and exit to the vampire in the loft where I slept, I had many a fine
opportunity of paying attention to this nocturnal surgeon. He does not
always live on blood. When the moon shone bright, and the fruit of the
banana-tree was ripe, I could see him approach and eat it. He would
also bring into the loft, from the forest, a green round fruit
something like the wild guava and about the size of a nutmeg. There was
something also in the blossom of the sawarri nut-tree which was
grateful to him, for on coming up Waratilla Creek, in a moonlight
night, I saw several vampires fluttering round the top of the
sawarri-tree, and every now and then the blossoms, which they had
broken off, fell into the water. They certainly did not drop off
naturally, for on examining several of them they appeared quite fresh
and blooming. So I concluded the vampires pulled them from the tree
either to get at the incipient fruit or to catch the insects which
often take up their abode in flowers.
The vampire, in general, measures about twenty-six inches from wing to
wing extended, though I once killed one which measured thirty-two
inches. He frequents old abandoned houses and hollow trees; and
sometimes a cluster of them may be seen in the forest hanging head
downwards from the branch of a tree.
Goldsmith seems to have been aware that the vampire hangs in clusters;
for in the _Deserted Village_, speaking of America, he says:
And matted woods, where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.
The vampire has a curious membrane which rises from the nose, and gives
it a very singular appearance. It has been remarked before that there
are two species of vampire in Guiana, a larger and a smaller. The
larger sucks men and other animals; the smaller seems to confine
himself chiefly to birds. I learnt from a gentleman high up in the
River Demerara that he was completely unsuccessful with his fowls on
account of the small vampire. He showed me some that had been sucked
the night before, and they were scarcely able to walk.
Some years ago I went to the River Paumaron with a Scotch gentleman, by
name Tarbet. We hung our hammocks in the thatched loft of a planter's
house. Next morning I heard this gentleman muttering in his hammock,
and now and then letting fall an imprecation or two just about the time
he ought to have been saying his morning prayers. "What is the matter,
sir?" said I softly. "Is anything amiss?" "What's the matter?" answered
he surlily; "why, the vampires have been sucking me to death." As soon
as there was light enough I went to his hammock and saw it much stained
with blood. "There," said he, thrusting his foot out of the hammock,
"see how these infernal imps have been drawing my life's blood." On
examining his foot I found the vampire had tapped his great toe: there
was a wound somewhat less than that made by a leech; the blood was
still oozing from it; I conjectured he might have lost from ten to
twelve ounces of blood. Whilst examining it, I think I put him into a
worse humour by remarking that a European surgeon would not have been
so generous as to have blooded him without making a charge. He looked
up in my face, but did not say a word: I saw he was of opinion that I
had better have spared this piece of ill-timed levity.
It was not the last punishment of this good gentleman in the River
Paumaron. The next night he was doomed to undergo a kind of ordeal
unknown in Europe. There is a species of large red ant in Guiana
sometimes called ranger, sometimes coushie. These ants march in
millions through the country in compact order, like a regiment of
soldiers: they eat up every insect in their march; and if a house
obstruct their route, they do not turn out of the way, but go quite
through it. Though they sting cruelly when molested, the planter is not
sorry to see them in his house, for it is but a passing visit, and they
destroy every kind of insect-vermin that has taken shelter under his
roof.
Now in the British plantations of Guiana, as well as in Europe, there
is always a little temple dedicated to the goddess Cloacina. Our dinner
had chiefly consisted of crabs dressed in rich and different ways.
Paumaron is famous for crabs, and strangers who go thither consider
them the greatest luxury. The Scotch gentleman made a very capital
dinner on crabs; but this change of diet was productive of unpleasant
circumstances: he awoke in the night in that state in which Virgil
describes Caeleno to have been, viz. "faedissima ventris proluvies." Up
he got to verify the remark:
Serius aut citius, sedem properamus ad unam.
Now, unluckily for himself and the nocturnal tranquillity of the
planter's house, just at that unfortunate hour the coushie-ants were
passing across the seat of Cloacina's temple. He had never dreamed of
this; and so, turning his face to the door, he placed himself in the
usual situation which the votaries of the goddess generally take. Had a
lighted match dropped upon a pound of gunpowder, as he afterwards
remarked, it could not have caused a greater recoil. Up he jumped and
forced his way out, roaring for help and for a light, for he was
worried alive by ten thousand devils. The fact is he had sat down upon
an intervening body of coushie-ants. Many of those which escaped being
crushed to death turned again, and in revenge stung the unintentional
intruder most severely. The watchman had fallen asleep, and it was some
time before a light could be procured, the fire having gone out; in the
meantime the poor gentleman was suffering an indescribable martyrdom,
and would have found himself more at home in the Augean stable than in
the planter's house.
I had often wished to have been once sucked by the vampire in order
that I might have it in my power to say it had really happened to me.
There can be no pain in the operation, for the patient is always asleep
when the vampire is sucking him; and as for the loss of a few ounces of
blood, that would be a trifle in the long run. Many a night have I
slept with my foot out of the hammock to tempt this winged surgeon,
expecting that he would be there, but it was all in vain; the vampire
never sucked me, and I could never account for his not doing so, for we
were inhabitants of the same loft for months together.
The armadillo is very common in these forests; he burrows in the
sandhills like a rabbit. As it often takes a considerable time to dig
him out of his hole, it would be a long and laborious business to
attack each hole indiscriminately without knowing whether the animal
were there or not. To prevent disappointment the Indians carefully
examine the mouth of the hole, and put a short stick down it. Now if,
on introducing the stick, a number of mosquitos come out, the Indians
know to a certainty that the armadillo is in it: whenever there are no
mosquitos in the hole there is no armadillo. The Indian having
satisfied himself that the armadillo is there by the mosquitos which
come out, he immediately cuts a long and slender stick and introduces
it into the hole. He carefully observes the line the stick takes, and
then sinks a pit in the sand to catch the end of it: this done, he puts
it farther into the hole, and digs another pit, and so on, till at last
he comes up with the armadillo, which had been making itself a passage
in the sand till it had exhausted all its strength through pure
exertion. I have been sometimes three-quarters of a day in digging out
one armadillo, and obliged to sink half a dozen pits seven feet deep
before I got up to it. The Indians and negroes are very fond of the
flesh, but I considered it strong and rank.
On laying hold of the armadillo you must be cautious not to come in
contact with his feet: they are armed with sharp claws, and with them
he will inflict a severe wound in self-defence. When not molested he is
very harmless and innocent: he would put you in mind of the hare in
Gay's fables:
Whose care was never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.
The armadillo swims well in time of need, but does not go into the
water by choice. He is very seldom seen abroad during the day; and when
surprised, he is sure to be near the mouth of his hole. Every part of
the armadillo is well protected by his shell, except his ears. In life
this shell is very limber, so that the animal is enabled to go at full
stretch or roll himself up into a ball, as occasion may require.
On inspecting the arrangement of the shell, it puts you very much in
mind of a coat of armour; indeed, it is a natural coat of armour to the
armadillo, and being composed both of scale and bone it affords ample
security, and has a pleasing effect.
Often, when roving in the wilds, I would fall in with the
land-tortoise; he too adds another to the list of unoffending animals.
He subsists on the fallen fruits of the forest. When an enemy
approaches he never thinks of moving, but quietly draws himself under
his shell and there awaits his doom in patience. He only seems to have
two enemies who can do him any damage: one of these is the
boa-constrictor--this snake swallows the tortoise alive, shell and all.
But a boa large enough to do this is very scarce, and thus there is not
much to apprehend from that quarter. The other enemy is man, who takes
up the tortoise and carries him away. Man also is scarce in these
never-ending wilds, and the little depredations he may commit upon the
tortoise will be nothing, or a mere trifle. The tiger's teeth cannot
penetrate its shell, nor can a stroke of his paws do it any damage. It
is of so compact and strong a nature that there is a common saying, a
London waggon might roll over it and not break it.
Ere we proceed, let us take a retrospective view of the five animals
just enumerated: they are all quadrupeds, and have some very particular
mark or mode of existence different from all other animals. The sloth
has four feet, but never can use them to support his body on the earth:
they want soles, which are a marked feature in the feet of other
animals. The ant-bear has not a tooth in his head, still he roves
fearless on in the same forests with the jaguar and boa-constrictor.
The vampire does not make use of his feet to walk, but to stretch a
membrane which enables him to go up into an element where no other
quadruped is seen. The armadillo has only here and there a straggling
hair, and has neither fur nor wool nor bristles, but in lieu of them
has received a movable shell on which are scales very much like those
of fishes. The tortoise is oviparous, entirely without any appearance
of hair, and is obliged to accommodate itself to a shell which is quite
hard and inflexible, and in no point of view whatever obedient to the
will or pleasure of the bearer. The egg of the tortoise has a very hard
shell, while that of the turtle is quite soft.
In some parts of these forests I saw the vanilla growing luxuriantly.
It creeps up the trees to the height of thirty or forty feet. I found
it difficult to get a ripe pod, as the monkeys are very fond of it, and
generally took care to get there before me. The pod hangs from the tree
in the shape of a little scabbard. _Vayna_ is the Spanish for a
scabbard, and _vanilla_ for a little scabbard. Hence the name.
In Mibiri Creek there was a cayman of the small species, measuring
about five feet in length; I saw it in the same place for months, but
could never get a shot at it, for, the moment I thought I was sure of
it, it dived under the water before I could pull the trigger. At last I
got an Indian with his bow and arrow: he stood up in the canoe with his
bow ready bent, and as we drifted past the place he sent his arrow into
the cayman's eye, and killed it dead. The skin of this little species
is much harder and stronger than that of the large kind; it is good
food, and tastes like veal.
My friend Mr. Edmonstone had very kindly let me have one of his old
negroes, and he constantly attended me: his name was Daddy Quashi. He
had a brave stomach for heterogeneous food; it could digest and relish,
too, caymen, monkeys, hawks and grubs. The Daddy made three or four
meals on this cayman while it was not absolutely putrid, and salted the
rest. I could never get him to face a snake; the horror he betrayed on
seeing one was beyond description. I asked him why he was so terribly
alarmed. He said it was by seeing so many dogs from time to time killed
by them.
Here I had a fine opportunity of examining several species of the
caprimulgus. I am fully persuaded that these innocent little birds
never suck the herds, for when they approach them, and jump up at their
udders, it is to catch the flies and insects there. When the moon shone
bright I would frequently go and stand within three yards of a cow, and
distinctly see the caprimulgus catch the flies on its udder. On looking
for them in the forest during the day, I either found them on the
ground, or else invariably sitting _longitudinally_ on the branch of a
tree, not _crosswise_, like all other birds.
The wasps, or maribuntas, are great plagues in these forests, and
require the naturalist to be cautious as he wanders up and down. Some
make their nests pendent from the branches; others have them fixed to
the underside of a leaf. Now, in passing on, if you happen to disturb
one of these, they sally forth and punish you severely. The largest
kind is blue: it brings blood where its sting enters, and causes pain
and inflammation enough to create a fever. The Indians make a fire
under the nest, and, after killing or driving away the old ones, they
roast the young grubs in the comb and eat them. I tried them once by
way of dessert after dinner, but my stomach was offended at their
intrusion; probably it was more the idea than the taste that caused the
stomach to rebel.
Time and experience have convinced me that there is not much danger in
roving amongst snakes and wild beasts, provided only that you have
self-command. You must never approach them abruptly; if so, you are
sure to pay for your rashness, because the idea of self-defence is
predominant in every animal, and thus the snake, to defend himself from
what he considers an attack upon him, makes the intruder feel the
deadly effect of his poisonous fangs. The jaguar flies at you, and
knocks you senseless with a stroke of his paw; whereas, if you had not
come upon him too suddenly, it is ten to one but that he had retired in
lieu of disputing the path with you. The labarri-snake is very
poisonous, and I have often approached within two yards of him without
fear. I took care to move very softly and gently, without moving my
arms, and he always allowed me to have a fine view of him without
showing the least inclination to make a spring at me. He would appear
to keep his eye fixed on me as though suspicious, but that was all.
Sometimes I have taken a stick ten feet long and placed it on the
labarri's back. He would then glide away without offering resistance.
But when I put the end of the stick abruptly to his head, he
immediately opened his mouth, flew at it, and bit it.
One day, wishful to see how the poison comes out of the fang of the
snake, I caught a labarri alive. He was about eight feet long. I held
him by the neck, and my hand was so near his jaw that he had not room
to move his head to bite it. This was the only position I could have
held him in with safety and effect. To do so it only required a little
resolution and coolness. I then took a small piece of stick in the
other hand and pressed it against the fang, which is invariably in the
upper jaw. Towards the point of the fang there is a little oblong
aperture on the convex side of it. Through this there is a
communication down the fang to the root, at which lies a little bag
containing the poison. Now, when the point of the fang is pressed, the
root of the fang also presses against the bag, and sends up a portion
of the poison therein contained. Thus, when I applied a piece of stick
to the point of the fang, there came out of the hole a liquor thick and
yellow, like strong camomile-tea. This was the poison which is so
dreadful in its effects as to render the labarri-snake one of the most
poisonous in the forests of Guiana. I once caught a fine labarri and
made it bite itself. I forced the poisonous fang into its belly. In a
few minutes I thought it was going to die, for it appeared dull and
heavy. However, in half an hour's time he was as brisk and vigorous as
ever, and in the course of the day showed no symptoms of being
affected. Is then the life of the snake proof against its own poison?
This subject is not unworthy of the consideration of the naturalist.
In Guiana there is a little insect in the grass and on the shrubs which
the French call bête-rouge. It is of a beautiful scarlet colour, and so
minute that you must bring your eye close to it before you can perceive
it. It is most numerous in the rainy season. Its bite causes an
intolerable itching. The best way to get rid of it is to rub the part
affected with oil or rum. You must be careful not to scratch it. If you
do so, and break the skin, you expose yourself to a sore. The first
year I was in Guiana the bête-rouge and my own want of knowledge, and,
I may add, the little attention I paid to it, created an ulcer above
the ankle which annoyed me for six months, and if I hobbled out into
the grass a number of bête-rouge would settle on the edges of the sore
and increase the inflammation.
Still more inconvenient, painful and annoying is another little pest
called the chegoe. It looks exactly like a very small flea, and a
stranger would take it for one. However, in about four and twenty hours
he would have several broad hints that he had made a mistake in his
ideas of the animal. It attacks different parts of the body, but
chiefly the feet, betwixt the toe-nails and the flesh. There it buries
itself, and at first causes an itching not unpleasant. In a day or so,
after examining the part, you perceive a place about the size of a pea,
somewhat discoloured, rather of a blue appearance. Sometimes it happens
that the itching is so trivial, you are not aware that the miner is at
work. Time, they say, makes great discoveries. The discoloured part
turns out to be the nest of the chegoe, containing hundreds of eggs,
which, if allowed to hatch there, the young ones will soon begin to
form other nests, and in time cause a spreading ulcer. As soon as you
perceive that you have got the chegoe in your flesh, you must take a
needle or a sharp-pointed knife and take it out. If the nest be formed,
great care must be taken not to break it, otherwise some of the eggs
remain in the flesh, and then you will soon be annoyed with more
chegoes. After removing the nest it is well to drop spirit of
turpentine into the hole: that will most effectually destroy any chegoe
that may be lurking there. Sometimes I have taken four nests out of my
feet in the course of the day.
Every evening, before sundown, it was part of my toilette to examine my
feet and see that they were clear of chegoes. Now and then a nest would
escape the scrutiny, and then I had to smart for it a day or two after.
A chegoe once lit upon the back of my hand; wishful to see how he
worked, I allowed him to take possession. He immediately set to work,
head foremost, and in about half an hour he had completely buried
himself in the skin. I then let him feel the point of my knife, and
exterminated him.
More than once, after sitting down upon a rotten stump, I have found
myself covered with ticks. There is a short and easy way to get quit of
these unwelcome adherents. Make a large fire and stand close to it, and
if you be covered with ticks they will all fall off.
Let us now forget for awhile the quadrupeds, serpents and insects, and
take a transitory view of the native Indians of these forests.
There are five principal nations or tribes of Indians in _ci-devant_
Dutch Guiana, commonly known by the name of Warow, Arowack, Acoway,
Carib and Macoushi. They live in small hamlets, which consist of a few
huts, never exceeding twelve in number. These huts are always in the
forest, near a river or some creek. They are open on all sides (except
those of the Macoushi), and covered with a species of palm-leaf.
Their principal furniture is the hammock. It serves them both for chair
and bed. It is commonly made of cotton; though those of the Warows are
formed from the æta-tree. At night they always make a fire close to it.
The heat keeps them warm, and the smoke drives away the mosquitos and
sand-flies. You sometimes find a table in the hut; but it was not made
by the Indians, but by some negro or mulatto carpenter.
They cut down about an acre or two of the trees which surround the
huts, and there plant pepper, papaws, sweet and bitter cassava,
plantains, sweet potatoes, yams, pine-apples and silk-grass. Besides
these, they generally have a few acres in some fertile part of the
forest for their cassava, which is as bread to them. They make earthen
pots to boil their provisions in; and they get from the white men flat
circular plates of iron on which they bake their cassava. They have to
grate the cassava before it is pressed preparatory to baking; and those
Indians who are too far in the wilds to procure graters from the white
men make use of a flat piece of wood studded with sharp stones. They
have no cows, horses, mules, goats, sheep or asses. The men hunt and
fish, and the women work in the provision-ground and cook their
victuals.
In each hamlet there is the trunk of a large tree hollowed out like a
trough. In this, from their cassava, they make an abominable ill-tasted
and sour kind of fermented liquor called piwarri. They are very fond of
it, and never fail to get drunk after every brewing. The frequency of
the brewing depends upon the superabundance of cassava.
Both men and women go without clothes. The men have a cotton wrapper,
and the women a bead-ornamented square piece of cotton about the size
of your hand for the fig-leaf. Those far away in the interior use the
bark of a tree for this purpose. They are a very clean people, and wash
in the river or creek at least twice every day. They paint themselves
with the roucou, sweetly perfumed with hayawa or accaiari. Their hair
is black and lank, and never curled. The women braid it up fancifully,
something in the shape of Diana's head-dress in ancient pictures. They
have very few diseases. Old age and pulmonary complaints seem to be the
chief agents for removing them to another world. The pulmonary
complaints are generally brought on by a severe cold, which they do not
know how to arrest in its progress by the use of the lancet. I never
saw an idiot amongst them, nor could I perceive any that were deformed
from their birth. Their women never perish in childbed, owing, no
doubt, to their never wearing stays.
They have no public religious ceremony. They acknowledge two superior
beings--a good one and a bad one. They pray to the latter not to hurt
them, and they are of opinion that the former is too good to do the man
injury. I suspect, if the truth were known, the individuals of the
village never offer up a single prayer or ejaculation. They have a kind
of a priest called a Pee-ay-man, who is an enchanter. He finds out
things lost. He mutters prayers to the evil spirit over them and their
children when they are sick. If a fever be in the village, the
Pee-ay-man goes about all night long howling and making dreadful
noises, and begs the bad spirit to depart. But he has very seldom to
perform this part of his duty, as fevers seldom visit the Indian
hamlets. However, when a fever does come, and his incantations are of
no avail, which I imagine is most commonly the case, they abandon the
place for ever and make a new settlement elsewhere. They consider the
owl and the goat-sucker as familiars of the evil spirit, and never
destroy them.