Limitations of speech--Differences of
dialect--Language-groups--Tribal names--Difficulties of
languages--Method of transliteration--Need of a common
medium--Ventral ejaculations--Construction--Pronouns as
suffix or prefix--Negatives--Gesture language--Numbers and
reckoning--Indefinite measure--Time--No writing, signs, nor
personal marks--Tribal calls--Drum-language code--Conversational
repetitions--Noisy talkers--Ventriloquists--Falsetto
voice--Conversational etiquette.
In speech, as in everything else, the forest Indian is confined within
the narrow limits of his immediate surroundings. Unlike the nomadic
Indian of the plains, he passes his entire existence in an area little
larger than an English parish. He has almost no commercial dealings with
his neighbours. The only fresh blood that penetrates his tribe is brought
in by the immature children taken prisoners in war. Like the landscape
his imagination owns no perspective, no horizon. In the Amazonian bush
an Indian may live and die without ever having gazed upon a terrestrial
object at the distance of a mile. His mode of life, a community within a
single house, under a single roof, makes of household words a dialect,
and with the passing of a generation makes that dialect a language.
In a society where each tribe is complete in itself and at deadly enmity
with all its neighbours, and where writing is unknown, language must
naturally undergo very rapid, very definite change. Moreover Indians will
not voluntarily speak the language of other Indians. Thus the Amazonian
natives use no common tongue, and there is little in the vocabularies so
far collected to explain either the origin or the relationship of the
existing dialects. Tribes divided by the breadth of a narrow river speak
languages that are mutually unintelligible. On the other hand, tribes
distant some hundreds of miles from each other possess a language with a
common root, which is fundamentally different from those in use among all
the intervening peoples.
So far as I could classify them, the language-groups of this district
fall under thirteen headings. By group I comprehend all tribes speaking
a language with common roots, though the dialects may vary considerably.
These groups, and the approximate number of Indians in each, are as
follows:
Witoto 15,000
Yuri unknown
Yahua} Yahua unknown
Pegua}
Andoke 10,000
Boro or Miranha 15,000
Muenane 2,000
Nonuya 1,000
Resigero 1,000
Okaina or Dukaiya 2,000
Karahone }
Umaua } Karahone 25,000
Saha }
Tukana }
Yahuna }
Makuna } unknown
Opaina }
Bara }
Kuretu }
Menimehe } 15,000
Akaroa }
According to Koch-Grünberg all the tribes on the Tikie speak the Tukano
language, and as a result of segmentation the Airi and Tihio speak the
Dessana language.
Occasionally tribes, though speaking an entirely diverse tongue, and
members of a distinctly different language-group, have some comprehension
of the tongue spoken by a neighbouring language-group. For instance,
the Muenane can understand Witoto, but they have no knowledge of Boro,
probably because they come more in contact with the former people.
The Menimehe know some words of Tupi, or lingoa-geral, which is
extraordinary, even though their acquaintance with it is very slight.
The tribal names in ordinary use are, as has been said, bestowed by
neighbouring tribes, and are merely nicknames. It follows that the name
by which a tribe becomes known to a traveller is the name in use among
the tribes in the districts through which he passes, so that a visitor
from the north probably knows of a tribe by a different extra-tribal
name from that known to a new-comer from the south. The difficulties
of identification caused by this have already been commented on in an
earlier chapter, it is only necessary to refer to them here in so far as
the same difficulties beset any attempt to learn the local dialects.
Of the thirteen languages tabulated above, one of the most difficult, and
the most guttural, is the tongue spoken by the Resigero group of tribes.
Nonuya, also guttural, is perhaps equally difficult, whilst Andoke is
possibly the worst, as it is almost ventral. Okaina, though presenting
many difficulties, is easier to acquire than the first-named three, and
may be characterised as nasal, while Boro and Witoto are neither nasal
nor ventral nor impossibly guttural. Muenane is somewhat akin to Boro,
but is richer in words. Menimehe approximates more to the speech of the
Uaupes River Indians, and it again is nasal.
The endeavour to reproduce the guttural expressions of the Indian in
Roman letters is rendered the more complex by the uncertainty of his
utterance and the aural variations of his European interpreters. The same
word phonetically transcribed by an Englishman, a German, a Frenchman,
and a Spaniard bears little or no resemblance to a common inspiration.
Each European observer conveys to his written word the error of his
national idiosyncrasy of impression and pronunciation.
The difficulty of a phonetic rendition of a foreign language into
English has long been apparent, and is one shared--though in a lesser
degree--by all Continental linguists. To meet this difficulty the Germans
have devised a system almost Chinese in its intricacy, while the French
seek to reproduce such simple sounds as that of our English “W” by
combinations of diphthongs. Many of these elaborate phoneticisms have
been adopted by English writers without consideration of the lingual
limitations of their inventors, or of the confusion induced in the mind
of the student.
To simplify transliteration, though at the sacrifice of the finer
distinctions of the language, the orthographic system of the Royal
Geographical Society has been used in this work,[402] and the explanation
of the system given in the appendix with the Witoto and Boro vocabularies
is taken from the rules laid down by that Society and adopted by the
Royal Anthropological Institute.[403] This system ordains that an
approximation to the sound should be aimed at only, as any system which
attempted to represent the more delicate inflexions of sound and of
accent would be so complicated that it would merely defeat itself.
I attempted to make a vocabulary of Andoke words, but the language is,
as I have noted, so guttural, not to say ventral, that it renders all
attempts impossible without some medium to work upon at the start, such
as I had with Boro and Witoto. In these two cases Brown’s knowledge of
the latter, and even his very slight acquaintance with the first, were of
great use to me as a basis upon which to work.
As an example of the difficulty to be faced without some common medium,
I have asked a native, “What is this?” and touched my head or a stick,
but could find no clue to whether his answer referred to the thing
touched or my action in touching it. Only a long and tedious study can
overcome conundrums of this description, and when to these is added the
impossibility of conveying accurately by written signs the sound as
uttered, the attempt proved beyond my powers and resources.
Mention has been made by one writer of the “‘cluck’ of
satisfaction--common to all the tribes of the Provincia Oriental.”[404]
I consider the sound emitted by the Issa-Japura peoples as a sign of
assent or pleasure is more ventral than that described by Simson. It
is approximately _Hurrr!_ like a grunted sigh of satisfaction. The
exclamation of surprise amongst all these peoples is very similar and
may be written _Huh!_ This sound, lengthened considerably, is the
Witoto affirmative _Huhhh_. _Huh!_ _huh!_ _huhh!_ as affirmatives are
very freely used in conversation. The more an Indian agrees with the
speaker the more ventral do his ejaculations become. The negative will
not be used except in direct answer to a question, for it is contrary
to Indian custom and etiquette to interrupt or contradict. The absence
of the affirmative _Huh!_ is practically a contradiction, on the ground
of doing nothing being itself negative. A similar idea is seen in the
tobacco palaver, where the dissentient signifies his disapproval by
abstaining from licking tobacco. Should an Indian, however, wish to give
an affirmative answer to a negative question, he will then make use of
the negative No, for to answer Yes in Indian parlance would be to confirm
the negative.
This brings us to the question of construction, and it is at once
apparent that in Witoto, for example, the construction of a sentence
tallies more with the construction of the deaf and dumb mute’s gesture
language than with anything else, that is to say it is the very
antithesis of the Chinese, or of our own. It may be said of the Indian,
as Tylor wrote of the deaf and dumb mute, that he “strings together … the
various ideas he wishes to connect, in what appears to be the natural
order in which they follow one another in his mind.”[405] For instance
the Witoto say, _Benomo honne_, literally “here put it”; _benomo ekkono_,
“here open it you”; _eijo rie dotoenyino_, “much fruit put in it not do
you”--“do not put much fruit into it.”
It will be noted that the personal pronoun here has become the suffix
of the verb. This is the general rule, as in _dinitikwe_, “I shall
carry it”; _a chimitekwe_, “I am going to see”; _ona dueruetckwe_, “I
want you.” But this rule is not invariable, as we find _kwe mona_,
“I am unable”; _ke hanyete_, “I do not understand,” with the pronoun
_kwe_ or _ke_ placed, as we should put the “I” before the verb; nor is
the variation caused by the negative, as “I do not want you” is _ona
dueruenetckwe_. In this instance the position of the personal pronoun
_kwe_ is probably determined by the objective _ona_, which structurally
must precede, otherwise the meaning of the phrase would be inverted and
become “You do not want me.” A pronoun is also used as a prefix to a noun
to denote possession, as _tano_, “cassava,” _ometano_, “your cassava.”
According to Koch-Grünberg the suffix _make_ indicates some other place,
or thing; it occurs in _baimake_, “other”; _naimake_ “them”; but I am not
aware that it acts as a definitely differentiating suffix in these or any
other case.
In Witoto _nyete_ as a suffix negatives what proceeds it, the literal
meaning of the word _inyete_--a compound of _ite_ = are--being the
equivalent of the French _il n’y en a pas_.[406] As examples of its
use we get _figora_, “good,” _figonyete_, “bad”; _huchite_, “twisted,”
_huchinyete_, “straight,” that is to say “not twisted.” The Boro negative
is _ne_, as for instance in _imine_, “good,” _nemine_, “bad,” _i.e._ “not
good.”
Repetition of a word literally doubles its meaning, as in the Witoto
_nana_, “all,” and the Boro _paa-paa_, “low-low,” that is to say,
“lower”; _kame-kame_, “high-high,” _i.e._ “higher.”
I have said that the principle of construction in both Boro and Witoto
is that of the mute’s gesture language, but gesture language actually is
almost unknown, non-existent, among all these tribes. The hand is pointed
to show direction, or to identify a person or object. The Indian beckons
with one hand, but its movement is downward, not upward as with us. There
is also a recognised sign to express desire for sexual intercourse. This
is a mere jest, a ribald suggestion, as with boys of a certain age among
our lower classes. The right elbow is grasped with the left hand, the
elbow being so flexed as to allow the hand to point upwards. It is, in
fact, the letter Z of the dumb alphabet.
Fingers and toes are used for reckoning, and are the more needed in that
the Indians’ knowledge of numbers is of the slightest. But few can
reckon beyond five, though I once found a senior wrangler who counted
seventeen, by the aid of all his fingers, all the toes of one foot, and
two of the other. The remaining three toes he covered over, to show
that they were not required for the total sum. If an Indian wished to
enumerate anything over ten he would place both hands to his head and
say, “Like the hairs of my head.”[407] In Boro I could only learn of four
numerals, _tiamie_, “one-half”; _tsanere_, or _tsape_, “one”; _mieke_,
“two”; _sause_, “five.” These in combination give _tsape-mieke_, “three”;
_mieke-mieke_, “four.” The Witoto numerals are _dahe_, “one”; _mena_,
“two”; _dahe-amene_--equivalent to the Boro _tsape-mieke_,--“three”;
_menahere_, “four”; _dapekwiro_, “five”--that is one hand; _nagapekwiro_,
“six.”
It makes absolutely no difference to the value whether you say
_tsape-mieke_ or _mieke-tsape_; _dahe-amene_ or _mena-dahe_.
For measures these tribes have nothing more definite than a handful,
a foot- or finger-length, and of weights they possess no knowledge
whatever, nor, so far as I am aware from their customs or their language,
is there any consciousness of more possible or desirably-accurate
definition.
To express a length of time other than the merely immediate past,
present, and future, the Indian makes use of what conveys to him an
indefinable idea, “As long as the hairs of my head.” This is similar
to his notion of expressing any large number. He reckons time by the
moon to the extent of saying, “When the moon is small,” or, pointing to
it, “As it is now,” but I never heard anything like “so many moons,”
or an equivalent value in a word. In fact, time to the Boro, so far as
I am aware, is distinguished by only _pekare_, “to-morrow,” _aiupe_,
“yesterday.” The Witoto will speak of _beiruito_, “to-day”; _wiremoni_,
“to-morrow”; _dawire_, “the day after to-morrow,” or _nawire_,
“yesterday”; _beinawire_, “the day before yesterday,” or _beinawife_,
“the night before last.”
There is, as I have already mentioned, no writing, not even the most
primitive picture-writing. The Indian makes use of no signs as aids
to memory; and the only recognised symbol that I met with--other than
such symbolic practices as the presentation of wood and thatch by the
bridegroom to his parents-in-law--was the tobacco folded in a strip of
palm leaf that is the regular invitation card of North-Western Amazonia
when festivities are toward. Neither individuals nor families have any
recognised name-marks--such as a peculiar notch or number of notches--to
distinguish personal property. It must be remembered that in the small
private habitations in the bush a man and his wife and children are
more or less isolated, and that in the great tribal house the family
community have most of their possessions in common. It is difficult with
so communal a people to know what may be looked upon as general property,
and what as individual, with the exception of personal ornaments.
Indians recognise their property only by differential qualities, certain
ornamentation, ways of binding or lashing, patterns in basketry,
colouring--and division of colours--on pottery; and these differences are
known and recognised by others, as well as by the actual owners.
Each tribe has its peculiar call or signal, which I believe is altered
occasionally as a precautionary measure. This may be a whistle, or the
imitation of the cry of bird or beast. Then there is the so-called
drum-language used in signalling, and already noted in a previous
chapter, which I certainly believe to be some sort of code. Brown’s
assertion that the sound of the word is made with the drum, and
the Indians’ description of making the words is, I take it, merely
the untaught intelligence striving to explain how an onomatopœic
language--such as Boro and Witoto to some extent certainly are--can be
further conventionalised to a scope even more circumscribed than the
ordinary monotone of the Indian’s speaking voice.
Not only is the Indian voice monotonous, but the conversation is rendered
yet duller by the invariable repetition of the last words of a sentence.
This is particularly the case with the Tuyuka, where conversation has
a definitely ceremonial form. For instance, if a man leaves a party to
bathe, he says, “I go to take a bath,” and the company present reply in
chorus, “You go to take a bath.” On his return the formula runs, “I have
taken a bath,” and the confirmative echo follows, “Yes, you have taken a
bath.” This endless repetition, as was noticed with regard to songs, is
characteristic of all Indians.
In quality their voices are strident and rasping, and are always raised
in conversation and grow higher with increased excitement. No Indian
speaks confidentially, he shouts; and unless something very sacred and
secret is under discussion the conversation in an Indian house can be
heard a mile away. In the forest the mass of vegetation above appears to
act as a sounding-board, and so to lengthen the distance that sound is
carried, not, as one might think, to stifle it. But independent of this
the Indians possess extraordinary power of throwing the voice, a sort
of ventral whisper; and all, to some extent, are ventriloquists. Even
semi-civilised Indians of Brazil, who have lost much of the cunning of
their brethren, the “Wild Indians” of the forest, have this power.
The Indian is as fond of speaking and singing in a high-pitched
voice interspersed with ventral grunts as a Chinese coolie, and this
predilection, as regards the falsetto voice, is greatest on the part of
the women, whose voices are always higher than the men’s.
When an Indian talks he sits down, no conversation is ever carried on
when the speakers are standing unless it be a serious difference of
opinion is under discussion; nor, when he speaks, does the Indian look at
the person addressed, any more than the latter watches the speaker. Both
look at some outside objects. This is the attitude also of the Indian
when addressing more than one listener, so that he appears to be talking
to some one not visibly present.