above the surface of the water, it then only remains to erect the walls
and cover them over with a roof. The former are made of the slightest
materials,—light saplings or bamboo poles,—usually left open at the
interstices. There is no winter or cold weather here,—why should the
walls be thick? There are heavy rains, however, at certain seasons of
the year, and these require to be guarded against; but this is not a
difficult matter, since the broad leaves of the “enea” and “vihai” (a
species of _Heliconia_) serve the purpose of a roof just as well as
tiles, slates, or shingles. Nature in these parts is bountiful, and
provides her human creatures with a spontaneous supply of every want.
Even ropes and cords she furnishes, for binding the beams, joists, and
rafters together, and holding on the thatch against the most furious
assaults of the wind. The numerous species of creeping and twining
plants (“llianas” or “sipos”) serve admirably for this purpose. They are
applied in their green state, and when contracted by exsiccation draw
the timbers as closely together as if held by spikes of iron. In this
manner and of such materials does the water Indian build his house.
Why he inhabits such a singular dwelling is a question that requires to
be answered. With the _terra firma_ close at hand, and equally
convenient for all purposes of his calling, why does he not build his
hut there? So much easier too of access would it be, for he could then
approach it either by land or by water; whereas, in its present
situation, he can neither go away from his house or get back to it
without the aid of his “periagua” (canoe). Moreover, by building on the
beach, or by the edge of the woods, he would spare himself the labor of
transporting those heavy piles and setting them in their places,—a work,
as already stated, of no ordinary magnitude. Is it for personal security
against human enemies,—for this sometimes drives a people to seek
singular situations for their homes? No; the Indian of Maracaibo has his
human foes, like all other people; but it is none of these that have
forced him to adopt this strange custom. Other enemies? wild beasts? the
dreaded jaguar, perhaps? No, nothing of this kind. And yet it is in
reality a living creature that drives him to this resource,—that has
forced him to flee from the mainland and take to the water for security
against its attack,—a creature of such small dimensions, and apparently
so contemptible in its strength, that you will no doubt smile at the
idea of its putting a strong man to flight,—a little insect exactly the
size of an English gnat, and no bigger, but so formidable by means of
its poisonous bite, and its myriads of numbers, as to render many parts
of the shores of Lake Maracaibo quite uninhabitable. You guess, no
doubt, the insect to which I allude? You cannot fail to recognize it as
the _mosquito_? Just so; it is the mosquito I mean, and in no part of
South America do these insects abound in greater numbers, and nowhere
are they more bloodthirsty than upon the borders of this great
fresh-water sea. Not only one species of mosquito, but all the varieties
known as “jejens,” “zancudos,” and “tempraneros,” here abound in
countless multitudes,—each kind making its appearance at a particular
hour of the day or night,—“mounting guard” (as the persecuted natives
say of them) in turn, and allowing only short intervals of respite from
their bitter attacks.
Now, it so happens, that although the various kinds of mosquitoes are
peculiarly the productions of a marshy or watery region,—and rarely
found where the soil is high and dry,—yet as rarely do they extend their
excursions to a distance from the land. They delight to dwell under the
shadow of leaves, or near the herbage of grass, plants, or trees, among
which they were hatched. They do not stray far from the shore, and only
when the breeze carries them do they fly out over the open water. Need I
say more? You have now the explanation why the Indians of Maracaibo
build their dwellings upon the water. It is simply to escape from the
“plaga de moscas” (the pest of the flies).
Like most other Indians of tropical America, and some even of colder
latitudes, those of Maracaibo go naked, wearing only the _guayuco_, or
“waist-belt.” Those of them, however, who have submitted to the
authority of the monks, have adopted a somewhat more modest
garb,—consisting of a small apron of cotton or palm-fibre, suspended
from the waist, and reaching down to their knees.
We have already stated, that the water-dwelling Indian is a fisherman,
and that the waters of the lake supply him with numerous kinds of fish
of excellent quality. An account of these, with the method employed in
capturing them, may not prove uninteresting.
First, there is the fish known as “liza,” a species of skate. It is of a
brilliant silvery hue, with bluish corruscations. It is a small fish,
being only about a foot in length, but is excellent to eat, and when
preserved by drying, forms an article of commerce with the West-Indian
islands. Along the coasts of Cumana and Magarita, there are many people
employed in the _pesca de liza_ (skate-fishery); but although the liza
is in reality a sea fish, it abounds in the fresh waters of Maracaibo,
and is there also an object of industrial pursuit. It is usually
captured by seines, made out of the fibres of the _cocui aloe_ (_agave
cocuiza_), or of cords obtained from the unexpanded leaflets of the
moriche palm (_Mauritia flexuosa_), both of which useful vegetable
products are indigenous to this region. The roe of the liza, when dried
in the sun, is an article in high estimation, and finds its way into the
channels of commerce.
A still more delicate fish is the “pargo.” It is of a white color tinged
with rose; and of these great numbers are also captured. So, too, with
the “doncella,” one of the most beautiful species, as its pretty name of
“doncella” (young maiden) would indicate. These last are so abundant in
some parts of the lake, that one of its bays is distinguished by the
name of _Laguna de Doncella_.
A large, ugly fish, called the “vagre,” with an enormous head and wide
mouth, from each side of which stretches a beard-like appendage, is also
an object of the Indian’s pursuit. It is usually struck with a spear, or
killed by arrows, when it shows itself near the surface of the water.
Another monstrous creature, of nearly circular shape, and full three
feet in diameter, is the “carite,” which is harpooned in a similar
fashion.
Besides these there is the “viegita,” or “old-woman fish,” which itself
feeds upon lesser creatures of the finny tribe, and especially upon the
smaller species of shell-fish. It has obtained its odd appellation from
a singular noise which it gives forth, and which resembles the voice of
an old woman debilitated with extreme age.
The “dorado,” or gilded fish—so called on account of its beautiful
color—is taken by a hook, with no other bait attached than a piece of
white rag. This, however, must be kept constantly in motion, and the
bait is played by simply paddling the canoe over the surface of the
lake, until the dorado, attracted by the white meteor, follows in its
track, and eventually hooks itself.
Many other species of fish are taken by the water-Indians, as the
“lebranche” which goes in large “schools,” and makes its breeding-place
in the lagunas and up the rivers, and the “guabina,” with several kinds
of sardines that find their way into the tin boxes of Europe; for the
Maracaibo fisherman is not contented with an exclusive fish diet. He
likes a little “casava,” or maize-bread, along with it; besides, he has
a few other wants to satisfy, and the means he readly obtains in
exchange for the surplus produce of his nets, harpoons, and arrows.
We have already stated that he is a fowler. At certain seasons of the
year this is essentially his occupation. The fowling season with him is
the period of northern winter, when the migratory aquatic birds come
down from the boreal regions of Prince Rupert’s Land to disport their
bodies in the more agreeable waters of Lake Maracaibo. There they
assemble in large flocks, darkening the air with their myriads of
numbers, now fluttering over the lake, or, at other times, seated on its
surface silent and motionless. Notwithstanding their great numbers,
however, they are too shy to be approached near enough for the “carry”
of an Indian arrow, or a gun either; and were it not for a very cunning
stratagem which the Indian has adopted for their capture, they might
return again to their northern haunts without being _minus_ an
individual of their “count.”
But they are not permitted to depart thus unscathed. During their
sojourn within the limits of Lake Maracaibo their legions get
considerably thinned, and thousands of them that settle down upon its
inviting waters are destined never more to take wing.
To effect their capture, the Indian fowler, as already stated, makes use
of a very ingenious stratagem. Something similar is described as being
practised in other parts of the world; but in no place is it carried to
such perfection as upon the Lake Maracaibo.
The fowler first provides himself with a number of large gourd-shells of
roundish form, and each of them at least as big as his own skull. These
he can easily obtain, either from the herbaceous squash (_Cucurbita
lagenaris_) or from the calabash tree (_Crescentia cujete_), both of
which grow luxuriantly on the shores of the lake. Filling his periagua
with these, he proceeds out into the open water to a certain distance
from the land, or from his own dwelling. The distance is regulated by
several considerations. He must reach a place which, at all hours of the
day, the ducks and other waterfowl are not afraid to frequent; and, on
the other hand, he must not go beyond such a depth as will bring the
water higher than his own chin when wading through it. This last
consideration is not of so much importance, for the water Indian can
swim almost as well as a duck, and dive like one, if need be; but it is
connected with another matter of greater importance—the convenience of
having the birds as near as possible, to save him a too long and
wearisome “wade.” It is necessary to have them so near, that at all
hours they may be under his eye.
Having found the proper situation, which the last extent of shoal water
(already mentioned) enables him to do, he proceeds to carry out his
design by dropping a gourd here and another there, until a large space
of surface is covered by these floating shells. Each gourd has a stone
attached to it by means of a string, which, resting upon the bottom,
brings the buoy to an anchor, and prevents it from being drifted into
the deeper water or carried entirely away.
When his decoys are all placed, the Indian paddles back to his platform
dwelling, and there, with watchful eye, awaits the issue. The birds are
at first shy of these round yellow objects intruded upon their domain;
but, as the hours pass, and they perceive no harm in them, they at
length take courage and venture to approach. Urged by that curiosity
which is instinctive in every creature, they gradually draw nigher and
nigher, until at length they boldly venture into the midst of the odd
objects and examine them minutely. Though puzzled to make out what it is
all meant for, they can perceive no harm in the yellow globe-shaped
things that only bob about, but make no attempt to do them any injury.
Thus satisfied, their curiosity soon wears off, and the birds no longer
regarding the floating shells as objects of suspicion, swim freely about
through their midst, or sit quietly on the water side by side with them.
But the crisis has now arrived when it is necessary the Indian should
act, and for this he speedily equips himself. He first ties a stout rope
around his waist, to which are attached many short strings or cords. He
then draws over his head a large gourd-shell, which, fitting pretty
tightly, covers his whole skull, reaching down to his neck. This shell
is exactly similar to the others already floating on the water, with the
exception of having three holes on one side of it, two on the same level
with the Indian’s eyes, and the third opposite his mouth, intended to
serve him for a breathing-hole.
He is now ready for work; and, thus oddly accoutred, he slips quietly
down from his platform, and laying himself along the water, swims gently
in the direction of the ducks.
He swims only where the water is too shallow to prevent him from
crouching below the surface; for were he to stand upright, and
wade,—even though he were still distant from them,—the shy birds might
have suspicions about his after-approaches.
When he reaches a point where the lake is sufficiently deep, he gets
upon his feet and wades, still keeping his shoulders below the surface.
He makes his advance very slowly and warily, scarce raising a ripple on
the surface of the placid lake, and the nearer he gets to his intended
victims he proceeds with the greater caution.
The unsuspecting birds see the destroyer approach without having the
slightest misgiving of danger. They fancy that the new comer is only
another of those inanimate objects by their side—another gourd-shell
drifting out upon the water to join its companions. They have no
suspicion that this wooden counterfeit—like the horse of Troy—is
inhabited by a terrible enemy.
Poor things! how could they? A stratagem so well contrived would deceive
more rational intellects than theirs; and, in fact, having no idea of
danger, they perhaps do not trouble themselves even to notice the new
arrival.
Meanwhile the gourd has drifted silently into their midst, and is seen
approaching the odd individuals, first one and afterwards another, as if
it had some special business with each. This business appears to be of a
very mysterious character; and in each case is abruptly brought to a
conclusion, by the duck making a sudden dive under the water,—not head
foremost, according to its usual practice, but in the reverse way, as if
jerked down by the feet, and so rapidly that the creature has not time
to utter a single “quak.”
After quite a number of individuals have disappeared in this mysterious
manner, the others sometimes grow suspicious of the moving calabash, and
either take to wing, or swim off to a less dangerous neighborhood; but
if the gourd performs its office in a skilful manner, it will be seen
passing several times to and fro between the birds and the water-village
before this event takes place. On each return trip, when far from the
flock, and near the habitations, it will be seen to rise high above the
surface of the water. It will then be perceived that it covers the skull
of a copper-colored savage, around whose hips may be observed a double
tier of dead ducks dangling by their necks from the rope upon his waist,
and forming a sort of plumed skirt, the weight of which almost drags its
wearer back into the water.
Of course a capture is followed by a feast; and during the fowling
season of the year the Maracaibo Indian enjoys roast-duck at discretion.
He does not trouble his head much about the green peas, nor is he
particular to have his ducks stuffed with sage and onions; but a hot
seasoning of red pepper is one of the indispensable ingredients of the
South-American _cuisine_: and he usually obtains from a small patch of
capsicum which he cultivates upon the adjacent shore; or, if he be not
possessed of land, he procures it by barter, exchanging his fowls or
fish for that and a little maize or manioc flour, furnished by the
coast-traders.
The Maracaibo Indian is not a stranger to commerce. He has been
“Christianized,”—to use the phraseology of his priestly
proselytizer,—and this has introduced him to new wants and necessities.
Expenses that in his former pagan state were entirely unknown to him,
have now become necessary, and a commercial effort is required to meet
them. The Church must have its dues. Such luxuries as being baptized,
married, and buried, are not to be had without expense, and the padre
takes good care that none of these shall be had for nothing. He has
taught his proselyte to believe that unless all these rites have been
officially performed there is not the slightest chance for him in the
next world; and under the influence of this delusion, the simple savage
willingly yields up his tenth, his fifth, or, perhaps it would be more
correct to say, his all. Between fees of baptism and burial, mulcts for
performance of the marriage rite, contributions towards the shows and
ceremonies of _dias de fiesta_, extravagant prices for blessed beads,
leaden crucifixes, and images of patron saints, the poor Christianized
Indian is compelled to part with nearly the whole of his humble gains;
and the fear of not being able to pay for Christian burial after death,
is often one of the torments of his life.
To satisfy the numerous demands of the Church, therefore, he is forced
into a little action in the commercial line. With the water-dweller of
Maracaibo, fish forms one of the staples of export trade,—of course in
the preserved state, as he is too distant from any great town or
metropolis to be able to make market of them while fresh. He
understands, however, the mode of curing them,—which he accomplishes by
sun-drying and smoking,—and, thus prepared, they are taken off his hands
by the trader, who carries them all over the West Indies, where, with
boiled rice, they form the staple food of thousands of the dark-skinned
children of Ethiopia.
The Maracaibo Indian, however, has still another resource, which
occasionally supplies him with an article of commercial export. His
country—that is, the adjacent shores of the lake—produces the finest
_caoutchouc_. There the India-rubber tree, of more than one species,
flourishes in abundance; and the true “seringa,” that yields the finest
and most valuable kind of this gummy juice, is nowhere found in greater
perfection than in the forests of Maracaibo. The caoutchouc of commerce
is obtained from many other parts of America, as well as from other
tropical countries; but as many of the bottles and shoes so well known
in the india-rubber shops, are manufactured by the Indians of Maracaibo,
we may not find a more appropriate place to give an account of this
singular production, and the mode by which it is prepared for the
purposes of commerce and manufacture.
As already mentioned, many species of trees yield india-rubber, most of
them belonging either to the order of the “Morads,” or _Euphorbiaceæ_.
Some are species of _ficus_, but both the genera and species are too
numerous to be given here. That which supplies the “bottle india-rubber”
is a euphorbiaceous plant,—the _seringa_ above mentioned,—whose proper
botanical appellation is _Siphonia elastica_. It is a tall, straight,
smooth-barked tree, having a trunk of about a foot in diameter, though
in favorable situations reaching to much larger dimensions. The process
of extracting its sap—out of which the caoutchouc is manufactured—bears
some resemblance to the tapping of sugar-maples in the forests of the
north.
With his small hatchet, or tomahawk, the Indian cuts a gash in the bark,
and inserts into it a little wedge of wood to keep the sides apart. Just
under the gash, he fixes a small cup-shaped vessel of clay, the clay
being still in a plastic state, so that it may be attached closely to
the bark. Into this vessel the milk-like sap of the _seringa_ soon
commences to run, and keeps on until it has yielded about the fifth of a
pint. This, however, is not the whole yield of a tree, but only of a
single wound; and it is usual to open a great many gashes, or “taps,”
upon the same trunk, each being furnished with its own cup or receiver.
In from four to six hours the sap ceases to run.
The cups are then detached from the tree, and the contents of all,
poured into a large earthen vessel, are carried to the place where the
process of making the caoutchouc is to take place,—usually some dry open
spot in the middle of the forest, where a temporary camp has been formed
for the purpose.
When the dwelling of the Indian is at a distance from where the
india-rubber tree grows,—as is the case with those of Lake Maracaibo,—it
will not do to transport the sap thither. There must be no delay after
the cups are filled, and the process of manufacture must proceed at
once, or as soon as the milky juice begins to coagulate,—which it does
almost on the instant.
Previous to reaching his camp, the “seringero” has provided a large
quantity of palm-nuts, with which he intends to make a fire for smoking
the caoutchouc. These nuts are the fruit of several kinds of palms, but
the best are those afforded by two magnificent species,—the “Inaja”
(_Maximiliana regia_), and the “Urucuri” (_Attalea excelsa_).
A fire is kindled of these nuts; and an earthen pot, with a hole in the
bottom, is placed mouth downward over the pile. Through the aperture now
rises a strong pungent smoke.
If it is a shoe that is intended to be made, a clay last is already
prepared, with a stick standing out of the top of it, to serve as a
handle, while the operation is going on. Taking the stick in his hand,
the seringero dips the last lightly into the milk, or with a cup pours
the fluid gently over it, so as to give a regular coating to the whole
surface; and then, holding it over the smoke, he keeps turning it,
jack-fashion, till the fluid has become dry and adhesive. Another dip is
then given, and the smoking done as before; and this goes on, till forty
or fifty different coats have brought the sides and soles of the shoe to
a proper thickness. The soles, requiring greater weight, are, of course,
oftener dipped than the “upper leather.”
The whole process of making the shoe does not occupy half an hour; but
it has afterwards to receive some farther attention in the way of
ornament; the lines and figures are yet to be executed, and this is done
about two days after the smoking process. They are simply traced out
with a piece of smooth wire, or oftener with the spine obtained from
some tree,—as the thorny point of the _bromelia_ leaf.
In about a week the shoes are ready to be taken from the last; and this
is accomplished at the expense and utter ruin of the latter, which is
broken into fragments, and then cleaned out. Water is used sometimes to
soften the last, and the inner surface of the shoe is washed after the
clay has been taken out.
Bottles are made precisely in the same manner,—a round ball, or other
shaped mass of clay, serving as the mould for their construction. It
requires a little more trouble to get the mould extracted from the
narrow neck of the bottle.
It may be remarked that it is not the smoke of the palm-nuts that gives
to the india-rubber its peculiar dark color; that is the effect of age.
When freshly manufactured, it is still of a whitish or cream color; and
only attains the dark hue after it has been kept for a considerable
time.
We might add many other particulars about the mode in which the Indian
of Maracaibo employs his time, but perhaps enough has been said to show
that his existence is altogether an _odd_ one.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ESQUIMAUX.
The Esquimaux are emphatically an “odd people,” perhaps the oddest upon
the earth. The peculiar character of the regions they inhabit has
naturally initiated them into a system of habits and modes of life
different from those of any other people on the face of the globe; and
from the remoteness and inaccessibility of the countries in which they
dwell, not only have they remained an unmixed people, but scarce any
change has taken place in their customs and manners during the long
period since they were first known to civilized nations.