio,” I said, “is that you?” and I placed my hand familiarly on his
shoulder. He shrank beneath it, as if it had been fire. “What’s the
matter?” I exclaimed, reproachfully; “have I hurt you?”
“Pardon me!” he ejaculated, rather than spoke, in a voice deep and
tremulous; “I know now that it is not you who will die to-night!”
“What do you mean? You are not afraid, Antonio? Who thinks of dying?” I
replied, in a light tone.
“No! it is not myself. I was afraid it might be you; for, sir,” and he
laid a hand cold and clammy as that of a corpse on mine; “for, sir, there
is death on board this vessel!”
This was said in a voice so awed and earnest that I was impressed deeply,
in spite of myself, and for some moments made no reply. “You talk wildly,
Antonio,” I finally said; “we are going on bravely, and shall all be in
Bluefields together in a day or two.”
“All of us, never,” he replied, “never! The Lord, who never lies, has
told me so!” and, pressing near me, he drew from his bosom something
resembling a small, round plate of crystal, except that it seemed to
be slightly luminous, and veined or clouded with green. “See, see!” he
exclaimed, rapidly, and held the object close to my eyes. I instinctively
obeyed, and gazed intently upon it. As I gazed, the clouds of green
seemed to concentrate and assume a regular form, as the moisture of one’s
breath passes away from a mirror, until I distinctly saw, in the center,
the miniature of a human head, of composed and dignified aspect, but the
eyes were closed, and all the lineaments had the rigidity of death.
“Do you see?”
“I do!”
“It is _Kucimen_, the Lord who never lies!” and Antonio thrust his
talisman in his bosom again, and slowly moved away. There was no mistake
in what I had seen, and although I am not superstitious, yet the feeling
that some catastrophe was impending gathered at my heart. It was in vain
that I tried to smile at the Indian trick; the earnest voice of the
Indian boy still sounded in my ears, “All of us, never!” What reason
should he have for attempting to practice his Indian _diablerie_ on any
one, least of all on me? I rejected the thought, and endeavored to banish
the subject from my mind.
Meanwhile the wind had gathered strength, and Captain Ponto had taken
in sail, so that we had no more standing than was necessary to keep the
vessel steady before the wind. The waves now began to rise, the gloom
deepened, the hot puffs of air became more and more frequent, and the
broad lightning-sheets rose from the horizon to the very zenith. The
thunder, too, came rolling on, every peal more distinctly, and occasional
heavy drops of rain fell with an ominous sound on the deck. The storm
was evidently close at hand; and I left the side of the vessel, and
approached the little cabin to procure my _poncho_, for I preferred the
open deck and the storm to the suffocation below. The hatchway was nearly
closed, but there was a light within. I stooped to remove the slide,
and in doing so obtained a full view of the interior. The spectacle
which presented itself was so extraordinary that I stopped short, and
looked on in mute surprise. The candle was standing on the locker, and
kneeling beside it was the captain. He was stripped to the waist, and
held in one hand what appeared to be the horn of some animal, in which
he caught the blood which dripped from a large gash in the fleshy part
of his left arm, just above the elbow, while he muttered rapidly some
rude and strangely-sounding words, unlike any I had ever before heard.
My first impression was that Antonio had tried to fulfill his own
prediction, by attempting the life of the captain; but I soon saw that
he was performing some religious rite, a sacrifice or propitiation, such
as the _Obi_ men still teach in Jamaica and Santo Domingo, and which
are stealthily observed, even by the negroes professing Christianity
and having a nominal connection with the church. I recognized in the
horn the mysterious _gre-gre_ of the Gold Coast, where the lowest form
of _fetish_ worship prevails, and where human blood is regarded as the
most acceptable of sacrifices. Respecting too rigidly all ceremonies and
rites, which may contribute to the peace of mind of others, to think of
disturbing them, I silently withdrew from the hatchway, and left the
captain to finish his debasing devotions. In a short time he appeared
on deck, and gave some orders in a calm voice, as one reassured and
confident.
I was occupied below for only a few minutes, yet when I got on deck
again the storm was upon us. The waves were not high, but the water
seemed to be caught up by the wind, and to be drifted along, like snow,
in blinding, drenching sheets. I was nearly driven off my feet by its
force, and would have been carried overboard had I not become entangled
in the rigging. The howling of the wind and the hissing of the water
would have drowned the loudest voice, and I was so blinded by the spray
that I could not see. Yet I could feel that we were driving before the
hurricane with fearful rapidity. The very deck seemed to bend, as if
ready to break, beneath our feet. I finally sufficiently recovered myself
to be able, in the pauses of the wind, and when the lightning fell, to
catch glimpses around me. Our sails were torn in tatters, the yards
were gone, in fact every thing was swept from the deck except three
dark figures, like myself, clinging convulsively to the ropes. On, on,
half-buried in the sea, we drifted with inconceivable rapidity.
Little did we think that we were rushing on a danger more terrible than
the ocean. The storm had buffeted us for more than an hour, and it seemed
as if it had exhausted its wrath, and had begun to subside, when a sound,
hoarse and steady, but louder even than that of the wind, broke on our
ears. It was evident that we were approaching it, for every instant
it became more distinct and ominous. I gazed ahead into the hopeless
darkness, when suddenly a broad sheet of lightning revealed immediately
before us, and not a cable’s length distant, what, under the lurid
gleam, appeared to be a wall of white spray, dashing literally a hundred
feet in the air—a hell of waters, from which there was no escape. “_El
Roncador!_” shrieked the captain, in a voice of utter despair, that even
then thrilled like a knife in my heart. The fearful moment of death had
come, and I had barely time to draw a full breath of preparation for the
struggle, when we were literally whelmed in the raging waters. I felt a
shock, a sharp jerk, and the hiss and gurgle of the sea, a sensation of
immense pressure, followed by a blow like that of a heavy fall. Again I
was lifted up, and again struck down, but this time with less force. I
had just enough consciousness left to know that I was striking on the
sand, and I made an involuntary effort to rise and escape from the waves.
Before I could gain my feet I was again struck down, again and again,
until, nearer dead than alive, I at last succeeded in crawling to a spot
where the water did not reach me. I strove to rise now, but could not;
and, as that is the last thing I remember distinctly of that terrible
night, I suppose I must have fallen into a swoon.
[Illustration: THE SHIPWRECK.]
Chapter II.
[Illustration]
How long I remained insensible I know not, but when my consciousness
returned, which it did slowly, like the lifting of a curtain, I felt
that I was severely hurt; and, before opening my eyes, tried to drive
away my terrible recollections, as one rousing from a troubled dream
tries to banish its features from his mind. It was in vain; and, with
a sensation of despair, I opened my eyes! The morning sun was shining
with blinding brilliancy, and I was obliged to close them again. Soon,
however, I was able to bear the blaze, and, painfully lifting myself on
my elbow, looked around me. The sea was thundering with awful force,
not on the sandy shore where I was lying, but over a reef two hundred
yards distant, within which the water was calm, or only disturbed by the
combing waves, as they broke over the outer barrier. Here the first and
only object which attracted my attention was our schooner, lying on her
beam ends, high on the sands. The sea, the vessel, the blinding sun and
glowing sand, and a bursting pain in my head, were too palpable evidences
of my misfortune to be mistaken. It was no dream, but stern and severe
reality, and for the moment I comprehended the truth. But, when younger,
I had read of shipwrecks, and listened, with the interest of childhood,
and a feeling half of envy, to the tales of old sailors who had been
cast away on desert shores. And now, the first shock over, it was almost
with a sensation of satisfaction, and something of exultation, that I
exclaimed to myself, “shipwrecked at last!” Robinson Crusoe, and Reilly
and his companions, recurred to my mind, and my impulse was to leap up
and commence an emulative career. But the attempt was a failure, and
brought me back to stern reality, in an instant. My limbs were torn and
scarified, and my face swollen and stiff. The utmost I could do was to
sit erect.
I now, for the first time, thought of my companions, and despairingly
turned my eyes to look for them. Close by, and nearly behind me, sat
Antonio, resting his head on his hands. His clothes were hanging around
him in shreds, his hair was matted with sand, and his face was black with
dried blood. He attempted to smile, but the grim muscles could not obey,
and he looked at me in silence. I was the first to speak:
Are you much hurt, Antonio?
“The Lord of Mitnal never lies!” was his only response; and he pointed to
the talisman on his swarthy breast, gleaming like polished silver in the
sun. I remembered the scene of the previous night, and asked;—
Are they all dead?
He shook his head, in sign of ignorance.
Where are we, Antonio?
“This is El Roncador!”
And so it proved. We were on one of the numerous coral keys or cays which
stud the sea of the Antilles, and which are the terror of the mariners
who navigate it. They are usually mere banks of sand, elevated a few feet
above the water, occasionally supporting a few bushes, or a scrubby,
tempest-twisted palm or two, and only frequented by the sea-birds for
rest and incubation, and by turtles for laying their eggs. Around them
there is always a reef of coral, built up from the bottom of the sea
by those wonderful architects, the coral insects. This reef surrounds
the cay, at a greater or less distance, like a ring, leaving between it
and the island proper a belt of water, of variable depth, and of the
loveliest blue. The reef, which is sometimes scarcely visible above the
sea, effectually breaks the force of the waves; and if, as it sometimes
happens, it be interrupted so as to leave an opening for the admission
of vessels, the inner belt of water forms a safe harbor. Except a few
of the larger ones, none of these cays are inhabited, nor are they ever
frequented, except by the turtle fishers.
It was to the peculiar conformation of these islands that our safety
was owing. Our little vessel had been driven, or lifted by the waves,
completely over the outer reef. The shock had torn us from our hold on
the ropes, and we had drifted upon the comparatively protected sands. The
vessel too, had been carried upon them, and the waves there not being
sufficiently strong to break her in pieces, she was left high and dry
when they subsided. There was, nevertheless, a broad break in her keel,
caused probably by striking on the reef.
Two of the five human beings who had been on board of her, the captain
and his mate, were drowned. We found their bodies;—but I am anticipating
my story. When we had recovered ourselves sufficiently to walk, Antonio
and myself took a survey of our condition. “El Roncador,” _the Snorer_,
is a small cay, three quarters of a mile long, and at its widest part not
more than four hundred yards broad,—a mere bank of white sand. At the
eastern end is an acre or more of scrubby bushes, and near them three or
four low and distorted palm-trees. Fortunately for us, as will be seen in
the sequel, “El Roncador” is famous for the number of its turtles, and is
frequented, at the turtle season, by turtle-fishers from Old Providence,
and sometimes from the main land. Among the palm-trees, to which I have
referred, these fishermen had erected a rude hut of poles, boards, and
palm-branches, which was literally withed and anchored to the trees, to
keep it from being blown away by the high winds. It was with a heart
full of joy that I saw even this rude evidence of human intelligence,
and, accompanied by Antonio, hastened to it as rapidly as my bruised
limbs would enable me. We discovered no trace of recent occupation as we
approached, except a kind of furrow in the sand, like that which some
sea-monster, dragging itself along, might occasion. It led directly
to the hut, and I followed it, with a feeling half of wonder, half of
apprehension. As we came near, however, I saw, through the open front,
a black human figure crouching within, motionless as a piece of bronze.
Before it, stretched at length, was the dead body of Captain Ponto.
The man was Frank, of whom I have spoken, as constituting the crew of
the Prince Albert. It was a fearful sight! The body of the captain was
swollen, the limbs were stiff and spread apart, the mouth and eyes open,
and conveying an expression of terror and utter despair, which makes
me shudder, even now, when I think of it. Upon his breast, fastened by
a strong cord, drawn close at the throat, was the mysterious _gre-gre_
horn, and the gash in his arm, from which the poor wretch had drawn the
blood for his unavailing sacrifice, had opened wide its white edges, as
if in mute appeal against his fate.
The negro sailor had drawn the body of the captain to the hut, and
the trail in the sand was that which it had made. I spoke to him, but
he neither replied nor looked up. His eyes were fixed, as if by some
fascination, on the corpse. Antonio exhibited no emotion, but advancing
close to the body lifted the _gre-gre_ horn, eyed it curiously for a
moment, then tossed it contemptuously aside, exclaiming:—
“It could not save him: it is not good!”
The words were scarcely uttered, when the crouching negro leaped, like
a wild beast, at the Indian’s throat; but Antonio was agile, and evaded
his grasp. The next instant the poor wretch had returned to his seat
beside the dead. The negro could not endure a sneer at the potency of the
_gre-gre_. Such is the hold of superstition on the human mind!
I tried to induce the negro to remove the body, and bury it in the
sand; but he remained silent and impassible as a stone. So I returned
with Antonio to the vessel, for the instincts of life had come back. We
found, although the little schooner had been completely filled, that
the water had escaped, and left the cargo damaged, but entire. Some of
the provisions had been destroyed, and the remainder was much injured.
Nevertheless they could be used, and for the time being, at least, we
were safe from starvation. My spirits rose with the discovery, and I
almost forgot my injuries in the joy of the moment. But Antonio betrayed
no signs of interest. He lifted boxes and barrels, and placed them on the
sands, as deliberately as if unloading the vessel at Kingston. I knew
that it was not probable the wrecked schooner would suffer further damage
from the sea, protected as it was by the outer reef, yet I sought to
make assurance doubly sure, by removing what remained of the provisions
to the hut by the palm-trees. Antonio suggested nothing, but implicitly
followed my directions.
We had got out most of the stores, and carried them above the reach
of the waters on the sands, when I went back to the hut, with the
determination, by at once assuming a tone of authority, to have the negro
remove and bury the body of the captain. I was surprised to find the
hut empty, and a trail, like that which had attracted my notice in the
morning, leading off in the direction of the bushes, at some distance
from the hut. I followed it; and, in the centre of the clump, discovered
the negro filling in the sand above the corpse. He mumbled constantly
strange guttural words, and made many mysterious signs on the sand, as he
proceeded. When the hole was entirely filled, he laid himself at length
above it. I waited some minutes, but as he remained motionless, returned
to the hut. We now commenced carrying to it, such articles of use as
could be easily removed. But we had not accomplished much when Frank, the
negro, presented himself; and, approaching me, inquired meekly what he
should do. He was least injured of the three, and proved most serviceable
in clearing the wreck of all of its useful and moveable contents.
By night I had bandaged my own wounds and those of my companions, and
over a simple but profuse meal, forgot the horrors of the shipwreck, and
gave myself up, with real zest, to the pleasures of a cast-away! I cannot
well describe the sensation of mingled novelty and satisfaction, with
which I looked out from the open hut upon the turbulent waters, whence
we had so narrowly escaped. The sea still heaved from the effects of the
storm, but the storm itself had passed, and the full tropical moon looked
down calmly upon our island, which seemed silvery and fairy-like beneath
its rays.
At first, all these things were quieting in their influences, but as the
night advanced I must have become feverish, for notwithstanding the toils
of the day, and the exhaustion of the previous night, I could not sleep.
My thoughts were never so active. All that I had ever seen, heard, or
done, flashed back upon my mind with the vividness of reality. But, owing
to some curious psychical condition, my mind was only retrospectively
active; I tried in vain to bring it to a contemplation of the present or
the future. Incidents long forgotten jostled through my brain; the grave
mingling strangely with the gay. Now I laughed outright over some freak
of childhood, which came back with primitive freshness; and, next moment,
wept again beside the bed of death, or found myself singing some hitherto
unremembered nursery rhyme. I struggled against these thronging memories,
and tried to ask myself if they might not be premonitions of delirium.
I felt my own pulse, it beat rapidly; my own forehead, and it seemed
to burn. In the vague hope of averting whatever this strange mental
activity might portend, I rose and walked down to the edge of the water.
I remember distinctly that the shore seemed black with turtles, and that
I thought them creations of a disordered fancy, and became almost mad
under the mere apprehension that the madness was upon me.
I might, and undoubtedly would, have become mad, had it not been for
Antonio. He had missed me from the hut; and, in alarm, had come to seek
me. I felt greatly relieved when he told me that there were real turtles
on the shore, and not monsters of the imagination; and that it was now
the season for laying their eggs, and therefore it could not be long
before the fishers would come for their annual supply of shells. So I
suffered him to lead me back to the hut. When I laid down he took my head
between his hands, and pressed it steadily, but apparently with all his
force. The effect was soothing, for in less than half an hour my ideas
had recovered their equilibrium, and I fell into a slumber, and slept
soundly until noon of the following day.
When I awoke, Antonio was sitting close by me, and intently watching
every movement. He smiled when my eyes met his, and pointing to his
forehead said significantly—
“It is all right now!”
And it was all right, but I felt weak and feverish still. A sound
constitution, however, resisted all attacks, and it was not many days
before I was able to move around our sandy prison, and join Antonio and
Frank in catching turtles; for, with more foresight than I had supposed
to belong to the Indian and negro character, they were laying in a stock
of shells, against the time when we should find an opportunity of escape.
Upon the side of our island, to which I have alluded as covered with
bushes, the water was comparatively shoal, and the bottom overgrown with
a species of sea-grass, which is a principal article of turtle-food.
The surface of the water, also, was covered with a variety of small
blubber fish, which Antonio called by the Spanish name of _dedales_, or
thimbles—a name not inappropriate, since they closely resembled a lady’s
thimble both in shape and size. These, at the spawning or egg-laying
period of the year, constitute another article of turtle-food. During the
night-time the turtles crawled up on the shore, and the females dug holes
in the sand, each about two feet deep, in which they deposited from sixty
to eighty eggs. These they contrived to cover so neatly, as to defy the
curiosity of one unacquainted with their habits. Both Antonio and Frank,
however, were familiar with turtle-craft, and got as many eggs as we
desired. When roasted, they are really delicious. The Indians and people
of the coasts never destroy them, being careful to promote the increase
of this valuable shell-fish. But on the main land, wild animals, such
for instance as the cougar, frequently come down to the shore, and dig
them from their resting places. Occasionally they capture the turtles
themselves, and dragging them into the forest, kill and devour them, in
spite of their shelly armor.
[Illustration: “SHELLING” TURTLES.]
It was during the night, therefore, that Antonio and Frank, who kept
themselves concealed in the bushes, rushed out upon the turtles, and with
iron hooks turned them on their backs, when they became powerless and
incapable of moving. The day following, they dragged them to the most
distant part of the island, where they “shelled” them;—a cruel process,
which it made my flesh creep to witness. Before describing it, however,
I must explain that, although the habits of all varieties of the turtle
are much the same, yet their uses are very different. The large, green
turtle is best known; it frequently reaches our markets, and its flesh is
esteemed, by epicures, as a great delicacy. The flesh of the smaller or
hawk-bill variety is not so good, but its shell is most valuable, being
both thicker and better-colored. What is called tortoise-shell is not,
as is generally supposed, the bony covering or shield of the turtle, but
only the scales which cover it. These are thirteen in number, eight of
them flat, and five a little curved. Of the flat ones four are large,
being sometimes a foot long and seven inches broad, semi-transparent,
elegantly variegated with white, red, yellow, and dark brown clouds,
which are fully brought out, when the shell is prepared and polished.
These laminæ, as I have said, constitute the external coating of the
solid or bony part of the shell; and a large turtle affords about eight
pounds of them, the plates varying from an eighth to a quarter of an inch
in thickness.
The fishers do not kill the turtles; did they do so, they would in a
few years exterminate them. When the turtle is caught, they fasten him,
and cover his back with dry leaves or grass, to which they set fire.
The heat causes the plates to separate at their joints. A large knife
is then carefully inserted horizontally beneath them, and the laminæ
lifted from the back, care being taken not to injure the shell by too
much heat, nor to force it off, until the heat has fully prepared it for
separation. Many turtles die under this cruel operation, but instances
are numerous in which they have been caught a second time, with the outer
coating reproduced; but, in these cases, instead of thirteen pieces, it
is a single piece. As I have already said, I could never bring myself to
witness this cruelty more than once, and was glad that the process of
“scaling” was carried on out of sight of the hut. Had the poor turtles
the power of shrieking, they would have made that barren island a very
hell, with their cries of torture.
[Illustration: A SAIL! A SAIL!]
We had been nearly two weeks on the island, when we were one morning
surprised by a sail on the edge of the horizon. We watched it eagerly,
and as it grew more and more distinct, our spirits rose in proportion.
Its approach was slow, but at noon Frank declared that it was a turtle
schooner, from the island of Catarina or Providence, and that it was
making for “El Roncador.” And the event proved that he was right; for,
about the middle of the afternoon, she had passed an opening through
the reef, and anchored in the still water inside. She had a crew of
five men, in whom it was difficult to say if white, negro, or Indian
blood predominated. They spoke a kind of _patois_, in which Spanish
was the leading element. And although we were unqualifiedly glad to
see them, yet they were clearly not pleased to see us. The _patrón_,
or captain, no sooner put his foot on shore, than affecting to regard
us as intruders, he demanded why we were there? and if we did not know
that this island was the property of the people of Catarina? We replied
by pointing to our shattered schooner, when the whole party started for
it, and unceremoniously began to strip it of whatever article of use or
value they could find, leaving us to the pleasant reflections which such
conduct was likely to suggest.
While this was going on, I returned to the hut, and found that Antonio
and Frank had already removed the shells which they had procured, as
also some other valuables which we had recovered from the wreck, and
had buried them in the sand—a prudent precaution, which no doubt saved
us much trouble. A little before sundown, our new friends, having
apparently exhausted the plunder, came trooping back to the hut, and
without ceremony ordered us out. I thought, although the physical force
was against us, that a little determination might make up for the odds,
and firmly replied that they might have a part of it, if they wished,
but that we were there, and intended to remain. The patron hereupon fell
into a great passion, and told his men to bring up the _machétes_—ugly
instruments, half knife, half cleaver. “He would see,” he said, in his
mongrel tongue, “if this white villain would refuse to obey him.” Two of
the men started to fulfill his order, while he stood scowling in the
doorway. When they had got off a little distance, I unrolled a blanket
in which I had wrapped our pistols, and giving one to Frank, and another
to Antonio, I took my own revolver, and passed outside of the hut. The
patron fell back, in evident alarm.
“Now, amigo,” said I, “if you want a fight, you shall have it; but you
shall die first!” And I took deliberate aim at his breast, at a distance
of less than five yards. “Mother of Mercy!” he exclaimed, and glanced
round, as if for support, to his followers. But they had taken to their
legs, without waiting for further proceedings. The patron attempted to
follow, but I caught him by the arm, and pressed the cold muzzle of the
pistol to his head. He trembled like an aspen, and sunk upon the ground,
crying in most abject tones for mercy. I released him, but he did not
attempt to stir. The circumstances were favorable for negotiation, and
in a few minutes it was arranged that we should continue to occupy the
hut, and that he should remain with us, while his crew should stay on
board the vessel, when not engaged in catching turtles. He did not like
the exception in his favor; but, fearing that he might pull up anchor and
leave us to our fate, I insisted that I could not forego the pleasure of
his company.
The reader may be sure that I had a vigilant eye on our patron, and at
night either Antonio or Frank kept watch, that he should not give us the
slip. He made one or two attempts, but finding us prepared, at the end
of a couple of days, resigned himself to his fate. Contenting ourselves
with our previous spoil, we allowed the new comers to pursue the fishery
alone. At the end of a week I discovered, by various indications,
that the season was nearly over, and, accordingly, making a careless
display of my revolver, told the captain that I thought it would be more
agreeable for us to go on board his schooner, than to remain on shore. I
could see that the proposition was not acceptable, and therefore repeated
it, in such a way that there was no alternative but assent left. He was
a good deal surprised when he discovered the amount of shells which we
had obtained; and when I told him that he should have half of it, for
carrying us to Providence, and the whole if he took us to Bluefields, his
good nature returned. He asked pardon for his rudeness, and, slapping his
breast, proclaimed himself “_un hombre bueno_,” who would take us to the
world’s end, if I would only put up my horrible pistol. That pistol, from
the very first day, had had a kind of deadly fascination for the patron,
who watched it, as if momentarily expecting it to discharge itself at
his head. And even now, when he alluded to it, a perceptible shudder ran
through his frame.
Two days after I had taken up my quarters on board of the little
schooner, which, in age and accumulated filth, might have been
twin-brother of the Prince Albert, we set sail from “El Roncador.” As it
receded in the distance, it looked very beautiful—an opal in the sea—and
I could hardly realize that it was nothing more than a reef-girt heap of
desert sands.
Although friendly relations had been restored with the patron, for the
crew seemed nearly passive, I kept myself constantly on my guard against
foul play. Antonio was sleeplessly vigilant. But the patron, so far from
having evil designs, appeared really to have taken a liking to me, and
expatiated upon the delights of Providence, where he represented himself
as being a great man, with much uncouth eloquence. He promised that I
should be well received, and that he would himself get up a dance—which
he seemed to think the height of civility—in my honor.
[Illustration: “EL RONCADOR.”]
About noon, on our third day from “El Roncador,” the patron pointed
out to me two light blue mounds, one sharp and conical, and the other
round and broad, upon the edge of the horizon. They were the highlands
of Providence. Before night, we had doubled the rocky headland of Santa
Catarina, crowned with the ruins of some old Spanish fortifications,
and in half an hour were at anchor, alongside a large New Granadian
schooner, in the small but snug harbor of the island.
This island is almost unknown to the world; it has, indeed, very little
to commend it to notice. Although accounted a single island, it is, in
fact, two islands; one is six or eight miles long, and four or five
broad, and but moderately elevated; while the second, which is a rocky
headland, called Catarina, is separated from the main body by a narrow
but deep channel. The whole belongs to New Granada, and has about three
hundred inhabitants, extremely variegated in color, but with a decided
tendency to black. This island was a famous resort of the pirates, during
their predominance in these parts, who expelled the Spaniards, and built
defences, by means of which they several times repelled their assailants.
The productions consist chiefly of fruits and vegetables; a little
cotton is also raised, which, with the turtle-shells collected by the
inhabitants, constitutes about the only export of the island. Vessels
coming northward sometimes stop there, for a cargo of cocoa-nuts and
yucas.
As can readily be imagined, the people are very primitive in their
habits, living chiefly in rude, thatched huts, and leading an indolent,
tropical life, swinging in their hammocks and smoking by day, and
dancing, to the twanging of guitars, by night. My patron, whom I had
suspected of being something of a braggart, was in reality a very
considerable personage in Providence, and I was received with great
favor by the people, to whom he introduced me as his own “very special
friend.” I thought of our first interview on “El Roncador,” but
suppressed my inclination to laugh, as well as I was able. True to his
promise, the second night after our arrival was dedicated to a dance.
The only preparation for it consisted in the production of a number
of large wax candles, resembling torches in size, and the concoction
of several big vessels of drink, in which Jamaica rum, some fresh
juice of the sugar-cane, and a quantity of powdered peppers were the
chief ingredients. The music consisted of a violin, two guitars and a
queer Indian instrument, resembling a bow, the string of which, if the
critic will pardon the bull, was a brass wire drawn tight by means of a
perforated gourd, and beaten with a stick, held by the performer, between
his thumb and forefinger.
I cannot attempt to describe the dance, which, not over delicate at the
outset, became outrageous as the calabashes of liquor began to circulate.
Both sexes drank and danced, until most could neither drink nor dance;
and then, it seemed to me, they all got into a general quarrel, in which
the musicians broke their respective instruments over each other’s heads,
then cried, embraced, and were friends again. I did not wait for the end
of the debauch, which soon ceased to be amusing; but, with Antonio, stole
away, and paddled off to the little schooner, where the last sounds that
rung in my ears were the shouts and discordant songs of the revelers.
Providence, it can easily be understood, offered few attractions to
an artist _minus_ the materials for pursuing his vocation; and I was
delighted when I learned that the New Granadian schooner was on the eve
of her departure for San Juan de Nicaragua. Her captain readily consented
to land me at Bluefields, and our patron magnificently waived all claims
to the tortoise-shells which we had obtained at “El Roncador.” I had no
difficulty in selling them to the captain of “El General Bolivar” for the
unexpected sum of three hundred dollars. Fifty dollars of these I gave to
the negro Frank, who was quite at home in Providence. I offered to divide
the rest with Antonio, but he refused to receive any portion of it, and
insisted on accompanying me without recompense. “You are my brother,”
said he, “and I will not leave you.” And here I may add that, in all my
wanderings, he was my constant companion and firm and faithful friend.
His history, a wild and wonderful tale, I shall some day lay before the
world: for Antonio was of regal stock, the son and lieutenant of Chichen
Pat, one of the last and bravest of the chiefs of Yucatan, who lost his
life, under the very walls of Merida, in the last unsuccessful rising of
the aborigines; and I blush to add that the fatal bullet, which slew the
hope of the Indians, was sped from the rifle of an American mercenary!
Chapter III.
[Illustration]
The approach to the coast, near Bluefields, holds out no delusions. The
shore is flat, and in all respects tame and uninteresting. A white line
of sand, a green belt of trees, with no relief except here and there a
solitary palm, and a few blue hills in the distance, are the only objects
which are offered to the expectant eyes of the voyager. A nearer approach
reveals a large lagoon, protected by a narrow belt of sand, covered, on
the inner side, with a dense mass of mangrove trees; and this is the
harbor of Bluefields. The entrance is narrow, but not difficult, at the
foot of a high, rocky bluff, which completely commands the passage.
The town, or rather the collection of huts called by that name, lies
nearly nine miles from the entrance. After much tacking, and backing,
and filling, to avoid the innumerable banks and shallows in the lagoon,
we finally arrived at the anchorage. We had hardly got our anchor down,
before we were boarded by a very pompous black man, dressed in a shirt
of red check, pantaloons of white cotton cloth, and a glazed straw hat,
with feet innocent of shoes, whose office nobody knew, further than that
he was called “Admiral Rodney,” and was an important functionary in the
“Mosquito Kingdom.” He bustled about, in an extraordinary way, but his
final purpose seemed narrowed down to getting a dram, and pocketing a
couple of dollars, slily slipped into his hand by the captain, just
before he got over the side. When he had left, we were told that we could
go on shore.
Bluefields is an imperial city, the residence of the court of the
Mosquito Kingdom, and therefore merits a particular description. As I
have said, it is a collection of the rudest possible thatched huts. Among
them are two or three framed buildings, one of which is the residence
of a Mr. Bell, an Englishman, with whom, as I afterwards learned,
resided that world-renowned monarch, “George William Clarence, King of
all the Mosquitos.” The site of the huts is picturesque, being upon
comparatively high ground, at a point where a considerable stream from
the interior enters the lagoon. There are two villages; the principal
one, or Bluefields proper, which is much the largest, containing perhaps
five hundred people; and “Carlsruhe,” a kind of dependency, so named by
a colony of Prussians who had attempted to establish themselves here,
but whose colony, at the time of my visit, had utterly failed. Out of
more than a hundred of the poor people, who had been induced to come
here, but three or four were left, existing in a state of great debility
and distress. Most of their companions had died, but a few had escaped
to the interior, where they bear convincing witness to the wickedness of
attempting to found colonies, from northern climates, on low, pestiferous
shores, under the tropics.
Among the huts were many palm and plantain trees, with detached stalks of
the papaya, laden with its large golden fruit. The shore was lined with
canoes, _pitpans_ and _dories_, hollowed from the trunks of trees, all
sharp, trim, and graceful in shape. The natives propel them, with great
rapidity, by single broad-bladed paddles, struck vertically in the water,
first on one side, and then on the other.[1]
There was a large assemblage on the beach, when we landed, but I was
amazed to find that, with few exceptions, they were all unmitigated
negros, or Sambos (_i. e._ mixed negro and Indian). I had heard of the
Mosquito shore as occupied by the Mosquito Indians, but soon found
that there were few, if any, pure Indians on the entire coast. The
miserable people who go by that name are, in reality, Sambos, having a
considerable intermixture of trader blood from Jamaica, with which island
the coast has its principal relations. The arrival of the traders on
the shore is the signal for unrestrained debauchery, always preluded by
the traders baptizing, in a manner not remarkable for its delicacy or
gravity, all children born since their last visit, in whom there is any
decided indication of white blood. The names given on these occasions
are as fantastic as the ceremony, and great liberties are taken with the
cognomens of all notabilities, living and dead, from “Pompey” down to
“Wellington.”
Our first concern in Bluefields was to get a roof to shelter us, which
we finally succeeded in doing, through the intervention of the captain
of the “Bolivar.” That is to say, a dilapidated negro from Jamaica,
hearing that I had just left that delectable island, claimed me as his
countryman, and gave me a little deserted thatched hut, the walls of
which were composed of a kind of wicker work of upright canes, interwoven
with palm leaves. This structure had served him, in the days of his
prosperity, as a kitchen. It was not more than ten feet square, but would
admit a hammock, hung diagonally from one corner to the other. To this
abbreviated establishment, I moved my few damaged effects, and in the
course of the day, completely domesticated myself. Antonio exhibited the
greatest aptness and industry in making our quarters comfortable, and
evinced an elasticity and cheerfulness of manner unknown before. In the
evening, he responded to the latent inquiry of my looks, by saying, that
his heart had become lighter since he had reached the continent, and that
his Lord gave promise of better days.
“Look!” he exclaimed, as he held up his talisman before my eyes. It
emitted a pale light, which seemed to come from it in pulsations, or
radiating circles. It may have been fancy, but if so, I am not prepared
to say that all which we deem real is not a dream and a delusion!
My host was a man of more pretensions than Captain Ponto, but otherwise
very much of the same order of African architecture. From his cautious
silence, on the subject of his arrival on the coast, I inferred that he
had been brought out as a slave, some thirty-five or forty years ago,
when several planters from Jamaica attempted to establish themselves
here. However that may have been, he now called himself a “merchant,” and
appeared proud of a little collection of “osnaburgs,” a few red bandanna
handkerchiefs, flanked by a dingy cask of what the Yankees would call
“the rale critter,” which occupied one corner of his house or rather hut.
He brooded over these with unremitting care, although I believe I was
his only customer, (to the extent of a few fish hooks), during my stay
in Bluefields. He called himself Hodgson, (the name, as I afterwards
learned, of one of the old British superintendents,) and based his hopes
of family immortality upon a son, whom he respectfully called _Mister_
James Hodgson, and who was, he said, principal counselor to the king.
This information, communicated to me within two hours after my arrival,
led me to believe myself in the line of favorable presentation at court.
But I found out afterwards, that this promising scion of the house of
Hodgson was “under a cloud,” and had lost the sunshine of imperial
favor, in consequence of having made some most indiscreet confessions,
when taken a prisoner, a few years before, by the Nicaraguans. However,
I was not destined to pine away my days in devising plans to obtain an
introduction to his Mosquito Majesty. For, rising early on the morning
subsequent to my arrival, I started out to see the sights of Bluefields.
Following a broad path, leading to a grove of cocoa-nut trees, which
shadowed over the river, tall and trim, I met a white man, of thin and
serious visage, who eyed me curiously for a moment, bowed slightly, and
passed on in silence. The distant air of an Englishman, on meeting an
American, is generally reciprocated by equally frigid formality. So I
stared coldly, bowed stiffly, and also passed on. I smiled to think what
a deal of affectation had been wasted on both sides, for it would have
been unnatural if two white men were not glad to see each others’ faces
in a land of ebony like this. So I involuntarily turned half round, just
in time to witness a similar evolution on the part of my thin friend. It
was evident that his thoughts were but reflections of my own, and being
the younger of the two, I retraced my steps, and approached him with a
laughing “Good morning!” He responded to my salutation with an equally
pregnant “Good morning,” at the same time raising his hand to his ear, in
token of being hard of hearing. Conversation opened, and I at once found
I was in the presence of a man of superior education, large experience,
and altogether out of place in the Mosquito metropolis. After a long
walk, in which we passed a rough board structure, surmounted by a stumpy
pole, supporting a small flag—a sort of hybrid between the Union Jack
and the “Stars and Stripes”—called by Mr. Bell the “House of Justice,” I
accepted his invitation to accompany him home to coffee.
His house was a plain building of rough boards, with several small rooms,
all opening into the principal apartment, in which I was invited to sit
down. A sleepy-looking black girl, with an enormous shock of frizzled
hair, was sweeping the floor, in a languid, mechanical way, calculated to
superinduce yawning, even after a brisk morning walk. The partitions were
hung with many prints, in which “Her Most Gracious Majesty” appeared in
all the multiform glory of steel, lithograph, and chromotint. A gun or
two, a table in the corner, supporting a confused collection of books and
papers, with some ropes, boots, and iron grapnels beneath, a few chairs,
a Yankee clock, and a table, completed the furniture and decoration of
the room. I am thus particular in this inventory, for reasons which will
afterward appear.
At a word from Mr. Bell, the torpid black girl disappeared for a few
moments, and then came back with some cups and a pot of coffee. I
observed that there were three cups, and that my host filled them all,
which I thought a little singular, since there were but two of us. A
faint, momentary suspicion crossed my mind, that the female polypus stood
in some such relation to my host as to warrant her in honoring us with
her company. But, instead of doing so, she unceremoniously pushed open a
door in the corner, and curtly ejaculated to some unseen occupant, “Get
up!” There was a kind of querulous response, and directly a thumping
and muttering, as of some person who regarded himself as unreasonably
disturbed. Meanwhile we had each finished our first cup of coffee, and
were proceeding with a second, when the door in the corner opened, and a
black boy, or what an American would be apt to call, a “young darkey,”
apparently nineteen or twenty years old, shuffled up to the table. He
wore only a shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and cotton pantaloons,
scarcely buttoned at all. He nodded to my entertainer with a drawling
“Mornin’, sir!” and sat down to the third cup of coffee. My host seemed
to take no notice of him, and we continued our conversation. Soon after,
the sloven youth got up, took his hat, and slowly walked down the path to
the river, where I afterward saw him washing his face in the stream.
As I was about leaving, Mr. Bell kindly volunteered his services to me,
in any way they might be made available. I thanked him, and suggested
that, having no object to accomplish except to “scare up” adventures and
seek out novel sights, I should be obliged to him for an introduction
to the king, at some future day, after Antonio should have succeeded in
rejuvenating my suit of ceremony, now rather rusty from saturation with
salt water. He smiled faintly, and said, as for that matter, there need
be no delay; and, stepping to the door, shouted to the black youth by
the river, and beckoned to him to come up the bank. The youth put on
his hat hurriedly, and obeyed. “Perhaps you are not aware _that_ is the
king?” observed my host, with a contemptuous smile. I made no reply, as
the youth was at hand. He took off his hat respectfully, but there was
no introduction in the case, beyond the quiet observation, “George, this
gentleman has come to see you; sit down!”
I soon saw who was the real “king” in Bluefields. “George,” I think, had
also a notion of his own on the subject, but was kept in such strict
subordination that he never manifested it by words. I found him shy, but
not without the elements of an ordinary English education, which he had
received in England. He is nothing more or less than a negro, with hardly
a perceptible trace of Indian blood, and would pass at the South for “a
likely young fellow, worth twelve hundred dollars as a body-servant!”
The second day after my arrival was Sunday, and in the forenoon, Mr.
Bell read the service of the English Church, in the “House of Justice.”
There were perhaps a dozen persons present, among them the king, who
was now dressed plainly and becomingly, and who conducted himself with
entire propriety. I could not see that he was treated with any special
consideration; while Mr. Bell received marked deference.
It is a curious fact that although the English have had relations, more
or less intimate, with this shore, ever since the pirates made it their
retreat, during the glorious days of the buccaneers, they have never
introduced the Gospel. The religion of the “kingdom” was declared by the
late king, in his will, to be “the Established Church of England,” but
the Established Church has never taken steps to bring the natives within
its aristocratic fold. Several dissenting missionaries have made attempts
to settle on the coast, but as the British officers and agents never
favored them, they have met with no success. Besides, the Sambos are
strongly attached to heathenish rites, half African and half Indian, in
which what they call “_big drunk_” is not the least remarkable feature.
Some years ago a missionary, named Pilley, arrived at Sandy Bay, for the
purpose of reclaiming the “lost sheep.” A house was found for him, and he
commenced preaching, and for a few Sundays enticed some of the leading
Sambos to hear him, by giving them each a glass of grog. At length, one
Sabbath afternoon, a considerable number of the natives attended to hear
the stranger talk, and to receive the usual spiritual consolation. But
the demijohn of the worthy minister had been exhausted. He nevertheless
sought to compensate for the deficiency by a more vehement display of
eloquence, and for a time flattered himself that he was producing a
lasting impression. His discourse, however, was suddenly interrupted by
one of the chiefs, who rose and indignantly exclaimed, “All preach—no
grog—no good!” and with a responsive “No good!” the audience followed
him, as he stalked away, leaving the astonished preacher to finish his
discourse to two or three Englishmen present.
In Bluefields the natives are kept in more restraint than elsewhere
on the coast; but even here it has been found impossible to suppress
their traditional practices, especially when connected with their
superstitions. My venerable friend Hodgson, after “service,” informed me
that a funeral was to take place, at a small settlement, a few miles up
the river, and volunteered to escort me thither in his pitpan, if Antonio
would undertake to do the paddling. The suggestion was very acceptable,
and after a very frugal dinner, on roast fish and boiled plantains, we
set out. But we were not alone; we found dozens of pitpans starting for
the same destination, filled with men and women. It is impossible to
imagine a more picturesque spectacle than these light and graceful boats,
with occupants dressed in the brightest colors, darting over the placid
waters of the river, now gay in the sunlight, and anon sobered in the
shadows of the trees which studded the banks. There was a keen strife
among the rowers, who, amid shouts and screeches, in which both men and
women joined, exerted themselves to the utmost. Even Antonio smiled at
the scene, but it was half contemptuously, for he maintained, in respect
to these mongrels, the reserve of conscious superiority.
[Illustration: GOING TO THE FUNERAL.]
Less than an hour brought us in view of a little collection of huts,
grouped on the shore, under the shadow of a cluster of palm-trees, which,
from a distance, presented a picture of entrancing beauty. A large group
of natives had already collected on the shore, and, as we came near, we
heard the monotonous beating of the native drum, or _tum-tum_, relieved
by an occasional low, deep blast on a large hollow pipe, which sounded
more like the distant bellowing of an ox than any thing else I ever
heard. In the pauses, we distinguished suppressed wails, which continued
for a minute perhaps, and were then followed by the monotonous drum and
droning pipe. The descriptions of similar scenes in Central Africa,
given to us by Clapperton and Mungo Park, recurred to me with wonderful
vividness, and left the impression that the ceremonies going on were
rather African than American in their origin.
On advancing to the huts, and the centre of the group, I found a small
pitpan cut in half, in one part of which, wrapped in cotton cloth, was
the dead body of a man of middle age, much emaciated, and horribly
disfigured by what is called the _bulpis_, a species of syphilitic
leprosy, which is almost universal on the coast, and which, with the aid
of rum, has already reduced the population to one half what it was twenty
years ago. This disgusting disease is held in such terror by the Indians
of the interior, that they have prohibited all sexual relations, between
their people and the Sambos of the coast, under the penalty of death.
[Illustration: A MOSQUITO BURIAL.]
Around the pitpan were stationed a number of women, with palm branches,
to keep off the flies, which swarmed around the already festering corpse.
Their frizzled hair started from their heads like the snakes on the brow
of the fabled Gorgon, and they swayed their bodies to and fro, keeping a
kind of tread-mill step to the measure of the doleful _tum-tum_. With
the exception of the men who beat the drum and blew the pipe, these women
appeared to be the only persons at all interested in the proceedings. The
rest were standing in groups, or squatted at the roots of the palm-trees.
I was beginning to get tired of the performance, when, with a suddenness
which startled even the women around the corpse, four men, entirely
naked excepting a cloth wrapped round their loins, and daubed over with
variously-colored clays, rushed from the interior of one of the huts, and
hastily fastening a piece of rope to the half of the pitpan containing
the corpse, dashed away towards the woods, dragging it after them, like
a sledge. The women with the Gorgon heads, and the men with the drum and
trumpet, followed them on the run, each keeping time on his respective
instrument. The spectators all hurried after, in a confused mass, while a
big negro, catching up the remaining half of the pitpan, placed it on his
head, and trotted behind the crowd.
The men bearing the corpse entered the woods, and the mass of the
spectators, jostling each other in the narrow path, kept up the same
rapid pace. At the distance of perhaps two hundred yards, there was an
open place, covered with low, dank, tangled underbush, still wet from the
rain of the preceding night, which, although unmarked by any sign, I took
to be the burial place. When I came up, the half of the pitpan containing
the body had been put in a shallow trench. The other half was then
inverted over it. The Gorgon-headed women threw in their palm-branches,
and the painted negroes rapidly filled in the earth. While this was
going on, some men were collecting sticks and palm-branches, with which
a little hut was hastily built over the grave. In this was placed an
earthen vessel, filled with water. The turtle-spear of the dead man was
stuck deep in the ground at his head, and a fantastic fellow, with an old
musket, discharged three or four rounds over the spot.
This done, the entire crowd started back in the same manner it had come.
No sooner, however, did the painted men reach the village, than, seizing
some heavy _machetes_, they commenced cutting down the palm-trees which
stood around the hut that had been occupied by the dead Sambo. It was
done silently, in the most hasty manner, and when finished, they ran down
to the river, and plunged out of sight in the water—a kind of lustration
or purifying rite. They remained in the water a few moments, then hurried
back to the hut from which they had issued, and disappeared.
This savage and apparently unmeaning ceremony was explained to me by
Hodgson, as follows: Death is supposed by the Sambos to result from the
influences of a demon, called _Wulasha_, who, ogre-like, feeds upon the
bodies of the dead. To rescue the corpse from this fate, it is necessary
to lull the demon to sleep, and then steal away the body and bury it,
after which it is safe. To this end they bring in the aid of the drowsy
drum and droning pipe, and the women go through a slow and soothing
dance. Meanwhile, in the recesses of some hut, where they cannot be seen
by _Wulasha_, a certain number of men carefully disguise themselves, so
that they may not afterwards be recognized and tormented; and when the
demon is supposed to have been lulled to sleep, they seize the moment
to bury the body. I could not ascertain any reason for cutting down the
palm-trees, except that it had always been practiced by their ancestors.
As the palm-tree is of slow growth, it has resulted, from this custom,
that they have nearly disappeared from some parts of the coast. I could
not learn that it was the habit to plant a cocoa-nut tree upon the birth
of a child, as in some parts of Africa, where the tree receives a common
name with the infant, and the annual rings on its trunk mark his age.
If the water disappears from the earthen vessel placed on the
grave,—which, as the ware is porous, it seldom fails to do in the course
of a few days,—it is taken as evidence that it has been consumed by the
dead man, and that he has escaped the maw of _Wulasha_. This ascertained,
preparations are at once made for what is called a _Seekroe_, or Feast of
the Dead—an orgie which I afterwards witnessed higher up the coast, and
which will be described in due course.
The negroes brought originally from Jamaica, as also most of their
descendants, hold these barbarous practices in contempt, and bury their
dead, as they say, “English-gentleman fashion.” But while these practices
are discountenanced and prohibited in Bluefields proper, they are,
nevertheless, universal elsewhere on the Mosquito Shore.
I cannot omit mentioning here, that I paid a visit both to the
establishment and the burial-place of the ill-fated Prussian colony.
Many of the houses, now rotting down, had been brought out from Europe,
and all around them were wheels of carts falling in pieces, harnesses
dropping apart, and plows and instruments of cultivation rusting away,
or slowly burying themselves in the earth. They told a sad story of
ignorance on the part of the projectors of the establishment, and of the
disappointments and sufferings of their victims. The folly of attempting
to plant an agricultural colony, from the north of Europe, on low, murky,
tropical shores, is inconceivable. Again and again the attempt has been
made, on this coast, and as often it has terminated in disaster and
death. It was tried by the French at Tehuantepec and Cape Gracias; by the
English at Vera Paz and Black River; and by the Belgians and Prussians
at Santo Tomas and Bluefields. In no instance did these establishments
survive a second year, nor in a single instance did a tenth of the
poor colonists escape the grave. The Prussians at Bluefields suffered
fearfully. At one time, within four months after their arrival, out of
more than a hundred, there were not enough retaining their health to
bury the dead, much less to attend to the sick. The natives, jealous of
the strangers, would neither assist nor come near them, and absolutely
refused to sell them the scanty food requisite for their subsistence.
This feeling was rather encouraged than otherwise, by the traders on the
coast, who desired to retain the monopoly of trade, as they had always
done a preponderance of influence among the natives. They procured the
revocation of the grant which had been made to the Messrs. Shepherd
of San Juan, from whom the Prussians had purchased a doubtful title,
and threatened the stricken strangers with forcible expulsion. Death,
however, soon relieved them from taking overt measures; and, at the time
of my visit, two or three haggard wretches, whose languid blue eyes and
flaxen hair contrasted painfully with the blotched visages of the brutal
Sambos, were all that remained of the unfortunate Prussian colony. The
burying place was a small opening in the bush, where rank vines sweltered
over the sunken graves, a spot reeking with miasmatic damps, from which
I retreated with a shudder. I could wish no worse punishment to the
originators of that fatal, not to say, criminal enterprise, than that
they should stand there, as I stood, that Conscience might hiss in their
ears, “Behold thy work!”
Chapter IV.
[Illustration]
I made many inquiries in Bluefields, in order to decide on my future
movements, to all of which Mr. Bell gave me most intelligent answers. At
first, I proposed to ascend the Bluefields river, which takes its rise in
the mountainous district of Segovia in Nicaragua, and which is reported
to be navigable, for canoes, to within a short distance of the great
lakes of that State, from which it is only separated by a narrow range
of mountains. Upon its banks dwell several tribes of pure Indians, the
Cookras, now but few in number, and the Ramas, a large and docile tribe.
Several of the latter visited Bluefields while I was there, bringing down
dories and pitpans rudely blocked out, which are afterwards finished by
persons expert in that art. They generally speak Spanish, but I could
not learn from them that their country was in any respect remarkable,
or that it held out any prospect of compensation for a visit, unless it
were an indefinite amount of hunger and hard work. So, although I had
purchased a canoe, and made other preparations for ascending the river, I
determined to proceed northward along the coast, and, embarking in some
turtling vessel from Cape Gracias, proceed to San Juan, and penetrate
into the interior by the river of the same name.
This, I ascertained, was all the more easy to accomplish, since the
whole Mosquito shore is lined with lagoons, only separated from the sea
by narrow strips of land, and so connected with each other as to afford
an interior navigation, for canoes, from Bluefields to Gracias. So,
procuring the additional services of a young Poyas or Paya Indian, who
had been left from a trading schooner, I bade “His Mosquito Majesty” and
_his_ governor good-by, took an affectionate farewell of old Hodgson,
and, with Antonio, sailed away to the northern extremity of the lagoon,
having spent exactly a week in Bluefields.
It was a bright morning, and our little sail, filled with the fresh
sea-breeze, carried us gayly through the water. Antonio carefully steered
the boat, and my Poyer boy sat, like a bronze figure-head, in the bow,
while I reclined in the centre, luxuriously smoking a cigar. The white
herons flapped lazily around us, and flocks of screaming curlews whirled
rapidly over our heads. I could scarcely comprehend the novel reality of
my position. The Robinson Crusoe-ish feeling of my youth came back in
all of its freshness; I had my own boat, and for companions a descendant
of an aboriginal prince, the possessor of a mysterious talisman,
devotedly attached to me, half friend, half protector, and a second
strange Indian, from some unknown interior, silent as the unwilling
genii whom the powerful spell of Solyman kept in obedience to the weird
necromancers of the East. It was a strange position and fellowship for
one who, scarcely three months before, had carefully cultivated the
friendly interest of Mr. Sly, with sinister designs on the plethoric
treasury of the Art Union, in New York!
I gave myself up to the delicious novelty, and that sense of absolute
independence which only a complete separation from the moving world can
inspire, and passed the entire day in a trance of dreamy delight. I
subsequently passed many similar days, but this stands out in the long
perspective, as one of unalloyed happiness. “’Twas worth ten years of
common life,” and neither age nor suffering can efface its bright impress
from the crowded tablet of my memory!
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon, when we reached the northern
extremity of the lagoon, at a place called the _Haulover_, from the
circumstance that, to avoid going outside in the open sea, it is
customary for the natives to drag their canoes across the narrow neck
of sand which separates Bluefields from the next northern or Pearl Kay
Lagoon. Occasionally, after long and heavy winds from the eastward, the
waters are forced into the lagoons, so as to overflow the belt of land
which divides them, when the navigation is uninterrupted.
In order to be able to renew our voyage early next morning, our few
effects and stores were carried across the portage, over which our
united strength was sufficient to drag the dory, without difficulty.
All this was done with prompt alacrity on the part of Antonio and the
Poyer boy, who would not allow me to exert myself in the slightest. The
transit was effected in less than an hour, and then we proceeded to
make our camp for the night, on the beach. Our little sail, supported
over the canoe by poles, answered the purpose of a tent. And as for
food, without going fifty yards from our fire, I shot half a dozen
curlews, which, when broiled, are certainly a passable bird. Meanwhile,
the Poyer boy, carefully wading in the lagoon, with a light spear, had
struck several fish, of varieties known as _snook_ and _grouper_; and
Antonio had collected a bag full of oysters, of which there appeared to
be vast banks, covered only by a foot or two of water. They were not
pearl oysters, as might be inferred from the name of the lagoon, but
similar to those found on our own shores, except smaller, and growing in
clusters of ten or a dozen each. Eaten with that relishing sauce, known
among travelers as “hunger sauce,” I found them something more than
excellent,—they were delicious.
While I opened oysters, by way of helping myself to my princely first
course, the Indians busied themselves with the fish and birds. I watched
their proceedings with no little interest, and as their mode of baking
fish has never been set forth in the cookery books, I give it for the
benefit of the gastronomic world in general, which, I take it, is not
above learning a good thing, even from a Poyer Indian boy. A hole having
been dug in the sand, it was filled with dry branches, which were set
on fire. In a few minutes the fire subsided in a bed of glowing coals.
The largest of the fish, a _grouper_, weighing perhaps five pounds, had
been cleaned and stuffed with pieces of the smaller fish, a few oysters,
some sliced plantains, and some slips of the bark of the pimento or
pepper-tree. Duly sprinkled with salt, it was carefully wrapped in the
broad green leaves of the plantain, and the coals raked open, put in the
centre of the glowing embers, with which it was rapidly covered. Half an
hour afterward, by which time I began to believe it had been reduced to
ashes, the bed was raked open again and the fish taken out. The outer
leaves of the wrapper were burned, but the inner folds were entire, and
when they were unrolled, like the cerements of a mummy, they revealed the
fish, “cooked to a charm,” and preserving all the rich juices absorbed in
the flesh, which would have been carried off by the heat, in the ordinary
modes of cooking. I afterward adopted the same process with nearly every
variety of large game, and found it, like patent medicines, of “universal
application.” Commend me to a young _waree_ “done brown” in like manner,
as a dish fit for a king. But of that anon.
By and by the night came on, but not as it comes in our northern
latitudes. Night, under the tropics, falls like a curtain. The sun goes
down with a glow, intense, but brief. There are no soft and lingering
twilight adieus, and stars lighting up one by one. They come, a laughing
group, trooping over the skies, like bright-eyed children relieved from
school. Reflected in the lagoon, they seemed to chase each other in
amorous play, printing sparkling kisses on each other’s luminous lips.
The low shores, lined with the heavy-foliaged mangroves, looked like a
frame of massive, antique carving, around the vast mirror of the lagoon,
across whose surface streamed a silvery shaft of light from the evening
star, palpitating like a young bride, low in the horizon. Then there were
whispered “voices of the night,” the drowsy winds talking themselves to
sleep among the trees, and the little ripples of the lagoon pattering
with liquid feet along the sandy shore. The distant monotonous beatings
of the sea, and an occasional sullen plunge of some marine animal, which
served to open momentarily the eyelids drooping in slumbrous sympathy
with the scene—these were the elements which entranced me during the
long, delicious hours of my first evening, alone with Nature, on the
Mosquito Shore!
My dreams that night so blended themselves with the reality, that I could
not now separate them if I would, and to this day I hardly know if I
slept at all. So completely did my soul go out, and melt, and harmonize
itself with the scene, that I began to comprehend the Oriental doctrine
of emanations and absorptions, which teaches that, as the body of man
springs from the earth, and after a brief space, mingles again with it;
so his soul, part of the Great Spirit of the Universe, flutters away like
a dove from its nest, only to return, after a weary flight, to fold its
wings and once more melt away in Nature’s immortal heart, an uncreated
and eternal essence.
Before the dawn of day, the ever-watchful Antonio had prepared the
indispensable cup of coffee, which is the tropical specific against
the malignant night-damps; and the first rays of the sun shot over the
trees only to fall on our sail, bellying with the fresh and invigorating
sea-breeze. We laid our course for the mouth of a river called Wawashaan
(_hwas_ or _wass_, in the dialect of the interior, signifying water),
which enters the lagoon, about twenty miles to the northward of the
_Haulover_. Here we were told there was a settlement, which I determined
to visit. As the day advanced, the breeze subsided, and we made slow
progress. So we paddled to the shore of one of the numerous islands in
the lagoon, to avoid the hot sun and await the freshening of the breeze
in the afternoon. The island on which we landed appeared to be higher
than any of the others, and was moreover rendered doubly attractive by a
number of tall cocoa-nut palms, that clustered near the beach. We ran
our boat ashore in a little cove, where there were traces of fires, and
other indications that it was a favorite stopping-place with the natives.
A narrow trail led inward to the palm-trees. Leaving the Poyer boy with
the canoe, Antonio and myself followed the blind path, and soon came to
an open space covered with plantain-trees, now much choked with bushes,
but heavily laden with fruit. The palms, too, were clustering with nuts,
of which we could not, of course, neglect to take in a supply. Near the
trees we found the foundations of a house, after the European plan, and,
not far from it, one or two rough grave-stones, on which inscriptions had
been rudely traced; but they were now too much obliterated to be read. I
could only make out the figure of a cross on one of them, and the name
“San Andres,” which is an island off the coast, where it is probable the
occupant of this lonely grave was born.
To obtain the cocoa-nuts, which otherwise could only have been got at by
cutting down and destroying the trees, Antonio prepared to climb after
them. He had brought a kind of sack of coarse netting, which he tied
about his neck. He next cut a long section of one of the numerous tough
vines which abound in the tropics, with which he commenced braiding a
large hoop around one of the trees. After this was done, he slipped it
over his head and down to his waist, gave it a few trials of strength,
and then began his ascent, literally walking up the tree. It was a
curious feat, and worth a description. Leaning back in this hoop, he
planted his feet firmly against the trunk, clinging to which, first with
one hand, and then with the other, he worked up the hoop, taking a step
with every upward movement. Nothing loth to exhibit his skill, in a
minute he was sixty feet from the ground, leaning back securely in his
hoop, and filling his sack with the nuts. This done, he swung his load
over his shoulders, grasped the tree in his arms, let the hoop fall, and
slid rapidly to the ground. The whole occupied less time than I have
consumed in writing an account of it.
[Illustration: CLIMBING AFTER COCOAS.]
Loaded with nuts, plantains, and a species of anona called _soursop_, we
returned to the boat, where the water, with which the green cocoa-nuts
are filled, tempered with a little Jamaica rum, _para á matar los
animalicos_, “to kill the animalculæ,” as the Spanish say, made a
cooling and refreshing beverage.
[Illustration: MANGROVE SWAMP.]
In the afternoon we again embarked, and before dark reached the mouth of
the Wawashaan, which looked like a narrow arm of the lagoon, but which,
we found, when we entered, had considerable current, rendering necessary
a brisk use of our paddles. The banks near the lagoon, were low, and the
ground back of them apparently swampy, and densely covered with mangrove
trees. This tree is universal on the Mosquito coast, lining the shores
of the lagoons and rivers, as high up as the salt water reaches. It is
unlike any other tree in the world. Peculiar to lands overflowed by the
tides, its trunk starts at a height of from four to eight feet from the
ground, supported by a radiating series of smooth, reddish-brown roots,
for all the world like the prongs of an inverted candelabrum. These roots
interlock with each other in such a manner that it is utterly impossible
to penetrate between them, except by laboriously cutting one’s way. And
even then an active man would hardly be able to advance twenty feet in a
day. The trunk is generally tall and straight, the branches numerous, but
not long, and the leaves large and thick; on the upper surface of a dark,
glistening, unfading green, while below, of the downy, whitish tint of
the poplar-leaf. Lining the shore in dense masses, the play of light on
the leaves, as they are turned upward by the wind, has the glad, billowy
effect of a field of waving grain. The timber of the mangrove is sodden
and heavy, and of no great utility; but its bark is astringent, and
excellent for tanning. Its manner of propagation is remarkable. The seed
consists of a long bean-like stem, about the length and shape of a dipped
candle, but thinner. It hangs from the upper limbs in thousands, and,
when perfect, drops, point downward, erect in the mud, where it speedily
takes root, and shoots up to tangle still more the already tangled
mangrove-swamp. Myriads of small oysters, called the mangrove-oysters,
cling to the roots, among which active little crabs find shelter from the
pursuit of their hereditary enemies, the long-legged and sharp-billed
cranes, who have a prodigious hankering after tender and infantile
shell-fish.
The Mosquito settlement is some miles up the river, and we were unable
to reach it before dark; so, on arriving at a spot where the ground
became higher, and an open space appeared on the bank, we came to a
halt for the night. We had this time no fish for supper, but, instead,
a couple of _quams_, a species of small turkey, which is not a handsome
bird, but, nevertheless, delicate food. Many of these flew down to the
shore, as night came on, selecting the tops of the highest, overhanging
trees for their roosting-places, and offering fine marks for my faithful
double-barreled gun.
The mosquitoes proving rather troublesome at the edge of the water,
I abandoned the canoe, and spreading my blanket on the most elevated
portion of the bank, near the fire, was soon asleep. Before midnight,
however, I was roused by the sensation of innumerable objects, with
sharp claws and cold bodies, crawling over me. I leaped up in alarm, and
hastily shook off the invaders. I heard a crackling, rustling noise, as
of rain on dry leaves, all around me, and by the dim light I saw that
the ground was alive with crawling things, moving in an unbroken column
toward the river. I felt them in the pockets of my coat, and hanging
to my skirts. My nocturnal interview with the turtles at “El Roncador”
recurred to me, and Coleridge’s ghastly lines—
——“The very sea did rot—
Oh Christ, that this should be!—
And slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea!”
Half fearing that it might be my own disordered fancy, I shouted to
Antonio, who, quick as light, was at my side. He stirred up the fire, and
laughed outright! We had been invaded by an army of soldier-crabs, moving
down from the high backgrounds. Antonio had selected his bed for the
night nearest the river, and the fire, dividing the host, had protected
him, while it had turned a double column upon me. I could not myself help
laughing at the incident, which certainly had the quality of novelty.
I watched the moving legion for an hour, but there was no perceptible
decrease in the numbers. So I laid down again by the side of Antonio, and
slept quietly until morning, when there were no more crabs to be seen,
nor a trace of them, except that the ground had been minutely punctured
all over, by their sharp, multitudinous claws.
It was rather late when we started up the river. We had not proceeded far
before we came to an open space, where there were some rude huts, with
canoes drawn up on the bank, in front. A few men, nearly naked, shouted
at us as we passed, inquiring, in broken English, what we had to sell,
evidently thinking that the white man could have no purpose there unless
to trade. We passed other huts at intervals, which, however, had no signs
of cultivation around them, except a few palm and plantain-trees, and
an occasional small patch of yucas. The mangroves had now disappeared,
and the banks began to look inviting, covered, as they were, with large
trees, including the _caoba_, or mahogany, and the gigantic ceiba, all
loaded down with vines. Thousands of parrots passed over, with their
peculiar short, heavy flutter, and loud, querulous note. In the early
morning, and toward night, they keep up the most vehement chattering,
all talking and none listening, after the manner of a Woman’s Rights
Convention. There were also gaudy macaws, which floated past like
fragments of a rainbow. In common with the parrots, they always go in
pairs, and when one is found alone, he is always silent and sad, and acts
as if he were a lone widower, and meditated suicide.
[Illustration: “THE SPOONBILL.”]
On the occasional sandy reaches, we saw groups of the _Roseate
Spoonbills_, with their splendid plumage. The whole body is rose-colored;
but the wings, toward the shoulders, and the feathers around the base
of the neck, are of a bright scarlet, deepening to blood-red. But they
form no exception to the law of compensations—in mechanics, called
equilibrium, and in mathematics equations, since, while beautiful in
plumage, they are sinfully ugly in shape. And I could not help fancying,
when I saw them standing silent and melancholy on snags, contemplating
themselves in the water, that, as with some other kinds of birds, their
brilliant colors gave them no joy, coupled with so serious a drawback
in form. I shot several, from which the Poyer boy selected the most
beautiful feathers, which he afterward interwove with others from the
macaw, parrot, and egret, in a gorgeous head-dress, as a present to me.
Toward noon we came to a cleared space, much the largest I had seen
on the coast; and, as we approached nearer, I saw a house of European
construction, and a large field of sugar-cane. In striking contrast
with these evidences of industry and civilization, a Sambo or Mosquito
village, made up of squalid huts, half buried in the forest, filled out
the foreground. I recognized it as the village of Wasswatla (literally
Watertown), the place of our destination. It, nevertheless, looked so
uninviting and miserable, that had I not been attracted by the Christian
establishment in the distance, I should have returned incontinently to
the lagoon.
My unfavorable impressions were heightened on a nearer approach. As we
pushed up our canoe to the shore, among a great variety of dories and
other boats, the population of the village, including a large number
of dogs of low degree, swarmed down to survey us. The juveniles were
utterly naked, and most of the adults of both sexes had nothing more
than a strip of a species of cloth, made of the inner bark of the _ule_
or India-rubber tree (resembling the _tappa_ of the Society Islanders),
wrapped around their loins. There was scarcely one who was not disfigured
by the blotches of the _bulpis_, and the hair of each stood out in
frightful frizzles, “like the quills on the fretful porcupine.” Most of
the men carried a short spear, pointed with a common triangular file,
carefully sharpened by rubbing on the stones, which, as I afterward
learned, is used for striking turtle.
Forbidding as was the appearance of the assemblage, none of its
individuals evinced hostility, and when I jumped ashore, and saluted
them with “Good morning,” they all responded, “_Mornin’ sir!_” brought
out with an indescribable African drawl. Two or three of the number
volunteered to help Antonio draw up our boat, while I gave various
orders, in default of knowing what else to do. Luckily, it occurred to me
to produce a document, or pass, with which Mr. Bell had kindly furnished
me before leaving Bluefields, and which all seemed to recognize, pointing
to it respectfully, and ejaculating, “King paper! King paper!” It was
frequently called afterward, “the paper that talks.” This precious
document, well engrossed on a sheet of fools-cap, with a broad seal at
the bottom, ran as follows:—
“Mosquito Kingdom.
“GEORGE WILLIAM CLARENCE, by the Grace of God, King of the
Mosquito Territory, to our trusty and well-beloved officers
and subjects, Greeting! We, by these presents, do give pass
and license to Samuel A. Bard Esquire, to go freely through
our kingdom, and to dwell therein; and do furthermore exhort
and command our well-beloved officers and subjects aforesaid,
to give aid and hospitality to the aforesaid Samuel A. Bard
Esquire, whom we hold of high esteem and consideration. Given
at Bluefields, this —— day of ——, in this the tenth year of our
reign.”
(Signed,) “George, R.”
The ejaculations of “King paper! King paper!” were followed by loud
shouts of “Capt’n! Capt’n!” while two or three tall fellows ran off in
the direction of the huts. I was a little puzzled by the movement, but
not long left in doubt as to its object, for, in a few moments, a figure
approached, creating hardly less sensation among the people, than he
would have done among the “boys” in the Bowery. I at once recognized him
as the “Capt’n,” whose title had been so vigorously invoked. He was,
to start with, far from being a fine-looking darkey; but all natural
deficiencies were more than made up by his dress. He had on a most
venerable cocked hat, in which was stuck a long, drooping, red plume,
that had lost half of its feathers, looking like the plumes of some rake
of a rooster, returning, crestfallen and bedraggled, from an unsuccessful
attempt on some powerful neighbor’s harem. His coat was that of a
post-captain in the British navy, and his pantaloons were of blue cloth,
with a rusty gold stripe running down each side. They were, furthermore,
much too short at both ends, leaving an unseemly projection of ankle, as
well as a broad strip of dark skin between the waistband and the coat.
And when I say that the captain wore no shirt, was rather fat, and his
pantaloons deficient in buttons wherewith to keep it appropriately closed
in front, the active fancy of the reader may be able to complete the
picture. He bore, moreover, a huge cavalry sword, which looked all the
more formidable from being bent in several places and very rusty. He came
forward with deliberation and gravity, and I advanced to meet him, “king
paper” in hand.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN DRUMMER.]
When I had got near him, he adjusted himself in position, and compressed
his lips, with an affectation of severe dignity. Hardly able to restrain
laughing outright, I took off my hat, and saluted him with a profound
bow, and “Good morning, Captain!” He pulled off his hat in return, and
undertook a bow, but the strain was too great on the sole remaining
button of his waistband; it gave way, and, to borrow a modest nautical
phrase, the nether garment “came down on the run!” The captain, however,
no way disconcerted, gathered it up with both hands, and held it in
place, while I read the “paper that talked.”
The upshot of the ceremony was, that I was welcomed to Wasswatla, and
taken to a large vacant hut, which was called the “king’s house,” and
dedicated to the Genius of Hospitality. That is to say, the stranger or
trader may take up his abode there, provided he can dislodge the pigs and
chickens, who have an obstinate notion of their own on the subject of the
proprietorship, and can never be induced to surrender their prescriptive
rights. The “king’s house” was a simple shed, the ground within trodden
into mire by the pigs, and the thatched roof above half blown away by
the wind. But, even thus uninviting, it was better than any of the other
and drier huts, for the fleas, at least, had been suffocated in the mud.
Before night, Antonio had covered the floor, a foot deep, with _cahoon_
leaves, and, with the aid of the Poyer boy and one or two natives,
seduced thereunto by what they universally call “grog,” had restored the
roof, and built up a barricade of poles against the pigs. These were not
numerous, but hungry and vicious; and, finding the barricade too strong
to be rooted down, they tried the dodge of the Jews at Jericho, and of
Captain Crockett with the bear, and undertook to squeal it down! They
neither ate nor slept, those pigs, I verily believe, during the period of
my stay; but kept up an incessant squeal, occasionally relieving their
tempers by a spiteful drive at the poles. Between them and pestilent
insects of various kinds, my slumbers were none of the sweetest, and I
registered a solemn vow that this should be my last trial of Mosquito
hospitality.
In the afternoon I had a visit from the captain, who told me that his
name was “Lord Nelson Drummer,” and that his father had been “Governor”
in the section around Pearl-Cay Lagoon. He had laid aside his official
suit, and with simple breeches of white cotton cloth, and a straw hat,
afforded a favorable contrast to his appearance in the morning. He
spoke English—quite as well as the negroes of Jamaica, and generally
made himself understood. From him I learned that the house, which I had
seen in the clearings, had been built, many years before, by a French
Creole from one of the islands of the Antilles, who at one time had
there a large plantation of coffee, cotton, and sugar-cane, from the
last of which he distilled much rum. Drummer was animated on the subject
of the rum, of which there had been, as he said, “much plenty!” But the
Frenchmen had died, and although his family kept up the establishment
for a little while, they were obliged to abandon it in the end. The
negroes who had been brought out, soon caught the infection of the coast,
and, slavery having been prohibited (by the British Superintendent
at Belize!), became idle, drunken, and worthless. Some of them still
lingered around Wasswatla, gathering for sale to the occasional trader,
a few pounds of coffee from the trees on the plantation, which, in spite
of years of utter neglect, still bore fruit. The abandoned cane-fields
furnished a supply of canes, at which all the inhabitants of Wasswatla,
old and young, were constantly gnawing. In fact, this appeared to be
their principal occupation. I subsequently visited the abandoned estate.
It was overgrown with vines and bushes, among which the orange, lime,
and coffee-trees struggled for existence. The house was tumbling into
ruin, and the boilers in which the sugar had been made, were full of
stagnating water. I returned to the squalid village, having learned
another philosophy in the science of philanthropy; and with a diminishing
inclination to tolerate the common cant about “universal brotherhood!”
The soil on the Wawashaan is rich and productive. It seems well adapted
to cotton and sugar. The climate is hot and humid, and I saw many of
the natives much reduced, and suffering greatly from fevers, which, if
not violent, appear, nevertheless, to be persistent, and exceedingly
debilitating. The natural products are numerous and valuable. I observed
many indian-rubber trees, and, for the first time, the vanilla. It is
produced on a vine, which climbs to the tops of the loftiest trees. Its
leaves somewhat resemble those of the grape; the flowers are red and
yellow, and when they fall off are succeeded by the pods, which grow
in clusters, like our ordinary beans. Green at first, they change to
yellow, and finally to a dark brown. To be preserved, they are gathered
when yellow, and put in heaps, for a few days, to ferment. They are
afterward placed in the sun to dry, flattened by the hand, and carefully
rubbed with cocoa-nut oil, and then packed in dry plantain-leaves, so
as to confine their powerful aromatic odor. The vanilla might be made a
considerable article of trade on the coast; but, at present, only a few
dozen packages are exported.
Lord Nelson, as I invariably called the captain, domesticated himself
with me from the first day, and ate and drank with me—“especially the
latter.” And I soon found out that there was a direct and intimate
relation, between his degree of thirst and his protestations of
attachment. He even hinted his intention to get up a _mushla_ feast for
me, but I would not agree to stay for a sufficient length of time.
Finally, however, a grand fishing expedition to the lagoon was determined
on, and I was surprised to see with how much alacrity the proposition was
taken up. The day previous to starting was devoted to sharpening spears,
cleaning the boats, and making paddles, in all of which operations the
women worked indiscriminately with the men. Plantains were gathered,
and, as it seemed to me, no end of sugar-canes from the deserted
plantation. In the evening, which happened to prove clear, the big drum
was got out, fires lighted, and there was a dance, as Lord Nelson said,
“Mosquito fashion.” My part of the performance consisted in keeping up
the spirit of the drummers, by pouring spirits down, which service was
responded to by a vehemence of pounding that would have done credit to a
militia training. I was surprised to find how much skill the performers
had attained; but afterward discovered that the drum is the favorite
instrument on the coast, and is called in requisition on all occasions
of festivity or ceremony. The dance was uncouth, without the merit of
being grotesque; and long before it was finished, the performers, of both
sexes, had thrown aside their _tournous_, and abandoned every shadow of
decency in their actions. Lord Nelson began to grow torpid early in the
evening, and, before I left the scene, had been carried off dead drunk.
Next morning he looked rather downcast, and complained that the rum “_had
spoiled his head_.”
It was quite late when our flotilla got under way, with a large dory,
carrying the big drum, leading the van. There were some twenty-odd boats,
containing nearly the entire population of the village. This number was
increased from the huts lower down, the occupants of which hailed us with
loud shouts, and hastened after us with their canoes. We went down the
river with the current very rapidly, the men paddling in the maddest way,
and shouting to each other at the top of their voices. Occasionally the
boats got foul, when the rivals used the flat of their paddles over each
other’s heads without scruple. I was considerably in the rear, and, from
the sound of the blows, imagined that every skull had been crushed; but
next moment their owners were paddling and shouting as if nothing had
happened. From that day, I had a morbid curiosity to get a Mosquito skull!
We all encamped at night, on the sandy beach of a large island, in the
centre of the lagoon. The reader may be sure that I made my own camp at
a respectable distance from the rest of the party, where I had a quiet
supper, patronized, as usual, by Captain Drummer. As soon as it became
dark, the preparations for fishing commenced. The women were left on
the beach, and three men apportioned to each boat. One was detailed to
paddle, another to hold the torch, and the third, and most skillful,
acted as striker or spearsman. The torches were made of splinters of the
fat yellow pine, which abounds in the interior. The spears, I observed,
were of two kinds; one firmly fixed by a shank at the end of a long light
pole, called _sinnock_, which is not allowed to escape the hand of the
striker. The other, called _waisko-dusa_, is much shorter. The staff is
hollow, and the iron spear-head, or harpoon, is fastened to a line which
passes through rings by the side of the shaft, and is wound to a piece
of light-wood, designed to act as a float. When thrown, the head remains
in the fish, while the line unwinds, and the float rises to the surface,
to be seized again by the fisherman, who then hauls in his fish at his
leisure. When the fish is large and active, the chase after the float
becomes animated, and takes the character of what fishermen call “sport.”
As I have said, no sooner was it dark than the boats pushed off, in
different directions, on the lagoon. My Poyer boy had borrowed a
_waisko-dusa_, and with him to strike, and Antonio to paddle, I took a
torch, and also glided out on the water. My torch was tied to a pole,
which I held over the bow. Antonio paddled slowly, while the Poyer boy,
entirely naked (for the strikers often go overboard after their own
spears), stood in the bow, with his spear poised in his right hand,
eagerly inclining forward, and motionless as a statue. He was perfect
in form, and his bronze limbs, just tense enough to display without
distorting the muscles, were brought in clear outline against the
darkness by the light of the torch—revealing a figure and pose that would
shame the highest achievements of the sculptor. It was so admirable that
I quite forgot the fisher in the artist, when, rapid as light, the arm of
the Poyer boy fell, and the spear entered the water eight or nine feet
ahead of the boat. The motion was so sudden, that it nearly startled me
overboard. At first, I thought he had missed his mark, but I soon saw
the white float, now dipping under the water, now jerked this way, now
that, evincing clearly that the spearsman had been true in his aim. A
few strokes of Antonio’s paddle brought the float within reach of the
striker, who began, in sporting phrase, to “land” the fish. It made a
desperate struggle, and, for awhile, it was what is called a “tight pull”
between the boy and the fish. Nevertheless, he was finally got in, and
proved to be what is called a _June_, or _Jew-fish_ (_Coracinus_), by the
English, and _Palpa_ by the natives. In point of delicacy and richness
of flavor, this fish is unequaled by any other found in these seas. The
one which we obtained weighed not far from eighty pounds. Some of them
have been known to weigh two or three hundred pounds. Our prize made a
great disturbance in our little canoe, to which Antonio put a stop by
disemboweling him on the spot, after which we resumed our sport. We were
successful in obtaining a number of rock-fish, and several _sikoko_, or
sheep’s-heads. Ambitious to try my skill, I took the Poyer boy’s place
for awhile. I was astonished to find how perfectly clear the water proved
to be, under the light of the torch. The bottom, which, in the broad
daylight, had been utterly invisible, now revealed all of its mysteries,
its shells, and plants, and stones, with wonderful distinctness. I
observed also that the fish seemed to be attracted by the light, and,
instead of darting away, rose toward the surface and approached the boat.
I allowed several opportunities of throwing the spear to slip. Finally, a
fine sheep’s-head rose just in front of me; I aimed my spear, and threw
it with such an excess of force as literally to drive the dory from
beneath my feet, precipitating myself in the water, and knocking down and
extinguishing the torch in my ungraceful tumble. The spear was recovered,
and I felt rather disappointed to find that it was innocent of a fish.
Antonio suggested that he had broken loose, which was kind of him, but it
wouldn’t do. As we were without light, and, moreover, had as many fish as
we could possibly dispose of, we paddled ashore.
Up to this time, I had been so much absorbed with our own sport, that I
had not noticed the other fishers. It was a strange scene. Each torch
glowed at the apex of a trembling pyramid of red light, which, as the
boats could not be seen, seemed to be inspired with life. Some moved on
stately and slow, while others, where the boats were rapidly whirled in
pursuit of the stricken fish, seemed to be chasing each other in fiery
glee. Every successful throw was hailed with vehement shouts, heightened
by loud blows made by striking the flat of the paddle on the surface
of the water. All along the shore, the women had lighted fires whereat
to dry the fish, which, in this climate, can not be kept long without
spoiling. The light from these fires caught on the heavy foliage of the
shore, and revealing the groups of half-naked women and children, helped
to make up a scene which it is difficult to paint in words, but which can
never be forgotten by one who has witnessed it.
It was past midnight before the boats all returned to the shore; and then
commenced the drying of the fish. Over all the fires, just out of reach
of the flames, were raised frame-works of canes, like gridirons, on which
the fish, thinly sliced lengthwise, and rubbed with salt, were laid. They
were repeatedly turned, so that, with the salt, smoke and heat, they were
so far cured in the morning, as to require no further attention than a
day or two of exposure to the sun. Our Jew-fish was thus prepared, and
afterward stood us in good stead, much resembling smoked salmon, but less
salt. While Antonio superintended this operation, I cooked the head and
shoulders of the big fish in the sand, after the manner I have already
described, and achieved a signal success, inasmuch as the dish was well
seasoned with “hunger sauce.”
Chapter V.
[Illustration]
Off the mouth of Pearl-Cay Lagoon are numerous cays, which, in fact,
give their name to the lagoon. They are celebrated for the number and
variety of turtles found on and around them. I was so much delighted with
our torch-light fishing, that I became eager to witness the sport of
turtle-hunting, which is regarded by the Mosquitos as their noblest art,
and in which they have acquired proverbial expertness. Drummer required
only a little persuasion and a taste of rum, to undertake an expedition
to the cays. As this involved going out in the open sea, he selected four
of the largest pitpans, to each of which he assigned the requisite number
of able-bodied and expert men. The women and remaining men were left to
continue their fishing in the lagoon. My canoe was much too small to
venture off, and accordingly was left in charge of the Poyer boy, who,
armed with my double-barreled gun, felt himself a host. With Antonio, I
was given a place in the largest pitpan, commanded by Harris, Captain
Drummer’s “quarter-master,” who was much the finest specimen of physical
beauty that I had seen among the Sambos.
I was quite concerned on finding how little provisions were taken in the
boats, since bad weather often keeps the fishermen out for two or three
weeks. But Drummer insisted that we should find plenty to eat, and we
embarked. We caught the land-breeze as soon as we got from under the
lee of the shore, and drove rapidly on our course. Although the sea was
comparatively smooth, yet the boats all carried such an amount of sail as
to keep me in a state of constant nervousness. One would scarcely believe
that the Mosquito men venture out in their pitpans, in the roughest
weather with impunity, riding the waves like sea-gulls. If upset, they
right their boats in a moment, and with their broad paddle-blades clear
them of water in an incredibly short space of time.
We went, literally, with the wind; and in four hours after leaving the
shore, were among the cays. These are very numerous, surrounded by
reefs, through which wind intricate channels, all well known to the
fishers. Some of the cays are mere heaps of sand, and half-disintegrated
coral-rock, others are larger, and a few have bushes, and an occasional
palm-tree upon them, much resembling “El Roncador.” It was on one of the
latter, where there were the ruins of a rude hut, and a place scooped
in the sand, containing brackish water, that we landed, and made our
encampment. No sooner was this done than Harris started out with his boat
after turtle, leaving the rest to repair the hut, and arrange matters for
the night. Of course I accompanied Harris.
The apparatus for striking the turtle is exceedingly simple,
corresponding exactly with the _waisko-dusa_, which I have described,
except that instead of being barbed, the point is an ordinary triangular
file, ground exceedingly sharp. This, it has been found, is the only
thing which will pierce the thick armor of the turtle; and, moreover, it
makes so small a hole, that it seldom kills the green turtle, and very
slightly injures the scales of the hawk-bill variety, which furnishes the
shell of commerce.
Harris stood in the bow of the pitpan, keeping a sharp look out, holding
his spear in his right hand, with his left hand behind him, where it
answered the purpose of a telegraph to the two men who paddled. They kept
their eyes fixed on the signal, and regulated their strokes, and the
course and speed of the boat, accordingly. Not a word was said, as it is
supposed that the turtle is sharp of hearing. In this manner we paddled
among the cays for half an hour, when, on a slight motion of Harris’
hand, the men altered their course a little, and worked their paddles so
slowly and quietly as scarcely to cause a ripple. I peered ahead, but saw
only what I supposed was a rock, projecting above the water. It was,
nevertheless, a turtle, floating lazily on the surface, as turtles are
wont to do. Notwithstanding the caution of our approach, he either heard
us, or caught sight of the boat, and sank while we were yet fifty yards
distant. There was a quick motion of Harris’ manual telegraph, and the
men began to paddle with the utmost rapidity, striking their paddles deep
in the water. In an instant the boat had darted over the spot where the
turtle had disappeared, and I caught a hurried glimpse of him, making his
way with a speed which quite upset my notions of the ability of turtles
in that line, predicated upon their unwieldiness on land. He literally
seemed to _slide_ through the water.
And now commenced a novel and exciting chase. Harris had his eyes on the
turtle, and the men theirs on Harris’ telegraphic hand. Now we darted
this way, then that; slow one moment, rapid the next, and anon stock
still. The water was not so deep as to permit our scaly friend to get
entirely out of reach of Harris’ practiced eye, although to me the bottom
appeared to be a hopeless maze. As the turtle must rise to the surface
sooner or later to breathe, the object of the pursuer is to keep near
enough to transfix him when he appears. Finally, after half an hour of
dodging about, the boat was stopped with a jerk, and down darted the
spear. As the whole of the shaft did not go under, I saw it had not
failed of its object. A moment more, and Harris had hold of the line.
After a few struggles and spasmodic attempts to get away, his spirit
gave in, and the tired turtle tamely allowed himself to be conducted to
the shore. A few sharp strokes disengaged the file, and he was turned
over on his back on the sand, the very picture of utter helplessness,
to await our return. I have a fancy that the expression of a turtle’s
head, and half-closed eyes, under such circumstances, is the superlative
of saintly resignation; to which a few depreciatory movements of his
flippers come in as a sanctimonious accessory, like the upraised palms of
a well-fed parson.
[Illustration: STRIKING TURTLE.]
This “specimen,” as the naturalists would say, proved to be of the
smaller, or hawk-bill variety, the flesh of which is inferior to that of
the green turtle, although hawk-bills are most valuable on account of
their shells. So we paddled off again, keeping close to the cays and
reefs, where the water is shallow. It was nearly dark before Harris got a
chance at another turtle, which he struck on the bottom, at least eight
feet below the surface. This was of the green variety; he was lifted in
the boat, and his head unceremoniously chopped off, lest he should take a
spiteful nip at the hams of the paddlers.
We wound our way back to the rendezvous, picking up our hawk-bill, who
was that night unmercifully put through the cruel process, which I have
already had occasion to describe, for separating the scales from the
shell, after which he was permitted to take himself off. I may here
mention, that besides the two varieties of turtle which I have named,
there is another and larger kind, called the loggerhead turtle (_Testudo
Caretta_), which resembles the green turtle, but is distinguished by the
superior size of the head, greater breadth of shell, and by its deeper
and more variegated colors. It grows to be of great size, sometimes
reaching one thousand or twelve hundred pounds; but its flesh is rank and
coarse, and the laminæ of its shell too thin for use. It, nevertheless,
supplies a good oil, proper for a variety of purposes.
That evening, we had turtle steaks, and turtle eggs, roasted turtle
flippers, and _callipash_ and _callipee_ (the two latter in the form of
soup),—in fact, turtle in every form known to the Mosquito men, who well
deserve the name of turtle-men. The turtle conceals its eggs in the sand,
but the natives are ready to detect indications of a deposit, which they
verify by thrusting in the sand the iron ramrod of a musket, an operation
which they call “feeling for eggs.”
About midnight, it came on to rain heavily, and continued all the next
day, so that nothing could be done. The time was “put in” _talking
turtle_, and Harris got so warmed up as to promise to show me what the
Mosquito men regard as the _ne plus ultra_ of skill in turtle craft,
namely, “jumping turtle.” He did not explain to me what this meant, but
gave me a significant wag of the head, which is a Mosquito synonym for
_nous verrons_.
The third day proved propitious, and Harris was successful in obtaining
several fine turtles. About noon he laid aside his spear, and took his
position, entirely naked, keeping up, nevertheless, his usual look-out.
We were not long in getting on the track of a turtle. After a world of
maneuvering, apparently with the object of driving him into shallow
water, Harris made a sudden dive overboard. The water boiled and bubbled
for a few moments, when he reappeared, holding a fine hawk-bill in his
outstretched hands. And that feat proved to be what is called “jumping
a turtle.” It often happens that bungling fishermen get badly bitten in
these attempts, which are not without their dangers from the sharp coral
rocks and spiny sea-eggs.
During the afternoon of the fourth day, we returned to the lagoon, taking
with us eight green turtles, and about ninety pounds of fine shell. We
found that most of the party which we had left had gone back to the
village, whither Drummer and his “quarter-master” were urgent I should
return with them. But Wasswatla had no further attractions for me, and I
was firm in my purpose of proceeding straightway up the coast.
With many last turns at the grog, I parted—not without regret—with
Drummer and Harris, giving them each a gaudy silk handkerchief, in
acknowledgment of two fine turtles which they insisted on my accepting.
Harris also gave me his turtle-spear, and was much exalted when I told
him that I should have it engraved with his name, and hung up in my
_watla_ (house) at home.
Pearl-Cay Lagoon is upward of forty miles long, by, perhaps, ten miles
wide at its broadest part. There are three or four settlements upon it,
the principal of which are called Kirka, and English Bank. I did not
visit any of these, but took my course direct for the upper end of the
lagoon, where, as the chain of salt lakes is here interrupted for a
considerable distance, there is another _haulover_ from the lagoon to
the sea. I saw several collections of huts on the western shore, and on
a small island, where we stopped during the midday heats, I gathered a
few stalks of the _jiquilite_ (_Indigofera disperma_), or indigenous
indigo-plant, which may be ranked as one of the prospective sources of
wealth on the coast.
We arrived at the _haulover_ in the midst of a drenching thunder-storm,
which lasted into the night. It was impossible to light a fire, and so
we drew up the canoe on the beach, and, piling our traps in the centre,
I perched myself on the top, where, with the sail thrown over my head,
I enacted the part of a tent-pole for the live-long night! My Indian
companions stripped themselves naked, rubbed their bodies with palm
oil, and took the pelting with all the nonchalance of ducks. For want
of any thing better to do, I ate plantains and dried fish, and, after
the rain subsided, watched the brilliant fire-flies, of which hundreds
moved about lazily under the lee of the bushes. The atmosphere, after the
storm had subsided, was murky and sultry, making respiration difficult,
and inducing a sense of extreme lassitude and fatigue. Every thing was
damp and sticky, and so saturated with water, that it was impossible
for me to lie down. I applied to my Jamaica for comfort, but, in spite
of it, relapsed into a fit of _glums_, or “blue-devils.” To add to my
discomfort, innumerable sand-flies came out, and, soon after, a cloud
of mosquitos, while a forest-full of some kind of tree-toad struck up a
doleful piping, which proved too much for even my tried equanimity. I got
up, and strode back and forth on the narrow sand-beach, in a vehement
and intemperate manner, wishing myself in New York, any where, even in
Jamaica! The remembrance of my first night on the shores of the lagoon
only served to make me feel the more wretched, and I longed to have “some
gentleman do me the favor to thread on the tail of me coat!”
Toward daylight, however, my companions had contrived to make up a sickly
fire, in the smoke of which I sought refuge from the mosquitoes and
sand-flies, and became soothed and sooty at the same time. Day came at
last, but the sun was obscured, and things were but slight improvement
on the night. I found that we were on a narrow strip of sand, scarcely
two hundred yards wide, covered with scrubby bushes, interspersed with a
few twisted trees, looking like weather-beaten skeletons, beyond which
was the sea, dark and threatening, under a gray, filmy sky. Antonio
predicted a storm, what he called a _temporal_, during which it often
rains steadily for a week. Under the circumstances, it became a pregnant
question what to do: whether to return down the lagoon to some more
eligible spot for an encampment, or to push out boldly on the ocean, and
make an effort to gain the mouth of a large river, some miles up the
coast, called Rio Grande or Great River.
I resolved upon the latter course, and we dragged the canoe across the
_haulover_. Although the surf was not high, we had great difficulty in
launching our boat, which was effected by my companions, who, stationed
one on each side, seized a favorable moment, as the waves fell, to drag
it beyond the line of breakers. While one kept it stationary with his
paddle, the other, watching his opportunity, carried off the articles one
by one, and finally, stripping myself, I mounted on Antonio’s shoulders,
and was deposited like a sack in the boat. We paddled out until we got a
good offing, then put up our sail, and laid our course north-north-west.
The coast was dim and indistinct, but I had great faith in the Poyer
boy, whose judgment had thus far never failed. About four o’clock in
the afternoon, we came in sight of a knoll or high bank, which, covered
with large trees, rises on the north side of the mouth of Great River,
constituting an excellent landmark. I was in no wise sorry to find
ourselves nearing it rapidly, for the wind began to freshen, and I feared
lest it might raise such a surf on the bar of the river as to prevent us
from entering. In fact, the waves had begun to break at the shallower
places on the bar, while elsewhere the north-east wind drove over the
water in heavy swells. The sail was hastily gathered in, and my Indians,
seizing their paddles, watched the seventh, or crowning wave, and, by
vigorous exertion, cheering each other with shouts, kept the canoe at
its crest, and thus we were swept majestically over the bar, into the
comparatively quiet water beyond it. Half an hour afterward, the great
waves broke on the very spot where we had crossed, in clouds of spray,
and with the noise of thunder!
The mouth of Great River is broad, but entirely exposed to the
north-east; and, although it is a large stream, the water on its bar is
not more than five or six feet deep, shutting out all large vessels,
which otherwise might go up a long way into the country. There are
several islands near the mouth. On the innermost one, which toward the
sea is bluff and high, we made our encampment. It appeared to me as
favorable a spot as we could find, whereon to await the _temporal_ which
Antonio had predicted, and the approach of which became apparent to even
the most unpracticed observer. Fortunately, with Harris’ turtles, we
felt easy on the score of food. So we dragged the canoe high up on the
bank, and while I kindled a fire, my companions busied themselves in
constructing a shelter over the boat. Stout forked stakes were planted at
each end of the canoe, to support a ridge-pole, with other shorter ones
supporting the outer poles. To these, canes were lashed transversely, and
over all was woven a thatch of _cahoon_, or palmetto-leaves. Outside,
and on a line with the eaves, a little trench was dug, to carry off the
water, and preserve the interior from being flooded by what might run
down the slope of the ground. So rapidly was all this done, that before
it was quite dark the hut was so far advanced as to enable us to defy the
rain, which soon began to fall in torrents. The strong sea wind drove off
the mosquitos to the bush on the mainland, so that I slept comfortably
and well, in spite of the thunder of the sea and the roaring of the wind.
For eight days it rained almost uninterruptedly. Sometimes, between nine
and eleven o’clock, and for perhaps an hour near sunset, there would be
a pause, and a lull in the wind, and a general lighting up of the leaden
sky, as if the sun were about to break through. But the clouds would
gather again darker than ever, and the rain set in with a steady pouring
unknown in northern latitudes. For eight mortal days we had no ray of
sun, or moon, or star! Every iron thing became thickly coated with rust;
our plantains began to spot, and our dried fish to grow soft and mouldy,
requiring to be hung over the small fire which we contrived to keep
alive, in one corner of our extemporaneous hut.
[Illustration: TEMPORAL CAMP.]
After the third day, the water in the river began to rise, and during
the night rose more than eight feet. On the fifth day the current was
full of large trees, their leaves still green, which seemed to be bound
together with vines. In the afternoon down came the entire thatched roof
of a native hut, which lodged against our island, bringing us a most
acceptable freight, in the shape of a plump two-months old pig. His
fellow-voyager—strange companionship!—was a tame parrot, with clipped
wings, who looked melancholy enough when rescued, but who, after getting
dry in our hut, and soothing his appetite on my plantains, first became
mirthful, then boisterous, and finally mischievous. He was immediately
installed as one of the party, and made more noise in the world than
all the rest. To me he proved an unfailing source of amusement. He was
respectful toward Antonio, but vicious toward the Poyer boy, and never
happy except when cautiously stealing to get a bite at his toes. When
successful in this he became wild with delight, and as noisy and vehement
as a lucky Frenchman. It was one of his prime delights to gnaw off the
corks of my bottles; and he was possessed of a most insane desire to
get inside of my demijohn, mistaking it, perhaps, for a wicker cage,
from which he imagined himself wrongfully excluded. Antonio called him
“El Moro,” the Moor, for what reason I did not understand, and the name
suiting me as well as any other, I baptized him with water, “El Moro,”
and got an ugly pinch on the wrist for my blasphemy.
Our young porker escaped drowning only to fall into the hands of the
Philistines; we had nothing to feed him; he might get away; he was,
moreover, invitingly fat; so we incontinently cut his throat, and ate him
up!
During our imprisonment, my companions were not idle. Upon the island
were many _mohoe_-trees, the bark of which is tough, and of a fine,
soft, white fibre. Of this they collected considerable quantities, which
the Poyer boy braided into a sort of cap, designed as the foundation
of the elegant feather head-dress which he afterward gave me; while
Antonio, more utilitarian, wove a small net, not unlike that which we use
to catch crabs. He at once put it into requisition to catch craw-fish,
which abounded among the rocks to the seaward of the island. But before
entering upon the subject of craw-fish, I may say that the _mohoe_ bark,
from its fine quality, and the abundance in which it may be procured,
might be made exceedingly useful for the manufacture of paper—an article
now becoming scarce and dear.
The _cray_ or _craw-fish_ resemble the lobster, but are smaller in size,
and want the two great claws. Their flesh has more flavor than that of
either the crab or lobster, and we found them an acceptable addition to
our commissariat. There were many wood-pigeons and parrots on the island,
but my gun had got in such a state, from the damp, that I did not attempt
to use it.
Our protracted stay made a large draft on our yucas and plantains, and it
became important to us to look out for fruit and vegetables. The current
in the river was too strong, and too much obstructed with floating
timber, to permit us to use our boat. The water, even at the broadest
part of the stream, had risen upward of fifteen feet, equivalent to a
rise of twenty or twenty-five feet in the interior! The banks were
overflowed; the low islands outside of us completely submerged and our
own space much circumscribed. A few plantain-trees, which we had observed
on the first evening, had been broken down or swept away, and we were
fain to put ourselves on a short allowance of vegetables. One morning,
during a pause in the rain, I ventured out; and, after a little search,
found a tree, resembling a pear-tree, and bearing a large quantity of a
small fruit, of the size and shape of a crab-apple, and exactly like it
in smell. I cried out delightedly to Antonio, holding up a handful of
the supposed apples. To my surprise, he shouted, “Throw them down! throw
them down!” explaining that they were the fruit of the _mangeneel_ or
_manzanilla_, and rank poison. He hurried me away from the tree, assuring
me that even the dew or rain-drops which fell from its leaves were
poisonous, and that its influence, like that of the fabled _upas_, is so
powerful as to swell the faces and limbs of those who may be ignorant or
indiscreet enough to sleep beneath its shade! I found out subsequently,
that it is with the acrid milky juice of this tree that the Indians
poison their arrows. I ever afterward gave it a wide berth. In shape and
smell it is so much like the crab-apple that I can readily understand
how it might prove dangerous to strangers. Under the tropics, it is safe
to let wild fruits alone. Antonio, more successful than myself, found
a large quantity of _guavas_, which the natives eat with great relish,
but which to me have a disagreeable aromatic, or rather, musky taste.
So I stuck to plantains, and left my companions and “El Moro” to enjoy a
monopoly of _guavas_.
Finally, the windows of heaven were closed, the rain ceased, and the sun
came out with a bright, well-washed face. It was none too soon, for every
article which I possessed, clothing, books, food, all had begun to spot
and mould from the damp. I had myself a sympathetic feeling, and dreamed
at night that I was covered with a green mildew; dreams so vivid that I
once got up and went out naked in the rain, to wash it off!
After the leaves had ceased to drip, we stretched lines between the
trees, and hung out our scanty wardrobe to dry. I rubbed and brushed
at my court suit of black, but in vain. What with salt water at “El
Roncador,” and mould here, it had acquired a permanent rusty and leprous
look, which half inclined me to follow the Poyer boy’s suggestion, and
soak it in palm oil! Few and simple as were our equipments, it took
full two days to redeem them from the effects of the damp. My gun more
resembled some of those quaint old fire-locks taken from wrecks, and
exhibited in museums, than any thing useful to the present generation. In
view of all things, I was fain to ejaculate, Heaven save me from another
“_temporal_” on the Mosquito Shore!
Chapter VI.
[Illustration]
It was three days after the rain had ceased, before we could embark on
the river, and even then its current was angry and turbid, and filled
with floating trees. We hugged the banks in our ascent, darting from one
side of the stream to the other, to avail ourselves of the _back-sets_,
or eddies, sometimes losing, by an unsuccessful attempt, all we had
gained by half an hour of hard paddling. The banks were much torn by the
water; in some places they had fallen in, carrying many trees into the
stream, where they remained anchored to the shore by the numerous tough
vines that twined around them. Elsewhere the trees, half undermined,
leaned heavily over the current, in which the long vines hung trailing
in mournful masses, like the drooping leaves of the funeral willow. The
long grass on the low islands had been beaten down, and was covered with
a slimy deposit, over which stalked hungry water-birds, the snow-white
ibis, and long-shanked crane, in search of worms and insects, and
entangled fish.
We were occupied the whole day, in reaching the first settlement on this
river—a picturesque collection of low huts, in a forest of palm, papaya,
and plantain-trees. Near it were some considerable patches of maize, and
long reaches of yucas, squash, and melon-vines. There were, in short,
more evidences of industry and thrift than I had yet seen on the entire
coast.
As we approached the bank, in front of the huts, I observed that all
the inhabitants were pure Indians, whom my Poyer boy hailed in his own
tongue. I afterward found out that they were Woolwas, and spoke a dialect
of the same language with the Poyers, and Cookras, to the northward.
As at Wasswatla, nearly all the inhabitants crowded down to the shore
to meet me, affording, with their slight and symmetrical bodies, and
long, well-ordered, glossy black hair, a striking contrast to the
large-bellied, and spotted mongrels on the Wawashaan. I produced my
“King-paper,” and advanced toward a couple of elderly men bearing white
wooden wands, which I at once conjectured were insignia of authority.
But no sooner did they get sight of my “King-paper,” than they motioned
me back with tokens of displeasure, exclaiming, “_Sax! sax!_” which I
had no difficulty in comprehending meant “take it away!” So I folded
it up, put it in my pocket, and extended my hand, which was taken by
each, and shaken in the most formal manner. When the men with the wands
had finished, all the others came forward, and went through the same
ceremony, most of them ejaculating, interrogatively, _Nakisma?_ which
appears to be an exact equivalent of the English, “How are you?”
This done, the men with the wands beckoned to me to follow them, which I
did, to a large hut, neatly wattled at the sides, and closed by a door of
canes. One of them pushed this open, and I entered after him, followed
only by those who had wands, the rest clustering like bees around the
door, or peering through the openings in the wattled walls. There were
several rough blocks of wood in the interior, upon which they seated
themselves, placing me between them. All this while there was an unbroken
silence, and I was quite in a fog as to whether I was held as a guest or
as a prisoner. I looked into the faces of my friends in vain; they were
as impassible as stones. I, however, felt reassured when I saw Antonio at
the door, his face wearing rather a pleased than alarmed expression.
We sat thus a very long time, as it appeared to me, when there was a
movement outside, the crowd separated, and a man entered, bearing a large
earthen vessel filled with liquid, followed by two girls, with baskets
piled with cakes of corn meal, fragments of some kind of broiled meat,
and a quantity of a paste of plantains, having the taste of figs, and
called _bisbire_. The eldest of the men of wands filled a small calabash
with the liquid, touched it to his lips, and passed it to me. I did
the same, and handed it to my next neighbor; but he motioned it back,
exclaiming, “_Dis! dis!_” drink, drink! I found it to be a species of
palm-wine, with which I afterward became better acquainted. It proved
pleasant enough to the taste, and I drained the calabash. Another one
of the old men then took up some of the roast meat, tore off and ate a
little, and handed the rest to me. Not slow in adaptation, I took all
hints, and wound up by making a hearty meal. The remnants were then
passed out to Antonio, who, however, was permitted to wait on himself.
I made some observations to Antonio in Spanish, which I perceived was
understood by the principal dignitary of the wands, who, after some
moments, informed me, in good Spanish, that the hut in which we were,
was the _cabildo_ of the village, and that it was wholly at my service,
so long as I chose to stay. He furthermore pointed out to me a rude drum
hanging in one corner, made by stretching the raw skin of some animal
over a section of a hollow tree, upon which he instructed me to beat
in case I wanted any thing. This done, he rose, and, followed by his
companions, ceremoniously retired, leaving me in quiet possession of the
largest and best hut in the village. I felt myself quite an important
personage, and ordered up my hammock, and the various contents of my
canoe, with a degree of satisfaction which I had not experienced when
waging a war against the pigs, in the “King’s house” at Wasswatla.
I subsequently ascertained that all of the ideas of government which
the Indians on this river possess, were derived from the Spaniards,
either descending to them from former Spanish establishments here, or
obtained from contact with the Spaniards far up in the interior. The
principal men were called “_alcaldes_,” and many Spanish words were in
common use. I discovered no trace of negro blood among them, and found
that they entertained a feeling of dislike, amounting to hostility,
to the Mosquito men. So far as I could ascertain, while they denied
the authority of the Mosquito king, they sent down annually a certain
quantity of sarsaparilla, maize, and other articles, less as tribute than
as the traditionary price of being let alone by the Sambos. In former
times, it appeared, the latter lost no opportunity of kidnapping their
children and women, and selling them to the Jamaica traders, as slaves.
Indeed, they sometimes undertook armed forays in the Indian territory,
for the purpose of taking prisoners, to be sold to men who made this
traffic a regular business. This practice continued down to the abolition
of slavery in Jamaica—a measure of which the Mosquito men greatly
complain, notwithstanding that they were not themselves exempt from being
occasionally kidnapped.
The difficulty of entering the Rio Grande, and the absence of any
considerable traffic with the natives on its banks, are among the causes
which have contributed to keep them free from the degrading influences
that prevail on the Mosquito Shore. They rely chiefly upon agriculture
for their support, and fish and hunt but little. They have abundance of
maize, yucas, cassava, squashes, plantains, papayas, cocoa-nuts, and
other fruits and vegetables, including a few limes and oranges, as also
pigs and fowls, and higher up the river, in the savannah country, a few
horned cattle. I observed, among the domestic fowls, the true Muscovy
duck, and the indigenous hen or _chachalaca_.
The people themselves, though not tall, are well-made, and have a
remarkably soft and inoffensive expression. The women—and especially the
girls—were exceedingly shy, and always left the huts when I entered.
The men universally wore the _ule tournou_, or breech-cloth, but the
women had in its place a piece of cotton cloth of their own manufacture,
striped with blue and yellow, which hung half-way down the thighs, and
was supported above the hips by being tucked under in some simple, but,
to me, inexplicable manner.[2] The young girls were full and symmetrical
in form, with fine busts, and large, lustrous, black eyes, which,
however, always had to me a startled, deer-like expression. I saw no
firearms among the men, although they seemed to be acquainted with
their use. They had, instead, fine bows and arrows, the latter pointed
with iron, or a species of tough wood, hardened in the fire. The boys
universally had blow-pipes or reeds, with which they were very expert,
killing ducks, curlews, and a land of red partridge, at the distance of
thirty and forty yards. The silence with which the light arrow is sped,
enables the practiced hunter frequently to kill the greater part of a
flock or _covey_, before the rest take the alarm.
My life in the cabildo was unmarked by any adventure worth notice. I
received plantains, fowls, whatever I desired, Aladdin-like, by tapping
the drum. This was always promptly responded to by a couple of young
Indians, who asked no questions, and made no replies, but did precisely
what they were bid. Neither they nor the alcaldes would accept any
thing in return for what they furnished me, beyond a few red cotton
handkerchiefs, and some small triangular files, of which old Hodgson had
wisely instructed me to take in a small supply. They all seemed to be
unacquainted with the use of money, although not without some notion of
the value of gold and silver. I saw several of the women with rude, light
_bangles_ of gold, which metal, the alcaldes told me, was found in the
sands of the river, very far up, among the mountains.
Among the customs of these Indians, there is one of a very curious
nature, with which I was made acquainted by accident. Nearly every
day I strolled off in the woods, with a vague hope of some time or
other encountering a _waree_, or wild hog (of whose presence in the
neighborhood, an occasional foray on the maize fields of the Indians bore
witness), or perhaps a _peccary_, or some other large animal. As the bush
was thick, I seldom got far from the beaten paths of the natives, and had
to content myself with now and then shooting a _curassow_, in lieu of
higher game. One day, I ventured rather further up the river than usual,
and came suddenly upon an isolated hut. Being thirsty, I approached with
a view of obtaining some water. I had got within perhaps twenty paces,
when two old women dashed out toward me, with vehement cries, motioning
me away with the wildest gestures, and catching up handfuls of leaves and
throwing them toward me. I thought this rather inhospitable, and at first
was disposed not to leave. But, finally, thinking there must be some
reason for all this, and seeing that the women appeared rather distressed
than angry, I retracted my steps. I afterward found, upon inquiry, that
the hut was what is called _tabooed_ by the South Sea Islanders, and
devoted to the women of the village, during their confinement. As this
period approaches, they retire to this secluded place, where they remain
in the care of two old women for two moons, passing through lustrations
or purifications unknown to the men. While the woman is so confined to
the hut, no one is allowed to approach it, and all persons are especially
cautious not to pass it to the windward, for it is imagined that by
so doing the wind, which supplies the breath of the newly-born child,
would be taken away, and it would die. This singular notion, I afterward
discovered, is also entertained by the Mosquito people, who no doubt
derived it from their Indian progenitors.
The course of life of the Indians appeared to be exceedingly regular and
monotonous. Both men and women found abundant occupation during the day;
they went to bed early, and rose with the dawn. Although most of them
had hammocks, they universally slept on what are called _crickeries_,
or platforms of canes, supported on forked posts, and covered with
variously-colored mats, woven of the bark of palm branches. I observed
no drunkenness among them, and altogether they were quiet, well-ordered,
and industrious. In all their relations with me, they were respectful and
obliging, but exceedingly reserved. I endeavored to break through their
taciturnity, but without success. Hence, after a few days had passed, and
the novelty had worn off, I began to weary of inactivity. So I one day
proposed to the principal alcalde, that he should undertake a hunt for
the _tilbia_, mountain cow, or _tapir_, and the _peccary_, or Mexican
hog. He received the proposition deferentially, but suggested that the
_manitus_, or sea-cow, was a more wonderful animal than either of those I
had named, and that it would not be difficult to find one in the river.
I took up the hint eagerly, as I had already caught one or two glimpses
of the manitus, which had greatly roused my curiosity. The drum was
thereupon beaten, and the alcaldes convened to consult upon the matter.
They all came with their wands, and after due deliberation, fixed upon
the next night for the expedition. Boats were accordingly got ready, and
the hunters sharpened their lances and harpoons. The latter resembled
very much the ordinary whaling harpoons, but were smaller in size. The
lances were narrow and sharp, and attached to thin staffs, of a very
tough and heavy wood. Notwithstanding that Antonio smiled and shook his
head, I cleaned my gun elaborately, and loaded it heavily with ball.
Before narrating our adventure in the pursuit of the manitus, it will not
be amiss to explain that this animal is probably the most remarkable one
found under the tropics, being amphibious, and the apparent connecting
link between quadrupeds and fishes. It may perhaps be better compared to
the seal, in its general characteristics, than to any other sea-animal.
It has the two fore feet, or rather hands, but the hind feet are wanting,
or only appear as rudiments beneath the skin. Its head is thick and
heavy, and has something the appearance of that of a hornless cow. It
has a broad, flat tail, or integument, spreading out horizontally, like
a fan. The skin is dark, corrugated, and so thick and hard that a bullet
can scarcely penetrate it. A few scattered hairs appear on its body,
which has a general resemblance of that of the hippopotamus. There are
several varieties of the manitus, but it is an animal which appears
to be little known to naturalists. Its habits are very imperfectly
understood, and the natives tell many extraordinary stories about it,
alleging, among other things, that it can be tamed. It is herbivorous,
feeding on the long tender shoots of grass growing on the banks of the
rivers, and will rise nearly half of its length out of water to reach its
food. It is never found on the land, where it would be utterly helpless,
since it can neither walk nor crawl.
It is commonly from ten to fifteen feet long, huge and unwieldy, and
weighing from twelve to fifteen hundred pounds. It has breasts placed
between its paws, and suckles its young. The male and female are usually
found together. It is extremely acute in its sense of hearing, and
immerges itself in the water at the slightest noise. Great tact and
caution are therefore necessary to kill it, and a manitee hunt puts in
requisition all the craft and skill of the Indians.
[Illustration: HUNTING THE MANITUS.]
The favorite hour for feeding, with the manitus, is the early morning,
during the dim, gray dawn. In consequence I was called up to join the
hunters not long after midnight. Two large pitpans, each holding four or
five men, were put in requisition, and we paddled rapidly up the river,
for several hours, to the top of a long reach, where there were a number
of low islands, covered with grass, and where the banks were skirted by
swampy savannahs. Here many bushes were cut, and thrown lightly over the
boats, so as to make them resemble floating trees. We waited patiently
until the proper hour arrived, when the boats were cast loose from the
shore, and we drifted down with the current. One man was placed in the
stern with a paddle to steer, another with a harpoon and line crouched
in the bow, while the rest, keeping their long keen lances clear of
impediments, knelt on the bottom. We glided down in perfect silence, one
boat close to each bank. I kept my eyes opened to the widest, and in the
dim light got quite excited over a dozen logs or so, which I mistook for
manitee. But the hunters made no sign, and we drifted on, until I got
impatient, and began to fear that our expedition might prove a failure.
But of a sudden, when I least expected it, the man in the bow launched
his harpoon. The movement was followed by a heavy plunge, and in an
instant the boat swung round, head to the stream. Before I could fairly
comprehend what was going on, the boughs were all thrown overboard, and
the men stood with their long lances poised, ready for instant use. We
had run out a large part of the slack of the harpoon-line, which seemed
to be fast to some immovable object. The bowsman, however, now began to
gather it in, dragging up the boat slowly against the current. Suddenly
the manitus, for it was one, left his hold on the bottom, and started
diagonally across the river, trailing us rapidly after him. This movement
gradually brought him near the surface, as we could see by the commotion
of the water. Down darted one of the lances, and under again went the
manitus, now taking his course with the current, down the stream. The
other boat, meantime, had come to our assistance, hovering in front of
us, in order to fasten another harpoon the instant the victim should
approach near enough to the surface. An opportunity soon offered, and he
received the second harpoon and another lance at the same instant. All
this time I had both barrels of my gun cocked, feverishly awaiting my
chance for a shot. Soon the struggles of the animal became less violent,
and he several times came involuntarily to the surface. I watched my
chance, when his broad head rose in sight, and discharged both barrels,
at a distance of thirty feet, startling the hunters quite as much as they
had disconcerted me. It was the Lord’s own mercy that some of them did
not get shot in the general scramble!
The manitus, after receiving the second harpoon, became nearly helpless,
and the Indians, apparently secure of their object, allowed the boats
to drift with him quietly down the river. Occasionally he made an
ineffectual attempt to dive to the bottom, dashing the water into foam
in his efforts, but long before we reached the village he floated at the
surface, quite dead. The morning was bright and clear when we paddled
ashore, where we found every inhabitant of the place clustering to
meet us. When they saw that we had been successful, they set up loud
shouts, and clapped their hands with vigor, whence (as this was the only
manifestation of excitement which I had seen) I inferred that the capture
of a manitus was regarded as something of a feat, even on the Mosquito
Shore.
Ropes were speedily attached to the dead animal, at which every body
seemed anxious to get a chance to pull, and it was dragged up the bank
triumphantly, amid vehement shouts. I had been somewhat piqued at the
contempt in which my gun had been held, and had been not a little
ambitious of being able to say that I had killed a manitus, and as, after
my shot, the animal had almost entirely ceased its struggles, I thought
it possible I had given it the final _coup_, and might conscientiously
get up a tolerable brag on my adventure, over Mr. Sly’s punch, when
I returned to New York. It was with some anxiety, therefore, that I
investigated its ugly head, only to find that my balls had hardly
penetrated the skin, and that the hide of the manitus is proof against
any thing in the shape of firearms, except, perhaps, a Minié rifle. And
thus I was cheated out of another chance for immortality! Lest, however,
my story that the hide of the manitus is an inch thick, and tough as
whale-bone, should not be credited, I had a strip of it cut off, which,
when dried, became like horn, and a terror to dogs, in all my subsequent
rambles. I suspect there are some impertinent curs here, in New York, who
entertain stinging recollections of that same strip of manitus-hide! Dr.
Pounder, my old school-master, I am sure, would sacrifice his eyes, or
perhaps, what is of equal consequence, his spectacles, to obtain it!
But while my balls were thus impotent, I found that the lances of the
Indians had literally gone through and through the manitus. The harpoons
did not penetrate far, their purpose being simply to fasten the animal.
The lances were the fatal instruments, and I afterwards saw a young
Indian drive his completely through the trunk of a full-grown palm-tree.
This variety of lance is called _silak_, and is greatly prized.
[Illustration: MANITEE HARPOON AND LANCES.]
There were great doings in the village over the manitus. Beneath the
skin there was a deep layer of very sweet fat, below which appeared the
flesh, closely resembling beef, but coarser, and streaked throughout with
layers of fat. This, when broiled before the fire, proved to be tender,
well-flavored, and altogether delicious food. The tail is esteemed the
most delicate part, and, as observed by Captain Henderson, who had a
trial of it on the same shore, “is a dish of which Apicius might have
been proud, and which the discriminating palate of Heliogabalus would
have thought entitled to the most distinguished reward!” The better and
more substantial part of the animal, namely, the flesh, was carefully
cut in strips, rubbed with salt, and, hung in the sun to dry, made into
what the Spaniards call _tasajo_. The other portions were distributed
among the various huts, and the tail was presented to me. When I came to
leave, I found that the cured or _tasajoed_ flesh had also been preserved
for my use. Broiled on the coals, it proved quite equal to any thing I
ever tasted, and as sweet as dried venison. And here I may mention that
the flesh of the manitus, like that of the turtle, is not only excellent
food, but its effects on the system are beneficial, particularly in the
cases of persons afflicted with scorbutic or scrofulous complaints. It is
said these find speedy relief from its free use, and that, in the course
of a few weeks, the disease entirely disappears.
Chapter VII.
[Illustration]
At the end of two weeks, I signified to my friends that I should be
compelled, on the following day, to leave them, and pursue my voyage
up the coast. I had supposed that there existed an interior connection
between Great River and the lagoons which led to Cape Gracias, but found
that they commenced with a stream some twenty miles to the northward,
called “Snook Creek,” and that it would be necessary to trust our little
boat again to the sea.
The announcement of my intended departure was received without the
slightest manifestation of feeling, but, during the evening, the
inhabitants vied with each other in loading the canoe with fruits and
provisions. They were, in fact, so lavish of their presents, that I
was unable to accept them all, and had to leave more than half of what
they brought me. I, nevertheless, made special room for the _tasajoed_
manitus, and took all the _bisbire_ which was brought. As I have already
explained, the _bisbire_ is a paste made of ripe plantains, having about
the consistency, and very much the taste, of dried figs. It is made into
rolls, closely wrapped in the leaves of the tree on which it grows, which
preserve it perfectly, and it thus becomes an article of prime value to
the voyager.[3]
I left the village with as much ceremony as I had entered it. The
Alcaldes bearing their wands, escorted me down to the water, where I
was obliged to shake hands with all the people, each one exclaiming,
“_Disabia!_” equivalent to “Good-bye!” They stood on the bank until
we were entirely out of sight. I left them with admiration for their
primitive habits, and genuine though formal hospitality. Although, in
their taciturnity, they were not unlike our own Indians, yet, in all
other respects, they afforded a very striking contrast to them. The North
American savage disdains to work; his ambition lies in war and the chase;
but the gentler dweller under the tropics is often industrious, and
resorts to hunting only as an accessory to agriculture.
The ceremonies of my departure had occupied so much time that, when we
reached the mouth of the river, it was too late to venture outside. So
we took up our quarters, for the night, in our old encampment, on the
island. The moon was out, and the evening was exceedingly beautiful—so
beautiful, indeed, that I might have fallen into heroics, had it not been
for a most infernal concert kept up by wild animals on the river’s banks.
I at first supposed that all the ferocious beasts of the forest had
congregated, preparatory to a general fight, and comforted myself that we
were separated from them by the river. There were unearthly groans, and
angry snarls, and shrieks, so like those of human beings in distress as
to send a thrill through every nerve. At times the noises seemed blended,
and became sullen and distant, and then so sharp and near that I could
hardly persuade myself they were not produced on the island itself. I
should have passed the night in alarm, had not Antonio been there to
explain to me that most, if not all these sounds came from what the
Spaniards call the “_mono colorado_,” or howling monkey. I afterward saw
a specimen—a large, ugly beast, of a dirty, brick-red color, with a long
beard, but otherwise like an African baboon. Different from most other
monkeys, they remain in nearly the same places, and have favorite trees,
in which an entire troop will take up its quarters at night, and open a
horrible serenade, that never fails to fill the mind of the inexperienced
traveler with the most dismal fancies. Notwithstanding Antonio’s
explanations, they so disturbed my slumbers that I got up about midnight,
and, going down to the edge of the water, fired both barrels of my gun in
the direction of the greatest noise. But I advise no one to try a similar
experiment. All the water-birds and wild fowl roosting in the trees gave
a sudden flutter, and set up responsive croaks and screams, from which
the monkeys seemed to derive great encouragement, and redoubled their
howling. I was glad when the unwonted commotion ceased, and the denizens
of the forest relapsed again into their chronic serenade.
A large proportion of tropical animals are emphatically “children of
the night.” It is at night that the tiger and maneless Mexican lion
leave their lairs, and range the dense forests in pursuit of their prey,
rousing the peccary and tapir from their haunts, and sending them to
seek refuge in the thickets, where crashing of bushes and splashings in
hidden pools testify to the blind fear of the pursued, and the fierce
instincts of the pursuers. A sudden plunge of the alligator from the
banks, will startle the wild birds on the overhanging trees, and in an
instant the forest resounds to the wild cries of the tiger, the plaints
of the frightened monkeys, and the shrieks and croaks of the numerous
water-fowl; while the wakeful traveler starts up and hastily grasps his
faithful gun, surprised to find the wilderness, which was so still and
slumberous under the noonday heats, now terrible with savage and warring
life.
Toward morning the commotion in the forest subsided, and I was enabled
to snatch a few hours of slumber. I awoke to find the sun just streaking
the horizon, and the boat all ready for departure. Antonio had cut two
trunks of the buoyant _mohoe_ tree, which were lashed to the sides of our
boat to act as floats, and prevent us from being overturned by any sudden
flaw of the wind. We passed the bar without much trouble, and made a good
offing, before laying our course for “Snook Creek.” The wind was fresh,
and the water bright and playful under the blue and cloudless sky. I
leaned over the side of our frail boat—scarce a speck in the broad breast
of the ocean—and watched the numerous marine animals and _mollusca_ that
floated past; the _nautilus_, “small commodore,” with its tiny sail and
rosy prow, the pulsating _rhizostoma_, and the _bernice_, with its silken
hair—most fragile forms of life, and yet unharmed dwellers in the mighty
sea, which mocks at the strength of iron, and undermines continents in
its wrath!
[Illustration: MOLLUSCA OF THE CARIBBEAN SEA.]
During the afternoon we came close in shore, keeping a sharp look-out
for the mouth of “Snook Creek.” There are, however, no landmarks on the
entire coast; throughout it wore the same flat, monotonous appearance—a
narrow strip of sand in front of a low impenetrable forest, in which the
fierce north-easters had left no large trees standing. Hence it is almost
impossible for voyagers, not intimately acquainted with the shore, to
determine their position. My Poyer boy had coasted here but once, and
I found, toward evening, that he was of opinion that we had passed the
mouth of the creek of which we were in search. So we resolved to stand
along the shore for either Walpasixa or Prinza-pulka, where part of the
hull of an American ship, wrecked sometime before, still remained as a
guide to voyagers.
As the sun went down, the wind fell, and the moon came up, shedding
its light upon the broad, smooth swells of the sea, silver-burnished
upon one side, and on the other dark but clear, like the shadows on
polished steel. We lowered our useless sail, and my companions took
their paddles, keeping time to a kind of chant, led off by Antonio, the
Poyer boy joining in the swelling chorus. The melody was very simple,
and, like that of all purely Indian chants, sad and plaintive. I have
often thought, in listening to them, that they were the wails of a people
conscious of their decay, over a continent slipping from their grasp, and
a power broken forever!
[Illustration: ON THE MOONLIT SEA!]
I lay long, watching the shore as it glided past, and listening to the
tinkle of the water under our prow, but finally fell into a deep and
dreamless slumber, rocked by the ocean in its gentlest mood. When I
awoke we had already passed the Prinza-pulka bar, and were fastened to
the branches of a large tree, which had become entangled among the
mangroves, on the banks of the river. It was with no small degree of
satisfaction that I found we had now an uninterrupted river and lagoon
navigation to Cape Gracias, and that we should not again be obliged to
venture, with our little boat, upon the open sea.
The Prinza-pulka seemed rather an estuary than a river, and was lined
with an impenetrable forest of mangroves. These were covered with flocks
of the white ibis, and, as we advanced up the stream, we came upon others
of a rose color, looking like _bouquets_ of flowers among the green
leaves of the trees.
At the distance of three miles, the river banks grew higher, although
densely covered with wild plants and vines, which seemed to have subdued
the forest. The few trees that were left were clustered all over with
twining rope-plants, or _lianes_, sometimes hanging down and swinging in
mid-air, and again stretched to the ground, like the cordage of a ship,
supporting in turn, hundreds of creepers, with leaves of translucent
green, and loaded with clusters of bright flowers. An occasional fan-palm
thrust itself above the tangled verdure, as if struggling for light
and air; while the broad leaves of the wild plantain emerged here and
there in groups, and the slender stalks of the bamboo-cane, fringed
with delicate leaves like those of the willow, bent gracefully over the
water. At the foot of this emerald wall was a strip of slimy earth, and
I observed occasional holes, or tunnel-like apertures, through which
the alligator trailed his hideous length, or the larger land-animals
came down to the water to drink. As we glided by one of these openings,
a tapir suddenly projected his head and ugly proboscis, but, startled by
our canoe, as suddenly withdrew it, and disappeared in the dark recesses
of the impenetrable jungle, in which it is beyond the power of man to
penetrate, except he laboriously carves his way, foot by foot, in the
matted mass.
About ten o’clock we reached the mouth of a narrow creek, or stream,
diverging from the river under a complete canopy of verdure. Up this
creek, my Poyer assured me, the Prinza-pulka village was situated. So we
paddled in, and, after many windings, finally came where the vegetation
was less rank, and the banks were higher and firmer. I began to breathe
freer, for the air within these tropical fastnesses seemed to me loaded
with miasmatic damps, like the atmosphere of a vault. As we proceeded,
the country became more and more open, and the water clearer, revealing
a gravelly bottom, until, at last, to my surprise, we came upon broad
savannahs, fringed, along the water, by narrow belts of trees. Through
these I caught glimpses of gentle swells and undulations of land, upon
which, to my further amazement, I saw clumps of pine-trees! I had
supposed the pine to be found only in high, temperate latitudes, and
could scarcely believe that it grew here, side by side with the palm,
almost on a level with the sea, until I was assured by my Poyer that
it abounded in all the savannahs, and covered all the _plateaus_ and
mountains of the interior.
A bend in the creek brought us suddenly in view of a group of canoes,
drawn up on the shore, in front of a few scattered huts. One or two
women, engaged in some occupation at the edge of the water, fled when
they saw us, scrambling up the bank in evident alarm. As we approached
nearer, I saw through the bushes a number of men hurrying back and
forth, and calling to each other in excited voices. Before we had fairly
reached the landing-place, they had collected among the canoes, whence
they motioned us back with violent gestures. Some were armed with spears,
others had bows and arrows, and two or three carried muskets, which they
pointed at us in a very careless and unpleasant manner. I observed that
they were Sambos, like those at Wasswatla, equally frizzled about the
head, and spotted with the _bulpis_. Whenever we attempted to approach,
they shouted “_Bus! bus!_” and raised their weapons. The Poyer boy
responded by calling “_Wita_,” _i. e._, chief, or head man. Hereupon one
of the number came forward a little, and inquired “_Inglis? Inglis?_”
pointing to me. I held up my pass, and, remembering Wasswatla, pointed
to it, exclaiming, “King paper! king paper!” This seemed to produce an
impression, and we made a movement to land, but up came the guns again,
their muzzles looking as large as church doors. Things certainly appeared
squally, and I was a little puzzled what to do. Prudence suggested that
we should retreat, but then that might be understood as an evidence
of fear, which, with savages, as with wild beasts, is a sure way of
inviting attack. I preferred, therefore, to await quietly the result of
a conference which seemed to be going on, and in which I noticed I was
frequently pointed out, with very suggestive gestures. While this was
going on, Antonio carefully got out my gun and revolver, handing me the
latter in such a manner as not to attract notice. He had evinced a high
consideration for it, ever since it had played so large a part in my
first interview with the patron at “El Roncador.”
After much debate, two of the Sambos, including the head man, pushed
off to us in a canoe, under the cover of the weapons of those on shore.
They, however, fell back in evident alarm when they caught sight of
my revolver. I therefore laid it down, extended both open hands, and
hailed them with the Mosquito salutation, which applies equally at
all hours of the day and night, “Good morning!” They replied, with
the universal drawl, “_Mornin’, sir!_” I put my “king paper” forward,
very conspicuously, and read it through to them, no doubt to their
edification. The head man said, “Good! good!” when I had finished, but
nevertheless seemed suspicious of the contents of our boat, inquiring,
in a broken way, for “Osnabergs,” and “_pauda_,” or powder. I explained
to them, as well as I could, that we were not traders, which piece of
information did not seem to please them. But when they caught sight of my
demijohn, they evinced more amiability, which I hastened to heighten by
giving them a calabash of the contents.
They afterward signified their willingness to let me go ashore, if
I would first give them my gun and revolver, which I sternly and
peremptorily refused to do. They finally paddled to the shore, motioning
for us to follow. Upon landing, I gave them each a dram, which was
swallowed in a breath, with unequivocal signs of relish. The head men,
after another ineffectual attempt to induce me to surrender my revolver,
led the way up the bank, Antonio and the Poyer boy remaining with the
canoe.
[Illustration: VILLAGE OF QUAMWATLA.]
The village was very straggling and squalid, although the position was
one of great beauty. It stood on the edge of an extensive savannah,
covered thickly with coarse grass, and dotted over with little clusters
of bushes, and clumps of dark pines, more resembling a rich park, laid
out with consummate skill, than a scene on a wild and unknown shore,
under the tropics. As we advanced, I observed that the huts were all
comparatively new, and that there were many burnt spots, marked by
charred posts and half-burned thatch-poles. Among the rubbish, in one or
two places, I noticed fragments of earthenware of European manufacture,
and pieces of copper sheathing, evidently from some vessel.
I was conducted to the head man’s hut, where room was made for me to
sit down on one of the crickeries. Some kind of fermented drink was
brought for me, which I had great difficulty in declining. In fact, I
did not like the general aspect of things. In the first place, there
were no women visible, and then the ugly customers with the guns and
spears, when not scrutinizing me or my revolver—which seemed to have a
strange fascination in their eyes—were engaged in a very sinister kind of
consultation.
The head man seemed particularly anxious to know my destination, and the
purposes of my visit. My suspicions had been roused, and I represented
myself as a little in advance of a large party from the Cape, bound down
the coast, and inquired, in return, what land of accommodations could be
provided for my companions when they arrived. This rather disconcerted
him, and I thought the opportunity favorable to fall back to the boat,
now fully convinced that some kind of treachery was meditated. A
movement was made to intercept me at the door, but the presented muzzle
of my revolver opened the way in an instant, and I walked slowly down to
the landing, the armed men following, and calling out angrily, “_Mer’ka
man! Mer’ka man!_” Antonio stood at the top of the bank, with my gun,
his face wearing an anxious expression. He whispered to me hurriedly, in
Spanish, that half a dozen armed men had gone down the creek in a boat,
and that he had no doubt the intention was to attack us.
In fact the cowardly wretches were now brandishing their weapons, and
uttering savage shouts. I at once saw that there was but one avenue
of escape open, namely, to take to our boat, and get away as fast as
possible. I waited until my companions had taken their places, and then
walked down the bank deliberately, and entered the canoe. A few rapid
strokes of the paddles carried us well clear of the shore, before the
Sambos reached the top of the bank. I brought my gun to bear upon them,
determined to fire the instant they should manifest any overt act of
hostility. They seemed to comprehend this, and contented themselves with
running after us, along the bank, shouting “Mer’ka man!” and pointing
their weapons at us, through the openings in the bushes.
We were not long in getting beyond their reach, but they nevertheless
kept up loud, taunting shouts, while we were within hearing. I counted
this a lucky escape from the village, but was not at my ease about the
party which had gone down the creek. I felt sure that they were in ambush
in some of the dark recesses of the banks, and that we might be attacked
at any moment. Both Antonio and myself, therefore, sat down in the bottom
of the canoe, closely watching the shores, while the Poyer boy paddled
noiselessly in the stern. It was now near night, and the shadows gathered
so darkly over the narrow stream that we could see nothing distinctly.
On we went, stealthily and watchfully. We had reached the darkest covert
on the creek, a short distance above its junction with the river, when a
large canoe shot from the bank across our bows, with the evident purpose
of intercepting us. At the same instant a flight of arrows whizzed past
us, one or two striking in the canoe, while the others spattered the
water close by. I at once commenced firing my revolver, while Antonio,
seizing the long manitee-spear, sprang to the bow. At the same instant
our canoe struck the opposing boat, as the saying is, “head on,” crushing
in its rotten sides, and swamping it in a moment. Antonio gave a wild
shout of triumph, driving his spear at the struggling wretches, some
of whom endeavored to save themselves by climbing into our canoe. I
heard the dull _tchug_ of the lance as it struck the body of one of the
victims, and, with a sickening sensation, cried to the Poyer, who had
also seized a lance to join in the slaughter, to resume his paddle.
He did so, and in a few seconds we were clear of the scene of our
encounter, and gliding away in the darkness. I caught a glimpse of the
struggling figures clinging to their shattered boat, and uttering the
wildest cries of alarm and distress. The quick ear of Antonio caught
responsive shouts, and it soon became evident that we had been followed
by boats from the village.
[Illustration: THE FIGHT NEAR QUAMWATLA.]
Convinced that we would be pursued, and that if overtaken we should
be borne down by numbers, the question of our safety became one of
superior craft, or superior speed. I was disposed to try the latter, but
yielded to Antonio, who, watching an opportunity, ran our boat under an
overhanging tree, where the tangled bank cast an impenetrable shadow on
the water. Here we breathlessly awaited the course of events. It was not
long before we heard a slight ripple, and through the uncertain light I
saw three canoes dart rapidly and silently past. The pursuers evidently
thought we had reached the river, where the mangroves and impenetrable
jungles on the banks would effectually prevent concealment or escape.
Relieved from the sense of immediate danger, it became a vital question
what we should next do to secure our ultimate safety. The moon would
soon be up, and our pursuers, not finding us on the river, would at once
divine our trick, and, placing us between themselves and the town, render
escape impossible. To abandon our boat was to court a miserable death in
the woods. Antonio suggested the only feasible alternative. There were
but three canoes, and when they reached the river, he shrewdly reasoned,
two would follow our most probable track down the stream, while the third
would doubtless search for us above. Our policy, then, was to follow in
the wake of the latter, until it should be as widely separated from aid
as possible, and then, by a sudden _coup-de-main_, either disable or
paralyze our opponents, and make the best of our way into the interior,
where we could not fail to find creeks, and other places of refuge from
pursuit.
My companions stripped themselves, so as not to be encumbered in the
water, in case of accident, and I followed their example, retaining only
my dark shirt, lest my white body should prove too conspicuous a mark. I
carefully loaded my pistols, put a handful of buckshot in each barrel of
my gun, and we started down the creek. A few moments brought us to the
river, but we could neither see nor hear the canoes of our enemies. We
turned up the stream, paddling rapidly, but silently, and keeping close
to the shore. Every few minutes Antonio would stop to listen. Meantime, I
hailed with joy some heavy clouds in the East, which promised to prolong
the obscurity, by hiding the light of the rising moon.
The excitement of the night of the terrible storm, in which I was wrecked
on “El Roncador,” was trifling to what I experienced that evening,
paddling up the dark and sullen river. I exulted in every boat’s length
which we gained, as tending to make the inevitable contest more equal,
and welcomed every ebon fold of cloud which gathered in the horizon.
I felt that a thunder-storm was brooding; and the marshaling of the
elements roused still more the savage desperation which gradually
absorbed every other feeling and sentiment. At first, every nerve in my
system vibrated, and I trembled in every limb; I felt like one in an ague
fit; but this soon passed away—every muscle became tense, and I felt the
strong pulsations in my temples, as if molten iron was coursing through
the veins. I no longer sought to avoid a contest, but longed for the hour
to come when I could shed blood. Every moment seemed an age, and I know
not how I subdued my impatience.
Meantime the threatened storm gathered, with a rapidity peculiar to the
tropics on the eve of a fervid day, and the darkness became so dense that
we several times ran our boat against the bank, from sheer inability to
see. Suddenly the dark vail of heaven was rift, and the lurid lightning
fell with a blinding flash, which seemed to sear our eyeballs. An instant
after rolled in the deep-voiced thunder, booming awfully among the
primeval forests. A few rain-drops followed, which struck with steel-like
sharpness on the naked skin, and hot puffs of air came soughing along
the river. A moment after the heavens again glowed with the lightnings,
glaring on the dark breast of the river, and revealing, but a few yards
in advance of us, the hostile canoe, returning from what its occupants
no doubt regarded as a hopeless pursuit. Their loud shout of savage
defiance and joy was cut short by the heavy roll of the thunder, and, an
instant after, the bows of our boats came together. They glanced apart,
and I was nearly thrown from my balance into the water, for I had risen,
the more surely to pour the contents of my gun into the midst of our
assailants. Another shout followed the shock, and I heard the arrows,
shot at random in the darkness, hiss past our heads. I reserved my fire
until the lightning should fall to guide my aim. I had not long to wait;
a third flash revealed the opposing boat; I saw that it was filled with
men, and that in their midst stood the treacherous head man of the
village. The flash of my gun, and that of the lightning, so far as human
senses could discern, were simultaneous; yet instantaneous as the whole
transaction must have been, I saw my victim fall, and heard his body
plunge in the water, before the report had been caught up by the echo,
or drowned by the thunder. I shall never forget the shriek of terror
and of rage that rung out from that boat to swell the angry discord of
the elements. Even now, it often startles me from my sleep. But then
it inspired me with the wildest joy; I shouted back triumphantly, and
tossed my arms exultingly in the face of the unblenching darkness. A few
more arrows, a couple of musket-shots, fired at random toward us, and
the combat was over. We heard wails and groans, but they grew fainter
and more distant, showing that our enemies were dropping down the river.
Another flash of lightning disclosed them drifting along the bank, and
beyond the reach of our weapons.
Our purpose was now accomplished; our foes were behind us, and before
us an unknown mesh of lagoons and rivers. We had no alternative but to
advance, perhaps upon other and more formidable dangers. However that
might be, we did not stop to consider, but all through the stormy night
plied our paddles with incessant energy. About midnight we came to a
small lagoon, on the banks of which we observed some fires, but the sky
was still overcast, and we escaped notice. Toward morning the moon came
out, and we directed our boat close in shore, so as to take refuge in
some obscure creek during the day. An opening finally presented itself,
and we paddled in. As we advanced it became narrow, and was obstructed
by drooping branches and fallen trunks. Under some of them we forced our
boat with difficulty, and others we cut away with our _machetes_. After
infinite trouble and labor we passed the mangrove-swamp, and came to high
grounds, on which were many _coyol_ palm-trees, and a few dark pines.
Here, exhausted with our extraordinary efforts, and no longer sustained
by excitement, we made a hasty encampment. To guard against surprise
Antonio undertook the first watch, and, wrapping myself in my blanket, I
fell into a profound slumber.
And now, to remove any mystery which might attach to the hostile
conduct of the Sambos at _Quamwatla_ (for that was the name of the
inhospitable village), I may explain that, in September, 1849, the bark
“Simeon Draper,” from New York, bound for Chagres, with passengers for
California, was wrecked on the coast, near the mouth of the Prinza-pulka
River. The remains of her hull I have alluded to, as now constituting one
of the principal landmarks on that monotonous shore. Her passengers all
escaped to the land, and succeeded in recovering most of their effects.
They were soon discovered by the Sambos of Quamwatla, who, affecting
friendship, nevertheless committed extensive depredations on the property
of the passengers. Strong representations were made to the head man, but
without effect; in fact, it soon became evident that he was the principal
instigator of the robberies. The news of the wreck spread along the
coast, and a large number of Sambos gathered at the village. As their
numbers increased, they grew bold and hostile, until the position of the
passengers became one of danger. They finally received intimations that
a concerted attack would soon be made upon them, which they anticipated
by an assault upon the Sambo village. The inhabitants, taken by surprise,
fled after a few discharges of the rifles and revolvers, and the village
was set on fire and burned to the ground. The wrecked Americans were not
afterward disturbed, and their condition becoming known in San Juan, a
vessel was dispatched to their relief, and they were taken off in safety.
It was not until I arrived at Cape Gracias that I became acquainted with
these facts, which accounted for the appearance of things in Quamwatla,
and explained the hostility of the natives. Every Englishman on the coast
is a trader, and as I disowned that character, and, moreover, carried
a revolver, they were not long in making up their minds that I was an
American.
Under all the circumstances of the case, our escape was almost
miraculous. I subsequently ascertained that three of our assailants had
been killed outright in the two encounters, and that the treacherous head
man had died of his wounds.
It is with no feeling of exultation that I mention this fact; for,
so long as I live, I shall not cease to lament the necessity, which
circumstances imposed upon me, of taking the life of a human being,
however debased or criminal. I know of no sacrifice which I would not now
make to restore those miserable wretches to their deserted huts, and to
the rude affection of which even savages are capable. The events of that
terrible night have left a shadow over my heart, which time rather serves
to deepen than to efface.
Chapter VIII.
[Illustration]
Our reception at Quamwatla had certainly not been of a kind to inspire
us with the most cheerful anticipations. We knew that a vast net-work
of lagoons, rivers, and creeks extended to Cape Gracias, but of the
character and disposition of the people, scattered along their tangled
shores, we were utterly ignorant. Turning back was not to be thought of;
and going ahead was a matter which required caution. Should we be so
unfortunate as to get involved in another fight, we could hardly expect
to get off so easily as we had done in our last encounter.
Under all the circumstances, we concluded that, inasmuch as our place of
refuge seemed secure, and withal was not deficient in resources, it would
be the wisest plan to remain where we were until the pursuit, which we
were sure would be made, should have been abandoned; or, at least, until
the waning of the moon should afford us a dark night, wherein we could
pursue our voyage unobserved. With this sage resolution, we set to work
to establish a temporary camp.
As I have said, the little creek, which we had followed, led us to the
base of a range of low hills, or rather ridges or swells of land, where
the ground was not alluvial, but dry and gravelly. These ridges could
hardly be called savannahs, although they were covered with a species of
coarse grass, relieved, here and there, by clumps of gum-arabic bushes,
groups of pine-trees, and an occasional _coyol_, or spiny-palm. Between
these comparatively high grounds and the lagoon, intervened a dense,
impenetrable mangrove-swamp, pierced by a few choked channels formed by
the small streams coming down from the hills.
I selected the shelter of a clump of fragrant pines for our encampment,
where the ground was covered with a soft, brown carpet of fallen leaves.
A rope stretched between the trees supported our little sail, which was
spread out, tent-wise, by poles. Under this my hammock was suspended,
affording a retreat, shady and cool by day, and secure from damps and
rains at night.
In a little grassy dell, close by, was a clear spring of water. We lit no
fires except at night, lest the smoke might betray us; and only then in
places whence the light could not be reflected.
Accustomed as were my companions to wild and savage life, they seemed to
enjoy the danger and the seclusion in which we found ourselves. It gave
them an opportunity to display their skill and resources, and they really
assumed toward me an air of complacent patronage, something like that
of a city _habitué_ toward his country cousin, when showing to him the
marvels of the metropolis.
One of Antonio’s earliest exploits, after our resolution to stop had
been taken, was to cut down a number of the rough-looking palm-trees. In
the trunks of these, near their tops, where the leaves sprang out, he
carefully chiseled a hole, cutting completely through the pulp of the
tree, to the outer, or woody shell. This hole was again covered with the
piece of rind, which had first been removed, as with a lid. I watched
the operation curiously, but asked no questions. In the course of the
afternoon, however, he took off one of these covers, and disclosed to
me the cavity filled with a frothy liquid, of the faintest straw tinge,
looking like delicate Sauterne wine. He presented me with a piece of
reed, and with a gratified air motioned me to drink. My early experiments
with straws, in the cider-barrels of New England, recurred to me at once,
and I laughed to think that I had come to repeat them under the tropics.
I found the juice sweet, and slightly pungent, but altogether rich,
delicious, and invigorating. As may be supposed, I paid frequent visits
to Antonio’s reservoirs.
This palm bears the name of _coyol_ among the Spaniards, and of
_cockatruce_ among the Mosquitos. Its juice is called by the former _Vino
de Coyol_, and by the Indians generally _Chicha_ (_cheechee_)—a name,
however, which is applied to a variety of drinks. When the tree is cut
down, the end is plastered with mud, to prevent the juice, with which
the core is saturated, from exuding. A hole is then cut near the top, as
I have described, in which the liquid is gradually distilled, filling
the reservoir in the course of ten or twelve hours. This reservoir may
be emptied daily, and yet be constantly replenished, it is said, for
upward of a month. On the third day, if the tree be exposed to the sun,
the juice begins to ferment, and gradually grows stronger, until, at the
end of a couple of weeks, it becomes intoxicating—thus affording to the
Sambos a ready means of getting up the “big drunk.” The Spaniards affirm
that the “vino de coyol” is a specific for indigestion and pains in the
stomach.
The nuts of this variety of palm grow in large clusters. They are round,
containing a very solid kernel, so saturated with oil as to resemble
refined wax. It is in all respects superior to the ordinary cocoa-nut
oil, and might be obtained in any desirable quantity, if means could
be devised for separating the kernel from the shell. This shell is
thick, hard, black, capable of receiving the minutest carving, and most
brilliant polish, and is often worked into ornaments by the Indians.
In the moist depressions, or valleys, near our encampment, we also found
another variety of palm, which often stands the traveler, under the
tropics, in good stead, as a substitute for other and better vegetable
food. I mean the _Palmetto Royal_, or _Mountain Cabbage_ (_Areca
oleracea_), which has justly been called the “Queen of the Forest.” It
grows to a great height, frequently no thicker than a man’s thigh, yet
rising upward of a hundred and fifty feet in the air. No other tree in
the world equals it in height or beauty. The trunk swells moderately a
short distance above the root, whence it tapers gently to its emerald
crown, sustaining throughout the most elegant proportions.
[Illustration: PALMETTO ROYAL.]
The edible part, or “cabbage” (as it is called, from some fancied
resemblance in taste to that vegetable), constitutes the upper part of
the trunk, whence the foliage springs. It resembles a tall Etruscan
vase in shape, of the liveliest green color, gently swelling from its
pedestal, and diminishing gradually to the top, where it expands in
plume-like branches. From the very centre of this natural vase rises a
tall, yellowish _spatha_, or sheath, terminating in a sharp point. At the
bottom of this, and inclosed in the natural vase which I have described,
is found a tender white core, or heart, varying in size with the
dimensions of the tree, but usually eight or ten inches in circumference.
This may be eaten raw, as a salad, or, if preferred, fried or boiled. In
taste it resembles an artichoke, rather than a cabbage.
The Indians climb this palm, and, dexterously inserting their knives,
contrive to obtain the edible part without destroying the tree itself.
By means of the same contrivance which he made use of in obtaining the
cocoa-nuts, on the island in Pearl Cay Lagoon, Antonio kept us supplied
with palm cabbages, which were our chief reliance, in the vegetable line.
I found that they were most palatable when properly seasoned, and baked
in the ground, with some strips of manitee fat, after the manner which I
have already described.
The fruits of this tree are small, oblong berries, of a purplish blue,
about the size of an olive, inclosing a smooth, brittle nut, which, in
turn, covers a cartilaginous kernel.
The pine ridges were not deficient in animal life. A few large
cotton-trees grew on the edge of the mangrove-swamp, which were the
nightly resort of parrots and paroquets, who came literally in clouds,
and then the callings, scoldings, frettings, and screamings that took
place would have drowned the confusion of the most vicious rookery
extant. In the evening and morning it was really difficult for us to make
each other hear, although our camp was distant more than two hundred
yards from the roosts. The parrots are often eaten by the natives, in
default of other food, but they are tough, hard, dry, and tasteless. Not
so, however, with the quails, which were not only numerous, but so tame,
or rather so unsuspecting, that we could catch as many as we wanted, in
the simplest kind of traps. We adopted this method of procuring such game
as the Poyer boy did not kill with his bow, instead of using my gun, the
report of which might betray us.
Day by day we extended our excursions farther from the camp, every step
revealing to me, at least, something novel and interesting. I think it
was the third day after our arrival, when we came upon a patch of low
ground, or jungle, densely wooded, and distant perhaps half a mile from
our encampment. Attracted by some bright flowers, I penetrated a few
yards into the bushes, where, to my surprise, I came upon what appeared
to be a well-beaten path, which I followed for some distance, wondering
over the various queer tracks which I observed printed, here and there,
on the moist ground. While thus engaged, I was startled by the sound of
some animal approaching, with a dull and heavy, but rapid tread. Looking
up, I saw a lead-colored beast, about the size of a large donkey, its
head drooping between its fore-legs, coming toward me at a swinging
trot. Thinking he was charging upon me direct, I leaped into the bushes,
with the intention of climbing up a tree. But before I could effect my
object, the monster lumbered past, taking not the slightest notice of
my presence. I breathed freer, when I saw his broad buttocks and little
pig-like tail disappearing down the path, and I made my way out of the
jungle, in a manner probably more expeditious than either graceful or
valorous. Antonio, who was dodging after a fat curassow, had heard the
noise, and was witness of my retreat. He seemed alarmed at first, but
only smiled when I explained what I had seen. In fact, he appeared to
think it rather a good joke, and hurried off to examine the tracks.
He came back in a few minutes, and reported that my monster was _only
a dante_, which I took to be some kind of Indian lingo for at least a
hippopotamus, or rhinoceros.
“We shall have rare sport,” he continued, “in catching this _dante_. It
will be equal to hunting the manitus.”
I found, upon inquiry, that the _dante_ is called, in the Mosquito
dialect, _tilba_ or _tapia_, which names at once suggested _tapir_, an
animal of which I had read, but of which I had very vague notions.
The Poyer boy seemed delighted with the news that there was a _tapir_
about, and in less than five minutes after, both he and Antonio were
sharpening their spears and lances, with palpable design on my monster’s
life. They told me that the _tapir_ generally keeps quiet during the day,
wandering out at night, usually in fixed haunts and by the same paths,
to take exercise and obtain his food. I was not a little relieved when
they added that he never fights with man or beast, but owes his safety
to his speed, thick hide, and ability to take to the water, where he is
as much at home as on land, swimming or sinking to the bottom at his
pleasure. He is, nevertheless, a headlong beast, and when alarmed or
pursued, stops at nothing—vines, bushes, trees, rocks, are all the same
to him! He would do well for a crest, with the motto, “_Neck or Nothing!_”
In shape, the _dante_ or _tapir_ (sometimes called _mountain cow_) is
something like a hog, but much larger. He has a similar arched back; his
head, however, is thicker, and comes to a sharp ridge at the top. The
male has a snout or sort of proboscis hanging over the opening of the
mouth, something like the trunk of an elephant, which he uses in like
manner. This is wanting in the female. Its ears are rounded, bordered
with white, and can be drawn forward at pleasure; its legs are thick and
stumpy; its fore-feet or hoofs are divided into three parts or toes,
with a sort of false hoof behind; but the hind feet have only three
parts or divisions. Its tail is short, and marked by a few stiff hairs;
the skin so hard and solid as generally to resist a musket-ball; the
hair thin and short, of a dusky brown; and along the top of the neck
runs a bristly mane, which extends over the head and down the snout. He
has ten cutting-teeth, and an equal number of grinders in each jaw;
features which separate him entirely from the ox-kind, and from all other
ruminating animals. He lives upon plants and roots, and, as I have said,
is perfectly harmless in disposition. The female produces but one young
at a birth, of which she is very tender, leading it, at an early age, to
the water, and instructing it to swim.
This description finished, the reader is ready to accompany us in our
nocturnal expedition against the tapir. Before it became dark, Antonio,
accompanied by the boy, went to the thicket which I have described, and
felled several stout trees across the path, in such a manner as to form
a kind of _cul de sac_. The design of this was to arrest the animal on
his return, and enable us to spear him before he could break through
or disengage himself. We went to the spot early in the evening, and,
as the moon did not rise until late, Antonio caught his hat half-full
of fire-flies, which served to guide us in the bush. He then pulled
off their wings and scattered them among the fallen trees, where they
gave light enough to enable us to distinguish objects with considerable
clearness. Notwithstanding Antonio’s assurances that the _tapir_ was a
member of the Peace Society, I could not divest myself of the alarm which
he had given me in the morning, and I was not at all sorry to find that
my companions had selected a spot for their abattis, where an overhanging
tree enabled me to keep out of harm’s way, yet near enough to take a sly
drive with my lance at the tapir, if he should happen to come that way.
Antonio and the Poyer boy took their stations among the fallen trees; I
took mine, and we awaited the _dante’s_ pleasure. I strained my eyes in
vain endeavors to penetrate the gloom, and held my breath full half the
time to hear the expected tread. But we peered, and listened, and waited
in vain; the fire-flies crawled away in every direction, and yet the
_tapir_ obstinately kept away. Finally, the moon came up; and by-and-by
it rose above the trees—and still no tapir!
My seat on the tree became uncomfortable, and I instituted a comparison
between tapir and manitus-hunting, largely to the advantage of the
latter; and, finally, when Antonio whispered “He is coming!” I felt a
willful disposition to contradict him. But my ear, meanwhile, caught the
same dull sound which had arrested my attention in the morning; and, a
few moments afterward, I could make out the beast, in the dim light,
driving on at the same swinging trot. Right on he came, heedless and
headlong. Crash! crash! There was a plunge and struggle, and a crushing
and trampling of branches, then a dull sound of the heavy beast striking
against the unyielding trunks of the fallen trees. He was now fairly
stopped, and with a shout my companions drove down upon him with their
lances, which rung out a sharp metallic sound when they struck his
thick, hard hide. It was an exciting moment, and my eagerness overcoming
my prudence, I slipped down the tree, and joined in the attack. Blow
upon blow of the lances, and I could feel that mine struck deeply into
the flesh, it seemed to me into the very vitals of the animal. But the
strokes only appeared to give him new strength, and gathering back, he
drove again full upon the opposing tree, bearing it down before him. I
had just leaped upon the trunk, the better to aim my lance, and went
down with it headlong, almost under the feet of the struggling animal,
one tramp of whose feet would have crushed me like a worm. I could have
touched him with my arm, he was so near! I heard the alarmed shriek of
Antonio, when he saw me fall; but, in an instant, he leaped to my side,
and, shortening his lance, drove it, with desperate force, clean through
the animal, bringing him to his knees. This done, he grappled me as he
might an infant, and before I was aware of it, had dragged me clear of
the fallen timber. The blow of Antonio proved fatal; the tapir fell over
on his side, and in a few moments was quite dead.
[Illustration: THE DEATH OF THE TAPIR.]
The Poyer boy was dispatched to the camp for fire and pine splints,
which, stuck in the ground around the tapir, answered for torches. By
their light my companions proceeded to cut up the spoil, a tedious
operation, which occupied them until daylight. I did not wait, but went
back to my hammock, leaving them to finish their work, undisturbed by my
questions.
When I awoke in the morning, I found Antonio had the tapir’s head baking
in the ground, from whence rose a hot but fragrant steam. It proved to
be very good eating, as did also the feet and the neck, but the flesh
of the animal in general was abominably coarse and insipid, although my
companions seemed to relish it greatly. I found it, like that of the
manitus, exceedingly laxative.
Some idea may be formed of the tapir’s tenacity of life, when I say
that I counted upward of thirty lance-thrusts in the body of the one we
killed, none of which were less than six inches deep, and nearly all
penetrating into the cavity of the body! It rarely happens, therefore,
that the animal is killed by the individual hunter. The hide is quite as
thick, and I think harder than that of the manitus, which, when dried, it
closely resembles.
I should weary the reader were I to enter into all the details of our
life at the “Tapir Camp,” as I called it, in honor of the exploit I have
just recounted. During the eight days which we spent there, I learned
more of nature and her works than I had known before. I spent hours in
watching the paths of the black ants, tracing them to their nests in the
trees, which were dark masses, as large as a barrel, made up of fragments
of leaves cemented together. From these paths, which were from four to
six inches wide, all grass, leaves, sticks, and other obstructions, had
been removed, and along them poured an unbroken column of ants, thousands
on thousands, those bound from the nest hurrying down one side of the
path, and those bound in, each carrying aloft a piece of green leaf,
perhaps half an inch square—a mimic army with banners—hurrying up the
other. I amused myself, sometimes, by putting obstructions across the
path, and watching the surging up of the interrupted columns. Then could
be seen fleet couriers hurrying off to the nest, and directly the path
would be crowded with a heavy reënforcement, invariably headed by eight
or ten ants of larger size, who appeared to be the engineers of the
establishment. These would climb over and all around the obstruction,
apparently calculating the chances of effecting its removal. If not too
heavy, they disposed their regiments, and dragged it away by a grand
simultaneous effort. But if, on examination, they thought its removal
impossible, they hurried to lay out a road around it, clearing away the
grass, leaves, twigs, and pebbles with consummate skill, each column
working toward the other. The best drilled troops could not go more
systematically and intelligently to work, nor have executed their task
with greater alacrity and energy. No sooner was it done, than, putting
themselves at the head of their workies, the engineers hastened back as
they came, ready to obey the next requisition upon their strength and
skill.
Here I may mention that there is no end of ants under the tropics. They
swarm every where, of unnumbered varieties—from little creatures, of
microscopic proportions, to those of the size of our wasp. It is always
necessary, when on land, to hang one’s provisions by cords from the
branches of trees, or they would literally be eaten up in a single night.
There is one variety, called the _hormegas_, by the Spaniards, which has
an insatiate appetite for leather, especially boots, and will eat them
full of holes in a few hours. All the varieties of _acacias_ teem with
a small red, or “fire ant,” whose bite is like the prick of a red-hot
needle. The unfortunate traveler who gets them in any considerable
numbers on his person, is driven to distraction for the time being. It is
difficult to imagine keener torment.
Thousands of small, light-colored bees gathered round the fallen trunks
of the coyol-palms, to collect the honey-like liquid that exuded here
and there, as the juice began to ferment. I soon ascertained that they
were stingless, and amused myself in watching their industrious zeal.
I gradually came to observe that when each had gathered his supply, he
rose, by a succession of circuits, high in the air, and then darted off
in a certain direction. Carefully watching their course, I finally traced
them to a low, twisted tree, on the edge of the swamp, in the hollow
of which they had their depository. Of course, I regarded this as a
fortunate discovery, and we were not slow to turn it to our advantage. I
had less scruples in cutting down the tree, and turning the busy little
dwellers out on the world, since they had no winter to provide for,
and could easily take care of themselves. The supply of honey proved
to be very small, and seemed to have been collected chiefly for the
support of the young bees. We obtained only four bottles full from the
tree. In taste it proved to be very unlike our northern honey, having
a sharp, pungent, half-fermented flavor, causing, when eaten pure, a
choking contraction of the muscles of the throat. Antonio mixed some of
it with the “vino de coyol,” which, after fermentation, produced a very
delicious, but strong, and most intoxicating kind of _liqueur_.
On the afternoon of the eighth day, the moon having reached her last
quarter, we packed our little boat, and just as the night fell, worked
our way slowly through the little, obstructed canal to the lagoon, which
now expanded to the north. We paddled boldly through the middle, the
better to avoid observation from the shore. The night was dark, but
wonderfully still, and I could hear distinctly the sound of drums and
revelry from the villages on the eastern shore, although they must have
been fully three miles distant.
I left “Tapir Camp” with real regret. The days had glided by tranquilly,
and I had enjoyed a calm content, to which I had before been a stranger.
For the first time, I was able to comprehend the feeling, gathering
strength with every day, which induces men, sometimes the most brilliant
and prosperous, to banish themselves from the world, and seek, in utter
retirement, the peace which only flows from a direct converse with
nature, and an earnest self-communion.
Chapter IX.
[Illustration]
Along the coast, from the Prinza-pulka river northward, as I have
said, stretches a net-work of rivers and lagoons, for a distance of
at least one hundred and fifty miles, terminating near Cape Gracias.
These lagoons are broad and shallow, and bordered by extensive marshes.
Wherever the dry ground does appear, strange to say, it is generally as
a sandy savannah, undulating, and supporting few trees except the red,
or long-leaved pine. These savannahs are only adapted for grazing, since
the soil is too light and poor for cultivation, and fails to support any
of the staple products, or any of the many esculent vegetables of the
tropics, except the cassava. And although the few scattered inhabitants
of the Mosquito Shore, above the Prinza-pulka, live upon the borders
of the lagoons, selecting generally the savannahs for their villages,
it is because they are essentially fishers, and derive their principal
support from the sea. The islands of the coast abound with turtle, and
the rivers, creeks, and lagoons teem with fish of nearly every variety
known under the tropics. The few vegetables which they require are
obtained from the banks of the rivers in the back country, where the
streams flow through their proper valleys, and before they are lost in
the low grounds of the coast. The plantations on these rivers belong to
the Indians proper, whose numbers increase toward the interior, and who
supply the Sambos, or coast-men, not only with vegetables, but also with
the various kinds of boats which are used by them, receiving in exchange
a few cottons, axes, trinkets, and other articles which are brought
by the foreign traders. The character and habits of these Indians are
widely different from those of the coast-men. The latter are drunken,
idle, and vicious, while the former are mild, industrious, and temperate.
The differences which I have indicated between the Indian settlement on
the Rio Grande and the Sambo village of Wasswatla, hold equally true
throughout, except that the farther the traveler proceeds northward from
Bluefields, the more debased and brutal the Sambos become.
[Illustration: LIFE AMONG THE LAGOONS.]
In attempting to thread my way through the maze of waters before us, I
kept the facts which I have recounted constantly in view, and sought
rather to penetrate inland, than diverge toward the coast. So, whenever
two or more channels presented themselves, I universally took the inside
one. This frequently led us into the rivers flowing from the interior,
but their current speedily enabled us to correct these mistakes.
No incident relieved the monotony of our first night, after leaving
“Tapir Camp.” Toward morning we paddled into the first opening in
the mangroves that held out promise of concealment. We had the usual
difficulties to encounter—fallen trees, and overhanging limbs; but
when the morning broke we had worked our way to a spot where the creek
expanded into a kind of subordinate lagoon, very shallow, and full of
sandy islets, partly covered with grass and water-plants. At one spot
on the shore the ground was elevated a few feet, supporting a number
of large and ancient trees, heavily draped with vines, under which we
encamped.
After a very frugal meal, my hammock was suspended between the trees, and
I went to sleep. About noon I awoke, and spent the rest of the day in
watching the various forms of animal life which found support in these
secluded wilds. It seemed to me as if all the aquatic birds of the world
were congregated there, in harmonious conclave. Long-shanked herons, with
their necks drawn in, and their yellow bills resting on their breasts,
stood meditatively on a single leg; troops of the white and scarlet ibis
trotted actively along the open sands; and round-tailed darters, with
their snaky necks and quick eyes, alighted in the trees around us—the
only birds of all that assemblage which seemed to notice our intrusion!
Then there were cranes, and gaudy, awkward spoonbills (clownish
millionaires!) and occasionally a little squadron of blue-winged teal
paddled gracefully by.
Overhead, a few noisy macaws sheltered themselves from the noonday heats.
Among these, I saw, for the first time, the green variety, a more modest,
and, to my taste, a far more beautiful bird, than his gaudier cousin. The
large trees to which I have alluded, were of the variety known as the
ceiba, or silk-cotton tree. They were now in their bloom, and crowned
with a profusion of flowers of rich and variegated colors, but chiefly a
bright carnation. It was a novel spectacle to see a gigantic tree, five
or six feet in diameter, and eighty or ninety feet high, sending out
long and massive limbs, yet bearing flowers like a rose-bush—a sort of
man-milliner! Viewed from beneath, the flowers were scarcely visible, but
their fragrance was overpowering, and the ground was carpeted with their
gay leaves and delicate petals. But seen from a little distance, the
ceiba-tree in bloom is one of the most splendid productions of Nature—a
gigantic bouquet, which requires a whole forest to supply the contrasting
green! The flowers are rapidly succeeded by a multitude of pods, which
grow to the size and shape of a goose-egg. When ripe, they burst open,
revealing the interior filled with a very soft, light cotton or silky
fibre, attached as floats to diminutive seeds, which are thus wafted far
and wide by the winds. This process is repeated three times a year. I am
not aware that the cotton has ever been manufactured, or applied to any
more useful purpose than that of stuffing pillows and mattresses.
The trunk of the ceiba, however, is invaluable to the natives. The wood
is easily worked, and is, moreover, light and buoyant, and not liable to
split by exposure to the sun. For these reasons, it is principally used
for _dories_, _pitpans_, and the different varieties of boats required
on the coast, although, for the smaller canoes, the cedar and mahogany
are sometimes substituted. The mahogany boats, however, are rather heavy,
while the cedar is liable to split in what is called “beaching.” I have
seen _dories_ hollowed from a single trunk of the ceiba, in which a tall
man might comfortably lie at length across the bottom, and which were
capable of carrying fifty persons.
But the _ceibas_ of our encampment supported, besides their own verdure,
a mass of _lianes_ or climbers, of many varieties, as also, numerous
parasitic plants, and among them the wild-pine or rain-plant, which
served us a most useful purpose. Several of these grew in the principal
forks of the trees, to the height of from four to six feet. Their leaves
are broad, and wrap round on themselves, like a roll, forming reservoirs,
in which the rain and dew is collected and retained, safe from sun and
wind. Each leaf will hold about a quart of water, which looks clear
and tempting in its green, translucent goblet. Had it not been for the
rain-plant, we would have suffered very often from thirst, among those
brackish lagoons, where fresh water is obtained with difficulty.
With the night, we resumed our stealthy course to the northward, guided
by the familiar north star, which here, however, circles so low in the
horizon, as hardly to be visible above the trees. The long and narrow
lagoon contracted more and more, until it presented a single channel,
perhaps a hundred yards wide, closely lined with mangroves, which, rising
like a wall on both sides, prevented us from making out the character
of the back country. In passing through some of the numerous bends,
I nevertheless caught star-light glimpses of distant hills, and high
grounds in the direction of the interior. The channel soon began to
trend to the north-east, and there was a considerable current in that
direction. I was concerned lest, notwithstanding all my caution, I had
lost the clew to the lagoons, and taken some one of the outlets into the
sea. We nevertheless kept on, steadily and rapidly, discovering no signs
of habitations on the banks, until near morning, when my suspicions were
confirmed by a monotonous sound, which I had no difficulty in recognizing
as the beating of the sea. I was therefore greatly relieved when the
narrow channel, which we were traversing, expanded suddenly into a
beautiful lagoon, which I subsequently ascertained was called “Tongla
Lagoon.” It is triangular in shape, extending off to the north-west.
I was weary of dodging the Sambos, and determined, as the wind was
blowing fresh, to put up our sail, and standing boldly through the
lagoon, take the risk of recognition and pursuit. There never was a
brighter day on earth, and our little boat seemed emulous to outstrip the
wind. Gathering confidence from our speed, I got out my fishing line,
and, attaching a bit of cotton cloth to the hook, trailed it after the
boat. It had hardly touched the water before it was caught by a kind of
rock-fish, called _snapper_ by the English residents, and _cowatucker_ by
the Mosquitos. It is only from ten to twelve inches in length, but broad
and heavy. Antonio recognized it as one of the best of the small fishes,
and I continued the sport of catching them, until it would have been
wanton waste to have taken more. I found them to be of two varieties, the
red and black, of which the latter proved to be the most delicate. I also
caught two fish of a larger kind, called _baracouta_, each about twenty
inches in length, resembling our blue-fish. It is equally ravenous, and
has a like firm and palatable flesh. I am not sure that it is not the
true blue-fish, although I afterward caught some in the Bay of Honduras
which were between three and four feet in length.
In order to get the full benefit of the land-breeze, we kept well over
to the seaward or eastern side of the lagoon. As the lagoon narrowed,
our course gradually brought us close in shore. I had observed some
palm-trees on the same side of the lagoon, but the ground seemed so low,
and tangled with verdure, that I doubted if the trees indicated, as they
usually do, a village at their feet. I nevertheless maintained a sharp
look-out, and kept the boat as near to the wind as possible, so as to
slip by without observation. It was not until we were abreast of the
palms, that I saw signs of human habitations. But then I made out a large
number of canoes drawn up in a little bay, and, through a narrow vista in
the trees, saw distinctly a considerable collection of huts. There were
also several of the inhabitants moving about among the canoes.
I observed also that our boat had attracted attention, and that a number
of men were hurrying down to the shore. I was in hopes that they would be
content with regarding us from a distance, and was not a little annoyed
when I saw two large boats push from the landing. We did not stop to
speculate upon their purposes, but shook out every thread of our little
sail, and each taking a paddle, we fell to work with a determination of
giving our pursuers as pretty a chase as ever came off on the Mosquito
Shore. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and I felt confident
that we could not be overtaken, if at all, before night, and then it
would be comparatively easy to elude them.
[Illustration: THE CHASE ON TONGLA LAGOON.]
Our pursuers had no sails, but their boats were larger, and numerously
manned by men more used to the paddle than either Antonio or myself.
While the wind lasted, we rather increased our distance, but as the sun
went down the breeze declined, and our sail became useless. So we were
obliged to take it in, and trust to our paddles, alone. This gave our
pursuers new courage, and I could hear their shouts echoed back from
the shores. When night fell they had shortened their distance to less
than half what it had been at the outset, and were so near that we could
almost make out their words; for, during quiet nights, on these lagoons,
voices can be distinguished at the distance of a mile. The lagoon
narrowed more and more, and was evidently getting to be as contracted as
the channel by which we had entered. This was against us; for, although
we had almost lost sight of our pursuers in the gathering darkness, our
safety depended entirely upon our slipping, unobserved, into some narrow
creek. But we strained our eyes in vain, to discover such a retreat. The
mangroves presented one dark, unbroken front.
The conviction was now forced upon me that, in spite of all our efforts
to avoid it, we were to be involved in a second fight. I laid aside
my paddle, and got out my gun. And now I experienced again the same
ague-like sensations which I have described as preceding our struggle
on the Prinza-pulka. It required the utmost effort to keep my teeth
from chattering audibly. I had a singular and painful sensation of
fullness about the heart. So decided were all these phenomena, that,
notwithstanding our danger, I felt glad it was so dark that my companions
could not see my weakness. But soon the veins in my temples began to
swell with blood, pulsating with tense sharpness, like the vibration of
a bow-string; and then the muscles became rigid, and firm as iron. I was
ready for blood! Twice only have I experienced these terrible sensations,
and God grant that they may never agonize my nerves again!
Our enemies were now so near that I was on the point of venturing
a random long shot at them, when, with a suppressed exclamation of
joy, Antonio suddenly turned our canoe into a narrow creek, where the
mangroves separated, like walls, on either side. Where we entered, it
was scarcely twenty feet wide, and soon contracted to ten or twelve. We
glided in rapidly for perhaps two hundred yards, when Antonio stopped to
listen. I heard nothing, and gave the word to proceed. But the crafty
Indian said “No;” and, carefully leaning over the edge of the boat,
plunged his head in the water. He held it there a few seconds, then
started up, exclaiming, “They are coming!” Again we bent to the paddles,
and drove the boat up the narrow creek with incredible velocity.
I was so eager to get a shot at our pursuers that I scarcely comprehended
what he meant, when, stopping suddenly, Antonio pressed his paddle in my
hands, and, exchanging a few hurried words with the Poyer boy, each took
a machete in his mouth, and leaped overboard. I felt a sudden suspicion
that they had deserted me, and remained for the time motionless. A moment
after, they called to me from the shore, “Paddle! paddle!” and, at the
same instant, I heard the blows of their machetes ringing on the trunks
of the mangroves. I at once comprehended that they were felling trees
across the narrow creek, to obstruct the pursuit; and I threw aside the
paddle, and took my gun again, determined to protect my devoted friends,
at any hazard. I never forgave myself for my momentary but ungenerous
distrust!
Our pursuers heard the sound of the blows, and, no doubt comprehending
what was going on, raised loud shouts, and redoubled their speed. _Kling!
kling!_ rang the machetes on the hard wood! Oh, how I longed to hear the
crash of the falling trees! Soon one of them began to crackle—another
blow, and down it fell, the trunk splashing gloriously in the water!
Another crackle, a rapid rustling of branches, and another splash in the
water! It was our turn to shout now!
I gave Antonio and the Poyer boy each a hearty embrace, as, dripping with
water, they clambered back into our little boat. We now pushed a few
yards up the stream, stopped close to the slimy bank, and awaited our
pursuers. “Come on, now,” I shouted, “and not one of you shall pass that
rude barrier alive!”
The first boat ran boldly up to the fallen trees, but the discharge of
a single barrel of my gun sent it back, precipitately, out of reach. We
could distinguish a hurried conversation between the occupants of the
first boat and of the second, when the latter came up. It did not last
long, and when it stopped, Antonio, in a manner evincing more alarm
than he had ever before exhibited, caught me by the arm, and explained
hurriedly that the second boat was going back, and that the narrow creek,
in which we were, no doubt communicated with the principal channel by a
second mouth. While one boat was thus blockading us in front, the second
was hastening to assail us in the rear! I comprehended the movement at
once. Our deliberation was short, for our lives might depend upon an
improvement of the minutes. Stealthily, scarce daring to breathe, yet
with the utmost rapidity possible, we pushed up the creek. As Antonio
had conjectured, it soon began to curve back toward the estuary. We had
pursued our course perhaps ten or fifteen minutes—they seemed hours!—when
we overheard the approach of the second boat. We at once drew ours close
to the bank, in the gloomiest covert we could find. On came the boat, the
paddlers, secure of the success of their device, straining themselves
to the utmost. There was a moment of keen suspense, and, to our
inexpressible relief, the boat passed by us. We now resumed our paddles,
and hastened on our course. But before we entered the principal channel,
my companions clambered into the overhanging mangroves, and in an
incredibly short space of time had fallen other trees across the creek,
so as completely to shut in the boat which had attempted to surprise us.
The device was successful; we soon emerged from the creek, and the
sea-breeze having now set in, favorably to our course, we were able to
put up our sail, and defy pursuit. We saw nothing afterward of our eager
friends of Tongla Lagoon!
Some time past midnight we came to another and larger lagoon, called
“Wava Lagoon,” and, weary and exhausted from nearly two days of
wakefulness, hard labor, and excitement, we ran our boat ashore on a
little island, which presented itself, and dragged it up into the bushes.
We kindled a fire, cooked our fish, and then I lay down in the canoe,
and went to sleep. I had entire confidence that we would not be pursued
further, as we were now a long way from the coast, and in the country of
the unmixed Indians, who, so far from recognizing the assumptions of the
Sambos, hold an attitude so decidedly hostile toward them that the latter
seldom venture into their territory.
I awoke near noon, but unrefreshed, with a dull pain in my head, a
sensation of chilliness, great lassitude, and an entire absence of
appetite. Had our encampment been more favorable, I should not have
attempted to move; but the island was small, without water, and,
moreover, too near the channel leading to Tongla Lagoon to be a desirable
resting-place. So we embarked about midday, and stood across the lagoon
for its western shore, where the ground appeared to rise rapidly, and
high blue mountains appeared in the distance. The sun shone out clearly,
and the day was sultry, but my chilliness increased momentarily, and, in
less than an hour after leaving the island, I found myself lying in the
bottom of the canoe, wrapped in my blanket, and for the first time in my
life, suffering from the ague. The attack lasted for full two hours, and
was followed by a bursting pain in my head, and a high fever. I had also
dull pains in my back and limbs, which were more difficult to be borne
than others more acute.
At four o’clock in the afternoon, Antonio put the boat in shore—for I was
too ill to give directions—where a bluff point ran out into the lagoon,
forming a small bay, with a smooth, sandy beach. A little savannah,
similar to that which I have described at Tapir Camp, extended back
from the bluff, near the centre of which, at its highest point, which
commanded a beautiful view of the lagoon, rose a single clump of pines.
Here my companions carried me in my hammock, and here they hastily
arranged our camp.
When the sun went down, my fever subsided, but was followed by a profuse
and most debilitating sweat. Meantime Antonio had collected a few nuts
of a kind which, I afterward ascertained, is called by the English of
the West Indies _physic-nut_ (_jatropha_), which grows on a low bush,
on all parts of the coast. These he rapidly prepared, and administered
them to me. They operated powerfully, both as an emetic and cathartic.
When their effects had ceased, I fell asleep, and slept until morning,
when I awoke weak, but free from pain, or any other symptom of illness.
I congratulated myself and Antonio, but he dampened my spirits sensibly
by explaining that, however well I might feel for that day, I would be
pretty sure to have a recurrence of fever on the next. And to mitigate
the severity of this, if not entirely to prevent it, he presented to me a
calabash of reddish-looking liquid, which he called _cinchona_, and told
me to drink deeply. Heavens! I shall never forget the bitter draught,
which he commended to my unwilling lips every two hours during that black
day in my calendar! I know what it is now, for my Mosquito experiences
have entailed upon me a sneaking fever and ague, which avails itself
of every pretext to remind me that we are inseparable. Looking to my
extensive consumption of quinine, I have marveled, since my return, that
the price of the drug has not been doubled! Others may look at the stock
quotations, but my principal interest in the commercial department of
the morning paper, is the “ruling rate” of _quinine_! Not having, as yet,
discovered any considerable advance, I begin to doubt the dogma of the
economists, that “the price is regulated by the demand.”
Antonio was right. The next day came, and at precisely twelve o’clock
came also the chill, the fever, the dull pains, and the perspiration,
but all in a more subdued form. I escaped the physic-nuts, but the third
day brought a new supply of the bitter liquid, which Antonio told me was
decocted from bark taken from the roots of a species of mangrove-tree.
I have never seen it mentioned that the cinchona is found in Central
America, but, nevertheless, it _is_ there, or something so nearly like
it, in taste and effects, as to be undistinguishable. Thin slips of the
bark, put into a bottle of rum, made a sort of cordial or bitters, of
which I took about a wine-glassful every morning and evening, during the
remainder of my stay on the coast, with beneficial results.
I had three recurrences of the fever, but the sun passed the meridian
on the sixth day without bringing with it an attack—thanks to the rude
but effective “healing art” of my Indian companions. Experience had
taught them about all, I think, that has ever been learned in the way
of treatment of indigenous complaints. It is only exotic diseases, or
sweeping epidemics, that carry death and desolation among the aborigines,
whose ignorance of their nature and remedies invests them with a terror
which enhances the mortality. Not only was the treatment to which I
was subjected thoroughly correct, but the dieting was perfect. The only
food that was given to me consisted of the seeds of the okra (which is
indigenous on the coast), flavored by being boiled with the legs and
wings of quails, and small bits of dried manitee flesh. I only outraged
the notions of my rude physicians in one respect, _viz._, in insisting on
being allowed to wash myself. The Indians seem to think that the effect
of water on the body, or any part of it, during the period of a fever, is
little less than mortal—a singular notion, which may have some foundation
in experience, if not in reason. The Spaniards, wisely or foolishly,
entertain the same prejudice; and, furthermore, shut themselves up
closely in dark rooms, when attacked by fever. At such times they
scarcely commend themselves pleasantly to any of the senses.
From the open, airy elevation where our camp was established, as I have
already said, we had an extensive and beautiful view of the lagoon.
We saw canoes, at various times, skirting the western shore, and,
from the smoke which rose at intervals, we were satisfied that there
were there several Indian villages. As soon, therefore, as I thought
myself recovered from my fever, which was precisely at one o’clock past
meridian, on the sixth day (the fever due at noon not having “come to
time”), I was ready to proceed to the Indian towns. But our departure was
delayed for two days more by an unfortunate occurrence, which came near
depriving the Poyer boy of his life, and me of a valuable assistant;
for, while Antonio was supreme on land, the Poyer boy was the leader on
the water. I always called him—Mosquito fashion—“admiral.”
It seems that, while engaged in gathering dry wood, he took hold of
a fallen branch, under which was coiled a venomous snake, known as
the _tamagasa_ (called by the English _tommy-goff_, and the Mosquitos
_piuta-sura_, or the poison snake). He had scarcely put down his hand
when it struck him in the arm. He killed it, grasped it by the tail, and
hurried to our camp. I was much alarmed, for his agitation was extreme,
and his face and whole body of an ashy color. Antonio was not at hand,
and I was at an utter loss what to do, beyond tying a ligature tightly
around the arm. The Poyer, however, retained his presence of mind,
and, unrolling a mysterious little bundle, which contained his scanty
wardrobe, took out a nut of about the size and much the appearance of
a horse-chestnut, which he hastily crushed, and, mixing it with water,
drank it down. By this time Antonio had returned, and, learning the state
of the case, seized his machete, and hastened away to the low grounds on
the edge of the savannah, whence he came back, in the course of half an
hour, with a quantity of some kind of root, of which I have forgotten the
Indian name. It had a strong smell of musk, impossible to distinguish
from that of the genuine civet. This he crushed, and formed into a kind
of poultice, bound it on the wounded arm, and gave the boy to drink a
strong infusion of the same. This done, he led him down to the beach, dug
a hole in the moist sand, in which he buried his arm to the shoulder,
pressing the sand closely around it. I thought this an emphatic kind of
treatment, which might be good for Indians, but which would be pretty
sure to kill white men. The boy remained with his arm buried during the
entire night, but, next morning, barring being a little pale and weak
from the effects of these powerful remedies, he was as well as ever, and
resumed his usual occupations. A light blue scratch alone indicated the
place where he had been bitten.
The _tamagasa_ (a specimen of which I subsequently obtained, and which
now occupies a distinguished place among the reptiles in the Philadelphia
Academy), is about two feet long. It is of the thickness of a man’s
thumb, with a large, flat head, and a lump in the neck something like
that of the cobra, and is marked with alternate black and dusky white
rings. It is reputed one of the most venomous serpents under the tropics,
ranking next to the beautiful, but deadly _corral_.
Chapter X.
[Illustration]
From our misfortunes, I named our encampment, on Wava Lagoon, “Fever
Camp,” although so far from contracting the fever there, I am sure it
was its open and elevated position which contributed to my recovery. The
fever was rather due to over-exertion, and exposure at night; for the
night-damps, on all low coasts under the tropics, are unquestionably
deadly, and the traveler cannot be too careful in avoiding them. Early in
the afternoon of the day of our departure from “Fever Camp,” we entered
a large stream, flowing into the lagoon from the north-west, upon the
banks of which, judging from the direction of the smoke we had seen, the
Indian villages were situated. We were not mistaken. Before night we came
to a village larger than that on the Rio Grande, but in other respects
much the same, except that it stood upon the edge of an extensive
savannah, instead of on the skirt of an impenetrable forest. Around it
were extensive plantations of cassava, and other fruits and vegetables,
growing in the greatest luxuriance, and indicating that the soil of the
inland savannahs does not share the aridity of those nearer the coast.
This was further evinced by the scarcity of pines, which were only to be
seen on the ridges or gentle elevations with which the surface of the
savannah was diversified.
Our appearance here created the same excitement which it had occasioned
at the other places we had visited, and our reception was much the same
with that which we had experienced on the Rio Grande. Instead, however,
of being met by men with wands, we were welcomed by five old men, one of
whom vacated his own hut for our accommodation. None here could speak
either English or Spanish intelligibly, but the affinity between their
language and that of my Poyer enabled him to make known our wants, and
obtain all useful information. We were treated hospitably, but with the
utmost reserve, and during my whole stay, but a single incident relieved
the monotony of the village. This was a marriage—and a very ceremonious
affair it was.
These Indians, I should explain, are called Towkas, or Toacas, and have,
I presume, all the general characteristics and habits of the Cookras
and Woolwas. These do, in fact, constitute a single family, although
displaying dialectical differences in their language.
[Illustration: TOWKAS INDIANS.]
Among all these Indians, polygamy is an exception, while among the Sambos
it is the rule. The instances are few in which a man has more than one
wife, and in these cases the eldest is not only the head of the family,
but exercises a strict supervision over the others. The betrothals are
made at a very early age, by the parents, and the affianced children
are marked in a corresponding manner, so that one acquainted with the
practice can always point out the various mates. These marks consist
of little bands of colored cotton, worn either on the arm, above the
elbow, or on the leg, below the knee, which are varied in color and
number, so that no two combinations in the village shall be the same.
The combinations are made by the old men, who take care that there
shall be no confusion. The bands are replaced from time to time, as
they become worn and faded. Both boys and girls also wear a necklace
of variously-colored shells or beads, to which one is added yearly.
When the necklace of the boy counts ten beads or shells, he is called
_muhasal_, a word signifying three things, _viz._, ten, all the fingers,
and _half-a-man_. When they number twenty, he is called _’all_, a word
which also signifies three things, _viz._, twenty, both fingers and toes,
and _a man_. And he is then effectively regarded as a man. Should his
affianced, by that time, have reached the age of fifteen, the marriage
ceremony takes place without delay.
As I have said, a sleek young Towka was called upon to add the final bead
to his string, and take upon himself the obligations of manhood, during
my stay at the village. The event had been anticipated by the preparation
of a canoe full of palm-wine, mixed with crushed plantains, and a little
honey, which had been fermenting, to the utter disgust of my nostrils,
from the date of my arrival. The day was observed as a general holiday.
Early in the morning all the men of the village assembled, and with their
knives carefully removed every blade of grass which had grown up inside
of a circle, perhaps a hundred feet in diameter, situated in the very
centre of the village, and indicated by a succession of stones sunk in
the ground. The earth was then trampled smooth and hard, after which they
proceeded to erect a little hut in the very centre of the circular area,
above a large flat stone which was permanently planted there. This hut
was made conical, and perfectly close, except an opening at the top, and
another at one side, toward the east, which was temporarily closed with a
mat, woven of palm-bark. I looked in without hinderance, and saw, piled
up on the stone, a quantity of the dry twigs of the copal-tree, covered
with the gum of the same. The canoe full of liquor was dragged up to the
edge of the circle, and literally covered with small white calabashes, of
the size of an ordinary coffee-cup.
At noon, precisely, all the people of the village hurried, without order,
to the hut of the bridegroom’s father. I joined in the crowd. We found
the “happy swain” arrayed in his best, sitting demurely upon a bundle of
articles, closely wrapped in a mat. The old men, to whom I have referred,
formed in a line in front of him, and the eldest made him a short
address. When he had finished, the next followed, until each had had his
say. The youth then got up quietly, shouldered his bundle, and, preceded
by the old men, and followed by his father, marched off to the hut of
the prospective bride. He put down his load before the closed door, and
seated himself upon it in silence. The father then rapped at the door,
which was partly opened by an old woman, who asked him what he wanted, to
which he made some reply which did not appear to be satisfactory, when
the door was shut in his face, and he took his seat beside his son.
One of the old men then rapped, with precisely the same result, then
the next, and so on. But the old women were obdurate. The bridegroom’s
father tried it again, but the she-dragons would not open the door. The
old men then seemed to hold a council, at the end of which a couple
of drums (made, as I have already explained, by stretching a raw skin
over a section of a hollow tree), and some rude flutes were sent for.
The latter were made of pieces of bamboo, and were shaped somewhat like
flageolets, each having a mouth-piece, and four stops. The sound was dull
and monotonous, although not wholly unmusical.
Certain musicians now appeared, and at once commenced playing on these
instruments, breaking out, at long intervals, in a kind of supplicatory
chant. After an hour or more of this soothing and rather sleepy kind
of music, the inexorable door opened a little, and one of the female
inmates glanced out with much affected timidity. Hereupon the musicians
redoubled their efforts, and the bridegroom hastened to unroll his
bundle. It contained a variety of articles supposed to be acceptable to
the parents of the girl. There was, among other things, a _machete_, no
inconsiderable present, when it is understood that the cost of one is
generally a large _dory_, which it requires months of toil to fashion
from the rough trunk of the gigantic ceiba. A string of gay glass beads
was also produced from the bundle. All these articles were handed in to
the women one by one, by the father of the groom. With every present
the door opened wider and wider, until the mat was presented, when
it was turned back to its utmost, revealing the bride arrayed in her
“prettiest,” seated on a crickery, at the remotest corner of the hut.
The dragons affected to be absorbed in examining the presents, when
the bridegroom, watching his opportunity, dashed into the hut, to the
apparent utter horror and dismay of the women; and, grasping the girl by
the waist, shouldered her like a sack, and started off at a trot for the
mystic circle, in the centre of the village. The women pursued, as if
to overtake him and rescue the girl, uttering cries for help, while all
the crowd huddled after. But the youth was too fast for them; he reached
the ring, and lifting the vail of the hut, disappeared within it. The
women could not pass the circle, and all stopped short at its edge, and
set up a chorus of despairing shrieks, while the men all gathered within
the charmed ring, where they squatted themselves, row on row, facing
outward. The old men alone remained standing, and a bit of lighted pine
having meanwhile been brought, one of them approached the hut, lifted the
mat, and, handing in the fire, made a brief speech to the inmates. A few
seconds after an aromatic smoke curled up from the opening in the top of
the little hut, from which I infer that the copal had been set on fire.
What else happened, I am sure I do not know!
When they saw the smoke, the old women grew silent and expectant; but,
by-and-by, when it subsided, they became suddenly gay, and “went in
strong” for the festivities, which, up to this time, I must confess,
I had thought rather slow. But here I may explain, that although the
bridegroom has no choice in the selection of his wife, yet if he have
reason for doing so, he may, while the copal is burning, take her in his
arms, and cast her outside of the circle, in the open day, before the
entire people, and thus rid himself of her forever. But in this case,
the matter is carefully investigated by the old men, and woe betide the
wretch who, by this public act, has impeached a girl wrongfully! Woe
equally betide the girl who is proved to have been “put away” for good
reasons. If, however, the copal burns out quietly, the groom is supposed
to be satisfied, and the marriage is complete.
The copal, in this instance, burned out in the most satisfactory manner,
and then the drums and flutes struck up a most energetic air, the music
of which consisted of about eight notes, repeated with different degrees
of rapidity, by way of giving variety to the melody. The men all kept
their places, while I was installed in a seat of honor beside the old
men. The women, who, as I have said, could not come within the circle,
now commenced filling the calabashes from the canoe, and passing them to
the squatting men, commencing with the ancients and the “distinguished
guests”—for Antonio and my Poyer were included in our party. There
was nothing said, but the women displayed the greatest activity in
filling the emptied calabashes. I soon discovered that every body was
deliberately and in cold blood getting up of what Captain Drummer called
the “big drunk!” That was part of the performance of the day, and the
Indians went at it in the most orderly and expeditious manner. They
wasted no time in coyish preliminaries—a practice which might be followed
in more civilized countries, to the great economy, not only of time, but
of the vinous. It was not from the love of the drink that the Towkas
imbibed, I can well believe, for their _chicha_ was bad to look at, and
worse to taste.
With the fourth round of the calabashes, an occasional shout betrayed
the effects of the _chicha_ upon some of the weaker heads. These shouts
became more and more frequent, and were sometimes uttered with a savage
emphasis, which was rather startling. The musicians, too, became more
energetic, and as the sun declined, the excitement rose, until, unable
to keep quiet any longer, all hands got up, and joined in a slow,
swinging step around the circle, beating with their knuckles on the
empty calabashes, and joining at intervals in a kind of refrain, at the
end of which every man struck the bottom of his calabash against that
of his neighbor. Then, as they came round by the canoe, each one dipped
his calabash full of the contents. The liquid thus taken up was drunk at
a single draught, and then the dance went on, growing more rapid with
every dip of the calabash. It got to the stage of a trot, and then a fast
pace, and finally into something little short of a gallop, but still in
perfect time. The rattling of the calabashes had now grown so rapid, as
almost to be continuous, and the motion so involved and quick, that, as
I watched it, I felt that kind of giddiness which one often experiences
in watching the gliding of a swift current of water. This movement could
not be kept up long, even with the aid of _chicha_, and whenever a dancer
became exhausted, he would wheel out of line, and throw himself flat on
his face on the ground. Finally, every one gave in, except two young
fellows, who seemed determined to do, in their way, what other fast
young men, in other countries, sometimes undertake to accomplish, viz.:
drink each other down, or “under the table.” They danced and drunk, and
were applauded by the women, but were so closely matched that it was
impossible to tell which had the best chance of keeping it up longest.
In fact, each seemed to despair of the other, and, as if by a common
impulse, both threw aside their calabashes, and resolved the contest
from a trial of endurance into one of strength, leaping at each other’s
throats, and fastening their teeth like tigers in each other’s flesh.
There was instantly a great uproar, and those of the men who had the
ability to stand, clustered around the combatants in a confused mass,
shouting at the stretch of their lungs, and evidently, as I thought,
regarding it as a “free fight.” But there was little damage done, for the
old men, though emphatically “tight,” had discretion enough to send the
women for thongs, with which the pugnacious youths were incontinently
bound hand and foot, and dragged close to the hut in the centre, and
there left to cool themselves off as they were best able, no one taking
the slightest notice of them. “Verily,” I ejaculated to myself, “wisdom
knoweth no country.”
[Illustration: THE END OF IT!]
The dance which I have described was resumed from time to time, until
it became quite dark, when the women brought a large number of pine
splinters, of which the men each took one. These were lighted, and then
the dancers paced up to the little hut, and each tore off one of the
branches of which it was built, finally disclosing the newly-married
couple sitting demurely side by side. As soon as the hut was demolished,
the groom quietly took his bride on his back—literally “shouldering the
responsibility!”—and marched off to the hut which had previously been
built for his accommodation, escorted by the procession of men with
torches. This was the final ceremony of the night, although some of the
more dissipated youths returned to the canoe, and kept up a drumming, and
piping, and dancing, until morning. Next day every body brought presents
of some kind to the newly-married pair, so as to give them a fair start
in the world, and enable them to commence life on equal terms with the
best in the village.
It would be difficult to find on earth any thing more beautiful than
the savannah which spread out, almost as far as the eye could reach,
behind the Towkas village. Along the river’s bank rose a tangled wall
of verdure; giant ceibas, feathery palms, and the snake-like trunks of
the _mata-palo_, all bound together, and draped over with cable-like
_lianes_, (the tie-tie of the English,) and the tenacious tendrils
of myriads of creeping and flowering plants. Unlike the wearying,
monotonous prairies of the West, the savannah was relieved by clumps of
acacias—among them the delicate-leaved gum-arabic—palmettos, and dark
groups of pines, arranged with such harmonious disorder, and admirable
picturesque effect, that I could scarcely believe the hand of art had not
lent its aid to heighten the efforts of nature in her happiest mood.
Finding retreats in the dense coverts of the jungles on the river’s
bank, or among the clustering groups of bushes and trees, the antelope
and deer, the Indian rabbit and _gibeonite_, wandered securely over the
savannah, nipping the young grass, or chasing each other in mimic alarm.
Here, too, might be observed the crested curassow, with his stately step,
the plumptitudinous qualm, and the crazy chachalca, (_coquericot_,)
besides innumerable quails—all fitting food for omnivorous man, but so
seldom disturbed as not to recognize him as their most dangerous enemy.
Then night and morning the air was filled with deafening parrots, noisy
macaws, and quick-darting, chattering paroquets.
I rose early every day, and with my gun in my hand, strayed far over the
savannah, inhaling the freshness of the morning air, and shooting such
game as looked fat, tender, and otherwise acceptable to my now fastidious
appetite. The curassow, (called _cossu_ by the Mosquitos,) is one of the
finest birds in the world. It is about the size of the turkey, but has
stronger and longer legs. The plumage is dark brown or black, ash-colored
about the neck, and of a reddish brown on the breast. On its head it
has a crest of white feathers tipped with black, which it raises and
depresses at pleasure. The flesh is whiter than that of a turkey, but
rather dry, requiring a different mode of cooking than is practiced in
the woods, to bring out its qualities in perfection. It is easily tamed,
as are also the _qualm_ and _chachalaca_. The latter, when old, is tough,
but when young, its flesh cannot be surpassed for delicacy and flavor.
The animal called the Indian rabbit is very numerous, and is a variety
of what, in South America, is called the _agouti_. It is about the size
of a rabbit: body plump; snout long, and rather sharp; nose divided at
the tip, and upper jaw longer than the lower; hind legs longer than
the anterior ones, and furnished with but three toes; tail short, and
scarcely visible, while its body is covered with a hard, shining,
reddish-brown hair, freckled with dark spots. It lives upon vegetables,
holds its food in eating, like a squirrel, and has a vicious propensity
for biting and gnawing whatever it comes near. For this reason it is
a nuisance in the neighborhood of plantations, and, as it multiplies
rapidly, it is about the only animal which is hunted systematically by
the Indians. Its flesh is only passable.
The _gibeonite_ (_cavia-paca_), sometimes called _pig-rabbit_, closely
resembles the guinea-pig, but is something larger. The head is round;
the muzzle short and black; the upper jaw longer than the lower; the lip
divided, like that of a hare; the nostrils large, and the whiskers long;
eyes brown, large, and prominent; ears short and naked; neck thick; body
very plump, larger behind than before, and covered with coarse, short
hair, of a dusky brown color, deepest on the back; the throat, breast,
inside of the limbs, and belly dingy white; and on each side of the body
are five rows of dark spots, placed close to each other. The legs are
short, the feet have five toes, with strong nails, and the tail is a
simple conic projection. Its flesh is peculiarly juicy and rich, and,
baked in the ground, the animal makes a dish for an epicure. I believe I
did not let a day pass without having a baked _gibeonite_.
Among the Indians of the village, the eggs and flesh of the river turtle
were favorite articles of food; and in constantly using them, I thought
they evinced a proper appreciation of what is good. There are two
varieties of these turtles, one called _bocatoro_ (Mosquito _chouswat_),
and the other _hecatee_. The latter is seldom more than eighteen inches
long, but its shell is very deep. We cooked them by simply separating
the lower shell, taking out the entrails, and stuffing the cavity with
cassava, pieces of plantain, manitee fat, and various condiments, then
wrapping it in plantain leaves, as I have described, and turning it
back down, baking it in the ground. It always required a good bed of
coals to cook it properly, but when rightly done, the result was a meal
preëminently savory and palatable. The Indian boys brought, literally,
bushels of the eggs of these turtles from the bars and sand-spits of the
river and lagoon. These are very delicate when entirely fresh.
Chapter XI.
[Illustration]
We were not many days in exhausting the resources of the Towkas village,
in the way of adventures; and, one sunny afternoon, packed our little
boat, and, bidding our entertainers good-by, paddled down the river,
on our voyage to Sandy Bay—next to Bluefields, the principal Sambo
establishment on the coast. Our course lay, a second time, through Wava
Lagoon, which connects, by a narrow and intricate channel or creek, with
a larger lagoon to the northward, called Duckwarra. The night was quiet
and beautiful—the crescent moon filling the air with a subdued and dreamy
light, soothing and slumbrous, and so blending the real with the ideal
that I sometimes imagine it might all have been a dream! My companions,
if they did not share the influences of the night, at least respected my
silence, and we glided on and on, without a sound save the steady dip of
the paddles, and the gentle ripple of the water, which closed in mimic
whirlpools on our track.
When morning broke, we had already entered Duckwarra Lagoon, the
largest we had encountered since leaving Pearl-Cay. It had the same
appearance with all the others, and, having nothing to detain us, we
steered directly across, only stopping near noon on one of the numerous
islets, to cook our breakfast, and escape the midday heats. This islet
was, perhaps, two hundred yards across, and elevated in the centre some
fifteen or twenty feet above the water. Near the apex were growing a
number of ancient palms, and, strolling up to them, I found at their
roots a small elevation, or tumulus, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter
at the base, and five or six feet high. Its regularity arrested my
attention, and led me to believe that it was artificial. I called to
Antonio, who at once pronounced it a burying-place of the “Antiguos.”
I proposed opening it, but my companions seemed loth to disturb the
resting-place of the dead. However, finding that I had commenced the
work without them, they joined me, and with our machetes and paddles,
we rapidly removed the earth. Near the original surface of the ground,
we came to some bones, but they were so much decayed that they crumbled
beneath the fingers. Uncovering them further, we found at the head of the
skeleton a rude vase, which was got out without much damage. Carefully
removing the earth from the interior I found that it contained a number
of chalcedonic pebbles, pierced as if for beads, a couple of arrow-heads
of similar material, and a small ornament of thin, plate gold, rudely
representing a human figure, as shown in the accompanying engraving,
which is of the size of the original. At the feet of the skeleton we
also discovered another small vase of coarse pottery, which, however,
contained no relics. Antonio seemed much interested in the little golden
image, but finally, after minute examination, returned it to me, saying,
that although his own people in Yucatan often buried beneath tumuli, and
had golden idols which they placed with the dead, yet, in workmanship,
they were unlike the one we had discovered.
[Illustration]
“Ah!” he continued, his eyes lighting with unusual fire, “you should see
the works of our ancestors! They were gods, those ancient, holy men!
Their temples were built for them by _Kabul_, the Lord of the Powerful
Hand, who set the seal of his bloody palm upon them all! You shall go
with me to the sacred lake of the Itzaes, where our people are gathered
to receive the directions of the Lord of Teaching, whose name is _Votan
Balam_, who led our fathers thither, and who has promised to rescue them
from their afflictions!”
He stopped suddenly, as if alarmed at what he had said, kissed his
talisman, and relapsed again into the quiet, mild-eyed Indian boy,
submissively awaiting my orders.
We left Duckwarra Lagoon by a creek connecting it with Sandy Bay Lagoon,
and on the second afternoon from Wava River, arrived at the Sambo
settlement, which is on its southern shore, about eight miles from the
sea. It stands upon the edge of a savannah, that rises to the southward
and eastward, forming, toward the sea, a series of bluffs, the principal
of which is called Bragman’s Bluff, and is the most considerable landmark
on the coast.
The town has something the appearance of Bluefields, and contains perhaps
five hundred inhabitants, who affect “English fashion” in dress and modes
of living. That is to say, many of them wear English hats, even when
destitute of every other article of clothing, except the _tournou_, or
breech-cloth. These hats are of styles running back for thirty years,
and, moreover, crushed into a variety of shapes which are infinitely
ludicrous, especially when the wearers affect gravity or dignity. A naked
man cannot make himself absolutely ridiculous, for nature never exposes
her creations to humiliation; but the attempts at art, in making up the
man on the Mosquito Shore, I must confess, were melancholy failures.
Before we got to the village, the beating of drums, and the occasional
firing off of muskets, announced that some kind of a feast or celebration
was going on. As we approached nearer I saw the English flag displayed
upon a tall bamboo, planted in the centre of a group of huts. I saw also
a couple of boats, of European construction, drawn up on the beach,
from which I inferred that there must be a trading vessel on the coast,
and that I was just in time to witness one of the orgies which always
follow upon such an event. I had had some misgivings as to the probable
reception we should meet, in case the news of our affair with the
Quamwatlas had reached here, and felt not a little reassured when I saw
indications of the presence of foreigners.
The people were all so absorbed with their festivities that our approach
was not noticed; but when we got close to the shore, I fired off both
barrels of my gun by way of salute. An instant after, a number of men
came out from among the huts, and hurried down to the beach. Meantime I
had got out my “King-paper,” and leaped ashore.
The crowd that huddled around me would have put Falstaff’s tatterdemalion
army to shame. The most conspicuous character among them wore a red check
shirt, none of the cleanest, and a threadbare undress coat of a British
general, but had neither shoes nor breeches. Nor was he equally favored
with Captain Drummer in respect of a hat. Instead of a venerable chapeau,
like that worn by the captain with so much dignity, he had an ancient
bell-crowned “tile,” which had once been white, but was now of equivocal
color, and which, apparently from having been repeatedly used as a seat,
was crushed up bellows’ fashion, and cocked forward in a most absurd
manner.
The wearer of this imposing garb had already reached the stage of “big
drunk,” and his English, none of the best at any time, was now of a very
uncertain character. He staggered up, as if to embrace me, slapping
his breast with one hand, and druling out “I General Slam—General
Peter Slam!” I avoided the intended honor by stepping on one side, the
consequence of which was, that if the General had not been caught by
Antonio, he certainly would have plunged into the lagoon.
I made a marked display of my “King-paper,” and commenced to read it
to the General, but he motioned me to put it up, saying, “All good!
very great good! I Peter Slam, General!” Meantime the spectators were
reinforced from the village, and drums were sent for. They were of
English make, and of the biggest. General Slam then insisted on escorting
me up from the beach, “English gentleman fashion!” and taking my arm in
his unsteady grasp, he headed the procession, with a desperate attempt
at steadiness, but nevertheless swaying from side to side, after the
immemorial practice of drunken men.
The General was clearly the magnate of Sandy Bay, (called by the Sambos
_Sanaby_,) and when we reached the centre of the village, where the feast
was going on, we were saluted by a “hurrah!” given “English fashion.”
Here I noticed a big canoe full of _mishla_, around which the drinking
and dancing was uninterrupted. General Slam took me at once to his own
house or hut, where the traders in whose honor the feast was got up, were
quartered. I found there the captain and clerk, and two of the crew
of the “London Belle,” a trading vessel which had recently arrived at
Cape Gracias, from Jamaica. There was also an Englishman, named H——, who
lived at the Cape, and who seemed to hold here a corresponding position
with Mr. Bell in Bluefields. They were all reclining on crickeries, or
in hammocks, and appeared to be on terms of easy familiarity with a
number of very sleek young girls, in whose laps they were resting their
heads, and whose principal occupation, in the intervals of not over
delicate dalliance, was that of passing round glasses of a kind of punch,
compounded of Jamaica rum, the juice of the sugar-cane, and a variety of
crushed fruits.
[Illustration: GENERAL PETER SLAM.]
The whole party was what is technically called “half-seas-over,” and
welcomed me with that large liberality which is inseparable from that
condition. The general was slapped on the back, and told to “bring in
more girls, you bloody rascal, no skulking now!” Whereupon his hat was
facetiously crushed down over his eyes by each one of his guests in
succession, and he was kicked out of the door by the English captain, a
rough brute of a man, who only meant to be playful.
I had barely time to observe that General Slam’s house was not entirely
without evidences of civilization. Upon one side was a folding table,
and ship’s sideboard, or locker, both probably from some wreck. In the
latter were a quantity of tumblers, decanters, plates, and other articles
of Christian use; and on the walls hung a few rude lithographs, gaudily
colored. Among them—strange juxtaposition!—was a picture of Washington.
My survey was interrupted by a great tumult near the hut, and a moment
after, half a dozen Sambos, reeking with their filthy _mishla_, staggered
in at the door, dragging after them a full-blooded Indian, quite naked,
and his body bleeding in several places, from blows and scratches
received at the hands of his savage assailants. The Sambos pushed him
toward the English captain, ejaculating, “Him! him!” while the Indian
himself stood in perfect silence, his thin lips compressed, and his eyes
fixed on the captain. The conduct of the latter was in keeping with that
of the drunken wretches who had dragged the Indian to the hut, and who,
vociferating some unintelligible jargon, were brandishing their clubs
over his head, and occasionally hitting viciously with them at his feet.
“That’s the bloody villain, is it!” said the captain, leaping from his
crickery, and striking the Indian a terrible blow in the face, which
felled him to the ground. “I’ll learn him proper respect for the King!”
This act was followed by stamping his foot heavily on the fallen and
apparently insensible Indian.
The entire proceeding was to me inexplicable; but this last brutality
roused my indignation. I grasped the captain by the collar of his coat,
and hurled him across the hut. “Do you pretend to be an Englishman,”
I said, “and yet set such an example to these savages? What has this
Indian done?” “I’ll let you know what he has done,” he shrieked, rather
than spoke, in a wild paroxysm of rage; and, grasping a knife from the
table, he drove at me, with all his force. Maddened and drunk as he was,
I had only to step aside to avoid the blow. Missing his mark, he stumbled
over the fallen Indian, and fell upon the knife, which pierced through
and through his left arm, just below the shoulder. Quick as lightning
the Indian leaped forward, tore the knife from the wound, and in another
instant would have driven it to the captain’s heart, had I not arrested
his arm. He glanced up in my face, dropped the knife, and folding his
arms, stood erect and silent.
The captain’s companions, with the exception of Mr. H., were much
inclined to be belligerent, but the revolver in my belt inspired them
with a wholesome discretion.
Meantime, the captain’s wound had been bound up, and the Indian had
withdrawn. The Sambos had retreated the instant I had interposed against
the violence of the trader.
The occasion of this brutal assault was simply this. The Sambos, living
on the coast, effectually cut off the Indians from the sea, and,
availing themselves of their position, and the advantage of firearms,
make exactions of various kinds from them. Thus, if the Indians go off
to the cays for turtles, they require from them a certain proportion of
the shells, which is called the “king’s portion.” But as the Jamaica
traders always keep the king and chiefs in debt to them, the shells thus
collected go directly into their hands. In fact, it is only through the
means which they afford, and often by their direct interference, that
the nominal authority of the so-called king is kept up. It was alleged
that the Indian whom the captain had abused, and who was a very expert
fisherman, had not made a fair return; and his want of “proper respect
for the king,” it turned out, consisted in not having a sufficient
quantity of shells to satisfy the cupidity of the trader!
After this occurrence at General Slam’s house, I did not find it
agreeable to stay there longer, and, accordingly, strolled off in the
village. The festival had now become uproarious. Around the _mishla_
canoe was a motley assemblage of men, women, and children; some with red
caps and frocks, others strutting about with half a shirt, and others
entirely naked. A number of men with pipes and drums kept up an incessant
noise, while others, with muskets, which they filled with powder almost
to the muzzle, fired occasional volleys, when all joined in a general
_hurrah_, “English fashion.”
At a little distance was built up a rude fence of palm-branches and
pine-boughs, behind which there was a crowd of men laughing and shouting
in a most convulsive manner. I walked forward, and saw that only males
were admitted behind the screen of boughs. Here, in the midst of a
large circle of spectators, were two men, dressed in an extraordinary
manner, and performing the most absurd antics. Around their necks each
had a sort of wooden collar, whence depended a fringe of palm-leaves,
hanging nearly to their feet. Their headdresses terminated in a tall,
thin strip of wood, painted in imitation of the beak of a saw-fish,
while their faces were daubed with various colors, so as completely to
change the expression of the features. In each hand they had a gourd
containing pebbles, with which they marked time in their dances. These
were entirely peculiar, and certainly very comical. First they approached
each other, and bent down their tall head-pieces with the utmost gravity,
by way of salute; then sidled off like crabs, singing a couplet which
had both rhythm and rhyme, but, so far as I could discover, no sense. As
interpreted to me, afterward, by Mr. H——, it ran thus:—
“Shovel-nosed shark,
Grandmother, grandmother!
Shovel-nosed shark,
Grandmother!”
When the performers got tired, their places were taken by others, who
exhausted their ingenuity in devising grotesque and ludicrous variations.
When evening came, fires of pine wood were lighted in all directions, and
the drinking and dancing went on, growing noisier and more outrageous
as the night advanced. Many got dead drunk, and were carried off by the
women. Others quarreled, but the women, with wise foresight, had carried
off and hidden all their weapons, and thus obliged them to settle their
disputes with their fists, “English fashion.” To me, these boxing bouts
were exceedingly amusing. Instead of parrying each others’ strokes, they
literally exchanged them. First one would deliver his blow, and then
stand still and take that of his opponent, blow for blow, until both
became satisfied. Then they would take a drink of _mishla_ together,
“English fashion,” and become friends again.
[Illustration: SUKIA OF SANDY BAY.]
During the whole of the evening I found myself closely watched by a
hideous old woman, who moved around among the revelers like a ghoul.
Everybody made way for her when she approached, and none ventured
to speak with her. There was something almost fascinating in her
repulsiveness. Her hair was long and matted, and her shriveled skin
appeared to adhere like that of a mummy to her bones; for she was
emaciated to the last degree. The nails of her fingers were long and
black, and caused her hands to look like the claws of some unclean bird.
Her eyes were bloodshot, but bright and intense, and were constantly
fixed upon me, like those of some wild beast on its prey. Wherever I
moved she followed, even behind the screen concealing the masked dancers,
where no other woman was admitted.
I lingered among the revelers until their antics ceased to be amusing,
and became simply brutal. Both sexes finally gave themselves up to the
grossest and most shameless debauchery, such as I have never heard
ascribed to the most bestial of savages.
Disgusted and sickened, I turned away, and went down to the shore,
preferring, after what had occurred at Slam’s house, to sleep in my boat,
to trusting myself in the power of the wounded trader. So we pushed
off a few hundred feet from the shore, and anchored for the night. I
wrapped myself in my blanket, and, notwithstanding the noisy revels in
the village, savage laughter and angry shouts, the beating of drums and
firing of guns, I was soon asleep.
It was past midnight; the moon had gone down, the fires of the village
were burning low, and the dancers, stupified and exhausted, only broke
out in occasional spasmodic shrieks, when I was awakened by Antonio, who
placed his finger on my lips in token of silence. I nevertheless started
up in something of alarm, for the image of the skinny old hag, who had
tracked me with her snaky eyes all the evening, had disturbed my dreams.
To my surprise I found the Indian, whom I had rescued from the drunken
violence of the trader, crouching in the bottom of the boat. He had
already explained to Antonio, through the Poyer, that we were in great
danger; that the old woman who had haunted me was a powerful _Sukia_,
whose commands were always implicitly obeyed by the superstitious Sambos.
Instigated by the discomfited trader, she had demanded our death, and
even now her followers were planning the means to accomplish it. Our
safety, he urged, depended upon our immediate departure, and then, as if
relieved of a burden, he slipped quietly overboard, and swam toward the
shore.
I was nothing loth to leave Sandy Bay, and we lost no time in getting up
the large stone which served us for an anchor, and taking our departure.
By morning we were clear of the lagoon, and in the channel leading from
it to Wano Sound, lying about fifteen miles to the northward of Sandy
Bay, and half that distance from Cape Gracias. We reached the sound
about ten o’clock in the morning, and stopped for breakfast on a narrow
sand-spit, where a few trees on the shore gave shade and fuel. The day
was excessively hot, and we waited for the evening before pursuing our
voyage. During the afternoon, however, we were joined by Mr. H., who had
got wind of the designs of the trader, and attempted to warn us, but
found that we had gone. Indignant at his treachery, he had abandoned the
brutal captain, and determined to return to the Cape.
He explained to me that our danger had been greater than we had supposed.
The old _Sukia_ woman possessed more power over the Sambos than king or
chief, and her commands were never disputed or neglected. The grandfather
of the present king, he said, had been killed by her order, as had also
his great aunt; and although the immediate perpetrators of the deed had
been executed, yet the king had not dared to bring the dreaded _Sukia_
to justice. She had, however, been obliged to leave Cape Gracias, lest,
during the visit of some English vessel of war, she should be punished
for complicity in the murder of a couple of Englishmen, named Collins
and Pollard, who had been slaughtered some years before, while turtling
on the cays off the coast. Another reason for her departure had been
the advent of a more powerful and less malignant _Sukia_ woman, who, he
assured me, was gifted with prophecy, and a knowledge of things past
and to come. He represented her as young, living in a very mysterious
manner, far up the Cape River, among the mountains. None knew who she
was, nor whence she came, nor had he seen her more than once, although
he had consulted her by proxy on several occasions. I was amused at the
gravity with which he recounted instances of her power over disease
and her knowledge of events, and could not help thinking, that he had
resided so long on the coast as to get infected with the superstitions
of the people. There was, however, no mistaking his earnestness, and I
consequently abstained from ridiculing his stories. “You shall see and
hear for yourself,” he added, “and then you will be better able to judge
if I am a child to be deceived by the silly juggles of an Indian woman.
These people have inherited from their ancestors many mysterious and
wonderful powers; and even the inferior order of _Sukias_ can defy the
poison of snakes, and the effects of fire. Flames and the bullets of guns
are impotent against them.”
I found H. a man of no inconsiderable intelligence, and he gave me much
information about the coast and its inhabitants, and, altogether, before
embarking we had become fast friends, and I had accepted an invitation to
make his house my home during my stay at the Cape.
I have several times alluded to the filthy _mishla_ drink, which is the
universal appliance of the Sambos for getting up the “big drunk.” I never
witnessed the disgusting process of its preparation, but it has been
graphically described by Roberts, who was a trader on the coast, and who,
twenty years before, had been a witness of the “rise and progress” of a
grand debauch at Sandy Bay.
“Preparations were going on for a grand feast and _mishla_ drink. For
this purpose the whole population was employed—most of them being engaged
in collecting pineapples, plantains, and cassava for their favorite
liquor. The expressed juice of the pine-apple alone is a pleasant and
agreeable beverage. The _mishla_ from the plantain and banana, is also
both pleasant and nutritive; that from the cassava and maize is more
intoxicating, but its preparation is a process exceedingly disgusting.
The root of the cassava, after being peeled and mashed, is boiled to the
same consistence as when it is used for food. It is then taken from the
fire, and allowed to cool. The pots are now surrounded by all the women,
old and young, who, being provided with large calabashes, commence an
attack upon the cassava, which they chew to the consistence of a thick
paste, and then put their mouthsful into the bowls, until the latter
are filled. These are then emptied into a canoe which is drawn up for
the purpose, until it is about one third filled. Other cassava is then
taken, bruised in a kind of wooden mortar, until it is reduced to the
consistence of dough, when it is diluted with cold water, to which is
added a quantity of Indian corn, partly boiled and masticated, and then
all is poured into the canoe, which is filled with water, and the mixture
afterward frequently stirred with a paddle. In the course of a few hours
it reaches a high and abominable state of fermentation. The liquor, it
may be observed, is more or less esteemed, according to the health, age,
and constitution of the masticators. And when the chiefs give a private
_mishla_ drink, they confine the mastication to their own wives and young
girls.”
After fermentation, the _mishla_ has a cream-like appearance, and is to
the highest degree intoxicating. The drinking never ceases, so long as
a drop can be squeezed from the festering dregs that remain, after the
liquid is exhausted.
Chapter XII.
[Illustration]
Cape Gracias à Dios, was so called by Columbus, when, after a weary
voyage, he gave “Thanks to God” for the happy discovery of this, the
extreme north-eastern angle of Central America. Here the great Cape, or
Wanks River, finds its way into the sea, forming a large, but shallow
harbor. It was a favorite resort of the buccaneers, in the olden time,
when the Spanish Main was associated with vague notions of exhaustless
wealth, tales of heavy galleons, laden with gold, and the wild adventures
of Drake, and Morgan, and Llonois. Here, too, long ago, was wrecked a
large slaver, destined for Cuba, and crowded with negroes. They escaped
to the shore, mixed with the natives, and, with subsequent additions
to their numbers from Jamaica, and from the interior, originated the
people known as the “Mosquito Indians.” Supported by the pirates, and
by the governors of Jamaica, as a means of annoyance to the Spaniards,
they gradually extended southward as far as Bluefields, and at one time
carried on a war against the Indians, whom they had displaced, for the
purpose of obtaining prisoners, to be sold in the islands as slaves.
But with the suppression of this traffic, and in consequence of the
encroachments of the semi-civilized Caribs on the north, their settlement
at the Cape has gradually declined, until now it does not contain
more than two hundred inhabitants. The village is situated on the
south-western side of the bay or harbor, not far from its entrance, on
the edge of an extensive, sandy savannah.
Between the shore and the village is a belt of thick bush, three or four
hundred yards broad, through which are numerous narrow paths, difficult
to pass, since the natives are too lazy to cut away the undergrowth and
branches which obstruct them. The village itself is mean, dirty, and
infested with hungry pigs, and snarling, mangy dogs. The huts are of
the rudest description, and most of them unfitted for shelter against
the rain. The only houses which had any pretensions to comfort, at the
time of my visit, were the “King’s house,” another belonging to a German
named Boucher, and that of my new friend H. The latter was boarded and
shingled, and looked quite a palace after my experience of the preceding
two months, in Mosquito architecture. Mr. H. made us very comfortable
indeed. In addition to the numerous native products of the country, he
had a liberal supply of foreign luxuries. As a trader he had, for many
years, carried on quite a traffic with the Wanks River Indians, in deer
skins, sarsaparilla, and mahogany, and with the Sambos themselves in
turtle-shells. And whatever nominal authority may have existed previously
at the Cape, it was obvious enough that he was now the _de facto_
governor.
Thoroughly domesticated in the country, he had no ambitions beyond it,
and had made several, although not very successful, attempts to introduce
industry, and improve the condition of the natives. At one time he had
had a number of cattle on the savannah—which, although its soil is too
poor for cultivation, nevertheless affords abundance of good grass—but
the Sambos killed so many for their own use, that he sold the remainder
to the trading vessels. He had now undertaken their introduction again,
with better success, and had, moreover, some mules and horses. The latter
were sorry-looking beasts; since, for want of proper care, the wood-ticks
had got in their ears, and caused them not only to lop down, but also, in
some instances, entirely to drop off.
The Sambos have a singular custom, unfavorable, certainly, to the raising
of cattle, which Mr. H. had not yet entirely succeeded in suppressing.
Whenever a native is proved guilty of adultery, the injured party
immediately goes out in the savannah and shoots a beeve, without regard
to its ownership. The duty of paying for it then devolves upon the
adulterer, and constitutes the penalty for his offence!
Nearly all the Sambos at the Cape speak a little English, and I never
passed their huts without being saluted “Mornin’, sir; give me grog!” In
fact their devotion to grog, and general improvident habits, are fast
thinning their numbers, and will soon work their utter extermination.
Although there are several places near the settlement where all needful
supplies might be raised, yet they are chiefly dependent on the Indians
of the river for their vegetables.
[Illustration: HUNTING DEER.]
There is little game on the savannah, but on the strip of land which
separates the harbor from the sea, and which is called the island of San
Pio, deer are found in abundance. This island is curiously diversified
with alternate patches of savannah, bush, and marsh, and offers numerous
coverts for wild animals. The deer, however, are only hunted by the
few whites who live at the Cape, and they have hit upon an easy and
novel mode of procuring their supply. The deer are not shy of cattle,
and will feed side by side with them in the savannahs. So Mr. H. had
trained a favorite cow to obey reins of cord attached to her horns,
as a horse does his bit. Starting out, and keeping the cow constantly
between himself and the deer, he never has the slightest difficulty in
approaching so close to them as to shoot them with a pistol. If there are
more than one, the rest do not start off at the discharge, but only prick
up their ears in amazement, and thus afford an opportunity for another
shot, if desired. I witnessed this labor-saving mode of hunting several
times, and found that H. and his cow never failed of their object.
While upon the subject of game, I may mention that San Pio abounds with
birds and water-fowl. Among them are two varieties of snipe, beside
innumerable curlews, ducks, and teal. The blue and green-winged teal were
great favorites of mine, being always in good condition. They were not
obtained, however, without the drawback of exposure to the sand-flies,
which infest the island in uncountable millions. The European residents
always have a supply of turtles, which are purchased at prices of from
four to eight yards of Osnaberg, equal to from one to two dollars,
according to their size. Two kinds of oysters are also obtained here,
one called the “bank oyster,” corresponding with those which I obtained
in Pearl Cay Lagoon, and the little mangrove oysters. The latter are
about the size of half a dollar, and attach themselves to the roots of
the mangrove-trees. It is a question whether a hungry man, having to
open them for himself, might not starve before getting satisfied. A
few hundreds, with a couple of Indians to open them, make a good, but
moderate, lunch!
The bay and river swarm with fish, of the varieties which I have
enumerated as common on the coast. During still weather they are caught
with seines, in large quantities. These seines belong to the foreigners,
but are drawn by the natives (when they happen to be hungry!), who
receive half of the spoil.
Mr. H. was not a little piqued at my incredulity in the _Sukias_, and,
faithful to his promise, persuaded one of them to give us an example of
her powers. The place was the enclosure in the rear of his own house, and
the time evening. The _Sukia_ made her appearance alone, carrying a long
thick wand of bamboo, and with no dress except the _ule tournou_. She was
only inferior to her sister at Sandy Bay, in ugliness, and stalked into
the house like a spectre, without uttering a word. H. cut off a piece
of calico, and handed it to her as her recompense. She received it in
perfect silence, walked into the yard, and folded it carefully on the
ground. Meanwhile a fire had been kindled of pine splints and branches,
which was now blazing high. Without any hesitation the _Sukia_ walked up
to it, and stepped in its very centre. The flames darted their forked
tongues as high as her waist; the coals beneath and around her naked
feet blackened, and seemed to expire; while the _tournou_ which she
wore about her loins, cracked and shriveled with the heat. There she
stood, immovable, and apparently as insensible as a statue of iron, until
the blaze subsided, when she commenced to walk around the smouldering
embers, muttering rapidly to herself, in an unintelligible manner.
Suddenly she stopped, and placing her foot on the bamboo staff, broke it
in the middle, shaking out, from the section in her hand, a full-grown
_tamagasa_ snake, which, on the instant coiled itself up, flattened its
head, and darted out its tongue, in an attitude of defiance and attack.
The _Sukia_ extended her hand, and it fastened on her wrist with the
quickness of light, where it hung, dangling and writhing its body in
knots and coils, while she resumed her mumbling march around the embers.
After a while, and with the same abruptness which had marked all of her
previous movements, she shook off the serpent, crushed its head in the
ground with her heel, and taking up the cloth which had been given to
her, stalked away, without having exchanged a word with any one present.
Mr. H. gave me a triumphant look, and asked what now I had to say. “Was
there any deception in what I had seen?” I only succeeded in convincing
him that I was a perversely obstinate man, by suggesting that the _Sukia_
was probably acquainted with some antidote for the venom of the serpent,
and that her endurance of the fire was nothing more remarkable than that
of the jugglers, “fire kings,” and other vagrants at home, who make no
pretence of supernatural powers.
“Well,” he continued, in a tone of irritated disappointment, “can your
jugglers and ‘fire kings’ tell the past, and predict the future? When
you have your inmost thoughts revealed to you, and when the spirits
of your dead friends recall to your memory scenes and incidents known
only to them, yourself, and God—tell me,” and his voice grew deep and
earnest, “on what hypothesis do you account for things like these? Yet
I can testify to their truth. You may laugh at what you call the vulgar
trickery of the old hag who has just left us, but I can take you where
even your scoffing tongue will cleave to its roof with awe; where the
inmost secrets of your heart shall be unvailed, and where you shall
_feel_ that you stand face to face with the invisible dead!”
I have never felt it in my heart to ridicule opinions, however absurd, if
sincerely entertained; and there was that in the awed manner of my host
which convinced me that he was in earnest in what he said. So I dropped
the conversation, on his assurance that he would accompany me to visit
the strange woman to whom he assigned such mysterious power.
Antonio had been an attentive witness of the tricks of the _Sukia_,
and expressed to me the greatest contempt for her pretensions. Such
exhibitions, he said, were only fit for idle children, and were not to
be confounded with the awful powers of the oracles, through whom the
“Lord of Teaching and the spirits of the Holy Men” held communion with
mortals. I spoke to him of the mysterious woman, who was greater than
all the _Sukias_, and lived among the mountains. “She is of our people,”
he exclaimed, warmly, “and her name is _Hoxom-Bal_, which means the
Mother of the Tigers. It was to seek her that I left the Holy City of the
Itzaes, with no guide but my Lord who never lies. And now her soul shall
enter into our brothers of the mountains, and they shall be tigers on the
tracks of our oppressors!”
The form of the Indian boy had dilated as he spoke; his smooth limbs
were knotted by the swelling muscles; his eyes burned, and his low voice
became firm, distinct, and ominous. But it was only for an instant; and
while I listened to hear the great secret which swelled in his bosom, he
stopped short, and, turning suddenly, walked away. But I could see that
he pressed his talisman closer to his breast.
The _Sukias_ of the coast are usually women, although their powers and
authority are sometimes assumed by men. Their preparation for the office
involves mortifications as rigorous as the Church ever required of her
most abject devotees. For months do the candidates seclude themselves in
the forests, avoiding the face of their fellows, and there, without arms
or means of defense, contend with hunger, the elements, and wild beasts.
It is thus that they seal their compact with the mysterious powers which
rule over earth and water, air and fire; and they return to the villages
of their people, invested with all the terrors which superstition has
ever attached to those who seem to be exempt from the operations of
natural laws.
These _Sukias_ are the “medicine-men” of the coast, and affect to
cure disease; but their directions are usually more extravagant than
beneficial. They sometimes order the victim of fever to go to an open
sand-beach by the sea, and there, exposed to the burning heat of the
vertical sun, await his cure. They have also a savage taste for blood,
and the cutting and scarification of the body are among their favorite
remedies.
The Mosquitos, I may observe here, have no idea of a supreme beneficent
Being; but stand in great awe of an evil spirit which they call
_Wulasha_, and of a water-ghost, called _Lewire_. _Wulasha_ is supposed
to share in all the rewards which the _Sukias_ obtain for their
services. His half of the stipulated price, however, is shrewdly exacted
beforehand, while the payment of the remainder depends very much upon the
_Sukia’s_ success.
Among the customs universal on the coast, is infanticide, in all cases
where the child is born with any physical defect. As a consequence,
natural deformity of person is unknown. Chastity, as I have several
times had occasion to intimate, is not considered a virtue; and the
number of a man’s wives is only determined by circumstances, polygamy
being universal. Physically, the Mosquitos have a large predominance
of negro blood; and their habits and superstitions are African rather
than American. They are largely affected with syphilitic affections,
resulting from their unrestrained licentious intercourse with the pirates
in remote, and with traders (in character but one degree removed from
the pirates) in later times. These affections, under the form of the
_bulpis_, red, white, and scabbed, have come to be a radical taint,
running through the entire population, and so impairing the general
constitution as to render it fatally susceptible to all epidemic
diseases. This is one of the powerful causes which is contributing to the
rapid decrease, and which will soon result in the total extinction of the
Sambos.
Their arts are limited to the very narrow range of their wants, and
are exceedingly rude. The greatest skill is displayed in their dories,
canoes, and pitpans, which are brought down by the Indians of the
interior, rudely blocked out, so as to give the purchaser an opportunity
of exercising his taste in the finish. Essentially fishers, they are
at home in the water, and manage their boats with great dexterity.
Their language has some slight affinity with the Carib, but has
degenerated into a sort of jargon, in which Indian, English, Spanish,
and Jamaica-African are strangely jumbled. They count by twenties, _i.
e._, collective fingers and toes, and make fearful work of it when
they “get up in the figures.” Thus, to express thirty-seven, they say,
“_Iwanaiska-kumi-pura-matawalsip-pura-matlalkabe-pura-kumi_,” which
literally means, one-twenty-and-ten-and-six-and-one, _i. e._, 20 × 1 + 10
+ 6 + 1. They reckon their days by sleeps, their months by moons, and
their years by the complement of thirteen moons.
Altogether, the Mosquitos have little in their character to commend.
Their besetting vice is drunkenness, which has obliterated all of their
better traits. Without religion, with no idea of government, they are
capricious, indolent, improvident, treacherous, and given to thieving.
All attempts to advance their condition have been melancholy failures,
and it is probable they would have disappeared from the earth without
remark, had it not suited the purposes of the English government to put
them forward as a mask to that encroaching policy which is its always
disclaimed, but inseparable and notorious characteristic.
There is a suburb of the village at the Cape, near the river, which is
called Pullen-town. Here I was witness of a curious ceremony, a _Seekroe_
or Festival of the Dead. This festival occurs on the first anniversary of
the death of any important member of a family, and is only participated
in by the relatives and friends of the deceased. The prime element, as
in every feast, is the _chicha_, of which all hands drink profusely.
Both males and females were dressed in a species of cloak, of _ule_
bark, fantastically painted with black and white, while their faces
were correspondingly streaked with red and yellow (_anotto_). The music
was made by two big droning pipes, played to a low, monotonous vocal
accompaniment. The dance consisted in slowly stalking in a circle,
for a certain length of time, when the immediate relatives of the dead
threw themselves flat on their faces on the ground, calling loudly on
the departed, and tearing up the earth with their hands. Then, rising,
they resumed their march, only to repeat their prostrations and cries.
I could obtain no satisfactory explanation of the practice. “So did our
ancestors,” was the only reason assigned for its continuance.
We had been at the Cape about a week, when Mr. H. received information
that the news of our affair at Quamwatla had reached Sandy Bay, and
that the vindictive trader had dispatched a fast-sailing dory by sea
to Bluefields, to obtain orders for our “arrest and punishment.” This
news was brought in the night, by the same Indian whom I had protected
from the trader’s brutality, and who took this means of evincing his
gratitude. I had already frankly explained to Mr. H. the circumstances of
our fight, which, he conceded, fully justified all we had done. Still, as
the trader might make it a pretext for much annoyance, he approved the
plan which I had already formed, for other reasons, to explore the Wanks
River, and accompany my Poyer boy to the fastnesses of his tribe, in the
untracked wilderness lying between that river and the Bay of Honduras.
By taking this course, I would be able again to reach the sea beyond
the Sambo jurisdiction, in the district occupied by the Caribs, not far
from the old Spanish port of Truxillo. Furthermore, the tame scenery of
the lagoons had become unattractive, and I longed for mountains and
the noise of rushing waters. The famous _Sukia_ woman also lived on one
of the lower branches of the river, and in accordance with this plan we
could visit her without going greatly out of our way.
In fulfillment of his promise, Mr. H. prepared to accompany us as far
as the retreat of the mysterious seeress, and two days afterward,
following the lead of his pitpan, we embarked. The harbor connects with
the river by a creek at its northern extremity, which is deep enough to
admit the passage of canoes. Emerging from this, we came into the great
Wanks River, a broad and noble stream, with a very slight current at
its low stages, but pouring forth a heavy flood of waters during the
rainy season. It has ample capacity for navigation for nearly a hundred
miles of its length, but a bad and variable bar at its mouth presents an
insurmountable barrier to the entrance of vessels. Very little is known
of this river, except that it rises within thirty or forty miles of the
Pacific, and that, for the upper half of its course, it flows among high
mountains, and is obstructed by falls and shallows.
We made rapid progress during the day, the river more resembling an
estuary than a running stream. The banks, for a hundred yards or more
back from the water, were thickly lined with bush; but beyond this belt
of jungle there was an uninterrupted succession of sandy savannahs. There
were no signs of inhabitants, except a few huts, at long intervals, at
places where the soil happened to be rich enough to admit of cultivation.
We nevertheless met a few Indians coming down with canoes, to be sold at
the Cape, who regarded us curiously, and in silence.
Near evening, we encamped at a point where a ridge of the savannah,
penetrating the bush, came down boldly to the river, forming an eddy,
or cove, which seemed specially intended for a halting-place. Mr. H.
had named the bluff “Iguana Point,” from the great number of iguanas
found there. They abound on the higher parts of the entire coast, but
I had seen none so large as those found at this place. It is difficult
to imagine uglier reptiles—great, overgrown, corrugated lizards as they
are, with their bloated throats, and snaky eyes! They seemed to think
us insolent intruders, and waddled off with apparent sullen reluctance,
when we approached. But the law of compensations holds good in respect to
the iguanas, as in regard to every thing else. If they are the ugliest
reptiles in the world, they are, at the same time, among the best to
eat. So our men slaughtered three or four of the largest, selecting
those which appeared to be fullest of eggs. Up to this time I had not
been able to overcome my repugnance sufficiently to taste them; but now,
encouraged by H., I made the attempt. The first few mouthfuls went much
against the grain; but I found the flesh really so delicate, that before
the meal was finished, I succeeded in forgetting my prejudices. The eggs
are especially delicious, surpassing even those of the turtle. It may
be said, to the credit of the ugly iguana, that in respect of his own
food, he is as delicate as the humming-bird, or the squirrel, living
chiefly upon flowers and blossoms of trees. He is frequently to be seen
on the branches of large trees, overhanging the water, whence he looks
down with curious gravity upon the passing voyager. His principal enemies
are serpents, who, however, frequently get worsted in their attacks, for
the iguana has sharp teeth, and powerful jaws. Of the smaller varieties,
there are some of the liveliest green. Hundreds of these may be seen on
the snags and fallen trunks that line the shores of the rivers. They will
watch the canoe as it approaches, then suddenly dart off to the shore,
literally walking the water, so rapidly that they almost appear like
a green arrow skipping past. They are called, in the language of the
natives, by the generic name, _kakamuk_.
In strolling a little distance from our camp, before supper, I saw a
waddling animal, which I at first took for an iguana. A moment after,
I perceived my mistake. It appeared to be doing its best to run away,
but so clumsily that, instead of shooting it, I hurried forward, and
headed off its course. In attempting to pass me, it came so near that
I stopped it with my foot. In an instant it literally rolled itself up
in a ball, looking for all the world like a large sea-shell, or rather
like one of those curious, cheese-like, coralline productions, known
among sailors as sea-eggs. I then saw it was an armadillo, that little
mailed adventurer of the forest, who, like the opossum, shams death when
“cornered,” or driven in “a tight place.” I rolled him over, and grasping
him by his stumpy tail, carried him into camp. He proved to be of the
variety known as the “three-banded armadillo,” cream-colored, and covered
with hexagonal scales. I afterward saw several other larger varieties,
with eight and nine bands. The flesh of the armadillo is white, juicy,
and tender, and is esteemed one of the greatest of luxuries.
Chapter XIII.
[Illustration]
At noon, on the second day of our departure from Cape Gracias, we came
to a considerable stream, named Bocay, which enters the river Wanks from
the south-west. It was on the banks of this river, some ten or fifteen
miles above its mouth, that the famed _Sukia_ woman resided. We directed
our boats up the stream, the water of which was clear, and flowed with a
rapid current. We were not long in passing through the belt of savannah
which flanks the Cape River, on both sides, for fifty miles above its
mouth. Beyond this came dense primitive forests of gigantic trees, among
which the mahogany was conspicuous. The banks, too, became high and
firm, occasionally presenting rocky promontories, around which the water
swept in dark eddies. Altogether, it was evident that we had entered the
mountain region of the continent, and were at the foot of one of the
great dependent ranges of the primitive chain of the Cordilleras.
In places, the river was compressed among high hills, with scarped,
rocky faces, where the current was rapid and powerful, and only overcome
by vigorous efforts at the paddles. These were succeeded by beautiful
intervals of level ground, inviting localities for the establishments
of man. We passed two or three sweet and sheltered nooks, in which were
small clearings, and the picturesque huts of the Indians. Excepting an
occasional palm-tree, or isolated cluster of plantains, clinging to the
shore where their germs had been lodged by the water, there was nothing
tropical in the aspect of nature, unless, perhaps, the greater size
of the forest-trees, and the variety of parasitic plants which they
supported.
Our progress against the current was comparatively slow and laborious,
and it was late in the evening when the glittering of fires on the bank,
and the barking of dogs, announced to us the proximity of the Indian
village of Bocay, to which we were bound. We reached it in due time, and
were received quite ceremoniously by the old men of the place, who seemed
to be perfectly aware of our coming. This struck me at the time as due to
the foresight of Mr. H., but I afterward learned that he had given the
Indians no intimation of our proposed visit.
A vacant hut was assigned to us, and we commenced to arrange our hammocks
and prepare our supper. Our meal was scarcely finished, when there was
a sudden movement among the Indians, who clustered like bees around our
door, and a passage for some one approaching was rapidly opened. A moment
afterward, an old woman came forward, and, stopping in the low doorway,
regarded us in silence. In bearing and dress she differed much from the
rest of the people. Around her forehead she wore a broad band of cotton,
in which were braided the most brilliant feathers of birds. This band
confined her hair, which hung down her back, like a vail, nearly to the
ground. From her waist depended a kilt of tiger-skins, and she wore
sandals of the same on her feet. Around each wrist and ankle she had
broad feather bands, like that which encircled her forehead.
Her eyes soon rested upon Antonio, who, on the instant of her approach,
had discontinued his work, and advanced to the door. They exchanged
a glance as if of recognition, and spoke a few hurried and, to us,
unintelligible words, when the old woman turned suddenly, and walked
away. I looked inquiringly at the youthful Indian, whose eyes glowed
again with that mysterious intelligence which I had so often remarked.
He came hastily to my side, and whispered in Spanish, “The Mother of the
Tigers is waiting!” Then, with nervous steps, he moved toward the door. I
beckoned to H., and followed. The Indians opened to the right and left,
and we passed out, scarcely able to keep pace with the rapid steps of
the Indian boy. On he went, as if familiar with the place, past the open
huts, and into the dark forest. I now saw that he followed a light, not
like that of a flame, but of a burning coal, which looked close at one
moment, and distant the next. The path, though narrow, was smooth, and
ascended rapidly. For half an hour we kept on at the same quick pace,
when the trees began to separate, and I could see that we were emerging
from the dark forest into a comparatively open space, in which the
graceful plumes of the palm-trees appeared, traced lightly against the
starry sky. Here the guiding fire seemed to halt, and, coming up, we
found the same old woman who had visited us in the village, and who now
carried a burning brand as a direction to our steps. She made a sign of
silence, and moved on slowly, and with apparent caution. A few minutes’
walk brought us to what, in the dim light, appeared to be a building of
stone, and soon after to another and larger one. I saw that they were
partly ruined, for the stars in the horizon were visible through the
open doorways. Our guide passed these without stopping, and led us to
the threshold of a small cane-built hut, which stood beyond the ruin.
The door was open, and the light from within shone out on the smoothly
beaten ground in front, in a broad unwavering column. We entered; but
for the moment I was almost blinded by a blaze of light proceeding from
torches of pine-wood, planted in each corner. I was startled also by an
angry growl, and the sudden apparition of some wild animal at our feet.
I shrank back with a feeling of alarm, which was not diminished when,
upon recovering my powers of vision, I saw directly in front of us, as
if guardian of the dwelling, a large tiger, its fierce eyes fixed upon
us, and slowly sweeping the ground with its long tail, as if preparing to
spring at our throats.
It, however, stopped the way only for a moment. A single word and gesture
from the old woman drove it into a corner of the hut, where it crouched
down in quiet. I glanced around, but excepting a single rude Indian drum,
placed in the centre of the smooth, earthen floor, and a few blocks of
stone planted along the walls for seats, there were no other articles,
either of use or ornament, in the hut. But at one extremity of the low
apartment, seated upon an outspread tiger-skin, was a woman, whose figure
and manner at once marked her out as the extraordinary _Sukia_ whom we
had come so far to visit. She was young, certainly not over twenty, tall,
and perfectly formed, and wore a tiger-skin in the same manner as the old
woman who had acted as her messenger, but the band around her forehead,
and her armlets and anklets, were of gold.
She rose when we entered, and, with a faint smile of recognition to H.,
spoke a few words of welcome. I had expected to see a bold pretender
to supernatural powers, whose first efforts would be directed to work
upon the imaginations of her visitors, and was surprised to find that
the “Mother of the Tigers” was after all only a shy and timid Indian
girl. Her looks, at first, were troubled, and she glanced into our eyes
inquiringly; but suddenly turning her gaze toward the open door, she
uttered an exclamation of mingled surprise and joy, and in an instant
after she stood by the side of Antonio. They gazed at each other in
silence, then exchanged a rapid signal, and a single word, when she
turned away, and Antonio retired into a corner, where he remained fixed
as a statue, regarding every movement with the closest attention.
[Illustration: “THE MOTHER OF THE TIGERS.”]
No sooner had the _Sukia_ resumed her seat, than she clasped her forehead
in her open palms, and gazed intently upon the ground before her.
Never have I seen the face of a human being which wore a more earnest
expression. For five minutes, perhaps, the silence was unbroken, when
a sudden sound, as of the snapping of the string of a violin, directed
our attention to the rude drum that stood in the centre of the hut. This
sound was followed by a series of crackling noises, like the discharges
of electric sparks. They seemed to occur irregularly at first, but as
I listened, I discovered that they had a harmonious relationship, as if
in accompaniment to some simple melody. The vibrations of the drum were
distinctly visible, and they seemed to give it a circular motion over the
ground, from left to right. The sounds stopped as suddenly as they had
commenced, and the _Sukia_, lifting her head, said solemnly, “The spirits
of your fathers have come to the mountain! I know them not; you must
speak to them.”
I hesitate to recount what I that night witnessed in the rude hut of the
_Sukia_, lest my testimony should expose both my narrative and myself
to ridicule, and unjust imputations. Were it my purpose to elaborate an
impressive story, it would be easy to call in the aid of an imposing
machinery, and invest the communications which were that night made to
us with a portentous significance. But this would be as foreign to truth
as repugnant to my own feelings; for whatever tone of lightness may run
through this account of my adventures in the wilderness, those who know
me will bear witness to my respect for those things which are in their
nature sacred, or connected with the more mysterious elements of our
existence. I can only say, that except the somewhat melo-dramatic manner
in which we had been conducted up the mountain by the messenger of the
_Sukia_, and the incident of the tamed tiger, nothing occurred during
our visit which appeared to have been designed for effect, or which was
visibly out of the ordinary course of things. It is true, I was somewhat
puzzled, I will not say impressed, with the perfect understanding, or
relationship, which seemed to exist between the _Sukia_ and Antonio.
This relationship, however, was fully explained in the sequel. Among the
ruling and the priestly classes of the semi-civilized nations of America,
there has always existed a mysterious bond, or secret organization, which
all the disasters to which they have been subjected, have not destroyed.
It is to its present existence that we may attribute those simultaneous
movements of the aborigines of Mexico, Central America, and Peru, which
have, more than once, threatened the complete subversion of the Spanish
power.
[Illustration: THE SANCTUARY OF THE SUKIA.]
It was past midnight when, with a new and deeper insight into the
mysteries of our present and future existence, and a fuller and loftier
appreciation of the great realities which are to follow upon the advent
of every soul into the universe, and of which earth is scarcely the
initiation, that H. and myself left the sanctuary of the _Sukia_. The
moon had risen, and now silvered every object with its steady light,
revealing to us that we stood upon a narrow terrace of the mountain,
facing the east, and commanding a vast panorama of forest and savannah,
bounded only by the distant sea. Immediately in front of the hut from
which we had emerged, stood one of the ruined structures to which I have
already alluded. By the clear light of the moon I could perceive that
it was built of large stones, laid with the greatest regularity, and
sculptured all over with strange figures, having a close resemblance,
if not an absolute identity, with those which have become familiarized
to us by the pencil of Catherwood. It appeared originally to have been
of two stories, but the upper walls had fallen, and the ground was
encumbered with the rubbish, over which vines were trailing, as if to
vail the crumbling ruins from the gaze of men. As we moved away, and at
a considerable distance from the ruins, we observed a large erect stone,
rudely sculptured in the outline of a human figure. Its face was turned
to the East, as if to catch the first rays of the morning, and the light
of the moon fell full upon it. To my surprise, its features were the
exact counterparts of those which appeared on Antonio’s talisman. There
was no mistaking the rigid yet not ungentle expression of the “Lord who
never lies.”
Silently we followed the guide, who had conducted us up the mountain,
into the narrow path which led to the village. She indicated to us the
direction we were to pursue with her hand, and left us without a word.
I was so absorbed in my own reflections that it was not until we had
reached our temporary quarters that I missed Antonio. He had remained
behind. But when I awoke next morning he had returned, and was busily
preparing for our departure. “It is well with our brothers of the
mountains!” was his prompt response to my look of inquiry. From that
day forward his absorbing idea seemed to be to return as speedily as
possible to his people. It was long afterward that I discovered the deep
significance of the visit of the youthful chieftain of the Itzaes to the
Indian seeress of the River Bocay. Since then the Spaniard, though fenced
round with bayonets, has often shuddered when he has heard the cry of
the tiger in the stillness of the night, betraying the approach of those
injured men, whose relentless arms, nerved by the recollections of three
centuries of oppression, now threaten the utter extermination of the race
of the conquerors!
Our passage down the Bocay was rapid compared with the ascent, and at
noon we had reached the great river. My course now lay in one direction,
and that of Mr. H. in another, but we were loth to separate, and he
finally agreed to accompany us to our first stopping-place, and, passing
the night with us there, return next day to the Cape. It was scarcely
four o’clock when we reached the designated point, chiefly remarkable
as marking the termination of the savannahs. Beyond here the banks of
the river became elevated, rising in hills and high mountains, densely
covered with a gigantic primeval forest. Our Indian companions speedily
supplied us with an abundance of fish, with which the river seemed to
swarm. And as for vegetables—wherever the banks of the river are low
there is a profusion of bananas and plantains, growing from bulbs, which
have been brought down from the interior, and deposited by the river in
its overflows.
Mr. H. had once ascended the river to its source, in the elevated
mining district of New Segovia, the extreme north-western department
of Nicaragua. The ascent had occupied him twenty days. In many places,
he said, the channel is completely interrupted by falls and impassable
rapids, around which it was necessary to drag the canoes. In other places
the river is compressed between vertical walls of rock, and the water
runs with such force that it required many attempts and the most vigorous
exertions to get the boats through.
He represented that New Segovia has a considerable population of
civilized Indians, whose principal occupation is the washing of gold,
which is found in all of the upper waters. Their mode of life he
described as affording a curious illustration of the influence of the
Catholic priests, who are scattered here and there, and who exercise
almost unbounded influence over the simple natives. The nature of their
relationship, as well as their own manners, were so well illustrated by
an incident which befell him during his visit there, that I shall attempt
to relate it, as nearly as possible in his own words. The reader must
bear in mind that the recital was made in a fragmentary manner, in the
intervals of vigorous puffing at a huge cigar, and that I have taken the
liberty of commencing at the beginning of the story, and not at the end.
A Tale of Wanks River.
“On our nineteenth evening from the Cape,” said H., “after a fatiguing
day of alternate poling and paddling, we reached Pantasma, the extreme
frontier Segovian settlement on the river. As we drew up to the bank,
thankful for the prospect of shelter and rest which the village held
out, we were surprised to hear the music of drums and pipes, and, for a
moment, were under the pleasing impression that the people had, in some
way, got information of our approach, and had taken this mode of giving
us a welcome. However, we soon saw that the musicians were in attendance
on a white man, whose garb had a strange mixture of civilized and savage
fashions. He regarded us curiously for a few moments, and then, giving
the nearest musicians each a vigorous kick, he ran down to the water,
and bestowed upon all of us an equally hearty embrace! Propounding a
dozen inquiries in a breath, he announced himself an Englishman ‘in a
d—l of a fix,’ whose immediate and overshadowing ambition was, that
all hands should go straight to his hut and have something to drink!
Our first impression was decidedly that the man was mad; but we were
undeceived when we got to his house, which we found profusely supplied
with food, and where we were not long in making ourselves thoroughly at
home. Perhaps what we drank had something to do with it, but certainly
we nearly died with laughter in listening to our host’s recital of his
adventures in Central America, and especially of the way in which he had
got to Pantasma, and came to have an escort of musicians.
“His name, he said, was Harry F——. He was the son of a London merchant,
who was well to do in the world. As usual with sons of such papas, he had
gone to school when younger, and entered his father’s establishment when
old enough, where, as the probable successor of the principal, he was,
in his own estimation at least, an important personage, and, altogether,
above work. He nevertheless affected a great liking for the packing
department, for the reason that it connected with a vault, in which he
had established a smoking-room, where he spent the day in devising plans
of amusement for the night, in company with chosen spirits and choice
Havanas.
“When he had reached his majority, his father thought it prudent to
detach him from his associations, by giving him a little experience in
the severities of the world. Having several friends in Belize, he fitted
him out with an adventure, costing some twenty-five hundred dollars, and
consisting of nearly every useless article that could be found, which, by
its glitter and gaud, it was supposed, would attract the easily-dazzled
eyes of the people of the tropics. He duly arrived at Belize, full of
bright anticipations. One of his cherished schemes was to sell his
jewelry in the towns of the interior, at four hundred per cent. profit,
and after paying expenses and losses, to return at once to London, with
five thousand dollars clear profit! So he went to Guatemala, and spread
out his tempting wares. But he met with poor success, and at the end of
two years, having gone on from bad to worse, he at last found himself
in the Indian town where we discovered him—a Catholic Mission, under a
Reverend Padre, who had been educated at Leon, and had passed most of
his simple life, being now over threescore and ten, among the simple
Indians, whom he governed. When Harry first arrived, he proceeded to the
nearest hut, where the usual hospitality of room to hang his hammock was
accorded him, while his valise was installed in a corner—said valise
containing the remnants of the venture from London, now dwindled down
to a very small compass indeed. Of his success in trading, Harry spoke
very frankly: ‘The hardest lot of worthless articles I ever saw; some
that I could not even give away; and those which I sold, I had to trust
to people so poor that they never paid me! So I let one man pick out all
he had a mind to, for one thousand dollars in cash; and that paid my
expenses in Guatemala, until I got tired of the place, and started off
down here.’
“After swinging his hammock in his new quarters, Harry made the tour of
the village, and called on the padre, who was delighted to see him, as
padres always are, took him to his church, which was as large as a city
parlor, and then gave him a good dinner of fish and turtle. Harry had not
had so sumptuous a meal for many a day; and when the good father brought
forth a joint of bamboo, which held nearly a gallon, and drew from it a
supply of tolerable rum, he felt that he had fallen into the hands of a
good Samaritan. So long as this hospitality lasted, he sought no change.
In the fullness of his gratitude, he made visits to all the huts in the
village, and overwhelmed the inmates with presents of articles which he
had not been able to give away in other places. In return, they gave
him part of a morning’s fishing, or part of a turtle, and thus kept him
in provisions. But times changed after a few days; his friend the padre
ceased to bring forth the bamboo joint, and at the same time commenced
to exhort him to repentance, and to the acceptance of the true church.
His host, too, declined to catch any more fish than were consumed by his
interesting wife and three naked children.
“Harry smoked long and intensely over the subject. He might make a
‘raise’ on a pair of pantaloons, but then, ‘when that was gone?’ It was
the first time in his life that he had been obliged seriously to reflect
how he should be able to get his next meal. He tried oranges, bananas,
and pineapples, but still he was hungry. As to fishing, he had never
caught a fish in his life, and a turtle would be perfectly safe under his
feet. His case became desperate. Such cases require desperate remedies,
and Harry went to the padre, to consult with him as to the best mode of
reaching Leon, distant some two hundred miles, beyond the mountains.
“It was a lucky moment for a visit to the reverend father, since, in
return for some hides, sarsaparilla, and balsam, sent by him to his
correspondent, the padre at Choluteca, a large town on the Pacific,
he had received, among other luxuries, a reënforcement of bamboo
joints. These had already added to his good humor, and given to his
fat corporation and ruddy face an unusual glow. He gave Harry a warm
greeting, and pointing to the broached joint, told him to help himself,
which he did without reserve. Harry, in his best, though very bad
Spanish, stated his case, and the holy father listened and replied. The
next morning our hero awoke, and was rather surprised to find himself
yet at the padre’s house, where he had slept in a hammock. An empty
bamboo joint was beside him, and he had a glimmering idea of a compact
with the padre, through which he was to be extricated from his present
uncomfortable position, and reach Leon in a most acceptable manner. But
how this was to be done had escaped him; he had only a faint recollection
that the padre had insisted upon initiating him into some mystery or
other, and that in the fullness of heart he had assented, to the great
joy of the priest, who, on the spot had given him a hearty embrace, and
commenced learning him how to make the sign of the cross. The worthy
padre awoke with rather different sensations, for he felt exalted with
the thought that he, a poor priest over a miserable Indian community
for forty years, should finally be able to rescue the soul of a heretic
from the arch enemy. He was thankful that his eloquence had enabled him
to attach an immortal being to the true church—a white one at that, who
was of more value than a whole community of savages. It was a miracle,
he was satisfied, of his patron saint, Leocadia! So without loss of time
he proceeded with the work of redemption. Harry proved an apt disciple;
and after making up a lot of cigars from the tobacco-pouch of the padre,
the latter proceeded to explain to him what he required in the premises.
Harry’s mouth opened, and his cigar fell unheeded to the ground, when the
padre announced his intention to administer to him the rite of baptism
without delay.
“By the time he had finished his explanation, Harry’s mind was made up;
as there were no lookers on whom he cared for, he would let the padre
have his way, or, as he afterward expressed it, ‘put him through.’
“For several days the padre and himself worked hard. He went carefully
over the various responses and prayers, as they were dictated to him,
made the sign of the cross in due form and proper place, and, by the
assistance of the bamboo joint, was, on the second day pronounced in a
hopeful state, and told that the afternoon following should witness the
final act of his salvation. The sun was declining, when Harry, habited
in his best, proceeded to the padre’s house. He was rather surprised
at meeting so many people, for he had not been consulted in any of the
arrangements, and was not aware that every native in the vicinity had
been notified of the ceremony in which he was to take so important a
part. All had come, men, women, and children, dressed in very scanty, but
very clean white cotton garments. They opened a passage for him to enter
the padre’s house, whom he found arrayed in his priestly vestments. He
was informed that all were about proceeding to his house to escort him
to the church, but that, being on the spot, the procession would form at
once. Harry submitted without question to the padre’s directions, had a
quiet interview with the bamboo joint, and was ready. The procession was
headed by four alcaldes, of different villages, each with his official
baton, a tall, gold-headed staff. Next came the music, consisting
of three performers on rude clarionets, made of long joints of cane,
and three performers on drums, each made of a large calabash with a
monkey-skin drawn over it. Next came Harry and the worthy padre, and
then the people of the village, and the ‘invited guests,’ six deep, and
a hundred all told. When our hero took his place in the procession, the
padre threw over his shoulders a poncho, six feet long, gaudily decorated
with the tails of macaws, bright feathers from strange birds, and strings
of small river-shells, which rattled at every step; and thus they
started. First they went to Harry’s own hut, and, as they doubled that,
and took their route toward the church, he could see the last of the
procession leaving the vicinity of the padre’s house. After the manner
of their processions on high religious festivals, they came singing and
dancing, and altogether appearing very happy. Harry was glad in his heart
that no white man was looking on, and had to laugh inwardly at the fuss
that was made over him. In due time they arrived at the church, and the
usual ceremonies of baptism were gone through with, succeeded by a dance,
on the grass, to say nothing of a liberal dispensation from the padre’s
bamboo joints. The padre dismissed the assembly very early, and retired,
never having had so glorious or so fatiguing a day within his memory, and
he was the oldest inhabitant!
“Harry wended his way to his hammock, made a cigar, thought over the
events of the day, and wondered whether the church was now bound to find
him fish and the et ceteras; but, before any conclusion could be come at
in his mind, he fell asleep. Awaking in the morning, he was accosted at
his door by several neighbors, who asked him to accept the presents they
had brought, which he did of course, without knowing that it is always
the custom to send something to every villager whenever he happens to
have a christening, a marriage, or a death in his family. This being a
very great occasion, every body had been liberal and generous withal,
and in a short space he found himself supplied with provisions for a
long time, more fish than he could eat in months, turtles, chickens,
pigs, eggs, piles of fruit of all kinds, yams, wild animals, in fact
every thing that was edible. Sending a large part of his presents as an
offering to the church, Harry returned to his hammock and cigar, while
his hostess commenced cooking with an agreeable alacrity.
“Late in the afternoon he started for the padre’s house, but had hardly
emerged from his hut when he was somewhat surprised to find himself
joined by the musicians of the village, the clarionet taking precedence,
and the drum filing in, both playing the usual no-tune to the best of
their ability. And thus it happened for weeks afterward, for thus did the
padre seek to do honor to the new disciple of the faith.
“It was on one of these formal promenades,” continued H., “that we made
our appearance at Pantasma, to Harry’s exceeding astonishment, and great
joy. We ridiculed him for his emphatic dismissal of his musical friends,
but he was too much delighted to be captious, and sent straightway for
the padre, who brought with him a bamboo-joint, wherewith we made merry,
even to the going down of the sun. We all went to sleep while the worthy
priest was reading to us the certificate of Harry’s baptism, which he had
carefully engrossed on five closely-written pages.”
And what, I inquired, became of the convert?
“Oh! he returned with us; and that old Port which you tasted at the
Cape is one of the many evidences which I have received of his grateful
recollection, since he has returned to London to the inheritance of his
fathers.”
Chapter XIV.
[Illustration]
For three days after our parting with H., we kept on our course up the
Great Cape river. The current increased as we advanced, and large rocks
of quartz and granite began to appear in the channel. The valley of the
river also contracted to such a degree as to deserve no better name
than that of a gorge. Sometimes we found ourselves, for miles together,
shut in between high mountains, whose rugged and verdureless tops rose
to mid-heaven, interposing impassable barriers to the vapor-charged
clouds which the north-east trade-winds pile up against their eastern
declivities, where they are precipitated in almost unceasing rains.
Night and storm overtook us in one of these gigantic mountain clefts.
The thunder rolled along the granite peaks, and the lightning burned
adown their riven sides, and were flashed back by the dark waters of the
angry river. The dweller in northern latitudes can poorly comprehend
any description which may be given of a tropical storm. To say that the
thunder is incessant, does not adequately convey to the mind the terror
of these prolonged peals which seem to originate in the horizon, roll
upward to the zenith, louder and louder, until, silent for a moment,
they burst upon the earth in blinding flame, and a concentrated crash,
which makes the very mountains reel to their foundations. Not from one
direction alone, but from every quarter of the compass, the elements
seem to gather to the fierce encounter, and the thunder booms, and the
lightning blazes from a hundred rifts in the inky sky. So intense and
searing is the electric flame, that for hours after heavy storms I have
had spasmodic attacks of blindness, accompanied with intense pain of the
eyeballs. I found that my Indian companions were equally affected, and
that to avoid evil consequences they always bound their handkerchiefs,
dipped in water, over their eyes, while the storm continued. The Indians,
I may here mention, have many prejudices on the subject of electricity,
as well as in regard to the effect of the rays of the moon. They will
not sleep with their faces exposed to its light, nor catch fish on the
nights when it is above the horizon. My companions, at such times,
always selected the densest shade for our encampment. They affirmed that
the effect of exposure would be the distortion of the features, and the
immediate mortification of such wounds and bruises as might be reached
by the moonlight. I afterward found that the mahogany-cutters on the
north coast never felled their trees at certain periods of the moon, for
the reason, as they asserted, that the timber was then not only more
liable to check or split, but also more exposed to rot. They have the
same notion with the Indians as to the effect of the moonlight on men and
animals, and support it by the fact that animals, left to themselves,
always seek shelter from the moon, when selecting their nightly
resting-places.
We had now ascended the river, five full days from the Cape, having,
according to my computation, advanced one hundred and twenty miles. The
Poyer was perfectly acquainted with the stream, which he had several
times descended with the people of his village, in their semi-annual
visits to the coast. In these visits, he told me, they took down liquid
amber, a few deer-skins, a little anotto, and sarsaparilla, bringing back
iron barbs for their arrows, knives, machetes, and a few articles of
ornament.
On the night of the fifth day, we encamped at the mouth of the Tirolas,
a considerable stream, which enters the Wanks from the north, and up
which we, next morning, took our course. Our advance was now slow and
laborious, owing to the rapidity of the current, and the numerous rocks
and fallen trees which obstructed the channel. The river wound among
hills, which increased in altitude as we penetrated farther inland, until
I discovered that we were approaching the great mountain range, which
traverses the country from south-west to north-east, constituting the
“divide,” or water-shed, as I afterward found, between the valley of the
Cape River and the streams which flow northward into the Bay of Honduras.
Hour by hour we came nearer to this great barrier, which presented to us
a steep and apparently inaccessible front. I was rather appalled when my
Poyer told me that the village of his people lay beyond this range, over
which we would be obliged to climb in order to reach it. However, there
was now no alternative left but to go ahead, so I gave myself no further
concern, although I could not help wondering how we were to clamber up
the dizzy steeps which appeared more and more abrupt as we approached
them.
It was on the second evening after leaving the great river, that we
reached the head of canoe navigation on the Tirolas, at a point where
two bright streams, tumbling over their rocky beds, united in a placid
pool of clear water, at the very feet of the mountains. It was a spot of
surpassing beauty. The pool was, perhaps, a hundred yards broad, and, in
places, twenty or thirty feet deep, yet so clear that every pebble at
the bottom, and every fish which sported in its crystal depths, were
distinctly visible to the eye. Upon one side rose huge gray rocks of
granite, draped over with vines, and shadowed by large and wide-spreading
trees, whose branches, crowded with the wax-like leaves and flowers of
innumerable air-plants, cast dark, broad shadows on the water. Upon the
other side was a smooth, sandy beach, completely sheltered from the sun
by large trees, beneath which were drawn up a number of canoes, carefully
protected from the weather by rude sheds of cahoon leaves. These canoes
belonged to the Poyer Indians, and are used by them in their voyages to
the Cape. A little lower down the stream were clusters of palm-trees,
and large patches of bananas and plantains, which seemed to have been
carefully nurtured by the Indians in their visits to this picturesque
“embarcadero.”
[Illustration: EMBARCADERO ON THE TIROLAS.]
The slant rays of the evening sun fell upon one half of the pool, where
the little ripples chased each other sparkling to the shore, while upon
the other part, the rocks and forest cast their cool, dark shadows. And
as our canoe shot in upon its transparent bosom, I could not help joining
in my Poyer boy’s shout of joy. Even “El Moro” fluttered his bright
wings, and screamed in sympathetic glee. A few vigorous strokes of the
paddles, and our canoe drove up half its length on the sandy shore, the
sharp pebbles grating pleasantly beneath its keel. For the present, at
least, I had done with lagoons and rivers, and a new excitement awaited
me among the giddy steeps and untracked solitudes of the mountains.
Farewell now to the cramped canoe, and the eternal succession of low and
tangled banks; and ho, for the free limb and the expanding chest of the
son of the forest!
With glad alacrity, my companions and myself set to work to form our
encampment, on the clean dry sand. Then came Antonio, laden with the
golden clusters of the plantain, while the spear of the Poyer darted down
in the clear waters of the pool with unfailing skill. The rousing fire,
the murmur of the mountain-torrents, and the distant cry of the fierce
black tiger, the satisfied sense of having safely accomplished an arduous
undertaking, high anticipations of new adventures, and the consciousness
of being the first white man who had ever trusted himself in these
unknown fastnesses—all these, joined to the contagious joy of my faithful
companions, combined to give the keenest edge and zest to that night’s
enjoyment. In my darkest hours, its recollection comes over my soul like
a beam of sunlight through the rifts of a clouded sky—“a joy forever.”
Blessed memory, which enables us to live over again the delights of the
past, and gives an eternal solace to the cheerful mind!
That night I made a formal present of the canoe and its appurtenances to
my Poyer boy, and we selected such articles as were indispensable to us,
leaving the rest to be sent for by the Indians when we should reach the
village. My purpose was to commence our march at dawn on the following
day. But in the morning I arose with one of my feet so swollen and
painful that I could neither put on my boot nor walk, except with great
difficulty. The cause was, outwardly, very trifling. During the previous
day the water in the Tirolas had been so shallow that it frequently
became necessary to get out of the canoe and lighten it, in order to pass
the various rapids. I had therefore taken off my boots, and gone into
the water with my naked feet. I remember stepping on a rolling stone,
slipping off, and bruising my ankle. The hurt was, however, so slight,
that I did not give it a second thought. But, from this trifling cause,
my foot and ankle were now swollen to nearly double their natural size,
and the prosecution of my journey, for the time being, was rendered
impossible. Under the tropics, serious consequences often follow from
these slight causes. I have known tetanus to result from a little
wound, of the size of a pea, made by extracting the bag of a _nigua_ or
_chigoe_, which had burrowed in the foot!
The skill of my companions was at once put in requisition. They made a
poultice of ripe plantains baked in the ashes, and mixed with cocoa-nut
oil, which was applied hot to the affected parts. This done, our canoe
was hauled up, and an extempore roof built over it, to protect me from
the weather, in case it should happen to change for the worse. I passed
a fretful night, the pain being very great, and the swelling extending
higher and higher, until it had reached the knee. The applications had
no perceptible effect. Under these circumstances, I determined to send
my Poyer to his village for assistance. He represented it as distant
five days, but that it could be reached, by forced marches, in four. He
objected to leave me, but on the second day, my foot being no better, he
obeyed my positive orders, and started, taking with him only a little
dried meat, his spear, and his bow.
Antonio now redoubled his attentions, and I certainly stood in need
of them. The pain kept me from slumber, and I became irritable and
feverish. But no mother could have been more constant, more patient, or
more wakeful to every want than that faithful Indian boy. He exhausted
his simple remedies, and still the limb became worse, and the unwilling
conviction seemed to be forced on his mind, that the case was beyond his
reach. When, in the intervals of the pain, he thought me slumbering, I
often saw him consult his talisman with undisguised anxiety. He however,
always seemed to feel reassured by it, and to become more cheerful.
On the third day a suppuration appeared at the ankle, and the pain and
swelling diminished; and on the succeeding morning I probed the wound,
and, to my surprise, removed a small splinter of stone, which had been
the cause of all my affliction. From that moment my improvement was
rapid, and I was soon able to move about without difficulty.
I amused myself much with fishing in the pool, in which there were
large numbers of an active kind of fish, varying from ten to sixteen
inches in length, of reddish color, and voracious appetites. Toward
evening, when the flies settled down near the surface, they rose like
the trout, and kept the pool boiling with their swift leaping after
their prey. I improved my limited experience in fly-fishing at home,
to devise impromptu insects, and astonished Antonio with that, to him,
novel device in the piscatory art. These fish, with an occasional wild
turkey, the latter generally tough and insipid, constituted about our
only food. Ducks, curlews, and snipe, so common in the vicinity of the
lagoons, were here unknown, and we listened in vain for the cry of the
_chachalaca_. There were, however, numerous birds of song, and of bright
plumage, but not fit for food. I saw some owls; and now and then a large
hawk would settle down sullenly on the trees which overhung the pool.
Gray-squirrels also occasionally rustled the branches above our heads,
but the foliage was so dense that I was only successful in obtaining a
single specimen. Once a squadron of monkeys came trooping through the
tree-tops to rob the plantain-grove, but a charge of buckshot, which
brought two of them to the ground, was effectual in deterring them from a
second visit. They were of a small variety, body black, face white, and
“whiskered like a pard.” Antonio cooked one of them in the sand, but he
looked so much like a singed baby which I once saw taken out of the ruins
of a fire in Ann-street, that I could not bring myself to taste him. So
my Indian had an undisputed monopoly of the monkey.
But the most exciting incident, connected with our stay on the banks of
the Tirolas, was one which I can never recall without going into a fit
of laughter—although, at the time, I did not regard it as remarkably
amusing. Among the wild animals most common in Central America, is the
_peccary_, sometimes called “Mexican hog,” but best known by the Spanish
name of _Savalino_. There is another animal, something similar to the
_peccary_, supposed to be the common hog run wild, called _Javalino_ by
the Spaniards, and _Waree_ by the Mosquitos. If not indigenous, the
latter certainly have multiplied to an enormous extent, since they swarm
all over the more thickly-wooded portions of the country. They closely
resemble the wild-boar of Europe, and, although less in size, seem to be
equally ferocious. They go in droves, and are not at all particular as
to their food, eating ravenously snakes and reptiles of all kinds. They
have also a rational relish for fruits, and especially for plantains and
bananas, and would prove a real scourge to the plantations, were they
always able to break down the stalks supporting the fruit. Unable to do
this, they nevertheless pay regular visits to the plantations, in the
hope of finding a tree blown down, and of feasting on the fallen clusters.
With these intimations as to their character and habits, the reader will
be better qualified to appreciate the incident alluded to. It was a
pleasant afternoon, and I had strolled off with my gun, in the direction
of the plantain-patch, stopping occasionally to listen to the clear,
flute-like notes of some unseen bird, or to watch a brilliant lizard,
as it flashed across the gray stones. Thus sauntering carelessly along,
my attention was suddenly arrested by a peculiar noise, as if of some
animal, or rather of many animals engaged in eating. I stopped, and
peered in every direction to discover the cause, when finally my eyes
rested upon what I at once took to be a pig of most tempting proportions.
He was moving slowly, with his nose to the ground, as if in search of
food. Without withdrawing my gaze, I carefully raised my gun, and fired.
It was loaded with buckshot, and although the animal fell, he rose again
immediately, and began to make off. Of course I hurried after him, with
the view of finishing my work with my knife—but I had not taken ten
steps, when it appeared to me as if every stick, stone, and bush had
been converted into a pig! Hogs rose on all sides, with bristling backs,
and tusks of appalling length. I comprehended my danger in an instant,
and had barely time to leap into the forks of a low, scraggy tree,
before they were at its foot. I shall never forget the malicious look
of their little bead-like eyes, as they raved around my roosting-place,
and snapped ineffectually at my heels. Although I felt pretty secure,
I discreetly clambered higher, and, fixing myself firmly in my seat,
revenged myself by firing a charge of bird-shot in the face of the
savagest of my assailants. This insult only excited the brutes the more,
and they ground their teeth, and frothed around the tree in a perfect
paroxysm of porcine rage.
[Illustration: THE WAREE.]
I next loaded both barrels of my gun with ball, and deliberately shot two
others through their heads, killing them on the spot, vainly imagining
that thereby I should disperse the herd. But never was man more mistaken.
The survivors nosed around their dead companions for a moment, and
then renewed their vicious contemplations of my position. Some squatted
themselves upon their hams, as much as to say that they intended to wait
for me, and were nowise in a hurry! So I loaded up again, and slaughtered
two more of the largest and most spiteful. But, even then, there were no
signs of retreat; on the contrary, it seemed to me as if reënforcements
sprang out of the ground, and that my besiegers grew every moment more
numerous!
How long this might have lasted, I am unprepared to say, had not
Antonio, alarmed at my rapid firing, hastened to my rescue. No sooner
did my assailants catch sight of his swarthy figure than they made after
him with a vehement rush. He avoided them by leaping upon a rock, and
then commenced a most extraordinary and murderous contest. Never did a
battalion of veteran soldiers charge upon an enemy, with more steadiness
than those wild pigs upon the Indian. He was armed with only a lance, but
every blow brought down a porker. Half alarmed lest they should finally
overmatch him, I cheered his exploits, and kept up a brisk fire by way of
a diversion in his favor. I am ashamed to say how many of those pigs we
killed; it is, perhaps, enough to add, that it was long after dark before
the beasts made up their minds to leave us uneaten. And it was with a
decided sensation of relief that we heard them moving off, until their
low grunt was lost in the distance.
At one time, the odds were certainly against us, and it seemed not
improbable that the artist and his adventures might both come to a
pitiful and far from a poetical end. But fortune favored, and my faithful
gun now hangs over my table in boar-tusk brackets, triumphal trophies
from that bloody field! Instead of being eaten, we ate, wherein consists
a difference; but I was ever after wary of the _waree_!
True to his promise, on the evening of the tenth day, my Poyer boy
bounded into our encampment, with a loud shout of joy. His friends were
behind, and he said would reach us in the following afternoon. There were
five of them, sober, silent men, who made their encampment apart from us,
and whom I vainly endeavored to engage in conversation. They displayed
great aptness in packing our various articles in net-work sacks, which
they carried on their backs, supported by bands passing around their
foreheads. They wore no clothes except the _tournou_, unless sandals of
tapir-hide, and a narrow-brimmed hat, braided of palm-bark, fall within
that denomination. Besides his sack, each man carried a peculiar kind of
_machete_, short and curved like a pruning-hook; only one or two had bows.
It was with real regret that I left our encampment beside the bright
pool, and abandoned my old and now familiar canoe, in the sides of which,
like a true Yankee, I had carved my name, and the dates of my adventures.
I turned to look back more than once, as we filed away, beneath the
trees, in the trail leading to the mountains. The Indians led the
way, while Antonio and myself brought up the rear. “El Moro,” perched
upon the tallest pack, shrieked and fluttered his wings, occasionally
scrambling down to take a mischievous bite at the ear of his Indian
carrier. Whenever he was successful in accomplishing this feat, he
became superlatively happy and gleeful. In default of other amusement,
he sometimes suspended himself from the netting by a single claw, like
a dead bird, with drooping wings and dangling head, and then suddenly
scrambled back again to his perch, with triumphant screams. He was a rare
rollicking bird, that same Moro!
For the first day our course followed a line nearly parallel with the
base of the mountains, through a thick and tangled forest. We crossed
innumerable small and rapid streams of the clearest water, sparkling
over beds of variously-colored quartz pebbles—for we were now skirting
one of the great ranges of primitive rocks, which form the nucleus of
the continent. My long confinement in the canoe had contributed to
disqualify me for active exertions, and long before night I became much
fagged, and would fain have gone into camp. But the Indians traveled so
tranquilly under their loads, that I was loth to discover to them my lack
of endurance, and so kept on without complaint. In the afternoon our path
began to ascend, and we gradually emerged from the thick and tangled
woods into a comparatively open forest, which, in turn, gave place to
groves of scattered pines and oaks, among which we encamped for the night.
From our elevated position I could overlook the wilderness which we had
traversed during the day. It was at that season of the year when the
_erythrina_ puts on its scarlet robe of blossoms, and the ceiba clothes
itself in flames, in splendid relief to the prevailing green. It seemed
as if Nature held high holiday among these primeval solitudes, and
arrayed herself only to wanton in the sense of her own beauty. But while
vegetation was thus lavishly luxuriant in the valley, behind us the
mountains rose, stern, steep, and bare. Vainly the dark pines, clinging
to their sides, sought to vail their flinty frown. Wherever a little
shelf of the rocks supported a scanty bed of soil, there the mountain
grasses, and the sensitive-plant with its amaranthine flower, took root,
like kindly thoughts in the heart of the hard and worldly man. From
the gnarled oaks, and even from the unfading pines, hung long festoons
of gray moss, which swayed sadly in the wind. And when the night came
on, and I lay down beside the fire, beneath their shade, they seemed
to murmur in a low and mournful voice to the passing breeze, which,
laden with the perfume of the valley, rose with downy wings to bear its
tributary incense to the skies.
Morning broke, but dark and gloomily, and although we resumed our march,
directing our course diagonally up the face of the mountain, we were
obliged to stop before noon, and seek shelter under a mass of projecting
rocks, from a cold, drizzly rain, which now began to fall steadily, with
every promise of merging in a protracted temporal. The clouds ran low,
and drifted around and below us, in heavy, cheerless volumes, shutting
from view every object except the pines and stunted oaks, in their gray,
monastic robes, now saturated and heavy from the damp. Stowing our few
valuables securely under the rocks, we lighted a fire, now acceptable
not less for its heat than its companionship. Its cheerful flame, and
the sparkle of its embers, revived my drooping spirits, and helped
to reconcile me to the imprisonment which the temporal would be sure
to entail. I can readily understand how fire commended itself to the
primitive man as an emblem of purity and power, and became the symbol of
spirit and those invisible essences which pervade the universe. God robed
himself in flame on Sinai; in tongues of flame the Spirit descended upon
the disciples at Jerusalem; an eternal fire burned upon the altars of
the virginal Vesta, and in the Persian Pyrothea; to fire was committed
the sacrifice of propitiation, and by its ordeal was innocence and
purity made manifest. Among the American Indians it was held in especial
reverence. The Delawares and the Iroquois had festivals in its honor, and
regarded it as the first parent of the Indian nations. The Cherokees paid
their devotions to the “great, beneficent, supreme, holy Spirit of Fire,”
whose home was in the heavens, but who dwelt also on earth, in the hearts
of “the unpolluted people.” And even the rude Indians who huddled with
me beneath the protecting rocks in the heart of the wilderness, never
commenced their simple meals without first throwing a small portion of
their food in the fire, as an offering to the protecting Spirit of Life,
of which it is the genial symbol.
The temporal lasted for three days, during which time it rained almost
incessantly, and it was withal so cold, that a large and constant fire
was necessary to our comfort. At the end of that time the clouds began
to lift, and the sun broke through the rifts, and speedily dispersed the
watery legions. But the rocks were slippery with the wet, and the earth,
wherever it was found among the rocks, was sodden and unstable, rendering
our advance alike disagreeable and dangerous. We remained, therefore,
until the morning of the fourth day, when we resumed our march.
Chapter XV.
[Illustration]
For a day and a half we continued to ascend, now skirting dizzy
precipices, and next stealing along cautiously beneath beetling rocks,
which hung heavily on the brow of the mountain. The features of the great
valley which we had left were no longer distinguishable. What we had
regarded as mountains there, now shrunk into simple undulations, like
folds in some silken robe, thrown loosely on the ground. There was no
longer a foothold for the pines, and their places were supplied by low
bushes, thrusting their roots deep in the clefts, and clinging like vines
to the faces of the rocks.
Finally, to my great joy, we reached the crest of the mountain. Upon the
north, however, it fell away in a series of broad steps or terraces,
lower and lower, until, in the dim distance, it subsided in the vast
alluvial plains bordering on the Bay of Honduras, the waters of which
could be distinguished, like a silver rim, on the edge of the horizon.
The air, on these high plateaus, was chill, and only the hardy
mountain-grasses and the various forms of cactus found root in their thin
and sterile soil. The latter were numerous and singular. Some appeared
above the earth, simple, fluted globes, radiating with spines, and having
in their centre a little tuft of crimson flowers. Others were mere
articulated prisms, tangled in clumps, and also bristling with prickles.
But the variety, known in Mexico as the _nopal_, was most abundant, and
grew of tree-like proportions.
Few as were these forms of vegetable life, animals and birds were fewer
still. An occasional deer contemplated us at a distance, and a little
animal, similar to the prairie-dog of the West, tumbled hurriedly
into his hole as we approached his solitary covert. In places, the
disintegrated quartz rock appeared above the surface for wide distances,
reflecting back the rays of the sun, which seemed to pour down with
unwonted and blinding brilliancy, from a cloudless sky. I could scarcely
comprehend the sudden change from the region of the lagoons, where the
overladen earth sweltered beneath forests teeming with life, and the air
was oppressed with the cloying odors of myriads of flowers, and this
stern region, ribbed with rock, where Nature herself seemed paralyzed,
and silence held an eternal reign.
It was a singular spectacle, that little troop of ours, as it hurried
rapidly across these mountain wastes, or huddled closely together, when
night came on, around a scanty fire, made of wood which the Poyer boy,
with wise prevision, had deposited there, on his return to the Tirolas.
As we descended from terrace to terrace, we came again into the region
of pines and oaks, which, in their turn, gave place to forests of other
varieties of trees, interrupted by strips of open or savannah lands. We
early struck a little stream, which, I observed, we followed constantly.
It proved to be the branch of the great river Patuca, upon which the
Poyer village is situated, and bore the musical name of Guallambre. At
night, when we encamped, the Poyer boy took a calabash, and, motioning to
me to follow, led the way down the stream to a little sand-bar. Scooping
up some of the sand in his bowl, and then filling it with water, he
whirled it rapidly, so that a feathery stream of mingled sand and water
flew constantly over its edge. He continued this operation until the sand
was nearly exhausted, and then filled the bowl again. After repeating
this process several times, he grew more careful, balancing the bowl
skillfully, and stopping occasionally to pick out the pebbles, which,
owing to their weight, had not been carried over by the water.
I understood at once that this was the primitive mode of washing gold,
and was, therefore, not greatly surprised when, after the process was
complete, the Poyer showed me a little deposit of gold, in grains, at the
bottom of the calabash, equal to about a fourth of an ounce in weight. He
then told me that all the streams, flowing down the mountains toward the
north, carried gold in their sands, and that the latter were frequently
washed by his people, to obtain the means of purchasing such articles of
civilized manufacture as they might need from the Spaniards of Olancho,
and the traders who visited the coast.[4]
On the eighth day from our encampment on the Tirolas, after a laborious
march among heavily-wooded hills, following, for most of the distance,
the bed of the Guallambre, now swollen to a considerable stream, we
reached the Poyer village. I say village, for such it was, in fact,
although composed of but a single house! This was a substantial
structure, forty paces in length, and ten broad, supported on stout
posts, and heavily thatched with palm-leaves. The front and ends were
open, but along the back extended a series of little apartments,
separated from each other by partitions of the outer shells of the
cabbage-palm, which, when split and pressed flat, make good substitutes
for boards. These were the dormitories, or private apartments of the
mated or married occupants, and of the girls. The places for the boys
were on elevated platforms, beneath the roof. A row of stones, set firmly
in the ground, defined the outline of the building. Within them the earth
was elevated a foot or more, to preserve it dry and unaffected by the
rains. The position was admirably chosen, on a kind of step or shelf of a
considerable hill, which rose behind, clothed with dense verdure, while
in front it subsided rapidly to the stream, here tumbling noisily among
the rocks, and yonder circling, bubble-sprinkled, in dark pools, beneath
the trees. The ground around was beaten smooth and hard, and numbers of
tamed curassows stalked to and fro, gravely elevating and depressing
their crests; while within the building, and on its roof, numerous
parrots and macaws waddled after each other, or exercised their voices
in loud and discordant cries. There were also a few pigs and ducks, all
appearing to be as much at home beneath the roof, as were the naked
Indian babies, with whom they mingled on terms of perfect equality.
[Illustration: POYER VILLAGE ON THE GUALLAMBRE.]
My boy had gone ahead, and had returned to meet us in company with
two old men, who were the lawgivers of the establishment, and who
reverentially touched my knee with their foreheads, by way of
salutation. They said but a single word, which I suppose was one of
welcome, and then led the way silently to the house. At one end a space
had been recently fenced off, containing two new crickeries, within which
my various articles were deposited, and which were at once indicated to
me as my special apartment.
All the proceedings had been conducted so rapidly, that I was fairly
installed in my novel quarters before I was aware of it. Our arrival had
evidently been anticipated, for almost immediately the women brought
us hot rolls of a species of bread made of ground cassava, baked in
the ashes, with the addition of some stewed flesh of the _waree_, so
tender and savory that it would have commended itself to a far more
fastidious appetite than mine. I made a prodigious meal, to the palpable
satisfaction of my faithful Poyer, who kept every calabash heaped up with
food.
As I have said, the Indians of Central America differ widely from their
fiercer brethren of our country, not less in their modes of life than in
all their social and civil relations. This Poyer community afforded an
example of a purely patriarchal organization, in which the authority of
paternity and of age was recognized in the fullest degree. Every evening
the old men, each taking a lighted brand, gathered within a small circle
of stones, at one corner of the house, and there deliberated upon the
affairs of the community, and settled its proceedings for the following
day. In these conferences neither the women nor young men were permitted
to take part. All the labor of the community was performed in common, and
all shared equally in the results. In one or two of the recesses which I
have described, were some ancient and helpless crones, who were treated
with all the care and tenderness of children. The whole establishment,
according to the best of my count, consisted of about one hundred and
forty persons, young and old, of whom thirty-five were full-grown men.
In figure the Poyers or Payas are identical with the Towkas and Woolwas,
except more muscular—the consequence, probably, of their cooler climate
and severer labor. The women were less shy, perhaps from their more
social mode of living. In common with those of the coast, they go naked
to the waist, whence depends a skirt of striped cotton cloth, reaching
to the knees. Their hair is invariably parted in front, and held in
place by a cotton band, bound tightly around the forehead. They were
always occupied. Some, squatting on the ground, spun the native cotton,
of which all the Indians raise small quantities, while others wove it
into cloth. Both processes were rude but ingenious. The spindle consists
of a small ball of heavy wood, through which passes a thin shaft, the
whole resembling an overgrown top, the lower end resting in a calabash,
to prevent it from toppling over. Some of the cotton is attached to this
spindle, which is twirled between the thumb and forefinger. While it is
in motion the thread is carefully drawn out from a pile of cotton in the
lap of the spinner. When it stops the thread is wound on the spindle,
and the same process repeated. The process of weaving was certainly a
simple one, but after several unsatisfactory attempts to describe it, I
am obliged to confess my inability to do so, in an intelligible manner.
But a principal occupation of the women was the grinding of maize for
tortillas, and of preparing the cassava. For these purposes there were
a number of flat stones elevated on blocks, which were called by the
Mexican name of _metlatl_. These were somewhat concave on the upper
surface, in which fitted a stone roller, worked by hand. With this
the maize was speedily ground to a fine consistence; the paste was
then made into small cakes, which were baked rapidly on broad earthen
platters, supported over brisk fires. The cakes require to be eaten
when crisp and hot, in order to be relished; for when cold they become
heavy and tasteless. Upon these stones they also crushed the stalks
of the indigenous sugar-cane to extract the juice, which, mixed with
powdered wild-cacao, is allowed to ferment, constituting an agreeable and
exhilarating beverage, called _ulung_.
Every morning all the girls went down to the stream to bathe, which they
did without any overstrained affectation of modesty; but the mothers and
old women always sought a spot secluded from the general gaze. It was
only when thus engaged that the girls were at all playful. They dashed
the water in each others’ faces, and sought to drag each other under
the surface, in the deep pools, where they swam about as mermaids are
supposed to do, and as if the water was their native element. At all
other times they were as distant and demure as the daintiest damsels in
all New England.
The Poyers are certainly a provident people. Although there were no signs
of plantations in the vicinity of their establishments, yet, at various
points in the neighborhood, where there occurred patches of rich interval
land, were small fields of sugar-cane, plantains, squashes, maize, yucas,
and cassava, all protected by fences, and attended with the utmost care.
From every beam of the house depended bunches of plantains and bananas,
huge yams, and dried flesh of various kinds, but chiefly that of the
_waree_, while closely packed, on platforms under the roof, were a few
bales of sarsaparilla, which I found they were accustomed to carry down
to the coast for purposes of barter.
The Poyers or Payas, as I have intimated, are eminently agriculturists,
and although they sometimes follow the chase, it is not as a principal
means of support. Nor is it followed from any fantastic notion of
excitement or adventure, but in a direct and downright manner, which is
the very reverse of what is called “sport.” I had an example of this in
their mode of fishing, which quite astonished all my previous notions on
that subject, and which evinced to me furthermore, that fishes, although
cold-blooded, are not exempt from having their heads turned, provided
they are approached in a proper manner.
My Poyer boy, who was unwearying in his devices to entertain and interest
me, one day conceived a brilliant idea, which he hastened to communicate
to the old men, who held a sober _monexico_, or council upon it, and
resolved that there should be made a grand demonstration upon the fish,
for the double purpose of amusing the stranger, and of replenishing the
supplies. The resolution, taken at night, was carried into execution in
the morning. While a portion of the men proceeded down the stream to
construct a temporary wier of boughs, others collected a large quantity
of a species of vine called _bequipe_, which is common in the woods, has
a rank growth, is full of juice, and emits a pungent odor. These vines
were cut in sections, crushed between stones, and placed in large earthen
pots, left to steep, over a slow fire.
I watched all the operations with curious interest. About the middle of
the afternoon they were completed; the pots containing the decoctions
were duly shouldered, and we all started up the stream. At the distance
of perhaps a quarter of a mile, we met a number of men wading down the
channel, and beating the water with long poles, by way of concentrating
the fish in the direction of the wiers. Here the pots were simultaneously
emptied in the stream, which the contents tinged of a brownish hue. Up to
this moment, the various preparations had greatly puzzled me, but now I
discovered that the purpose of the decoction was to poison, or rather to
intoxicate the fish, which it did effectively; for, as we proceeded down
the stream, numbers rose struggling to the surface, vainly endeavoring to
stem the current, which swept them toward the wiers.
At every step they became more numerous, until the whole stream was
thronged with them. Some were quite stupefied, and drifted along
helplessly, while others made spasmodic efforts to resist the potent
influence of the _bequipe_. But, sooner or later, they too drifted down,
with a faint wagging of their tails, which seemed to express that they
fairly “gave it up.”
The wier had been built at the foot of a considerable pool, which was
literally covered with the stupefied fishes. There were many varieties
of them, and the Indians stationed at that point were already engaged
in picking out the largest and best, tossing the others over the wier,
to recover their senses at their leisure, in the clear water below. As
soon as the fish were thrown ashore, they were taken charge of by the
women, who cleaned them on the spot, and with wonderful dexterity. They
were afterward taken to the house, rubbed with salt, and smoke-dried over
fires, after the manner which I have already described, as practiced by
the Sambos at Pearl Cay Lagoon.
It would naturally be supposed that a decoction so powerful as to affect
the water of a large stream, would also damage the fish, and unfit them
for food. But such is not the case. The effect seems to be precisely
that of temporary intoxication, and the fish, if left in the water, would
soon recover from its influence.
Time passed pleasantly among the hospitable Poyers, and I was treated
with such ceremonious deference and respect, that I began to think that
a far worse fortune might befall me, than that of becoming a member of
this peaceful and prosperous community, on the banks of the Guallambre.
In fact, I finally detected myself speculating upon the possibility of
promoting one of the dark Naiads, whom I every morning watched sporting
in the river, to the occupancy of the vacant crickery in my apartment.
And then the fact that there were two crickeries—was not that intended
as a delicate suggestion on the part of the Poyers, whose ideas of
hospitality might be less circumscribed than my own? The thought that
they might imagine me dull of apprehension, and slow to improve upon a
hint, grew upon me with every new and nearer contemplation of the Naiads,
and I began seriously to think of submitting a formal proposition on the
subject, to the _monexico_. But men’s fates often hinge upon trifling
circumstances, and had I not detected a deepening shadow of anxiety on
the face of Antonio, I might have become a patriarch in Poyerdom! Who
knows?
Early after our arrival at the Foyer village, I was surprised to
observe Antonio in close consultation with the old men, in the nightly
_monexico_. They seemed to be deeply interested in his communications,
and I imagined that they became daily more thoughtful. But now, whatever
purpose Antonio might have had in view, it appeared to have been
accomplished.
So, one evening, I called him aside, and announced that I was ready to
depart. He grasped my hand, pressed it to his heart, and said, in a tone
of emotion—“The voice of the tiger is loud in the mountain, and the sons
of the Holy Men are waiting by the lake of the Itzaes!”
I comprehended the latent meaning of these poetical words, for I had
already seen enough of Antonio to discover that his absence from Yucatan
was in some way connected with a concerted movement of the aborigines,
and that now some crisis was approaching which drew him irresistibly
toward his native land. Resolved not to be instrumental in delaying him
for an hour unnecessarily, and half repenting that I had detained him
so long—for his attachment and gratitude were too real to permit him
to abandon me in the wilderness—I at once communicated my intention of
leaving to the old men. They took it under serious deliberation, which
resulted in their dispatching some men before daybreak, on the following
morning, to prepare a canoe for our descent of the Patuca. The canoes,
I found, were not kept on the Guallambre, for two reasons: first, that
its course is circuitous, and second, and principally, because it runs
through the settlements of the Spaniards of Olancho, with whom the
Indians avoid all relations which are not absolutely necessary. Their
boats were therefore kept half a day’s journey distant, beyond a chain of
high hills, on a large tributary of the Patuca, called Amacwass.
I verily believe I would have been a welcome guest among my Poyer
friends, so long as I might have chosen to remain; yet they did not urge
me to stay, but hastened to help me off, as if my intimations were to be
regarded as commands.
During the day a large quantity of provisions were dispatched to the
boat, and at night the _monexico_ selected two men, and my old companion
the Poyer boy, to accompany us to the coast. We took our departure early
in the morning, while it was yet dark, without creating the slightest
disturbance in the establishment. Only the old men, who had come out
to meet us two weeks before, now went ahead with large brands of fire,
to light the way; but, when the day broke, they again touched their
foreheads to my knee, and returned, leaving us to prosecute our journey
alone.
We reached the Amacwass in the afternoon, and found a boat, twice as
large as the canoe in which we had navigated the lagoons, all prepared
for instant departure. A space near the middle was covered with a thatch
of palm branches, to protect me from the sun, and altogether it promised
a degree of comfort and convenience to which I had been a stranger, in my
previous voyagings.
We embarked at once, and dropped rapidly down with the current, the
Indians only using their paddles to direct the boat, and keep it clear
of the rocks which obstructed the channel. The water was wonderfully
clear, every where revealing the bottom with the greatest distinctness.
The banks were covered with a heavy forest, in which the eye was often
arrested by the stately forms of the mahogany-tree, with its massive
foliage, rising high above the general level; or by the still taller
and more graceful plumes of the palmetto-royal. Vegetation seemed to
have a more vigorous, but less redundant life, than on the Mosquito
Shore; that is to say, it assumed more compact and more decided forms,
occasioned, probably, by the comparative absence of jungle, not less than
by peculiarities of soil.
There was something exhilarating in our rapid course; and the voice of
the waters, here murmuring over a pebbly bottom, and yonder breaking
hoarsely over the obstructing rocks, reminded me of my distant New
England home, and recalled the happy hours which I had spent in the
sole companionship of its merry mountain streams. It was, after all,
by the standard of my youthful experiences, that I measured my present
enjoyments; and it was rare indeed, even in my most cheerful moods, that
the comparison was favorable to the latter. The senses blunted by years,
and the memory crowded with events, fails to appreciate so keenly or
record so deeply, the experiences of middle life, and pure happiness,
after all, dwells chiefly in the remembrance of the distant past.
As soon as the shadows of evening began to settle over the narrow valley
of the Amacwass, we halted, and made our camp, maintaining throughout
the night a great fire, not less for its cheerful influences than for
protection against the fierce black tigers, or pumas, which abound on
this flank of the mountains. We heard their screams, now near, now
distant, to which the monkeys responded with alarmed and anxious cries,
so like those of human beings in distress, as more than once to startle
me from my slumbers. These caricatures on humanity seemed to be more
numerous here than further down the coast, and we often saw large troops
of them in the overhanging trees, where they gravely contemplated us as
we drifted by. Occasionally one, more adventurous than the rest, would
slide down a dependent limb or vine, scold at us vehemently for a moment,
and then scramble back again hurriedly, as if alarmed at his own audacity.
On the second day the current of the Amacwass became more gentle,
and just before night we shot out of its waters into the large and
comparatively majestic Patuca. Our course down this stream was not so
rapid. In places the current was so slight that it became necessary to
use our paddles; while elsewhere the greatest caution was requisite to
guide our boat safely over the numerous _chiflones_ or rapids by which
it was interrupted. But these, though difficult, and in some instances
dangerous, sunk into insignificance when compared with what is called _El
Portal del Infierno_, or the “Gateway of Hell.” My Poyer boy had several
times alluded to it, as infinitely more to be dreaded than any of the
passes which we had yet encountered, and as one which would be likely to
excite my alarm.
We reached it on the day after we had entered the Patuca. As we advanced,
the hills began to approach each other, and high rocks shut in the river
upon both sides. Huge detached masses also rose in the middle of the
stream, around which the water whirled and eddied in deep, dark gulfs,
sucking down the frayed and shattered trunks of trees, from which the
branches had long before been torn by rude contact with the rocks, only
to reject them again from their depths, far below. The velocity of our
boat increased, and I became apprehensive in view of the rushing current
and rocky shores; nor was the feeling diminished, when the men commenced
to lash the various articles contained in the boat by thongs to its
sides, since that precaution implied a possibility of our being overset.
Antonio urged me to strip, which I did, in preparation for the worst
contingency. Meanwhile the stream narrowed more and more, and the rocks
towered higher and higher above our heads. The water no longer dashed
and chafed against the shores, but, dark and glassy, shot through the
narrow gorge with a low hissing sound, more fearful than its previous
turbulence. I involuntarily held my breath, grasping firmly the sides
of the boat, and watching anxiously the dark forms of the Indians, as,
silently, and with impassible features, they guided the frail slab upon
which our lives depended. On, on we swept, between cliffs so lofty and
beetling as to shut out the sun, and involve us in twilight obscurity.
I looked up, and, at a dizzy height, could only trace a narrow strip
of sky, like the cleft in the roof of some deep cavern. A shudder ran
through every limb, and I could well understand why this terrible pass
had been named the “Mouth of Hell!” He must have been a bold man who
ventured first within its horrid jaws!
I drew a long breath of relief when the chasm began to widen, and the
current to diminish in violence. But it was probably then that we were in
the greatest danger, for the bed of the stream was full of angular rocks
which had been swept out from the _cañon_, to be heaped up here in wild
disorder. A misdirected stroke of a single paddle would have thrown our
frail boat upon them, and dashed it into a thousand pieces.
[Illustration: “GATEWAY OF HELL.”]
Before night, however, we had entirely passed the rapids, and were
drifting quietly over the smooth, deep reaches of the river—the bubbles
on its surface, and the flecks of white foam clinging to its banks, alone
indicating the commotion which raged above.
There are many legends connected with the “Portal del Infierno.” Within
it the Indians imagine there dwells a powerful spirit, who is sometimes
seen darting through its gloomiest recess, in the form of a large bird.
That night, each of the Poyers poured a portion of his allowance of
_chicha_ in the stream, as a thank-offering to the spirit of the river.
This, and the offerings made to fire, were the only religious rites which
I witnessed while in their country; but it is not thence to be inferred
that they are without religious forms, for it is precisely these that
they are most careful to conceal from the observation of the stranger.
As we proceeded down the river, and entered the alluvions of the coast,
both the stream and its banks underwent an entire change. The latter
became comparatively low, and frequently, for long distances, were wholly
covered with feathery palms, unrelieved by any other varieties of trees.
Snags and stranded logs obstructed the channel, and sand-bars appeared
here and there, upon which the hideous alligators stretched themselves
in the sun, in conscious security. Occasionally, we observed swells or
ridges of savannah land, like those on the Mosquito Shore, supporting
pines and acacias. But the general character of the country was that of
a broad alluvion, in places so low as to be overflowed during floods—rich
in soil, and adapted to the cultivation of all the tropical staples.
On the seventh day from the Poyer village, we reached a point where the
river divides, forming a delta, the principal channel leading off to the
sea direct, and the other conducting to a large lagoon, called _Brus_ by
the Spaniards, where the Caribs of the coast have their establishments.
We took the latter, and the Indians plied their paddles with increased
energy, as if anxious to bring our tedious voyage to a close.
Chapter XVI.
[Illustration]
Although we had previously moored our boat with the approach of darkness,
yet this night the Indians kept on their course. The river was now wide
and still, and the banks low and tropical. With the fading light of day,
the sea-breeze set in, fresh and pungent, from the ocean. Fire-flies
sparkled like stars along the shore, and only the night-hawk, swooping
down after its prey, startled the ear of night with its rushing pinions.
The night advanced, and the steady dip of the paddles soothed me into
a slumber, from which I was only roused by the noise of drums and the
sound of revelry. I leaped up suddenly, with some vague recollections
of the orgies at Sandy Bay, which, however, were soon dispelled, and I
found that we had already passed Brus Lagoon, and were now close to its
northern shore, where the Carib town is situated. There were many lights
and fires, and shouts and laughter rang out from the various groups
which were gathered around them. I perceived at once that some kind of
a festival was going on, and had some hesitation in venturing on shore.
But I was reassured by the conduct of the Indians, who paddled the boat
up to the beach, with the utmost confidence. Before it touched the sand,
however, we were hailed by some one on the shore, in a language which
I did not understand. A moment after, the hail was repeated in another
dialect, to which my Poyer boy replied, with some kind of explanation.
“Advance, friend!” was the prompt response of the challenger, who stepped
into the water, and lent a hand to drag up the canoe.
I scrambled forward, and leaped ashore, when I was immediately addressed
by the same voice which had hailed us, with, “Very welcome to Brus!” My
first impression was, that I had fallen in with Europeans, but I soon saw
that my new friend was a pure Indian. He was dressed in white pantaloons
and jacket, and wore a sash around his waist, and, altogether, looked
like a good fellow. He at once invited me to his house, explaining, as
we went along, that the village was in the midst of a festival, held
annually, on the occasion of the return of the mahogany-cutters from the
various works, both on this coast and in the vicinity of Belize. The
next day, he said, they expected a large reënforcement of their numbers,
and that then the festivities would be at their height.
Meantime, we had reached the house of our new friend, whose impromptu
hospitality I made no hesitation in accepting. It was empty; for all
hands were occupied with the festival. Our host stirred up the embers of
a fire, which were smouldering beneath a little roof in front of the hut,
and hastened away to call his family.
While I awaited his return, I smiled to think what a free and easy
way I had contracted since leaving Jamaica, of making myself at home
under all circumstances, and with all sorts of people. No letters of
introduction, given with hesitation, and received with doubt. And then,
the happy excitement of an even chance whether one’s welcome may come
in the form of a bullet or a breakfast! These things will do to tell my
friend Sly, I soliloquized, and fell into a revery, which was only broken
by the return of my host, accompanied by one of his wives—a very pretty
and well-dressed Carib woman, her hair neatly braided on the top of her
head, and stuck full of flowers. Although it was now past midnight,
she insisted on preparing something for us to eat, and then returned
to participate in the dances and rejoicings which were going on in the
centre of the village.
I would have accompanied my host there also, had it not been for an
incident which, for that night at least, banished my idle curiosity.
While occupied in arranging my personal baggage in our new quarters, I
had observed my Poyer companion standing apart, and regarding me with
an earnest and thoughtful expression. I was several times on the point
of speaking to him, and as often had my attention diverted by other
circumstances. Finally, however, I turned to seek him, but he was gone.
I inquired of Antonio what had become of him, but he could give me no
information; and, a little concerned himself, he started for the scene
of the revelry, under the impression that he might have been attracted
thither. He returned with a hasty step, and reported that neither the
Poyer or his companions were to be found. We hurried to the shore, where
we had left the boat, but that also was gone. The reader may, perhaps,
smile when I say that I strained my eyes to penetrate the darkness, if
only to catch one glimpse of my Poyer boy; and that I wept when I turned
back to the village. And when, on the following day, as I unrolled my
scanty wardrobe, a section of bamboo-cane, heavy with gold-dust, rolled
upon the floor, I felt not only that I had lost a friend, but that
beneath the swarthy breast of that untutored Indian boy there beat a
heart capable of the most delicate generosity. Be sure, my faithful
friend, far away in your mountain home, that your present shall never be
dishonored! Washed from the virginal sands, and wrought into the symbol
of our holy faith, it rests above a heart as constant as thine own;
and, inscribed with the single word “FIDELITY,” it shall descend to my
children, as an evidence that Faith and Friendship are heavenly flowers,
perennial in every clime!
The Caribs (who pronounce their own name _Caribees_), those Dyacks of
the Antilles, had always been associated in my mind with every thing
that was savage in character and habits, and I was astonished to find
that they had really considerable pretensions to civilization. It should
be observed, however, that they are here an intruded people, and that,
first and last, they have had a large association with the whites. They
now occupy the coast from the neighborhood of the port of Truxillo to
Carataska Lagoon, whence they have gradually expelled the Sambos or
Mosquitos. Their original seat was San Vincent, one of what are called
the Leeward Islands, whence they were deported in a body, by the English,
in 1798, and landed upon the then unoccupied island of Roatan, in the Bay
of Honduras. Their position there was an unsatisfactory one, and they
eagerly accepted the invitation of the Spanish authorities to remove to
the mainland.
Positions were assigned them in the vicinity of Truxillo, whence they
have spread rapidly to the eastward. All along the coast, generally near
the mouths of the various rivers with which it is fringed, they have
their establishments or towns. These are never large, but always neat,
and well supplied with provisions, especially vegetables, which are
cultivated with great care, and of the highest perfection. They grow
rice, cassava, sugar-cane, a little cotton, plantains, squashes, oranges,
mangoes, and every variety of indigenous fruits, besides an abundance of
hogs, ducks, turkeys, and fowls, of all of which they export considerable
quantities to Truxillo, and even to Belize, a distance of several hundred
miles.
The physical differences which existed among them at San Vincent are
still marked. Most are pure Indians, not large, but muscular, with a
ruddy skin, and long, straight hair. These were called the Red or Yellow
Caribs. Another portion are very dark, with curly hair, and betraying
unmistakably a large infusion of negro blood, and are called the Black
Caribs. They are taller than the Red Caribs, and well-proportioned. They
contrast with the latter, also, in respect of character, being more
vehement and mercurial. The pure Caribs are constant, industrious, quiet,
and orderly. They all profess the Catholic religion, although observing
very few of its rites, except during their visits to the Spanish towns,
where all their children are scrupulously taken to be baptized.
I was agreeably astonished when I awoke on the morning after our
arrival at Brus, to find a cup of coffee, well served in a china cup,
awaiting my attentions. And when I got up, I was still further surprised
to observe a table spread with a snow-white cloth, in the principal
apartment of the house, where my host welcomed me, with a genuine “good
morning.” I expressed my surprise at his acquaintance with the English,
which seemed to flatter him, and he ran through the same salutation in
Spanish, Creole-French, Carib, and Mosquito. Whereupon I told him he
was a “perambulating polyglot,” which he didn’t understand, although he
affected to laugh at the remark.
I had now an opportunity to make my observations on the village of
Brus and its people. The town is situated on a narrow, sandy tongue of
land, lying between the sea and the lagoon. This strip of land supports
a magnificent forest of cocoa-palms, relieved only by a few trees of
gigantic size and dense foliage, which, I suppose, must be akin to the
banyan-tree of India, inasmuch as they send down numerous stems or
trunks, which take root in the ground, and support the widely-spreading
branches. The establishment of my host, including his house and the huts
of his various wives, were all built beneath a single tree, which had
thirty-five distinct trunks, besides the central or parent stem. A belt
of miscellaneous trees is also left seaward, to break the force of the
north wind, which would otherwise be sure to destroy the palms. But the
underbrush had all been carefully removed, so that both the sea and the
lagoon were visible from all parts of the village. The design of their
removal was the excellent one of affording a free circulation of air; a
piece of sanitary wisdom which was supported by the additional precaution
of building the huts open only to the sea-breeze, and closed against the
miasmatic winds which blow occasionally from the land side.
Nothing could be more beautiful than the palm-grove, with its graceful
natural columns and evergreen arches, beneath which rose the picturesque
huts of the village. These were all well-built, walled, floored, and
partitioned, with cabbage-palm boards, and roofed with the branches of
the same tree. Episodically, I may repeat what has probably often been
observed before, that the palm, in its varieties, is a marvel of economic
usefulness to dwellers under the tropics. Not only does it present him
with forms of enchanting beauty, but it affords him food, drink, and
shelter. One variety yields him excellent substitutes for bread and
yeast; another sugar and wine; a third oil and vinegar; a fourth milk and
wax; a fifth resin and fruit; a sixth medicines and utensils; a seventh
weapons, cordage, hats, and clothing; and an eighth habitations and
furniture!
The plantations of the village, except a few clusters of banana-trees
and sugar-canes, on the edge of the lagoon, were situated on the islands
of the latter, or on its southern shore. Those on the islands were most
luxuriant, for the principal reason that they are fully protected from
the wild beasts, which occasionally commit extensive depredations on the
maize, rice, and cassava fields. One of the islands nearest the village,
on which my hostesses had their plantations, I visited frequently
during my stay. It was a delicious spot, covered with a most luxuriant
growth of fruits and vegetables. I could well understand why it had
been selected by the English for their settlement, when they sought to
establish themselves on the coast, during the great war with Spain. A
partially-obliterated trench and breast-work, a few iron guns half-buried
in the soil, at the most elevated portion of the island, and one or two
large iron cauldrons, probably designed to be used in sugar-works, were
now the only traces of their ancient establishments.
The lagoon abounds in fish and water-fowl, and there are some savannahs,
at a considerable distance up the Patuca, and on other streams flowing
into the lagoon, which are thronged with deer. But it would seem that
these are only occasionally hunted by the Caribs, and then chiefly for
their skins, of which large numbers are exported.
As I have said, we arrived in Brus during the annual carnival, which
follows on the return of those members of the community who have been
absent in the mahogany-works. It is in these works that the able-bodied
Caribs find their principal employment. They hire for from ten to twelve
dollars per month, and rations, receiving one half of their pay in goods,
and the other half in money. As a consequence, they have among them a
great variety of articles of European manufacture, selected with a most
fantastic taste. A Carib dandy delights in a closely-fitting pantaloons,
supported by a scarlet sash, a jaunty hat, encircled by a broad band of
gold lace, a profuse neck-cloth, and a sword, or purple umbrella. It is
in some such garb that he returns from the mahogany-works, to delight
the eyes and affect the sensibilities of the Carib girls; nor does he
fail to stuff his pockets with gay beads, and ear-rings and bracelets
of hoop-like dimensions, richly gilt and glowing with colored glass,
wherewith to follow up any favorable impression which may be produced by
his own resplendent person. He then affects to have forgotten his Carib
tongue, and finds himself constantly running into more familiar English,
after the immemorial practice of great and finished travelers. He scorns
the native _chicha_ for the first day, but overcomes his prejudice, and
gets glorious upon it the next. In fact, he enacts an unconscious satire
upon the follies of a class, whose vanity would never enable them to
discover the remotest possible parallelism between themselves and the
Caribs of Honduras!
During the day several large boats arrived at Brus from Limas and Roman,
both of which are mahogany stations. They all carried the Honduras flag
at the topmast, and bore down on the shore with their utmost speed, only
striking their sails when on the edge of the breakers, when the occupants
would all leap overboard, and thus float their boats to the shore. Here,
under the shade of the trees, all the inhabitants of the village were
gathered. They shouted and beat drums, and fired muskets, by way of
welcome to their friends, who responded with the whole power of their
lungs. Here, too, expectant wives, affectionate sisters, and anxious
mothers, spread out tables, loaded with food, fruits, bottles of rum,
and jars of _chicha_, wherewith to regale husband, brother, or son, on
the instant of his arrival. It was amusing to witness the rivalry of the
various wives of the same anxiously-expected husband, in their efforts
to outvie each other in the arrangement of their respective tables, and
the variety of eatables and drinkables which they supported. They were
all particularly ambitious in their display of glass-ware, and some of
them had a profusion of gay, and, in some instances, costly decanters and
tumblers. One yellow dame, with her shoulders loaded with beads and but
half-concealed by a silken scarf of brightest crimson, was complacent
and happy in the exclusive possession of a plated wine-server, which
supported three delicately-cut bottles of as many different colors, and
filled with an equal variety of liquors.
Every body drank with every body on the occasion of every body’s arrival,
a process which, it may be suspected, might, by frequent repetition,
come to develop a large liberality of feeling. At noon, it exhibited
itself in a profuse and energetic shaking of hands, and toward night in
embraces more prolonged and unctious than pleasant or endurable to one
receiving his initiation in the practice. So I was fain to retire early
from the shore, although enjoying highly the excitement, in which I
could not fail to have that kind of sympathy which every manifestation
of genuine feeling is sure to inspire. Even Antonio, whose impassible
brow had latterly become anxious and thoughtful, partook of the general
exhilaration, and wore a smiling face.
I was treated with great consideration by the entire population, who all
seemed alike consequential and happy, when an opportunity was afforded to
them of shaking me by the hand, and inquiring, “How do you do?”
As I have intimated, the Caribs, like the Mosquitos, practice polygamy;
but the wives have each a distinct establishment, and require a fair and
equal participation in all of the favors of their husband. If he make
one a present, he is obliged to honor all the others in like manner; and
they are all equally ready to make common cause against him, in case
of infidelity, or too wide an exhibition of gallantry. The division of
duties and responsibilities is rather extraordinary. When a Carib takes
a wife, he is obliged to build her a house and clear her a plantation.
But, this done, she must thenceforth take care of herself and her
offspring; and if she desire the assistance of her husband in planting,
she is obliged to pay him, at the rate of two dollars per week, for his
services. And although the husband generally accompanies his wives in
their trading excursions to Truxillo and elsewhere, he carries no loads,
and takes no part in the barter. As a consequence, nearly all the labor
of the villages is performed by the women; the men thinking it rather
beneath them, and far from manly, to engage in other occupation than
mahogany-cutting and the building of boats, in which art they are very
expert, using the axe, saw, and adze with great skill. Altogether, the
Caribs are kind, industrious, provident, honest, and faithful, and must
ultimately constitute one of the most important aids to the development
of the country. They are brave, and some companies, which have been in
the service of the government, have distinguished themselves in the
field, not less for their subordination than for their valor and powers
of endurance. They are usually temperate, and it is rare to see one of
them drunk, except during the continuance of some festival, of which they
have several in the course of the year.
I remained but a few days at Brus, and availed myself of the departure
of a large _creer_, or Carib boat, bound for Roatan, to take passage
for that island. I could not prevail upon my host to accept any thing
in return for his hospitality, except “El Moro,” for whom one of his
children had conceived a strong liking, which the bird was far from
reciprocating. Mischievous Moro! The last I saw of him was while waddling
stealthily across the floor, to get a bite at the toes of his admirer!
Our course from Brus lay, first, to the island of Gunaja, distinguished
historically as the one whence Columbus first descried the mainland of
America. Our sole purpose there was to carry a demijohn of brandy to a
solitary Scotchman, living upon one of the cays which surround it, to
whom it had been sent by some friend in Belize. It had been intrusted to
the Carib owner of the boat, who went thus out of his way to fulfill his
commission, without recompense or the hope of reward. One would suppose
that a demijohn of brandy was a dangerous article to intrust to the
exclusive custody of Indians; but those who know the Caribs best have
most faith in their integrity.
The Bay of Honduras is remarkable for its general placidity, and the
extreme purity of its waters. It has a large number of coral cays and
reefs on its western border, which almost encircle the peninsula of
Yucatan, as with a belt. The fine islands of Roatan and Guanaja are
belted in like manner, but there are several openings in the rocky
barriers which surround them, through which vessels may enter the
protected waters within.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO GUANAJA.]
The wind was fresh and fair, the sky serene, and the sea was bright and
sparkling in the sunlight. We swept on swiftly and gayly, the pine-clad
mountains of Guanaja rising slowly and smilingly above the horizon.
By-and-by the palm-trees on the surrounding cays became visible, their
plumes appearing to spring from the clear waters, and to rise and fall
with the motion of our boat. As we approached nearer to them, we could
make out the cays themselves, supporting masses of emerald verdure,
within a silvery ring of sand. Between them and the island, with its
wealth of forest, the sea was of the loveliest blue, and placid as a
“painted ocean.” But, before we reached their fairy-like shores, the wind
died away, and our sail drooped from the mast. We were partly under the
lee of the land, and the surface of the sea soon became
“——charmed in a calm so still
That not a ripple ruffled its smooth face.”
And as we drifted on, our boat yielding to the gentle swells, I amused
myself in looking over the side, and contemplating the forms of marine
life which the transparent water revealed to our gaze. The bottom
was distinctly visible, studded with the wonderful products of the
coral polypus, here spreading out like fans, there taking the forms
of flattened globes radiating with spines, and yonder shooting up in
branching, antler-like stems. Dark patches of jelly-like sponge, the
white shells of myriads of conchs, and occasionally a large fish, whose
pulsating gills alone gave sign of life—all these contributed to lend
variety and interest to those glimpses of the bottom of the sea. It was
to me a new revelation of Nature, and as I gazed, and gazed, the musical
song of the “dainty Ariel” rang its bell-like cadences in my ears;
“Full fathoms five thy father lies;
Of his bones are corals made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange!”
Our men stretched themselves in the bottom of the boat, waiting, as they
said, for the evening breeze. But the evening breeze came not, and they
were finally obliged to paddle the boat to the nearest cay—a coral gem
indeed, with its clustering palms, drooping gracefully over the sea, as
if, Narcissus-like, contemplating their own beauty in its mirror-like
surface.
The moon was in her first quarter, and as she rose above the placid sea,
revealing the island in its isolation and beauty, jeweled round with
cays, I seated myself apart, on the sand of the shore, and drank in the
beauty of the scene. Gradually my thoughts recurred to the past, and I
could hardly realize that but little more than five months had elapsed
since I had held an unwitting conference with the demon, in my little
studio in White-street. And yet what an age of excitement and adventure
had been crowded in that brief space! I felt that I had entered upon a
new world of ideas and impressions, and wondered to think that I had
lived so long immured in the dull, unsympathizing heart of the crowded
city. It was with a pang of regret that I now found myself drifting upon
civilization again. A few days would bring me to Belize, where I knew
Antonio would leave me, to return to the fastnesses of his people. Where
then should I go?
These reflections saddened me, and the unwilling conviction was forced
upon my mind that I must soon be roused from my long, delicious dream,
perhaps never again to court its enchantments with success. I gazed upon
the moonlit waters, and listened to the gentle chime of the waves upon
the sand, and almost regretted that I had been admitted within the grand
arcanum of Nature, to adore her unvailed beauties, since they were now
to be shut out from me forever, by the restraints, the unmeaning forms,
the follies and vices of artificial life! A heavy weight of melancholy
settled on my heart, and I bowed my head on my knees, and—shall I own
it?—wept!
It was then that Antonio approached me, silently as when he stole to my
side on the fearful night of our shipwreck, and quietly laid his hand on
my shoulder. I knew who it was, but I said nothing, for I hesitated to
betray my emotion.
He respected my silence, and waited until my momentary weakness had
passed away, when I raised my head, and met his full and earnest gaze.
His face again glowed with that mysterious intelligence which I had
remarked on several previous occasions; but now his lips were unsealed,
and he said:—
“This is a good place, my brother, to tell you the secret of my heart;
for on that dark island slumber the bones of our fathers. It was there
that my powerful ancestor, Baalam Votan, led the white-robed holy men,
when they fled from the regions of the rising sun. It was there that our
people raised a temple to the Imperial Tiger, whose descendant I am—for
am I not Baalam,[5] and is not this the Heart of the People?”
This exclamation was made with energy, and, for a moment, he was silent,
and gazed earnestly upon his cherished talisman.
When he resumed, it was in a less exalted strain. He told me of the
ancient greatness of his people, when the race of Baalam Votan reigned
over the Peninsula of Yucatan, and sent the missionaries of their
religion to redeem the savage nations which surrounded them, even to the
country of the Huastecas, on the river of Panuco. It was then, he said,
that the Lord of Life smiled on the earth; then the ears of maize were
many times larger than now, the trees were loaded with unfailing supplies
of fruit, and bloomed with perennial flowers; the cotton grew of many
colors; and, although men died, their spirits walked the earth, and held
familiar converse with the children of the Itzaes.
Never have I heard a voice more intense and fervid than that of the
Indian boy, as he described the traditionary golden age of his people.
I listened with breathless interest, and thought it was thus that the
prophets of old must have spoken, when the people deemed them inspired
of heaven. But when he came to recount the wrongs of his nation, and
the destruction of the kingdom of his fathers, I could scarcely believe
that the hoarse voice, and words but half-articulated from excess of
passion, proceeded from the same lips. It was a fearful sight to witness
the convulsive energy of that Indian boy, whose knotted muscles, and the
veins swelling almost to bursting on his forehead, half-induced me to
fear that he had been stricken with madness.
But soon he became calm again, and told me how the slumbering spirit of
his people had become roused, and how wide-spread and terrible was the
revenge which they were meditating upon their oppressors. A few years
before, his father had gathered the descendants of the ancient Caziques
amid the ruins at Chichen-Itza, and there they had sworn, by the Heart
of Baalam Votan, to restore the rule of the Holy Men, and expel the
Spaniards from the Peninsula. It was then, that the sacred relic which
he wore on his breast had been dug up from the hiding-place where it had
lain for centuries, to lend the sanctity and power of the traditionary
Votan to his chosen successor. But the movement had been premature;
and although the excited, but poorly-armed Indians performed prodigies
of valor, and carried their victories to the very walls of Merida, yet
there they received a sudden, and, as it seemed, a final check, in
the death of Chichen-Pat, their cherished leader. He fell at the head
of his followers, who rescued only the talisman of Votan, called the
“Heart of the People,” and then fled in dismay to their fastnesses in the
wilderness. But the spirit which had been evoked was not subdued. Another
convocation was held, and the only son of their late leader was invested
with the symbol of authority. A scheme of insurrection was devised, which
was intended to include, not only the Indians of Yucatan and of Central
America, but even those of Mexico and Peru, in one grand and terrible
uprising against the Spanish dominion.
To this end messengers were sent in every direction; and the proud
cavalier at Bogota or Mexico, spurring his horse, with arrogant mien,
past the strange Indian, who shrank aside at his approach, or stood with
head uncovered in his presence, little thought what torrents of hate
were dammed up in that swarthy breast, or what wide-laid schemes of
vengeance were revolving beneath that impassible brow! The emissaries
toiled through wildernesses and deep marshes, over high mountains and
dangerous rivers, enduring hunger and fatigue, and the extremes of heat
and cold, to fulfill their respective missions. Even the daughters of the
Holy Men, like the seeress of the river Bocay, ventured afar from the
homes of their people, and among distant and alien tribes, became the
propagandists of the meditated Revenge!
* * * * *
The night had worn on, and the crescent moon rested on the verge of the
horizon. I had heard the great secret of the Indian boy; his bitter
recital of past wrongs and failures, and his hopes of future triumph. I
now knew that the angel of blood was indeed abroad, and that, in his own
figurative language, “The voice of the Tiger was loud in the mountain!”
[Illustration: FAREWELL TO THE MOSQUITO SHORE!]
I was silent and thoughtful when he had finished; but when, after a
long pause, he asked, “Will my brother go with me to the lake of the
Itzaes?” I grasped his hand and swore, by a name holier than that of
Votan, to justify a friendship so unwavering by a faith as boundless as
his own. And when I left the outposts of civilization, and plunged into
the untracked wilderness, with no other friend or guide, never did a
suspicion or a doubt darken for an instant my confidence, or impair my
faith in the loyal heart of ANTONIO CHUL—once the mild-eyed Indian boy,
but now the dreaded chieftain and victorious leader of the unrelenting
Itzaes of Yucatan!
Time only can determine what will be the final result of the contest
which is now waging upon the soil of that beautiful, but already
half-desolated peninsula. Almost every arrival brings us the news of
increased boldness, and new successes on the part of the Indians; and, it
now seems, as if the great drama of the conquest were to be closed by the
destruction of the race of the conquerors! Terribly the frown darkens on
the front of Nemesis!
“The voice of the Tiger is loud in the mountain!”
FOOTNOTES
[1] The _dory_ is usually hollowed from a solid piece of mahogany or
cedar, and is from twenty-five to fifty feet in length. This kind of
vessel is found so buoyant and safe, that persons, accustomed to the
management of it, often fearlessly venture out to sea, in weather when it
might be unsafe to trust to vessels of a larger kind.
The _pitpan_ is another variety of canoe, excelling the _dory_ in
point of speed. It is of the same material, differing only in being
flat-bottomed.
[2] The blue dye, used in coloring by these Indians, is made from the
_jiquilite_, which, as I have said, is indigenous on the coast. The
yellow from the _anotta_, called _achiota_, the same used to give the
color known as _nankeen_. The tree producing it is abundant throughout
all Central America.
[3] The plantain and the banana are varieties of the same plant. They not
only constitute marked features in the luxuriant foliage of the tropics,
but their fruit supplies the place of bread, and forms the principal part
of the food of the people. They thrive best in a rich, moist soil, and
are generally grown in regular walks, from shoots or bulbs like those of
the air-plant, which continually spring up at the roots of the parent
stem. They are very rapid in their growth, producing fruit within a
twelvemonth. Moreover, not being dependent upon the seasons, a constant
supply is kept up during the year; for, while one stem drops beneath
its load of ripe fruit, another throws out its long flower-spike, and a
third shows the half-formed cluster. The fruit is very nutritive, and is
eaten in a great variety of forms—raw, boiled, roasted, and fried—and in
nearly every stage of its growth, as well when green as when yellow and
mature. Humboldt tells us, that it affords, in a given extent of ground,
forty-four times more nutritive matter than the potato, and one hundred
and thirty-three times more than wheat. As it requires little if any care
in the cultivation, and produces thus perennially and abundantly, it may
be called an “institution for the encouragement of laziness.” On the
banks of all the rivers on the Mosquito Shore, it is found growing wild,
from shoots brought down from the plantations of the Indians, and which
have taken root where they were lodged by the current.
[4] The whole district of country lying on the north flank of the
mountains which bound the valley of the Rio Wanks, in the same direction,
enjoys a wide celebrity for its rich deposits of gold. There is hardly
a stream of which the sands do not yield a liberal proportion of that
precious metal. Yet, strange to say, the washing is confined almost
exclusively to the Indians, who seek to obtain no more than is just
sufficient to supply their limited wants. Among the reduced, or, as they
are called, christianized Indians, in the valley of Olancho, the women
only wash the gold for a few hours on Sunday morning. With the supply
thus obtained, they proceed to the towns, attend mass, and make their
petty purchases, devoting the rest of the week to the fullest enjoyment
of the _dolce far niente_.
[5] _Baalam_, in the language of Yucatan, signifies _Tiger_, and _Votan_
is understood to denote _Heart_. The Maya tradition is, that Baalam
Votan, the Tiger-Heart, led the fathers of the Mayas to Yucatan, from a
distant country. He is conspicuously figured in the ruined temples around
the Lake of Itza, as well as at Chichen and Palenque.
APPENDIX.
A.
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE MOSQUITO SHORE.
The general physical characteristics, and the climate and productions
of the Mosquito Shore, have probably been sufficiently indicated in the
foregoing rapid narrative. Nevertheless, to supply any deficiencies which
may exist in these respects, as well as to illustrate the history of
this coast, to which recent political events have given some degree of
interest, I have here brought together a variety of facts derived from
original sources, or such as are not easily accessible to the general
reader.
The designation “Mosquito Shore” can only properly be understood in a
geographical sense, as applying to that portion of the eastern coast
of Central America lying between Cape Gracias à Dios and Bluefields
Lagoon, or between the twelfth and fifteenth degrees of north latitude,
a distance of about two hundred miles. The attempts which have been made
to apply this name to a greater extent of shore, have had their origin in
strictly political considerations.
This coast was discovered by Columbus, in his fourth voyage, in 1502.
He sailed along its entire length, stopping at various points, to
investigate the country, and ascertain the character of its inhabitants.
He gave it the name _Cariay_, and it was accurately characterized by one
of his companions, Porras, as “_una tierra muy baja_,” a very low land.
Columbus himself in his letter to the Spanish sovereigns, describes the
inhabitants as fishers, and “as great sorcerers, very terrible.” His son,
Fernando Columbus, is more explicit. He says, they were “almost negroes
in color, bestial, going naked; in all respects very rude, eating human
flesh, and devouring their fish raw, as they happened to catch them.”
The language of the chroniclers warrant us in believing that these
descriptions applied only to the Indians of the sea-coast, and that those
of the interior, whose language then was different, were a distinct
people.
The great incentive to Spanish enterprise in America, and which led to
the rapid conquest and settlement of the continent, was the acquisition
of the precious metals. But little of these was to be found on the
Mosquito Shore, and, as a consequence, the tide of Spanish adventure
swept by, heedless of the miserable savages who sought a precarious
subsistence among its lagoons and forests. It is true, a grant of the
entire coast, from Cape Gracias to the Gulf of Darien, was made to
Diego de Nicuessa, for purposes of colonization, within ten years after
its discovery, but the expedition which he fitted out to carry it into
effect, was wrecked at the mouth of the Cape, or Wanks river, which, in
consequence bore, for many years, the name of _Rio de los Perdidos_.
From that time forward, the attention of Spain was too much absorbed with
the other parts of her immense empire in America, to enable her to devote
much care to this comparatively unattractive shore. Her missionaries,
inspired with religious zeal, nevertheless penetrated among its people,
and feeble attempts were made to found establishments at Cape Gracias,
and probably at other points on the coast. But the resources of the
country were too few to sustain the latter, and the Indians themselves
too debased and savage to comprehend the instructions of the former.
The coast, therefore, remained in its primitive condition, until the
advent of the buccaneers in the sea of the Antilles, which was about the
middle of the seventeenth century. Its intricate bays and unknown rivers,
furnished admirable places of refuge and concealment, for the small and
swift vessels in which they roved the seas. They made permanent stations
at Cape Gracias and Bluefields, from which they darted out like hawks
on the galleons that sailed from Nombre de Dios and Carthagena, laden
with the riches of Peru. Indeed Bluefields, the present seat of Mosquito
royalty, derives its name from _Bleevelt_, a noted Dutch pirate, who had
his rendezvous in the bay of the same name.
The establishment at Cape Gracias, however, seems to have been not only
the principal one on this coast, but in the whole Caribbean Sea. It is
mentioned in nearly every chapter of the narratives, which the pirates
have left us, of their wild and bloody adventures. Here they met to
divide their spoil, and to decide upon new expeditions. The relations
which they maintained with the natives are well described by old Jo.
Esquemeling, a Dutch pirate, who wrote about 1670:—
“We directed our course toward Gracias à Dios, for thither
resort many pirates who have friendly correspondence with the
Indians there. The custom is, that when any pirates arrive,
every one has the liberty to buy himself an Indian woman, at
the price of a knife, an old axe, wood-bill or hatchet. By this
contract the woman is obliged to stay with the pirate all the
time he remains there. She serves him, meanwhile, with victuals
of all sorts that the country affords. The pirate has also
liberty to go and hunt and fish where he pleases. Through this
frequent converse with the pirates, the Indians sometimes go to
sea with them for whole years, so that many of them can speak
English.” (_Buccaneers of America_, _London_, 1704, p. 165.)
He also adds that they were extremely indolent, “wandering up and down,
without knowing or caring so much as to keep their bodies from the rain,
except by a few palm-leaves,” with “no other clothes than an apron tied
around their middle,” and armed with spears “pointed with the teeth of
crocodiles,” and living chiefly on bananas, wild fruits and fish.
We have a later account of them by De Lussan, another member of the
fraternity of freebooters:
“The Cape has long been inhabited by _mulasters_ [mulattos]
and negroes, both men and women, who have greatly multiplied
since a Spanish ship, bound from Guinea, freighted with their
fathers, was lost here. Those who escaped from the wreck were
courteously received by the _Mousticks_ [Spanish _Moscos_,
English _Mosquitos_] who live hereabout. These Indians assigned
their guests a place to grub up, and intermixed with them.
“The ancient _Mousticks_ live ten or a dozen leagues to the
windward, at a place called _Sanibey_ [Sandy Bay]. They are
very slothful, and neither plant or sow but very little; their
wives performing all the labor. As for their clothing, it is
neither larger or more sumptuous than that of the _mulasters_
of the Cape. There are but few among them who have a fixed
abode, most of them being vagabonds, and wandering along the
river side, with no other shelter than the _latarien-leaf_
[palm-leaf], which they manage so that when the wind drives
the rain on one side, they turn their leaf against it, behind
which they lie. When they are inclined to sleep, they dig a
hole in the sand, in which they put themselves.” (_De Lussan’s
Narrative_, _London_, 1704, p. 177.)
The negroes wrecked from the Spanish slave-ship were augmented in number
by the _cimarones_, or runaway slaves of the Spanish settlements in the
interior; and, intermingling with the Indians, originated the mongrel
race which now predominates on the Mosquito Shore. Still later, when
the English planters from Jamaica attempted to establish themselves on
the coast, they brought their slaves with them, who also contributed to
increase the negro element. What are called Mosquito Indians, therefore,
are a mixed race, combining the blood of negroes, Indians, pirates, and
Jamaica traders.
Many of the pirates were Englishmen, and all had relations more or less
intimate with the early governors of Jamaica, who often shared their
profits, in return for such indulgences as they were able to afford.
Indeed, it is alleged that they were often partners in the enterprises of
the buccaneers. But when the protracted wars with Spain, which favored
this state of things, were brought to a close, it became no longer
prudent to connive at freebooting; and, as a kind of intelligence had
sprung up with the Mosquito Shore, they conceived the idea of obtaining
possession of it, on behalf of the British crown. Various plans to this
end, drawn up by various individuals, were at this period presented
to the royal government, and by them, it would seem, referred to the
governors of Jamaica.
But the governors of that island had already taken the initiative. As
early as 1687 one of the Mosquito chiefs had been taken to Jamaica, for
the purpose of having him place his country under the protection of
England. Sir Hans Sloane has left an account of how, having escaped from
his keepers, “he pulled off the European clothes his friends had put on,
and climbed to the top of a tree!”
It seems, nevertheless, that he received “a cocked hat, and a ridiculous
piece of writing,” which, according to Jeffreys, was a commission as
king, “given by his Grace, the Duke of Albemarle, under the seal of the
island!”
It was not, however, until 1740, that an attempt was made to obtain a
cession of the coast, from the extraordinary monarch thus created by the
Duke of Albemarle. In that year Governor Trelawney wrote to the Duke of
Newcastle, suggesting the expediency of rousing the Mosquito Indians
against the Spaniards, with whom the English were at war, and purposing
an absolute occupation of their country. He represented that there were
about one hundred Englishmen there, “_mostly such as could live nowhere
else_,” who might be brought together, reënforced, and, by the help of
the Mosquitos, finally induce the other Indians to revolt, “and thus
spread the insurrection from one part to another, till it should become
general over the Indies, and drive the Spaniards entirely out.”
In pursuance of this scheme, Governor Trelawney commissioned one Robert
Hodgson, to proceed to the Mosquito Shore, fully provided with every
thing necessary to enable him to tamper with the Indians. The manner in
which he executed his instructions is naïvely told by Hodgson himself,
in a letter addressed to the Governor. The following extracts are from
the original letter, now in the possession of Colonel Peter Force, of
Washington.
SANDY BAY, April 8th, 1740.
“May it please Your Excellency,—
“I arrived at St. Andrews on the 4th of March, and sailed for
Sandy Bay on the 8th, where I arrived on the 11th, but was
prevented by a Norther from going ashore till the 13th.
“King Edward being informed of my arrival, sent me word that he
would see me next day, which he did, attended by several of his
captains. I read to him Your Excellency’s letter, and my own
commission, and when I had explained them by an interpreter,
I told them my errand, and recommended to them to seek all
opportunities of cultivating friendship and union with the
neighboring Indian nations, and especially such as were under
subjection to the Spaniards, and of helping them to recover
their freedom. They approved every thing I said, and appointed
the 16th to meet the Governor, John Briton, and his captains at
the same place, to hear what I had further to say.
“On the 16th they all came, except Admiral Dilly and Colonel
Morgan, who were, like General Hobby and his captains, at too
great a distance to be sent for, but their presence not being
material, I proceeded to explain to them that, as they had long
acknowledged themselves subjects of Great Britain, the Governor
of Jamaica had sent me to take possession of their country in
His Majesty’s name—then asked if they had any thing to object.
They answered, they had nothing to say against it, but were
very glad I had come for that purpose; so I immediately set
up the standard, and reducing what I had said into articles,
I asked them both jointly and separately, if they approved,
and would abide by them. They unanimously declared they would.
I had them then read over again, in solemn manner, under the
colors, and, at the end of every article fired a gun, and
concluded by cutting up a turf, and promising to defend their
country, and procure for them all assistance from England in my
power.
“The formality with which all this was done seems to have had a
good effect upon them.
“The articles I enclose, and hope Your Excellency will excuse
so much ceremony; for, as I had no certain information whether
the country was ever taken possession of before, or ever
claimed otherwise than by sending them down commissions, I
thought the more voluntary and clear the cession was the
better.... The king is very young, I believe not twenty, and is
not much observed; but were he to be in England or Jamaica a
while, _’tis thought he would make a hopeful monarch enough_.
“On the 18th the king, with his captains, came of their
own accord to consult about a proper plan to attack [the
Spaniards], but hearing that Captain Jumper was expected from
the other side of the Cape, and neither the Governor, Admiral
Dilly, nor Colonel Morgan being present, I thought it best to
defer it till they were summoned. The king brought his mother,
and the captains their wives. I entertained them as usual, but
there always comes such a train _that I should have had three
or four, instead of one puncheon of rum_.” ...
Hodgson then goes on to describe the appearance of one Andrew Stewart,
a pirate, to whom the Indians had made a promise of assistance, from
which he endeavored to dissuade them, in order to accompany him; but the
Indians finally agreed to attack the river Cocelijo to oblige Stewart,
and San Juan de Veragua to oblige Hodgson. He continues:—
... “They intoxicate themselves with a liquor made of honey,
pine-apple, and cassava, and, if they avoid quarrels, which
often happen, they are sure to have fine promiscuous doings
among the girls. The old women, I am told, have the liberty of
chewing the cassava, before it is put in, that they may have a
chance in the general rape as well as the young ones.
“I fell into one of their drunken-bouts by accident yesterday,
when I found Admiral Dilly and Colonel Morgan retailing my
advice to them to little effect, for most of them were too
drunk to mind it, and so hideously painted that I quickly left
them to avoid being daubed all over, which is the compliment
they usually pay visitors on such occasions.
... “Their resentment of adultery has lost its edge too much
among them, which I have no doubt they are obliged to us for,
as also for the breach of promise in their bargains.... They
will loll in their hammocks until they are almost starved, then
start up, and go a turtling in a pet; and if they have not
immediate success, and their happens to be many boats together,
they form a design upon some Spanish or Indian town....
“The country is fine, and produces good cotton, better than
Jamaica.... Those Indians, on this side, do not appear so
averse to government as I supposed, and those on the other are
tractable enough.... I don’t take their number to be so many as
the author of the project makes them out.
(Signed) “ROBERT HODGSON.”
In a subsequent letter, from Chiriqui Lagoon, dated June 21, 1740,
Hodgson gives a further account of his expedition, and asks for some
blank commissions for Mosquito admirals and generals, and also implores
the Governor to send him out some men as a guard; for, he says, “my life
is in more danger from these Indians than from the Spaniards.”
Previously to this mission of Hodgson, viz., on the 28th of October, the
Spanish Embassador in London had made complaints that the incursions of
the Zambos and Indians of the Mosquito Shore, on the adjacent Spanish
settlements, were “at the instigation and under the protection of the
English of Jamaica, who have a commerce with them, and give them in
exchange for the captive Indians whom they purchase for slaves, firearms,
powder, shot, and other goods, contrary to the natural rights of these
people.”
The “cession” of the Mosquito Shore, thus procured by Hodgson, was
followed up by occupation. Several Jamaica planters established
themselves there, and Hodgson shortly afterward received the appointment
of “Superintendent of the Mosquito Shore.”
In 1744 an order was issued in Council, dispatching a certain number of
troops from Jamaica to the Mosquito Shore, and in 1748 another order for
sending a supply of ordnance to the “new settlements” established there.
In fact, everything indicated the purpose of a permanent occupation of
the country. The Spaniards remonstrated, and in 1750-51 threatened a
forcible expulsion of the English, whereupon Trelawney instructed Hodgson
to represent to them, that “the object of keeping a superintendent
among the Indians was to restrain them in their hostilities against the
Spaniards!” For a time the Spaniards were deceived, and even went so
far as to confer on Hodgson the title of Colonel, for the services which
he professed to render to them. They, however, finally discovered his
duplicity, and made arrangements to carry out their threat.
This not only alarmed the settlers, but also Governor Knowles, who had
succeeded Trelawney in Jamaica. He opened a correspondence with the
Captain-General of Guatemala for the cessation of hostilities, till he
could hear from England, whither he wrote that the whole Mosquito affair
was “_a job_,” and that if Hodgson were not checked or recalled, “he
would involve the nation in difficulties,” and that the “Indians were so
perplexed that they did not know what part to take.” A little later the
Indians themselves took up arms against the English, being discontented
with the treatment which they had received.
These things did not escape the notice of Spain, and had their influence
in bringing about the troubles which were ended by the treaty of Paris,
in 1763, by which Great Britain agreed to demolish all the fortifications
which she had erected, not only on the Mosquito Shore, but in all “other
places in the territory of Spain, in that part of the world.” This
treaty, nevertheless, did not have the effect of entirely terminating
English intrigue and aggression on the Mosquito Shore and elsewhere,
and its provisions were consequently revived, and made more explicit
and stringent by the subsequent treaty of 1783. This treaty provided
that all the “English settlements on the Spanish continent” should be
abandoned; but, on the pretext that “the Mosquito Shore was not part of
the _Spanish_ continent, but of the _American_ continent,” the English
managed to evade its provisions, and to keep up their connection with
that coast, as before. This piece of duplicity led to severe reclamations
on the part of Spain, which were only settled by the supplementary
treaty of 1786, which stipulated that
“His Britannic Majesty’s subjects, and other colonists who have
enjoyed the protection of England, shall evacuate the country
of the Mosquitos, as well as the continent in general, and the
islands adjacent without exception,” etc. And that “If there
should still remain any persons so daring as to presume, by
entering into the interior country, to obstruct the evacuation
agreed upon, His Britannic Majesty, so far from affording them
any succor or protection, will disavow them in the most solemn
manner,” etc., etc.
The English, nevertheless, under authority of another article of this
treaty, were allowed to cut logwood, within a certain accurately-defined
territory on the coast of Yucatan, now known as “Belize,” or “British
Honduras.” But they were strictly forbidden to make permanent
establishments, erect fortifications, or organize any form of government;
nor was the permission thus accorded to be construed as in any way
derogating from the “sovereign territorial rights of the King of Spain.”
Yet from this simple permission to cut wood, thus hedged round with
solemn treaty stipulations, Great Britain, by a series of encroachments
and aggressions has come to arrogate absolute sovereignty, not only over
Belize and a wide expanse of adjacent territory, but also over the large
islands of Roatan, Guanaja, etc., in the Bay of Honduras, which have been
organized as colonies of the British crown!
From 1786 forward, Great Britain ceased to hold any open relations with
the Mosquito Indians, until the decline of the power of Spain, and the
loss of her American possessions. In the interval, the governors of the
provinces of Central America had made various establishments on the
Mosquito Shore, at Cape Gracias, and at Bluefields, and had erected a
fort for the protection of the harbor of San Juan, at the mouth of the
river of the same name.
But when the country passed into the hands of the comparatively
feeble states of Central America, whom it was supposed could offer no
effectual resistance to aggression, the English revived their schemes
of aggrandisement on the Mosquito Shore. And while these states were
occupied with the questions incident to their new political organization,
agents were dispatched to the coast, from Jamaica and Belize, to tamper
again with the Indians, and to induce them to reject the authority of
the republics which had succeeded to the rights of Spain. In this they
seem to have been, to a certain degree, successful. Neither rum, nor
commissions as kings, admirals, generals, and governors, were wanting, to
operate upon the weakness of the savages. “A regalia,” says Macgregor,
“consisting of a silver-gilt crown, a sword, and sceptre of moderate
value,” were sent out to lend dignity and grandeur to the restored
dynasty of Mosquito! A savage chief, or head-man, who suited the purposes
of the Jamaican Warwicks, was pitched upon, taken to Belize, and formally
“crowned.” But he turned out badly. In the language of Macgregor, in his
Report to the British Parliament, “he combined the bad qualities of the
European and Creole, with the vicious propensities of the Sambo, and
the capriciousness of the Indian.” He was killed in a drunken brawl, in
1824, and was succeeded by his half-brother, Robert. But it was soon
found that Robert was in the Spanish interest, and he was accordingly
set aside, by the British agents, who took into favor a Sambo, named
“George Frederick.” But he, too, proved to be an indifferent tool, and
either died, or was dropped, for another Sambo, who was called by the
high-sounding name of “_Robert Charles Frederick_,” and who promised to
answer every purpose.
His “coronation” was effected at Belize, on the 23d of April, 1825, upon
which solemn occasion a number of so-called chiefs were got together,
under the seductive promise of a “big drunk.” The ceremonies which took
place have been described by a British subject, who was an eye-witness of
the proceedings. His picture needs no heightening to make it irresistibly
ludicrous!
“On the previous evening cards of invitation were sent to
the different merchants, requesting their attendance at the
court-house early in the morning. At this place the king,
dressed in a British major’s uniform, made his appearance;
and his chiefs similarly clothed, but with sailors’ trowsers,
were ranged around the room. A more motley group can hardly be
imagined. Here an epaulette decorated a herculean shoulder,
tempting its dignified owner to view his less favored neighbor
with triumphant glances. There a wanting button displayed a
greasy olive skin under the uniform of a captain of infantry.
At one side a cautious noble might be seen, carefully
braced up to the chin, like a modern dandy, defying the
most _penetrating_ eye to _prove_ him shirtless; while the
mathematical movements of a fourth, panting under such tight
habiliments, expressed the fear and trembling with which he
awaited some awful accident.
“The order of procession being arranged, the cavalcade moved
toward the church; his Mosquito Majesty on horseback, supported
on the right and left by the two senior British officers of the
settlement, and his chiefs following on foot two by two. On
its arrival his Majesty was placed in a chair, near the altar,
and the English coronation service was read by the chaplain to
the colony, who, on this occasion, performed the part of the
Archbishop of Canterbury. When he arrived at this part, ‘And
all the people said, let the King live forever, long live the
King, God save the King!’ the vessels of the port, according to
a previous signal, fired a salute, and the chiefs rising, cried
out, ‘Long live King Robert!’
“His Majesty seemed chiefly occupied in admiring his finery,
and, after his anointing, expressed his gratification by
repeatedly thrusting his hands through his thick, bushy hair,
and applying his finger, to his nose—in this expressive manner
indicating his delight at this part of the service.
“Before, however, his chiefs could swear allegiance to
their monarch, it was necessary that they should profess
Christianity; and, accordingly, with shame be it recorded, they
were baptized ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!’
They displayed total ignorance of the meaning of this ceremony;
and when asked to give their names, took the titles of Lord
Rodney, Lord Nelson, or some other celebrated officer, and
seemed grievously disappointed when told that they could only
be baptized by simple Christian names.
“After this solemn mockery was concluded, the whole assembly
adjourned to a large school-room to eat the coronation dinner,
when these poor creatures all got intoxicated with rum! A
suitable conclusion to a farce, as blasphemous and wicked as
ever disgraced a Christian country.” (_Dunn’s Central America_,
pp. 26, 27.—1828.)
After having been thus invested with the Mosquito purple, “King Robert
Charles Frederick” was conducted back to the Mosquito Shore, and turned
loose to await the further development of British designs. After the
unctious ceremonies at Belize, he seems to have taken the proceeding
in earnest, and to have deluded himself with the belief that he was
really a king! In this character, and moved thereto by the suggestions
of divers scheming traders, and the powerful incentives of gay cottons
and rum, he proceeded, of his sovereign will and pleasure, to make
grants to the aforesaid traders, of large portions of his alleged
dominions. These grants were not only so extensive as to cover the entire
shore, but conveyed the absolute sovereignty over them to the various
grantees—Rennick, Shepherd, Haly, and others.
When these proceedings came to the ears of the Governor of Jamaica, and
the Superintendent of Belize, who had created “His Mosquito Majesty” for
their own use and purposes, they created great alarm. Says Macgregor,
“it appears that these grants were made without the knowledge of the
British agent, who had usually been residing on the coast, _to keep up
the connection with England_.” He adds that “upon their coming to the
knowledge of the British government, they were very properly disallowed.”
Not only were they disallowed, but a vessel of war was sent to the coast
to catch “Robert Charles Frederick,” and take him to Belize, where he
would be unable to do more mischief. This was done, but “His Majesty”
could not endure the restraints of civilization—he pined away, and died.
But before this lamentable catastrophe took place, he was induced to
affix “his mark” to a document styled “a Will,” in which it was provided
that the affairs of his kingdom should be administered by Colonel
McDonald, the Superintendent of Belize, as Regent, during the minority
of his heir; that McDonald should be guardian of his children; and, with
reference to the spiritual wants of his beloved subjects, “the United
Church of England and Ireland should be the established religion of the
Mosquito nation forever!” Sainted Robert!
Upon the death of “Robert Charles Frederick,” his son, “George William
Clarence,” the present incumbent of the Mosquito throne, was duly
proclaimed “King” by the Regent McDonald, and his colleagues. His first
act, under their direction, was the revocation of all the grants which
his father had made to the traders, on the ground that the royal Robert
Charles was drunk when he made them, and that they had been given without
a consideration. An agent was then appointed to take charge of this
tender scion of royalty, at Bluefields, where the latter still remains,
in complete subjection to his masters, who direct all his acts, or
rather compel his endorsement of their own. From 1841 up to 1848 the
proceedings of the English agents, in developing their policy in respect
to the Mosquito Shore, and in preparing the way for its final aggregation
to the British crown, rise beyond the scope of sober history or serious
recital, and could only be properly illustrated by the appropriate pens
of Charivari, or of Punch.
All these proceedings were firmly and earnestly protested against by the
Central American States, who, however, received no satisfactory replies
to their remonstrances. They were, furthermore, too much occupied with
their own interior dissensions to undertake any effectual resistance to
the aggressions of the English agents. In this emergency they addressed
an appeal to the civilized nations of Europe, and a particular and
fervent one to the United States, for its interference in behalf of their
clear territorial rights and sovereignty.
Before time was afforded for action on these appeals, the termination
of the war with Mexico, and the purchase of California by the United
States, precipitated the course of English intrigue and encroachment on
the Mosquito Shore. The British government was not slow to perceive that
the acquisition of California would give to the long-cherished project
of establishing a ship-canal between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans,
a new, practical, and immediate importance, and rightly foresaw that
it would soon come to attract a large share of public attention in the
United States. Orders were at once issued for the seizure of the Port of
San Juan de Nicaragua, the only possible eastern terminus for a canal
by way of the river San Juan, and the Nicaraguan lakes. This port had
always been in the undisputed occupation both of Spain and Nicaragua;
not a single Mosquito Indian had ever dwelt there, or within fifty
miles of it, in any direction, yet, under pretext that it constituted
“part of the proper dominions of his Mosquito Majesty, of whom Great
Britain was the lawful protector,” two British vessels-of-war entered
the harbor in the month of January, 1848, tore down the Nicaraguan flag,
raised that of “Mosquito,” turned out the Nicaraguan officers, and
filled their places with Englishmen. This done, they sailed away; but no
sooner did the intelligence of the event reach the interior, than the
Nicaraguan government sent down a small force, expelled the intruders,
and resumed possession. The British forces, considerably augmented,
thereupon returned. The Nicaraguans, unable to oppose them, retired up
the river, and erected some rude fortifications on its banks. They were
followed by an English detachment, and finally routed, with great loss.
Hostilities were further prosecuted, until the Nicaraguans, powerless
against the forces of Great Britain, consented to an armistice, which
provided that they should not disturb San Juan, or attempt to reoccupy
the port, pending the negotiations which, it was foreseen, would follow
upon the seizure. All attempts to induce them to relinquish their claims
of sovereignty over the port, were, however, unsuccessful.
By this high-handed act, committed in time of profound peace, Lord
Palmerston, who had directed it, fondly hoped to secure for Great Britain
the control of the then-supposed only feasible means of communication
between the seas. He had grasped, as he thought, the key of the Central
American Isthmus. English officers were at once installed in San Juan,
and a “Consul General” appointed to reside there, with the most absolute
dictatorial powers, supported by what was called a “police force,” from
Jamaica, and the almost constant presence of a British vessel of war in
the harbor.
This act was shortly followed by the attempted seizure of the Island
of Tigre, and the Gulf of Fonseca, the supposed western terminus of the
proposed canal, on the Pacific. This attempt was thwarted by American
diplomacy in that quarter.
The results of American interference are too recent and well-known to
need recapitulation. An American company obtained the privileges of a
transit through Nicaragua, and it was not long before American steamers
began to run to San Juan. A large number of American citizens established
themselves at the port, where they soon succeeded in suffocating British
influence. They took the direction of affairs in their own hands,
adopted a constitution, and organized a regular and stable government,
pending the final settlement of the various questions concerning Central
America, then in course of negotiation between the United States and
Great Britain. In this condition the place remained, well-ordered, and
affording the fullest protection to person and property, until the month
of June of last year, when, under a misrepresentation of facts, and
the grossest perversions of truth, inspired by unscrupulous personal
hostility, the United States government was induced to issue such
orders in respect to it, to a naval officer of more zeal and ambition
of notoriety than either wisdom or discretion, as resulted in its
bombardment and total destruction. Since this act, which has met the
unanimous reprehension of the country, the town has been partly rebuilt
and re-occupied, and now maintains an extraordinary and most anomalous
condition, which can not long endure without resulting in serious
complications. The United States insists, and justly, that it pertains
to Nicaragua, and that all authority which may be exercised there, not
derived from that State, is an usurpation; while, on the other hand,
without insisting on the sovereignty of Mosquito, Great Britain denies it
to Nicaragua, and prohibits her from attempting to exercise jurisdiction
over it. Meantime San Juan and its people are left helplessly in a
political Limbo, suffering witnesses of their inability to serve two
masters. The obvious, and probably the only peaceable solution of this
complication, is the voluntary establishment of San Juan as a free port
by Nicaragua, under the joint protection of England and the United States.
Since 1849, nearly the whole interest of the “Mosquito question” has
been centered in San Juan. It is true, Messrs. Webster and Crampton
agreed upon a _projet_, defining the limits of Mosquito jurisdiction,
and establishing a _de facto_ Sambo monarchy on the coast, recognized,
if not guaranteed, both by the United States and Great Britain. But the
_projet_ found no favor in this country, and was, moreover, indignantly
rejected by Nicaragua. How far subsequent negotiations have tended to
bring affairs to a settlement, remains to be disclosed.
It is nevertheless certain that, while Nicaragua has fretted, the United
States blustered, and Great Britain silently and sullenly relaxed her
gripe, as circumstances have rendered it necessary, the “Kingdom of
Mosquito” has undergone no change, but has kept on the even tenor of its
way—a happy illustration of the conservative and peaceful tendencies of
well-established monarchical institutions! Under all the complications
of the modern time, the royal Clarence, the hospitable Drummer, and the
bibulous Slam, ignorant of the exalted place which they occupy in the
instructions, and dispatches, and notes of conference, wherewith the
Slams and Drummers of other lands do gravely amuse themselves, still
cherish the well-being of their beloved and fellow-subjects, who, in
turn, hunt, and fish, and cultivate the “big drunk” as of yore!
B.
VARIOUS NOTES ON THE TOPOGRAPHY, SOIL, CLIMATE, AND NATIVES OF THE
MOSQUITO SHORE.
The subjoined extracts, from various published works and memoirs of
acknowledged authenticity, and from original documents, exhibit the
condition of the people of the Mosquito Shore, their habits and modes of
life, from the year 1700 up to the present time. It will be seen that few
if any changes have taken place for the better, in this long period of a
hundred and fifty years.
1710.
_From Dampier’s “Voyage around the World,” London_, 1717, p. 7-11.
“The Mosquito Indians are but a small nation or family, and not a hundred
men of them in number, inhabiting on the main, on the north side, near
Cape Gracias à Dios.... They are coveted by the privateers as hunters....
They have no form of government among them, but take the Governor of
Jamaica to be one of the greatest princes in the world.”
1757.
_Extracts from “Some account of the Mosquito Territory, written in 1757,
while that country was in the possession of the British, by Col. Robert
Hodgson, formerly His Majesty’s Commander-in-Chief, Superintendent, and
Agent on the Mosquito Shore.”_
This Colonel Hodgson was son of the Captain Hodgson who was sent to the
Mosquito Coast, in 1740, by Governor Trelawney. He states that the
population of the shore, at the time of his writing (1757), exclusive
of aborigines was: “Whites 154, Mestizoes and Mulattoes 170, Indian and
Negro slaves 800—total 1124.” He observes that the “whites are without
laws,” but, nevertheless, living with great regularity; and that, if the
number of white children is small, “it may be imputed to most of the
women having lived with so much freedom formerly.” He then proceeds to
give a very clear and accurate account of the country, its products, and
people, as follows:—
“The face of the country is various. The sea-coast, from Cape Cameron to
Bluefields, is low and level, but the land rises gradually up any of the
large, fair rivers with which it abounds, and whose regular flowery banks
form beautiful avenues, and about twenty miles up is high enough for any
purpose. But the lowland is full of swamps. Near the coast are several
large lagoons, whose length, for the most part, is parallel thereto, and
are so joined to each other by narrow necks of water, that half this
distance may be gone inland, upon smooth water; in the flood times this
may be called a range of islands, lying close in with the main, but the
land is not much overflowed. To the westward and southward of the above
capes, the land is high, almost to the sea-side, the hills rising gently
like the swell of the sea. The greater part of the higher land is covered
with large woods; but the lowland consists chiefly of large, level lawns,
or savannahs, as they are called, with scarce a tree, and some of them
very extensive. The whole country is remarkably well watered by many fine
rivers, which have a long course; by innumerable smaller ones, and by
creeks and lagoons; but all the rivers have the inconvenience of shoal
bars at their mouths. The soil of the high woody land is the best, and
is every where excellent; being either a deep black mould, or rich
brick clay. What low woody ground is interspersed among the lawns is
not so good; but the inhabitants who hitherto have chosen it for their
plantations, have found that it will produce what they want very well.
The savannah lands are the worst; the soil is light sand mixed with
some rich mould, but might be greatly improved and made very useful.
At present they are used for pasturage. The swamps or marshes are very
rich soil; and if the wood which grows on them were cut down, they would
either dry up, or, with a little more pains, might be drained.”—P. 21.
“Indigo grows all about the country, of the same kind with that of the
province of Guatemala, which is esteemed the best in the world.
“Cotton grows every where, in the worst land; the staple is remarkably
good. There are three species of that kind which is manufactured, one of
which is a light reddish brown, and looks like silk.”—P. 23.
“Sugar, of which the little that is planted grows remarkably well in this
country, which is much better adapted for it than any of the islands, on
account of the great convenience of streams of water for such works and
for carriage; the country not being subject to severe droughts, and free
from hurricanes.”—P. 29.
“The climate is very sensibly cooler than that of Jamaica, and very
healthy, on which account people from that island sometimes come hither.
Indeed, the disorders in both are of the same nature; but here they are
not near so frequent or so violent as in that island. During the north
winds the season may, with propriety, be called winter.
“The wind most common is the sea-breeze, or _trade-wind_. It blows
fresh in June and July, but very moderate in April, May, August, and
September, particularly in April, and from the middle of August to the
latter part of September. But from that time to the end of October, a
westerly wind prevails along the coast to the westward of Cape Gracias,
and a southerly one along the coast to the south of it; after which, to
the end of February, at the full and change of the moon, strong north
winds may be expected, veering round from east to west, and continuing
about a week, yet is scarce ever so strong as to prevent vessels from
beating to windward, and, if they choose it, getting in to Bonacca....
The land wind blows seven leagues off to sea, although sometimes very
weak.... The month of March is very uncertain. The seasons are much the
same as in other parts of the continent. In the rainy season, scarce a
day passes without a heavy shower; the first commonly begins in June, and
lasts about six weeks, in which time the rivers rise considerably, and
are very rapid. The second begins about the middle of October, and lasts
about two months. When they are over, the vegetation is surprisingly
quick, and there is the further advantage of frequent, intermediate,
gentle showers.... The harbors on this coast do not answer the occasion
there would be for them. On the bar of Brewer’s Lagoon there is seven
feet water; often more on that of Black River. On those of Carataska and
Warina Sound, nine feet; Great River and Pearl Cay, eight feet....
“The natives or Mosquito people are of two breeds, one the original
Indians, and the other a mixture of those and negroes, called Sambos.
The latter originated from the cargoes of two Dutch ships filled with
negroes, which were cast away on the coast, where, after several battles,
the negroes had wives and ground given to them; since which they have
greatly multiplied, and there is now no distinction between them in their
rights and customs.”—P. 40.
“Though they are to all intents and purposes one people, yet they are not
so properly a single state as three united, each of which is independent
of the others.
“I. Those who inhabit the southern extremity till Bragman’s, and are
mostly the _original Indians_; their head-man is called _Governor_.
“II. Those who extend to about Little Black River, and are mostly Sambos;
their chief is called _King_.
“III. Those westward, who are Indians and Sambos mixed; their head-man is
called _General_.
“The power of these three head-men is nearly equal, with a small
difference in favor of the king, who is a little supported by the whites
for the sake of his name. But none of these chiefs have much more than a
negative voice, and never do any thing without consulting a council of
old men.
“... _The king has his commission or patent for being called so from the
Governor of Jamaica._ And all the other chief people have commissions
(admirals and captains) from His Majesty’s Superintendent; and, upon the
strength of these, always assume much more authority than they could
without. However, it is at best such that it may be more properly said,
that their directions are followed, than their orders obeyed; for even
the young men are above serving the king, and will tell him that they are
as free as he is, so that if he had not a few slaves of other Indians, he
would be obliged to do all his own work.”—P. 49.
Hodgson next speaks of the ravages of small-pox and drunkenness among
them, and concludes:
“... Hence, the number of Mosquito people, in their present way of life,
probably never exceeded _ten or eleven thousand_.... From the best
computation, they are not above _seven thousand souls_.”
1787.
_George Chalmers, Secretary of Board of Trade. From MSS. Notes for use of
Board._
“The present number of the Mosquito Indians is unknown. It happened
among them, probably, as among the North American Indians, that they
declined in numbers and degenerated in spirit in proportion nearly as the
white people settled among them. The Mosquitos, like the Caribs of San
Domingo, consist of three distinct races: the aborigines, the descendants
of certain African negroes who were formerly wrecked on the coast, and
a generation containing the blood of both. If the Spaniards earnestly
desired to destroy them, they could not, I think, make a very vigorous
resistance. They are chiefly defended by the rivers, morasses, and woods
of the country, and, perhaps, still more by the diseases incident to the
climate.”
1818.
_From Roberts’ Narrative of Voyages and Excursions on the East Coast of
Central America._
“In the Mosquito Shore, a plurality of mistresses is considered no
disgrace. It is no uncommon circumstance for a British subject to have
one or more of these native women at different parts of the coast. They
have acquired great influence through them.
“I have never known a marriage celebrated among them; these engagements
are mere tacit agreements, sometimes broken by mutual consent. The
children here and at Bluefields are in general baptized by the captains
of trading vessels from Jamaica, who, on their annual visit to the
coast, perform this ceremony, with any thing but reverence, on all who
have been born during their absence; and many of them are indebted to
these men for more than baptism. In proof of this, I could enumerate more
than a dozen acknowledged children of two of these captains, who seem to
have adopted, without scruple, the Indian idea of polygamy to its fullest
extent. By this licentious and immoral conduct, they have, however, so
identified themselves with the natives, as to obtain a sort of monopoly
of the sale of goods. They have also insinuated themselves into the good
graces of some of the leading men, so that their arrival is hailed with
joy by all classes, as the season of festivity, revelry, christening, and
licentiousness!”
1828.
_From “Report of the Commissioners of Legal Inquiry in the case of the
Indians of Honduras,” ordered by the House of Commons “to be printed,”
July 10, 1828._
“The Mosquito Indians are a barbarous and cruel people, in the lowest
state of civilization, and under the most abject subjection to their
kings or chiefs. They are hostile to all the other Indian nations, who
are a mild, timid, and peaceful race, and who appear to live under
patriarchal governments.... Differences so striking between nations
of the same continent, and divided by no inaccessible barriers, have
given rise to a conjecture, confirmed by concurrent tradition, that
the Mosquitos had a distinct origin. This tradition states, that a
ship loaded with negro men from Africa was, at a very remote period,
wrecked on the Mosquito shore; that these negroes seized upon the male
inhabitants of the sea-coasts, massacred them, and then, by intermixture
with the Indian women, altered the race and habits of the nation. This
tradition is confirmed by the physical appearance of the Mosquitos, who
indicate this mixture between the Indian and negro.”
1836.
_James Woods, for some time a resident on the Mosquito Shore._
In the year 1836, one James Woods, a native of Ipswich, England, went
out to Central America, under the auspices of a “Colonization Company.”
On his return, he published an account of his adventures, to serve as a
warning against other companies. He resided awhile at Cape Gracias, in
charge of a store of provisions, rum, etc. He says:
“The rum was a dangerous thing in the store, for the Indians will kill a
man for a glass of rum; and there were only five Europeans at the Cape.
I had a demijohn of brandy for the Indian king, but he was gone up the
river. He and his brother were taken from the Mosquito shore when young,
and carried to the island of Jamaica, where they were taught to read and
write the English language. After staying there a number of years, they
were brought back to the shore. One was made king, the other a general,
and although brought up in a civilized state, yet they returned to the
wild and savage condition in which their people live, getting drunk,
and giving themselves up to the most disgusting habits. No sooner had
the king heard that I had a demijohn of brandy for him, than he set out
to return home. He went to the house of a Frenchman, named Bouchet, who
came down to the beach and told me his majesty wanted to see me. I went
to the house, where the king was lying on a bed, rather unwell. I made
my compliments to him, and asked him how he did. He told me he was very
poorly, and wanted a gallon of brandy, which I accordingly got for him.
He asked me to drink, and stay and dine with him, which I did. He told me
that he loved me. I replied, ‘You love the brandy better;’ but I turned
it off with a laugh, or he would have been offended with me. He staid for
two or three days, and then left for Bluefields.... These Indians far
exceed all the Indians I have ever met with in lying, thieving, and every
thing that is disgusting. They are given up to idolatry, and lead an
indolent life.” After giving details of their ignorance and barbarism, he
adds: “They are also great drunkards, and are never easy except when they
are drunk.” And of the English settlers and traders, he says: “They are
almost as bad as the natives, and live in almost as disgusting a manner.”
C.
BRIEF VOCABULARY OF THE MOSQUITO LANGUAGE.
In language, the Mosquitos differ wholly from the neighboring Indians,
so that they are unable to communicate with them, except through
interpreters. This fact, not less than their different character and
habits of life, go to show that they are of a radically different stock.
From their long intercourse with the English, they have adopted many
English words, which are nevertheless pronounced in a manner which
renders them nearly unintelligible. Their own language, however, is not
deficient in euphony, although defective in grammatical powers. It has
no article, definite or indefinite; but the numeral adjective _kumi_
(one), is used whenever the idea of number is prominent. The adjectives
follow the noun, as do also the numerals. All nouns are understood to be
masculine, unless qualified by the word _mairen_ (woman or female). The
pronouns are twelve in number, but have neither gender nor number, both
of which must be inferred from the connections in which they are used.
The verbs have mood, tense, and person, but are wanting in number.
ENGLISH. MOSQUITO.
Man, waikna.
Woman, mairen.
Father, aize.
Mother, yapte.
Boy, tukta.
Girl, kiki.
Husband, maia.
Wife, maia-mairen.
Head, lel.
Hand, mita.
Mouth, bila.
Foot, mena.
Blood, tala.
House, watla.
Thing, dera.
Dory, duerka-taira.
Paddle, kuahi.
Arrow, trisba.
Harpoon, waisku, silak.
Gun, rokbus.
Sea, kabo.
River, awala.
Water, li.
Food, plun.
Cassava, yaura.
Bread, tane.
Maize, aya.
Fish, inska.
Iguana, kakamuk.
Stone, walpa.
Sky, kasbrika.
Sun, lapta.
Moon, kati.
Star, silma.
Wind, pasa.
Thunder, alwane.
Earthquake, niknik.
Island, daukwara.
Chief, wita.
Paint, orowa.
Curassow, kusu.
Dog, yul.
Monkey, ruskika, waklin.
Ox, bip, (beef?)
Deer, sula.
Alligator, tura.
Manitus, palpa.
Forest, untara.
Savannah, twi.
Cotton, wamuk.
Palm-tree, hatak.
Mahogany, yulu.
Cocoas, duswa.
I, yung.
Thou, man.
He, wetin.
This, baha.
That, naha.
Other, wala.
To drink, diaia.
To eat, piaia.
To run, plapia.
To paddle, kaubia.
To laugh, kikia.
To speak, aisaia.
To hear, walaia.
To sleep, yapaia.
1, kumi.
2, wal.
3, niupa.
4 (2 + 2,) walwal.
5, matasip.
6, matlalkabe.
7 (6 + 1), matlalkabe puri kumi.
8 (6 + 2), matlalkabe puri wal.
9 (6 + 3), matlalkabe puri niupa.
10 (5 × 2), matawalsip.
11 (5 × 2 + 1), matawalsip pura kumi.
20 (20 × 1), iwanaiska kumi.
21 (20 × 1 + 1), iwanaiska kumi pura kumi.
30 (20 × 1 + 10), iwanaiska kumi pura matawalsip.
37 (20 × 1 + 10 + 6 + 1), iwanaiska kumi pura matawalsip pura
matlalkabe pura kumi.
40 (20 × 2), iwanaiska wal.
100 (20 × 5), iwanaiska matasip.
THE END.
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