the underworld, are relics of the sacredness attached to the cardinal
points.
The ruler of the realm of shadows is not a malevolent being. Osiris,
Hades or Pluto, Mictlantecutli, Quetzalcoatl, all originally represented
the sun in its absence, and none of them in any way corresponds to the
mediæval or modern notion of the devil. As Osiris, who is unquestionably
the departed Sun-god, was represented with heavy and braided hair, so
his Aztec correlative was also named _Tzontemoc_, which means, he of the
abundant falling hair. In each case the analogy was to the long slanting
rays of the setting sun.
The role of the dog in these myths is a curious one. He appears as a
guardian and preserver. Even Cerberus is good to the good soul. It has
been argued by the eminent Sanscrit antiquary Rajendalala, in his late
volume on the Indo-Aryans, that this is a reminiscence of an ancient
custom of throwing the dead bodies to the dogs to be consumed, rather
than have them decay. This to me is not a very satisfactory explanation,
but I have none other to offer in its place, and I therefore merely call
attention to this singular similarity of notions.
Though I have confined my comparison to these three ancient nations, you
would err widely if you imagine that it is for lack of material to
extend it. I could easily summon numberless other analogies from
classic, from Persian, from Turanian, from Semitic sources, to show that
these notions were almost universal to the race of man.
They carried themselves into early Christian teachings, and to-day the
wording of this ancient Sun-myth is repeated in most of the churches of
Christendom. We have but to mention the “river of death” which is
supposed to limit human life; we have but to look at the phraseology of
the Nicene Symbol, where it is said that Christ “descended into hell
(Hades),” and after three days rose from the dead and ascended into
heaven, to see how persistently the old ideas have retained their sway
over the religious sentiments and expressions of man.
THE SACRED SYMBOLS IN AMERICA.[172]
What I am about to say is, to a certain degree, polemical. My intention
is to combat the opinions of those writers who, like Dr. Hamy, M.
Beauvois and many others,[173] assert that because certain well-known
Oriental symbols, as the Ta Ki, the Triskeles, the Svastika and the
Cross, are found among the American aborigines, they are evidence of
Mongolian, Buddhistic, Christian or Aryan immigrations, previous to the
discovery by Columbus; and I shall also try to show that the position is
erroneous of those who, like William H. Holmes, of the Bureau of
Ethnology, maintain that “it is impossible to give a satisfactory
explanation of the religious significance of the cross as a religious
symbol in America.”[174]
In opposition to both these views I propose to show that the primary
significance of all these widely extended symbols is quite clear; and
that they can be shown to have arisen from certain fixed relations of
man to his environment, the same everywhere, and hence suggesting the
same graphic representations among tribes most divergent in location and
race; and, therefore, that such symbols are of little value in tracing
ethnic affinities or the currents of civilization; but of much import in
investigating the expressions of the religious feelings.
Their wide prevalence in the Old World is familiar to all students. The
three legs diverging from one centre, which is now the well-known arms
of the Isle of Man, is the ancient _Triquetrum_, or, as Olshausen more
properly terms it, the _Triskeles_,[175] seen on the oldest Sicilian
coins and on those of Lycia, in Asia Minor, struck more than five
hundred years before the beginning of our era. Yet, such is the
persistence of symbolic forms, the traveler in the latter region still
finds it recurring on the modern felt wraps used by the native
inhabitants.[176] As a decorative motive, or perhaps with a deeper
significance, it is repeatedly found on ancient Slavic and Teutonic
vases, disinterred from mounds of the bronze age, or earlier, in Central
and Northern Europe. Frequently the figure is simply that of three
straight or curved lines springing from a central point and surrounded
by a circle, as:
[Illustration:
FIG. 1.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 2.
]
In the latter we have the precise form of the Chinese Ta Ki, a symbolic
figure which plays a prominent part in the mystical writing, the
divination and the decorative art of China.[177]
As it is this symbol which, according to Dr. Hamy, the distinguished
ethnologist and Director of the Museum of the Trocadero, Paris,
indicates the preaching of Buddhistic doctrines in America, it merits
close attention.
The Ta Ki, expressed by the signs:
[Illustration:
FIG. 3.
]
is properly translated, “The Great Uniter” (_ta_, great; _ki_, to join
together, to make one, to unite); as in modern Chinese philosophy,
expressed in Platonic language, the One is distinguished from the Many,
and is regarded as the basis of the numerical system. But as the Chinese
believe in the mystic powers of numbers, and as that which reduces all
multiplicity to unity naturally controls or is the summit of all things,
therefore the Ta Ki expresses the completest and highest creative force.
In Chinese philosophy, the Universe is made up of opposites, heaven and
earth, light and darkness, day and night, land and water, concave and
convex, male and female, etc., the highest terms for which are _Yin_ and
_Yang_. These are held to be brought into fructifying union by Ta Ki.
Abstractly, the latter would be regarded as the synthesis of the two
universal antitheses which make up all phenomena.[178]
The symbolic representation of Yin and Yang is a circle divided by two
arcs with opposite centres, while the symbol of Ta Ki adds a third arc
from above uniting these two.
[Illustration:
FIG. 4.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 5.
]
It is possible that these symbols are of late origin, devised to express
the ideas above named. One Chinese scholar (Mr. S. Culin) tells me that
it is doubtful if they occur earlier than the twelfth century, A. D.,
and that they were probably introduced for purposes of divination. In
this case, I believe that they were introduced from the South, and that
they originally had another and concrete significance, as I shall
explain later.
Others consider these symbols as essentially Mongolian. The Ta Ki or
Triskeles is to them the Mongolian, while the Svastika is the ethnic
Aryan symbol. Such writers suspect Indo-European immigration where they
discover the latter, Chinese immigration were they find the former
emblem.
The Svastika, I need hardly say, is the hooked cross or gammated cross,
usually represented as follows:
[Illustration:
FIG. 6.
]
the four arms of equal length, the hook usually pointing from left to
right. In this form it occurs in India and on very early (neolithic)
Greco-Italic and Iberian remains. So much has been written upon the
Svastika, however, that I need not enter upon its archæological
distribution.
Its primary significance has been variously explained. Some have
regarded it as a graphic representation of the lightning, others as of
the two fire-sticks used in obtaining fire by friction, and so on.
Whatever its significance, we are safe in considering it a form of the
Cross, and in its special form obtaining its symbolic or sacred
association from this origin.
The widely-spread mystic purport of the Cross symbol has long been
matter of comment. Undoubtedly in many parts of America the natives
regarded it with reverence anterior to the arrival of Europeans; as in
the Old World it was long a sacred symbol before it became the
distinctive emblem of Christianity.
As in previous writings I have brought together the evidence of the
veneration in which it was held in America, I shall not repeat the
references here.
I believe we may go a step further and regard all three of these
symbols, the Ta Ki or Triskeles, the Svastika, and the Cross as
originally the same in signification, or, at least, closely allied in
meaning. I believe, further, that this can be shown from the relics of
ancient American art so clearly that no one, free from prejudice, and
whose mind is open to conviction, will deny its correctness.
My theory is that all of the symbols are graphic representations of the
movements of the sun with reference to the figure of the earth, as
understood by primitive man everywhere, and hence that these symbols are
found in various parts of the globe without necessarily implying any
historic connections of the peoples using them.
This explanation of them is not entirely new. It has previously been
partly suggested by Professors Worsaae and Virchow; but the
demonstration I shall offer has not heretofore been submitted to the
scientific world, and its material is novel.
Beginning with the Ta Ki, we find its primary elements in the symbolic
picture-writing of the North American Indians. In that of the Ojibways,
for example, we have the following three characters:
[Illustration:
FIG. 7.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 8.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 9.
]
Of these, the Fig. 7 represents the sunrise; Fig. 9, sunset; Fig. 8,
noonday. The last-mentioned is the full day at its height.[179] Where,
in rock-writing or scratching on wood, the curve could not conveniently
be used, straight lines would be adopted:
[Illustration:
FIG. 10.
]
thus giving the ordinary form of the Triskeles. But the identical form
of the Ta Ki is found in the calendar scroll attached to the
Codex-Poinsett, an unpublished original Mexican MS., on agave paper, in
the library of the American Philosophical Society. A line from this
scroll is as follows:
[Illustration:
FIG. 11.
]
Here each circle means a day, and those with the Triskeles, culminating
days.[180]
Another form of representing days is seen in the Vatican Mexican Codex,
published in Kingsborough’s _Mexico_, Vol. iii:
[Illustration:
FIG. 12.
]
This is not far from the figure on the stone at Copan, described in Dr.
Hamy’s paper, where the design is as follows:
[Illustration:
FIG. 13.
]
This does not resemble the Ta Ki, as Dr. Hamy supposes, but rather the
Yin-Yang; yet differs from this in having a central circle (apparently a
cup-shaped depression). This central circular figure, whether a boss or
nave, or a cup-shaped pit, has been explained by Worsaae as a
conventionalized form of the sun, and in this he is borne out by
primitive American art, as we shall see. The twenty elevations which
surround the stone, corresponding in number to the twenty days of the
Maya month, indicate at once that we have here to do with a monument
relating to the calendar.
Turning now to the development of this class of figures in primitive
American art, I give first the simplest representations of the sun, such
as those painted on buffalo skins by the Indians of the Plains, and
scratched on the surface of rocks. The examples are selected from many
of the kind published by Col. Garrick Mallery.[181]
[Illustration:
FIG. 14.
]
The design is merely a rude device of the human face, with four rays
proceeding from it at right angles. These four rays represent, according
to the unanimous interpretation of the Indians, the four directions
defined by the apparent motions of the sun, the East and West, the North
and South. By these directions all travel and all alignments of
buildings, corpses, etc., were defined; and hence the earth was regarded
as four-sided or four-cornered; or, when it was expressed as a circle,
in accordance with the appearance of the visible horizon, the four radia
were drawn as impinging on its four sides:
[Illustration:
FIG. 15.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 16.
]
Fig. 15 is a design on a vase from Maraja, Brazil, and is of common
occurrence on the pottery of that region.[182] Fig. 16 represents the
circle of the visible horizon, or the earth-plain, with the four winds
rushing into it when summoned by a magician. It is a figure from the
Meday Magic of the Ojibways.[183] Dr. Ferraz de Macedo has claimed that
such devices as Fig. 16 “show Chinese or Egyptian inspiration.”[184] It
is certainly unnecessary to accept this alternative when both the origin
and significance of the symbol are so plain in native American art.
When the symbol of the sun and the four directions was inscribed within
the circle of the visible horizon, we obtain the figure representing the
motions pf the sun with reference to the earth, as in:
[Illustration:
FIG. 17.
]
This is what German archæologists call the wheel-cross, _Radkreuz_,
distinguished, as Worsaae pointed out, by the presence of the central
boss, cup or nave, from the ring-cross, _Ringkreuz_, Fig. 18:
[Illustration:
FIG. 18.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 19.
]
in which, also, the arms of the cross do not reach to the circumference
of the wheel. Worsaae very justly laid much stress on the presence of
the central boss or cup, and correctly explained it as indicative of the
sun; but both he and Virchow, who followed him in this explanation, are,
I think, in error in supposing that the circle or wheel represents the
rolling sun, _die rollende Sonne_. My proof of this is that this same
figure was a familiar symbol, with the signification stated, in tribes
who did not know the mechanical device of the wheel, and could have had,
therefore, no notion of such an analogy as the rolling wheel of the
sun.[185]
When applied to time, the symbol of the circle in primitive art referred
to the return of the seasons, not to an idea of motion in space. This is
very plainly seen both in art and language. In the year-counts or
winter-counts of the American tribes, the years were very generally
signified by circles arranged in rows or spirals. Fig. 20 shows the
Dakota winter-count, as depicted on their buffalo robes.[186]
[Illustration:
FIG. 20.
]
This count is to be read from right to left, because it is written from
left to right, and hence the year last recorded is at the end of the
line.
Precisely similar series of circles occur on the Aztec and Maya codices,
with the same signification. Moreover, the year-cycles of both these
nations were represented by a circle on the border of which the years
were inscribed. In Maya this was called _uazlazon katun_, the turning
about again, or revolution of the katuns.[187]
The Aztec figure of the year-cycle is so instructive that I give a
sketch of its principal elements (Fig. 21), as portrayed in the atlas to
Duran’s History of Mexico.[188]
[Illustration:
FIG. 21.
]
In this remarkable figure we observe the development and primary
signification of those world-wide symbols, the square, the cross, the
wheel, the circle, and the svastika. The last-mentioned is seen in the
elements of the broken circle, which are:
[Illustration:
FIG. 22.
]
These, conventionalized into rectilinear figures for scratching on stone
or wood, became:
[Illustration:
FIG. 23.
]
In the Mexican time-wheel, the years are to be read from right to left,
as in the Dakota winter-counts; each of the quarter circles represents
thirteen years; and these, also, are to be read from right to left,
beginning with the top of the figure, which is the East, and proceeding
to the North, South and West, as indicated.
The full analysis of this suggestive and authentic astronomical figure
will reveal the secret of most of the rich symbolism and mythology of
the American nations. It is easy to see how from it was derived the
Nahuatl doctrine of the _nahua ollin_, or Four Motions of the Sun, with
its accessories of the Four Ages of the world. The Tree of Life, so
constantly recurring as a design in Maya and Mexican art, is but another
outgrowth of the same symbolic expression for the same ideas.
That we find the same figurative symbolism in China, India, Lycia,
Assyria and the valley of the Nile, and on ancient urns from Etruria,
Iberia, Gallia, Sicilia and Scythia, needs not surprise us, and ought
not to prompt us to assert any historic connection on this account
between the early development of man in the New and Old World. The path
of culture is narrow, especially in its early stages, and men everywhere
have trodden unconsciously in each other’s footsteps in advancing from
the darkness of barbarism to the light of civilization.
THE FOLK-LORE OF YUCATAN.[189]
Yucatan presents a strange spectacle to the ethnologist. The native
race, which in nearly every other part of the American continent has
disappeared before the white invaders or else become their acknowledged
inferior, has there gained the upper hand. The native language has
ousted the Spanish to that extent that whole villages of whites speak
Maya only, and the fortunes of war in the last generation have sided so
much with the native braves that they have regained undisputed
possession of by far the larger part of the peninsula.
Is there to be recognized in this a revival of that inherent energy
which prompted their ancestors to the construction of the most
remarkable specimens of native architecture on the continent, and to the
development of a ripe social and political fabric?
It can scarcely be doubted; but, however that may be, such
considerations cannot fail to excite our interest in all that relates to
a race of such plucky persistence.
As throwing a side-light on their mental constitution, their
superstitions and folk-lore merit attention. I happen to have some
material on this which has never been published, and some more which has
only appeared in mediums quite inaccessible even to diligent students.
Of the former are a manuscript by the Licentiate Zetina of Tabasco, a
native of Tihosuco, and some notes on the subject by Don Jose Maria
Lopez, of Merida, and the late Dr. Carl Hermann Berendt; while of the
latter a report by Don Bartholomé Granado de Baeza, _cura_ of Yaxcabá,
written in 1813, and an article of later date by the learned cura,
Estanislao Carrillo, are particularly noteworthy.[190] From these
sources I have gathered what I here present, arranging and studying the
facts they give with the aid of several dictionaries of the tongue in my
possession.
These Mayas, as the natives called themselves, were converted at the
epoch of the conquest (about 1550) to Christianity in that summary way
which the Spaniards delighted in. If they would not be baptized they
were hanged or drowned; and, once baptized, they were flogged if they
did not attend mass, and burned if they slid back to idol-worship. They
were kept in the densest ignorance, for fear they should learn enough to
doubt. Their alleged Christianity was therefore their ancient heathenism
under a new name, and brought neither spiritual enlightenment nor
intellectual progress. As a recent and able historian of Yucatan has
said, “the only difference was that the natives were changed from pagan
idolaters to Christian idolaters.”[191]
To this day the belief in sorcerers, witchcraft and magic is as strong
as it ever was, and in various instances the very same rites are
observed as those which we know from early authors obtained before the
conquest.
The diviner is called _h’men_, a male personal form of the verb _men_,
to understand, to do. He is one who knows, and who accomplishes. His
main instrument is the _zaztun_, “the clear stone” (_zaz_, clear,
transparent; _tun_, stone). This is a quartz crystal or other
translucent stone, which has been duly sanctified by burning before it
gum copal as an incense, and by the solemn recital of certain magic
formulas in an archaic dialect passed down from the wise ancients. It is
thus endowed with the power of reflecting the past and future, and the
soothsayer gazes into its clear depths and sees where lost articles may
be recovered, learns what is happening to the absent, and by whose
witchery sickness and disaster have come upon those who call in his
skill. There is scarcely a village in Yucatan without one of these
wondrous stones.
The wise men have also great influence over the growing crops, and in
this direction their chiefest power is exercised. By a strange mixture
of Christian and pagan superstition, they are called in to celebrate the
_misa milpera_, the “field mass” (_misa_, Spanish, “mass”; _milpera_, a
word of Aztec derivation, from _milpa_, “cornfield”). In the native
tongue this is called the _tich_, which means the offering or sacrifice.
It is a distinct survival of a rite mentioned by Diego de Landa, one of
the earliest bishops of the diocese of Yucatan.[192]
The ceremony is as follows: On a sort of altar constructed of sticks of
equal length the native priest places a fowl, and, having thrown on its
beak some of the fermented liquor of the country, the _pitarrilla_, he
kills it, and his assistants cook and serve it with certain maize cakes
of large size and special preparation. When the feast is ready, the
priest approaches the table, dips a branch of green leaves into a jar of
_pitarrilla_, and asperges the four cardinal points, at the same time
calling on the three persons of the Christian Trinity, and the sacred
four of his own ancient religion, the _Pah ah tun_. These mysterious
beings were before the conquest and to this day remain in the native
belief the gods of rain, and hence of fertility. They are identical with
the winds, and the four cardinal points from which they blow. To each is
sacred a particular color, and in modern times each has been identified
with a saint in the Catholic calendar. Thus Father Baeza tells us that
the red Pahahtun is placed at the East, and is known as Saint Dominic;
to the North the white one, who is Saint Gabriel; the black, toward the
West, is Saint James; the yellow is toward the South, and is a female,
called in the Maya tongue _X’Kanleox_, “the yellow goddess,” and bears
the Christian name of Mary Magdalen.
The name _Pahahtun_ is of difficult derivation, but it probably means
“stone, or pillar, set up or erected,” and this tallies quite exactly
with a long description of the ancient rites connected with the worship
of these important divinities in the old times. There are some
discrepancies in the colors assigned the different points of the
compass, but this appears to have varied considerably among the Central
American nations, though many of them united in having some such
symbolism. A curious study of it has been made by the well-known
archæologist, the Count de Charencey.[193]
The invocation to these four points of the compass in its modern form
was fortunately obtained and preserved in the original tongue by that
indefatigable student, the late Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg, while on a
visit to the plantation of Xcanchakan, in the interior of Yucatan.[194]
The translation of it runs as follows:—
“At the rising of the Sun, Lord of the East, my word goes forth to the
four corners of the heaven, to the four corners of the earth, in the
name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.
“When the clouds rise in the east, when he comes who sets in order the
thirteen forms of the clouds, the yellow lord of the hurricane, the hope
of the lords to come, he who rules the preparation of the divine liquor,
he who loves the guardian spirits of the fields, then I pray to him for
his precious favor; for I trust all in the hands of God the Father, God
the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.”
Such is an example of the strange mixture of heathen and Christian
superstition which has been the outcome of three centuries of so-called
Christian instruction!
There still continue to be relics of an ancient form of fire-worship
which once prevailed commonly throughout the peninsula. The missionaries
refer to it as “the festival of fire,”[195] but the exact rites
performed were so carefully concealed that we have no description of
them. That they are not yet out of date is apparent from a copy of a
native calendar for 1841–2, obtained by Mr. Stephens when in Yucatan. In
it the days are marked as lucky or unlucky, and against certain ones
such entries are made as “now the burner lights his fire,” “the burner
gives his fire scope,” “the burner takes his fire,” “the burner puts out
his fire.” This burner, _ah toc_, is the modern representative of the
ancient priest of the fire, and we find a few obscure references to an
important rite, the _tupp kak_, extinction of the fire, which was kept
up long after the conquest, and probably is still celebrated in the
remoter villages. The sacred fire in ancient Maya land is said to have
been guarded by chosen virgins, and it appears in some way to have been
identified with the force which gives life to the animal and vegetable
world.
Another of the modern ceremonies which is imbued with the old notion,
common to them as to all primitive people, of a soul with material
wants, is that called “the feast of the food of the soul.” Small cakes
are made of the flesh of hens and pounded maize, and are baked in an
underground oven. Of these as many are placed on the altar of the church
as the person making the offering has deceased relatives for whose
well-being he is solicitous. These cakes are called _hanal pixan_, “the
food of the soul.” Evidently they are intended to represent the
nourishment destined for the soul on its journey through the shadowy
lands of death.
Along with these there are many minor superstitions connected especially
with the growth of crops and fruits. Thus it is widely believed that the
fruit known as the white zapote (_Sapota achras_, in Maya, _choch_) will
not ripen of itself. One must tap it lightly several times as it
approaches maturity, repeating the formula:
_Hoken, chechè; ocen, takan_:
Depart, greenness: enter, ripeness.
The owl is looked upon as an uncanny bird, presaging death or disease,
if it alights on or even flies over a house. Another bird, the _cox_, a
species of pheasant, is said to predict the approach of high northerly
winds, when it calls loudly and frequently in the woods; though this,
according to one writer, is not so much a superstition as an observation
of nature, and is usually correct.
A singular ceremony is at times performed to prevent the death of those
who are sick. The dread being who in mediæval symbolism was represented
by a skeleton, is known to the Mayas as _Yum Cimil_, Lord of Death. He
is supposed to lurk around a house where a person is ill, ready to enter
and carry off his life when opportunity offers. He is, however, willing
to accept something in lieu thereof, and to bring about this result the
natives perform the rite called _kex_, or “barter.” They hang jars and
nets containing food and drink on the trees around the house, repeating
certain invocations, and they believe that often the Lord of Death will
be satisfied with these, and thus allow the invalid to recover.
Those diviners to whom I have alluded are familiarly known as _Tat Ich_,
Daddy Face, and _Tata Polin_, Daddy Head, a reference, I suspect, to a
once familiar name of a chief divinity, _Kin ich_, the face (or eye) of
the day, _i. e._ the Sun.
A power universally ascribed to these magicians is that of transforming
themselves into beasts. Were it not for so many examples of delusions in
enlightened lands, it would be difficult to explain the unquestioning
belief which prevails on this subject throughout Central America. Father
Baeza relates that one of these old sorcerers declared in a dying
confession that he had repeatedly changed himself into various wild
beasts. The English priest, Thomas Gage, who had a cure in Guatemala
about 1630, tells with all seriousness a number of such instances. Even
in our own days the learned Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg is not entirely
satisfied that animal magnetism, ventriloquism, and such trickery, can
explain the mysteries of _nagualism_, as the Central American system of
the black arts is termed. He is not certain that we ought to exclude the
assistance of the invisible diabolic agencies![196]
The sacred books of the Quiches, a tribe living in Guatemala related to
the Mayas, ascribe this power to one of their most celebrated kings. As
an illustration the passage is worth quoting:
“Truly this Gucumatz became a wonderful king. Every seven days he
ascended to the sky, and every seven days he followed the path to the
abode of the dead; every seven days he put on the nature of a serpent
and he became truly a serpent; every seven days he put on the nature of
an eagle and again of a tiger, and he became truly an eagle and a tiger;
every seven days also he put on the nature of coagulated blood, and then
he was nothing else but coagulated blood.”[197]
Men and women alike might possess this magic power. This is shown in a
curious little native story heard by Dr. Berendt in the wilds of Yucatan
from a Maya woman, who told it to prove the value of _salt_ as a
counter-charm to the machinations of these mysterious beings. The doctor
wrote it down with scrupulous fidelity, and added a verbal translation.
As it has never been published, and as it is at once an interesting bit
of authentic folk-lore and a valuable example of the Maya language, I
give it here in the original tongue with a literal, interlinear
translation:—
A MAYA WITCH STORY.
Huntu hxib tsoocubel yetel huntul xchup; ma tu yoheltah uaix
A man married with a woman; not did he know (her) as
uay. Hunpe kin tu yalahti: “Huche capel mut tabb.” Tu
a witch. One day he said to her: “Mix two measures (of) salt.” She
huchah paibe, ca tu katah: “Baax tial tech?” Hunpel akab
mix’d (them) first, then she asked: “Why this (wishest) thou?” One night
pixaan hxibe ca tu yilah u hokol u yatan. Ca tu chaah u mazcabe
woke the man and he saw go out his wife. Then he took his axe
ca tu mucul thulbelah tu pach ti kax. Ca kuchioob ti chichan
and secretly followed behind (her) to the wood. When they arrived at a
little
chakan, yau u zazil uh, ca tu mucuba hxib tu booy nohoch
meadow, there being a bright moon, then hid himself the man in the shade
of a great
yaxche. Ca tu pucah u nok xchup tu pach, uaan xmabuc tu
seiba tree. Then threw her garments the woman behind (her), standing
naked in the
tan uh: ca tu sipah u yothel, ca culhi chembac. Ca
face of the moon: then she stripped off her skin, and remained mere
bones. Then
naci ti caan. Ca emi tucaten, ca tu yalahi: “Zazaba
she rose to the sky. When she came down again, then she said to him:
“Wouldst thou
xtac caan?” Hemac ma uchuc u nacal tucaten, tumen tu thootal
reach to the sky?” But not could she ascend again, because of the
throwing
taab.
(of) salt.
To the Maya, the woods, the air, and the darkness are filled with
mysterious beings who are ever ready to do him injury or service, but
generally injury, as the greater number of these creations of his fancy
are malevolent sprites.
Of those which are well disposed, the most familiar are the _Balams_
(Maya, _Hbalamob_, masculine plural form of _balam_). This word is the
common name of the American tiger, and as a title of distinction was
applied to a class of priests and to kings. The modern notions of the
Balams are revealed to us by the Licentiate Zetina of Tihosuco, in his
manuscripts to which I have previously referred.
He tells us that these beings are supposed to be certain very ancient
men who take charge of and guard the towns. One stands north of the
town, a second south, a third east, and the fourth to the west. They are
usually not visible during the day, and if one does see them it is a
sign of approaching illness, which suggests that it is the disordered
vision of some impending tropical fever which may occasionally lead to
the belief in their apparition.
At night the Balams are awake and vigilant, and prevent many an accident
from befalling the village, such as violent rains, tornadoes, and
pestilential diseases. They summon each other by a loud, shrill whistle;
and, though without wings, they fly through the air with the swiftness
of a bird. Occasionally they have desperate conflicts with the evil
powers who would assail the town. The signs of these nocturnal struggles
are seen the next day in trees broken down and uprooted, the ground torn
up, and large stones split and thrown around.
Another of their duties is to protect the corn-fields or _milpas_. It
seems probable, from comparing the authorities before me, that the
Balams in this capacity are identical with the _Pa ahtuns_, whom I have
referred to above, and that both are lineal descendants of those
agricultural deities of the ancient Mayas, the _Chac_ or _Bacab_, which
are described by Bishop Landa and others. No Indian on the peninsula
neglects to propitiate the Balam with a suitable offering at the time of
corn-planting. Were he so negligent as to forget it, the crop would
wither for lack of rain or otherwise be ruined.
An instance of this is told by Señor Zetina. An Indian near Tihosuco had
paid no attention to the usual offering, perhaps being infected with
evil modern skeptical views. His crop grew fairly; and as the ears were
about ripening he visited his field to examine them. As he approached he
saw with some dismay a tall man among the stalks with a large basket
over his shoulders, in which he threw the ripening ears as fast as he
could pluck them. The Indian saluted him hesitatingly. The stranger
replied, “I am here gathering in that which I sent.” Resting from his
work, he drew from his pocket an immense cigar, and, taking out a flint
and steel, began to strike a light. But the sparks he struck were
flashes of lightning, and the sound of his blows was terrible
thunderclaps which shook the very earth. The poor Indian fell to the
ground unconscious with fright; and when he came to himself a hail-storm
had destroyed his corn, and as soon as he reached home he himself was
seized with a fever which nigh cost him his life.
The Balams are great smokers, and it is a general belief among the
Indians that the shooting stars are nothing else than the stumps of the
huge cigars thrown down the sky by these giant beings.
Sometimes they carry off children for purposes of their own. When Dr.
Berendt was exploring the east coast of Yucatan he was told of such an
occurrence on the Island of San Pedro, north of Belize. A little boy of
four years wandered to some cacao bushes not more than fifty yards from
the house, and there all trace of him was lost. There was no sign of
wolf or tiger, no footprint of kidnapper. They sought him the whole day
in vain, and then gave up the search, for they knew what had
happened—the Balam had taken him!
The Balams have also the reputation of inculcating a respect for the
proprieties of life. Zetina tells this story which he heard among his
native friends: One day an Indian and his wife went to their corn-patch
to gather ears. The man left the field to get some water, and his wife
threw off the gown she wore lest it should be torn, and was naked.
Suddenly she heard some one call to her in a loud voice, _Pixe avito,
xnoh cizin_, which Zetina translates literally into Spanish, _Tapa ta
culo, gran diablo!_ At the same time she received two smart blows with a
cane. She turned and beheld a tall man with a long beard, and a gown
which reached to his feet. This was the Balam. He gave her two more
smart blows on the part of the person to which he had referred, and then
disappeared; but the marks of the four blows remained as long as she
lived.
It is vain to attempt to persuade the Indian that such notions are false
and cannot be facts. He will not try to reason with you. He contents
himself with a patient gesture and the despairing exclamation, _Bix ma
hahal?_ “How can it be otherwise than true?” (_Bix_, how, _ma_, not,
_hahal_, true.)
These Balams are in fact the gods of the cardinal points and of the
winds and rains which proceed from them, and are thus a survival of some
of the central figures of the ancient mythology. The wind still holds
its pre-eminence as a supernatural occurrence in the native mind. One
day Dr. Berendt was traveling with some natives through the forests when
the sound of a tropical tornado was heard approaching with its
formidable roar through the trees. In awe-struck accents one of his
guides said, “_He catal nohoch yikal nohoch tat_: Here comes the mighty
wind of the Great Father.” But it is only in an unguarded moment that in
the presence of a white man the Indian betrays his beliefs, and no
questioning could elicit further information. A hint is supplied by
Señor Zetina. He mentions that the whistling of the wind is called, or
attributed to, _tat acmo_, words which mean Father Strong-bird. This
suggests many analogies from the mythologies of other races; for the
notion of the primeval bird, at once lord of the winds and father of the
race, is found in numerous American tribes, and is distinctly contained
in the metaphors of the first chapter of Genesis.
The _balam_, as I have said, is esteemed a kindly and protective being;
he is affectionately referred to as _yum balam_, Father Balam. He is
said to have a human form, that of an old man with a long beard and
ample flowing robes. But there are other gigantic spectres of terrible
aspect and truculent humor. One of these is so tall that a man cannot
reach his knees. He stalks into the towns at midnight, and planting his
feet like a huge Colossus, one on each side of the roadway, he seizes
some incautious passer-by and breaks his legs with his teeth, or
conquers him with a sudden faintness. The name of this terror of late
walkers is Giant Grab, _Ua ua pach_.
Another is the _Che Vinic_, the Man of the Woods, called by the Spanish
population the Salonge. He is a huge fellow without bones or joints. For
that reason if he lies down he cannot rise without extreme difficulty;
hence he sleeps leaning against a tree. His feet are reversed, the heels
in front, the toes behind. He is larger and stronger than a bull, and
his color is red. In his long arms he carries a stick the size of a
tree-trunk. He is on the watch for those who stray through the woods,
and, if he can, will seize and devour them. But a ready-witted man has
always a means of escape. All he has to do is to pluck a green branch
from a tree, and waving it before him, begin a lively dance. This
invariably throws the Wood Man into convulsions of mirth. He laughs and
laughs until he falls to the ground, and once down, having no joints, he
cannot rise, and the hunter can proceed leisurely on his journey. It is
singular, says Dr. Berendt, how widely distributed is the belief in this
strange fancy. It recurs in precisely the same form in Yucatan, in
Peten, in Tabasco, around Palenque, etc.
Another ugly customer is the _Culcalkin_. This word means “the priest
without a neck,” and the hobgoblin so named is described as a being with
head cut off even with the shoulders, who wanders around the villages at
night, frightening men and children.
In contrast to the giants are the dwarfs and imps which are ready in
their malicious ways to sour the pleasures of life. The most common of
these are the _h’lox_, or more fully, _h’loxkatob_, which means “the
strong clay images.”[198] They are, indeed, believed to be the actual
idols and figures in clay which are found about the old temples and
tombs, and hence an Indian breaks these in pieces whenever he finds
them, to the great detriment of archæological research. They only appear
after sunset, and then in the shape of a child of three or four years,
or sometimes not over a span in height, naked except wearing a large
hat. They are swift of foot, and can run backwards as fast as forwards.
Among other pranks, they throw stones at the dogs and cause them to
howl. Their touch produces sickness, especially chills and fever. It is
best, therefore, not to attempt to catch them.
Of similar malevolent disposition is the _Chan Pal_, Little Boy, who
lurks in the woods and is alleged to bring the small-pox into the
villages.
Others are merely teasing in character, and not positively harmful. Thus
there is the _X bolon thoroch_ who lives in the house with the family,
and repeats at night the various sounds of domestic labor which have
been made during the day. The word _thoroch_ is applied to the sound
caused by the native spindle revolving in its shaft; _bolon_ is “nine,”
a number used to express the superlative degree in certain phrases;
while the initial _X_ shows that the imp is of the feminine gender. The
name therefore signifies “the female imp who magnifies the sound of the
spindle.” Other such household imps are the _Bokol h’otoch_,
Stir-the-House, who creeps under the floors and makes a noise like
beating a cake to scare the inmates; the _Yancopek_, Pitcher-Imp, who
crawls into jars and jugs; and the _Way cot_, Witch-bird, who lurks on
or behind walls and drops stones on passers by.
The female sex is further represented in the Maya folk-lore by a
personage who has a curious similarity to legendary ladies of the old
world, sirens, mermaids, the Lorelei, and others. She is called _X
tabai_, the (female) Deceiver. Her home is under shady bowers in the
forests, and there the ardent hunter suddenly espies her, clothed, and
combing with a large comb (_x ache_) her long and beautiful hair. As he
approaches she turns and flees, but not with discouraging haste, rather
in such a manner and with such backward glances as to invite pursuit. He
soon overtakes her, but just as he clasps her beauteous form in his
strong embrace, her body changes into a thorny bush, and her feet become
claws like those of a wild fowl. Tom and bleeding he turns sadly
homeward, and soon succumbs to an attack of fever with delirium.
Another very similar creature is _X Thoh Chaltun_, Miss
Pound-the-Stones. She slily waits around the villages, and when she sees
some attractive youth she awakes his attention by tapping on the stones,
or in default of these on an empty jar which she carries for the
purpose. Does the foolish youth respond to the seductive invitation, she
coyly moves to the woods, where the amorous pursuer meets like
disappointment and a similar sad fate as the victim of the _X tabai_.
As may be supposed, many superstitions cling around the animal world.
Each species of brute has its king, who rules and protects it. Even the
timid native hare may thus assert its rights. An Indian told Dr. Berendt
that once upon a time a hunter with two dogs followed a hare into a
cave. There he found a large hole, leading under the earth. He
descended, and came to the town of the hares. They seized him and his
dogs, and brought him before the king, and it was no easy matter for him
to get off by dint of protests and promises.
There are also tales of the Straw Bird or Phantom Bird. The hunter
unexpectedly sees a handsome bird on a branch before him. He fires and
misses. He repeats his shot in vain. After a while it falls of itself,
and proves to be nothing but a colored feather. Then he knows that he
has been fooled by the _Zohol chich_.
An object of much dread is the Black Tail, _Ekoneil_, an imaginary snake
with a black, broad, and forked tail. He glides into houses at night
where a nursing mother is asleep; and, covering her nostrils with his
tail, sucks the milk from her breasts.
These are probably but a small portion of the superstitions of the
modern Mayas. They are too reticent to speak of these subjects other
than by accident to the white man. He is quite certain either to
ridicule or to reprove such confidences. But what is above collected is
a moderately complete, and certainly, as far as it goes, an accurate
notion of their folk-lore.
FOLK-LORE OF THE MODERN LENAPE.[199]
In August 1886, and September 1887, I had many conversations with the
Rev. Albert Seqaqknind Anthony, an educated Delaware Indian, then
assistant missionary to the Six Nations, in Ontario, Canada. Our
immediate business was the revision of the “Lenâpé-English Dictionary,”
which has since been published by the Historical Society of
Pennsylvania; but in the intervals of that rather arduous and dry labor,
we sought recreation in broader subjects of thought, and our discourse
often fell on the ancient traditions, folk-lore, and customs of the
Lenâpé, now fast disappearing.
Mr. Anthony was on his father’s side a Delaware, or Lenâpé, of the Minsi
tribe, while his grandmother was a Shawnee. He himself was born on the
Ontario Reservation, and up to his thirteenth year spoke nothing but
pure Lenâpé. His memory carries him back to the fourth decade of this
century.
One of his earliest reminiscences was of the last surviving emigrant
from the native home of his ancestors in Eastern Pennsylvania—a
venerable squaw (_ochquèu_, woman, hen), supposed to be a hundred years
old. At the time her parents left the mountains between the Lehigh and
Susquehanna rivers, she was “old enough to carry a pack”—twelve years,
probably. This must have been about 1760, as after the French War (1755)
the natives rapidly deserted that region.
I was surprised to find how correctly the old men of the tribe had
preserved and handed down reminiscences of their former homes along the
Delaware River. The flat marshy “Neck,” south of Philadelphia, between
the Delaware and Schuylkill rivers, was pointed out to me by Mr. Anthony
(who had never seen it before) as the spot where the tribe preferred to
gather the rushes with which they manufactured rugs and mats. He
recognized various trees, not seen in Canada, by the descriptions he had
heard of them.
Such narratives formed the themes of many a long tale by the winter fire
in the olden time. Like most Indians, the Lenâpé are, or rather
were—for, alas! the good old customs are nearly all gone—inexhaustible
_raconteurs_. They had not only semi-historic traditions, but numberless
fanciful tales of spirits and sprites, giants and dwarfs, with their
kith and kin. Such tales were called _tomoacan_, which means “tales for
leisure hours.” They relate the deeds of potent necromancers, and their
power over the _machtanha_, “those who are bewitched.”
It greatly interested me to learn that several of these tales referred
distinctly to the culture-hero of the tribe, that ancient man who taught
them the arts of life, and on his disappearance—these heroes do not
die—promised to return at some future day, and restore his favorite
people to power and happiness. This Messianic hope was often the central
idea in American native religions, as witness the worship of
Quetzalcoatl in Mexico, of Kukulcan in Yucatan, of Viracocha in Peru.
Mr. Anthony assured me that it was perfectly familiar to the old
Delawares, and added that in his opinion their very name, _Lenâpé_,
conveys an esoteric meaning, to wit, “the man comes,” with reference to
the second advent of their culture-hero.[200] This is singular
confirmation of the fragmentary myths collected by the Swedish engineer
Lindstrom in 1650, and by the Moravian Bishop Ettwein about a century
later. These I have collected in “The Lenâpé and their Legends”
(Philadelphia, 1885), and have discussed the general subject at such
length in my “American Hero-Myths” (Philadelphia, 1882) that the reader
will probably be satisfied to escape further expansion of it here.
Only in traditions does the “Stone Age” survive among the Delawares. In
Mr. Anthony’s youth, the bow-and-arrow was still occasionally in use for
hunting; but he had never seen employed arrow-points of stone. They were
either of deer’s horns or of sharpened bones. The name for the compound
instrument “bow-and-arrow” is _manhtaht_, the first _a_ being nasal; and
from this word, Mr. Anthony states, is derived the name _Manhattan_,
properly _manahah tank_, “the place where they gather the wood to make
bows.” The bow-string is _tschipan_: the arrow, _allunth_. The generic
name for stone weapon is still familiar, _achsinhican_, and the word
from which we derive “tomahawk,” _t’mahican_, is strictly applied to a
stone hatchet. War-clubs were of several varieties, called _apech'lit_
and _mehitíqueth_, which were different from an ordinary stick or cane,
_alauwan_. Though the war-whoop is heard no more, its name remains,
_kowa'mo_, and tradition still recalls their ancient contests with the
Iroquois, their cruel and hated enemies, to whom they applied the
opprobrious epithet _mengwe_ (that is, _glans penis_).
Hunting is scarcely worth the name any longer on the Canadian
reservations. The debated question as to whether the Lenâpé knew the
buffalo attracted me. Mr. Anthony assured me that they did. It was
called _sisiliti_, which he explained as “the animal that drops its
excrement when in motion,” walking or running; though he added that
another possible derivation is from _siselamen_, to butt against, from
which comes _sisejahen_, to break in pieces by butting.
In former times a favorite method of hunting in the autumn was for a
large number of hunters to form a line and drive the game before them.
This was called _p’mochlapen_. This answered well for deer, but now
little is left save the muskrat, _chuaskquis_, the ground-hog,
_monachgen_, the white rabbit, _wapachtques_, the weasel,
_mani'tohumisch_, and the little chipmunk, _pochqwapiith_ (literally,
“he sits upright on something”). For such small game, it is scarcely
worth while running the risk of the bite of the blow-adder,
_pethbotalwe_, and the much-feared “bloody-mouthed lizard,” _mokdomus_;
though I suspect both are more terrible in tale than in fact.
In fishing, they appear to have known not only the brush-net and the
spear, but the hook-and-line as well. The line, _wendamakan_, was
twisted from the strands of the wild hemp, _achhallap_, or of the
milk-weed, _pichtokenna_; and the hook was armed with a bait,
_awauchkon_, which might be _wecheeso_, the ground-worm, literally, “he
who extends and retracts himself,” or the _waukchelachees_, grasshopper,
literally, “one that hops.” This corresponds with what the old Swedish
traveler, Peter Kalm, relates in the first half of the last century. He
describes the native hooks as made of bone or of the spur of a fowl.
They still gather for food the _ptukquim_, walnut, literally, “round
nut;” the _quinokquim_, butternut, literally, “oblong nut;” and various
berries, as the _lechlochhilleth_, the red raspberry, literally, “the
berry that falls to pieces.”
Among utensils of ancient date and aboriginal invention seem to have
been wooden dishes or bowls, _wollakanes_, made from the elm-tree,
_wollakanahungi_; wooden mortars, in which corn was pounded,
_taquachhakan_; and _peyind_, cups with handles. The art of pottery,
which they once possessed, has been entirely lost.
Although now resident inland, they remember the manufacture and use of
canoes, _amochol_. Some were of birch bark, _wiqua_, and were called
_wiqua-amochol_; others were dugouts, for which they preferred the
American sycamore, distinctively named canoe-wood, _amochol-he_.
The ordinary word for house is still _wikwam_, wigwam, while a brush-hut
is called _pimoakan_. I was particular to inquire if, as far as now
known, the Lenâpé ever occupied communal houses, as did the Iroquois.
Mr. Anthony assured me that this was never the custom of his nation, so
far as any recollection or tradition goes. Every family had its own
lodge. I called his attention to the discovery in ancient village sites
in New Jersey of two or three fire-places in a row, and too close to
belong to different lodges. This has been adduced by Dr. C. C. Abbott as
evidence of communal dwellings. He replied that these were the sites of
the village council-houses; he himself could remember some with two or
three fires; but their only permanent occupants were the head chief with
his wives and children.
Though most of the national games are no longer known to the rising
generation, in my informant’s boyhood they still figured conspicuously
by the native firesides, where now “progressive euchre” and the like
hold sway. One such was _qua'quallis_. In this a hollow bone is attached
by a string to a pointed stick. The stick is held the hand, and the bone
is thrown up by a rapid movement, and the game is to catch the bone,
while in motion, on the pointed end of the stick. It was a gambling
game, often played by adults.
A very popular sport was with a hoop, _tautmusq_, and spear or arrow,
_allunth_. The players arranged themselves in two parallel lines, some
forty feet apart, each one armed with a reed spear. A hoop was then
rolled rapidly at an equal distance between the lines. Each player
hurled his spear at it, the object being to stop the hoop by casting the
spear within its rim. When stopped, the shaft must lie within the hoop,
or the shot did not count.
A third game, occasionally seen, is _maumun'di_. This is played with
twelve flat bones, usually those of a deer, and a bowl of wood,
constructed for the purpose. One side of each bone is white; the other,
colored. They are placed in the bowl, thrown into the air, and caught as
they descend. Those with the white side uppermost are the winning
pieces. Bets usually accompany this game, and it had, in the old days, a
place in the native religious rites; probably as a means of telling
fortunes.
The Delawares on the Ontario Reservation have long since been converted
to Christianity, and there is little trace left of their former pagan
practices. If they remain anywhere, it is in their medical rites. I
inquired particularly if there are any remnants of the curious adoration
of the sacred twelve stones, described by Zeisberger a century and a
quarter ago. I found that the custom of the “sweat-lodge,” a small hut
built for taking sweat-baths, still prevails. The steam is generated by
pouring water on hot stones. This is done by the “medicine-man,” who is
known as _quechksa'pict_. He brings in one stone after another, and
pours water upon it until it ceases “to sing;” and invariably he uses
precisely _twelve_ stones.
Probably some of the more benighted still seek to insure the success of
their crops by offering food to the _m’sink_. This is a false face, or
mask, rudely cut from wood to represent the human visage, with a large
mouth. The victuals are pushed into the mouth, and the genius is
supposed to be thus fed.
Our word _cantico_, applied to a jollification, and by some
etymologists, naturally enough, traced to the Latin _cantare_, in
reality is derived from the Lenâpé _gentkehn_, to sing and dance at the
same time. This was their most usual religious ceremony, and to this day
_gendtoma_ means “to begin religious services,” either Christian or
heathen; and _gendtowen_ signifies “to be a worshipper.” These dances
were often connected with sacred feasts, toward which each participant
contributed a portion of food. To express such a communal religious
banquet they used the term _w’chindin_, and for inviting to one,
_wingindin_; and they were clearly distinguished from an ordinary meal
in common, an eating together, _tachquipuin_ or _tachquipoagan_.
My informant fully believes that there is yet much medical knowledge
held secretly by the old men and women. He has known persons bitten by
the rattlesnake who were promptly and painlessly cured by a specific
known to these native practitioners. It is from the vegetable _materia
medica_, and is taken internally. They also have some surgical skill. It
was interesting to learn that an operation similar to _trephining_ has
been practiced among the Lenâpé time out of mind for severe headaches.
The scalp on or near the vertex is laid open by a crucial incision, and
the bone is scraped. This perhaps explains those trepanned skulls which
have been disinterred in Peru and other parts of America.
The national legends have mostly faded out, but the Lenâpé perfectly
remember that they are the “grandfather” of all the Algonkin tribes, and
the fact is still recognized by the Chipeways and some others, whose
orators employ the term _numoh'homus_, “my grandfather,” in their formal
addresses to the Lenâpé. The old men still relate with pride that, in
the good old times, before any white man had landed on their shores,
“the Lenâpé had a string of white wampum beads, _wapakeekq’_, which
stretched from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and on this white road their
envoys travelled from one great ocean to the other, safe from attack.”
There are still a few among them who pretend to some knowledge of the
art of reading the wampum belts. The beads themselves are called
_keekq’_; a belt handed forth at a treaty is _nochkunduwoagan_,
literally, “an answering;” and after the treaty has been ratified the
belt is called _aptunwoagan_, the covenant.
The tribal and totemic divisions are barely remembered, and the ancient
prohibitions about endogamous marriage have fallen completely into
desuetude. Mr. Anthony’s term for totem, or sub-tribe, is _w’aloch'ke_;
as, _tulpenaloch'ke_, the Turtle totem. The name _Minsi_, he believes,
is an abbreviation of _minachsinink_, the place of broken stones,
referring to the mountains north of the Lehigh river, where his
ancestors had their homes. The _Wonalacht'go_ of the early historians he
identifies with the Nanticokes, and translates it “people following the
waves;” that is, living near the ocean.
The chieftaincy of the tribe is still, in theory, hereditary in one
family, and in the female line. The ordinary term _sakima_, sachem, is
not in use among the Minsi, who call their chief _kikay_, or
_kitschikikay_ (_kitschi_, great; _kikay_, old, or old man: the
_elderman_, or alderman, of the Saxons).
Some peculiarities of the language deserve to be noted.
The German alphabet, employed by the Moravians to reduce it to writing,
answered so well that the Moravian missionary, Rev. Mr. Hartmann, at
present in charge of the New Fairfield Reservation, Ontario, who does
not understand a word of Delaware, told me he had read the books printed
in the native tongue to his congregation, and they understood him
perfectly. But I soon detected two or three sounds which had escaped
Zeisberger and his followers. There is a soft _th_ which the German ear
could not catch, and a _kth_ which was equally difficult, both of
frequent occurrence. There is also a slight breathing between the
possessives _n’_, my, _k’_, thy, _w’_, his, and the names of the things
possessed, which the missionaries sometimes disregarded, and sometimes
wrote as a full vowel. But after a little practice I had rarely any
difficulty in pronouncing the words in an intelligible manner. This I
was obliged to do with the whole dictionary, for although Mr. Anthony
speaks his language with perfect ease, he does not read or write it, and
has no acquaintance with German or its alphabet.
On one point I cross-examined him carefully. It is well-known to
linguists that in Algonkin grammar the verb undergoes a vowel change of
a peculiar character, which usually throws the sentence into an
indefinite or dubitative form. This is a very marked trait, recognized
early by the missionary Eliot and others, and the omission of all
reference to it by Zeisberger in his Grammar of the Lenâpé has been
commented on as a serious oversight. Well, after all my questions, and
after explaining the point fully to Mr. Anthony, he insisted that no
such change takes place in Delaware verbs. I read to him the forms in
Zeisberger’s Grammar which are supposed to indicate it, but he explained
them all by other reasons, mere irregularities or erroneous expressions.
The intricacies of the Lenâpé verb have never yet been solved, and it is
now doubtful if they ever will be, for the language is fast changing and
disappearing, at least in both reservations in Canada, and also among
the representatives of the tribe at their settlement in Kansas. It is
not now, and Mr. Anthony assured me that, so far as he knew, it never
was, a custom for parents to correct their children in speaking the
language. Probably this is true of most uncivilized tribes. The children
of such learn their exceedingly complicated languages with a facility
and accuracy which is surprising to the cultivated mind. I can say from
experience, that no child learns to speak pure English without incessant
correction from parents and teachers.
The general result of my conversations with Mr. Anthony on the grammar
of his language led me to estimate at a lower value the knowledge of it
displayed in the works of Zeisberger, Ettwein, and Heckewelder. The
first and last named no doubt spoke it fluently in some fashion; but
they had not the power to analyze it, nor to detect its finer shades of
meaning, nor to appreciate many refinements in its word-building, nor to
catch many of its semi-notes.
To give an example:—
Heckewelder gave Duponceau a compound which has often been quoted as a
striking instance of verbal synthesis. It is _kuligatschis_, and is
analyzed by Duponceau thus: _k_, possessive pronoun, second person
singular; _uli_, abbreviation of _wulit_, pretty; _gat_, last syllable
of _wichgat_, foot or paw; _chis_, diminutive termination; in all, “thy
pretty little paw.” Now, there is no such word in Lenâpé as _wichgat_.
“His foot” is _w’uchsüt_, where the initial _w_ is the possessive, and
does not belong in the word for foot. But in all likelihood this was not
in the compound heard by Heckewelder. What he heard was
_k’wulinachkgis_, from, _k_, possessive; _wulit_, pretty; _nachk_, hand,
or paw of an animal; _gis_, diminutive termination. He lost the peculiar
whistled _w_ and the nasalized _n_, sounds unknown to Germans.
Duponceau’s statement that _gat_ is the last syllable of the word for
foot is totally erroneous. I am convinced that much of the excessive
synthesis, so called, in the Lenâpé arises from a lack of appreciation
on the part of the whites of delicate phonetic elements. If I had heard
many more of Mr. Anthony’s analyses of compounds, I believe I should
have reached the conclusion that synthesis in Lenâpé means little beyond
juxtaposition with euphonic elision.