they crawl out upon the dry sand-beach, and the laying commences. It is
at night that the operation is carried on: for then their numerous
enemies—especially the vultures—are less active, Each turtle scoops out
a hole, of nearly a yard in diameter and depth; and having therein
deposited from fifty to one hundred eggs, it covers them up with the
sand, smoothing the surface, and treading it firmly down. Sometimes the
individuals are so crowded as to lay in one another’s nests, breaking
many of the eggs, and causing an inextricable confusion; while the
creaking noise of their shells rubbing against each other may be heard
afar off, like the rushing of a cataract. Sometimes a number that have
arrived late, or have been slow at their work, continue engaged in it
till after daybreak, and even after the Indians have come upon the
ground—whose presence they no longer regard. Impelled by the instinct of
philoprogenitiveness, these “mad turtles,” as the Indians call them,
appear utterly regardless of danger, and make no effort to escape from
it; but are turned over on their backs, or killed upon the spot without
difficulty.
The beach being now deserted by the turtles, the egg-gatherers proceed
to their work. As there are usually several tribes, who claim a share in
the _cosecha_, the ground is measured out, and partitioned among them.
The regularity with which the nests are placed, and the number of eggs
in each being pretty nearly the same, an average estimate of the
quantity under a given surface is easily made. By means of a pointed
stick thrust into the sand, the outline of the deposit is
ascertained—usually running along the beach in a strip of about thirty
yards in breadth.
When the allotments are determined, the work of oil-making begins,—each
tribe working by itself, and upon the social system. The covering of
sand is removed, and the eggs placed in baskets, which are then emptied
into large wooden troughs, as a common receptacle. The canoes, drawn up
on the sand, are frequently made to do duty as troughs. When a
sufficient number of eggs have been thrown in, they are broken and
pounded together, and whipped about, as if intended for a gigantic
omelette. Water is added; and then the mixture is put into large
caldrons, and boiled until the oil comes to the top; after which it is
carefully skimmed off and poured into earthern jars (“botigas,”)
provided by the traders.
It takes about two weeks to complete the operations, during which time
many curious scenes occur. The sand swarms with young turtles about as
big as a dollar, which have been prematurely hatched; and have contrived
to crawl out of the shell. These are chased in all directions, and
captured by the little naked Ottomacs, who devour them “body, bones, and
all,” with as much gusto as if they were gooseberries. The cranes and
vultures, and young alligators too, take a part in this by-play—for the
offspring of the poor arau has no end of enemies.
When the oil is all boiled and bottled, the trader displays his tempting
wares, and makes the best market he can; and the savage returns to his
palm-hut village,—taking with him the articles of exchange and a few
baskets of eggs, which he has reserved for his own eating; and so ends
the _cosecha de tortugas_.
It is in this season that the Ottomac indulges most in good living, and
eats the smallest quantity of dirt. The waters afford him abundance of
fish and turtle-flesh, beef from the sea-cow, and steaks from the tail
of the alligator. He has his turtle and manati butter, in which to fry
all these dainties, and also to lubricate his hair and skin.
He can dress, too, “within an inch of his life,” having obtained for his
oil a fresh supply of the precious pigments. He indulges, moreover, in
fits of intoxication, caused by a beverage made from maize or manioc
root; but oftener produced by a species of snuff which he inhales into
his nostrils. This is the _niopo_, manufactured from the leaves of a
_mimosa_, and mixed with a kind of lime, which last is obtained by
burning a shell of the genus _helix_, that is found in the waters of the
Orinoco. The effect of the _niopo_ resembles that produced by chewing
_betel_, tobacco, opium, or the narcotic _coca_ of Peru. When freely
taken, a species of intoxication or rather mania is produced; but this
snuff and its effects are more minutely described elsewhere. It is here
introduced because, in the case of the Ottomac, the drug often produces
most baneful consequences. During the continuance of his intoxication
the Ottomac is quarrelsome and disorderly. He picks a hole in the coat
of his neighbor; but if there chance to be any “old sore” between him
and a rival, the vindictive feeling is sure to exhibit itself on these
occasions; and not unfrequently ends in an encounter, causing the death
of one or both of the combatants. These duels are not fought either with
swords or pistols, knives, clubs, nor any similar weapons. The
destruction of the victim is brought about in a very different manner;
and is the result of a very slight scratch which he has received during
the fight from the _nail_ of his antagonist. That a wound of so trifling
a nature should prove mortal would be something very mysterious, did we
not know that the nail which inflicted that scratch has been already
enfiltrated with _curare_,—one of the deadliest of vegetable poisons,
which the Ottomac understands how to prepare in its most potent and
virulent form.
Should it ever be your unfortunate fate therefore, to get into a
“scrimmage” with an Ottomac Indian, you must remember to keep clear of
his “claws”!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE COMANCHES, OR PRAIRIE INDIANS
Young reader, I need scarce tell you that the noblest of animals—the
horse—is not indigenous to America. You already know that when Columbus
discovered the New World, no animal of the horse kind was found there;
and yet the geologist has proved incontestably that at one time horses
existed in the New World,—at a period too, geologically speaking, not
very remote. The fossilized bones examined by one of the most
accomplished of modern travellers—Dr. Darwin—establish this truth beyond
a doubt.
The horse that at present inhabits America, though not indigenous, has
proved a flourishing exotic. Not only in a domestic state has he
increased in numbers, but he has in many places escaped from the control
of man, and now runs wild upon the great plains both of North and South
America. Although you may find in America almost every “breed” of horses
known in Europe, yet the great majority belong to two very distinct
kinds. The first of these is the large English horse, in his different
varieties, imported by the Anglo-Americans, and existing almost
exclusively in the woodland territory of the United States. The second
kind is the Andalusian-Arab,—the horse of the Spanish conquerors,—a much
smaller breed than the English-Arabian, but quite equal to him in mettle
and beauty of form. It is the Andalusian horse that is found throughout
all Spanish America,—it is he that has multiplied to such a wonderful
extent,—it is he that has “run wild.”
That the horse in his normal state is a dweller upon open plains, is
proved by his habits in America,—for in no part where the forest
predominates is he found wild,—only upon the prairies of the north, and
the llanos and pampas of the south, where a timbered tract forms the
exception.
He must have found these great steppes congenial to his natural
disposition,—since, only a very short time after the arrival of the
Spaniards in the New World, we find the horse a runaway from
civilization,—not only existing in a wild state upon the prairies, but
in possession of many of the Indian tribes.
It would be an interesting inquiry to trace the change of habits which
the possession of the horse must have occasioned among these Arabs of
the Western world. However hostile they may have been to his European
rider, they must have welcomed the horse as a friend. No doubt they
admired the bold, free spirit of the noble animal so analogous to their
own nature. He and they soon became inseparable companions; and have
continued so from that time to the present hour. Certain it is that the
prairie, or “horse-Indians” of the present day, are in many respects
essentially different from the staid and stoical sons of the forest so
often depicted in romances; and almost equally certain is it, that the
possession of the horse has contributed much to bring about this
dissimilarity. It could not be otherwise. With the horse new habits were
introduced,—new manners and customs,—new modes of thought and action.
Not only the chase, but war itself, became a changed game,—to be played
in an entirely different manner.
We shall not go back to inquire what these Indians _were_ when afoot. It
is our purpose only to describe what they _are_ now that they are on
horseback. Literally, may we say _on horseback_; for, unless at this
present writing they are asleep, we may safely take it for granted they
are upon the backs of their horses,—young and old of them, rich and
poor,—for there is none of them so poor as not to be the master of a
“mustang” steed.
In “Prairie-land” every tribe of Indians is in possession of the horse.
On the north the Crees, Crows, and Blackfeet, the Sioux, Cheyennes, and
Arapahoes; on the plains of the Platte, the Kansas, and Osage, we find
the Pawnees, the Kansas, and Osages,—all horse-Indians. West of the
great mountain-range, the Apache is mounted: so likewise the Utah, the
Navajo, and the Snake, or Shoshonee,—the latter rather sparingly. Other
tribes, to a greater or less degree, possess this valuable animal; but
the true type of the “horse-Indian” is to be found in the Comanche, the
lord of that wide domain that extends from the Arkansas to the Rio
Grande. He it is who gives trouble to the frontier colonists of Texas,
and equally harasses the Spanish settlements of New Mexico; he it is who
carries his forays almost into the heart of New Spain,—even to the gates
of the populous Durango.
Regarding the Comanche, then, as the type of the horse-Indians, we shall
speak more particularly of him. Allowing for some slight difference in
the character of his climate and country, his habits and customs will be
found not very dissimilar to those of the other tribes who make the
prairie their home.
To say that the Comanche is the finest horseman in the world would be to
state what is not the fact. He is not more excellent in this
accomplishment than his neighbor and bitter foeman, the Pawnee,—no
better than the “vaquero” of California, the “ranchero” of Mexico, the
“llanero” of Venezuela, the “gaucho” of Buenos Ayres, and the
horse-Indians of the “Gran Chaco” of Paraguay, of the Pampas, and
Patagonia. He is _equal_, however, to any of these, and that is saying
enough,—in a word, that he takes rank among the finest horsemen in the
world.
The Comanche is on horseback almost from the hour of
infancy,—transferred, as it were, from his mother’s arms to the withers
of a mustang. When able to walk, he is scarce allowed to practise this
natural mode of progression, but performs all his movements on the back
of a horse. A Comanche would no more think of making a journey
afoot—even if it were only to the distance of a few hundred yards—than
he would of crawling upon his hands and knees. The horse, ready saddled
and bridled, stands ever near,—it differs little whether there is either
saddle or bridle,—and flinging himself on the animal’s back, or his
neck, or his croup, or hanging suspended along his side, the Indian
guides him to the destined spot, usually at a rapid gallop. It is of no
consequence to the rider how fast the horse may be going: it will not
hinder him from mounting or dismounting at will. At any time, by
clutching the mane, he can spring upon the horse’s shoulders,—just as
may be often seen in the arena of the circus.
The horse-Indian is a true type of the _nomadic_ races,—a dweller in
tents, which his four-footed associate enables him to transport from
place to place with the utmost facility. Some of the tribes, however,
and even some of the Comanches, have fixed residences, or “villages,”
where at a certain season of the year they—or rather their
women—cultivate the maize, the pumpkin, the melon, the calabash, and a
few other species of plants,—all being vegetable products indigenous to
their country. No doubt, before the arrival of Europeans, this
cultivation was carried on more extensively than at present; but the
possession of the horse has enabled the prairie tribes to dispense with
a calling which they cordially contemn: the calling of the husbandman.
These misguided savages, one and all, regard agricultural pursuits as
unworthy of men; and wherever necessity compels them to practise them,
the work falls to the lot of the women and slaves,—for be it known that
the Comanche is a slave-owner; and holds in bondage not only Indians of
other tribes, but also a large number of mestizoes and whites of the
Spanish race, captured during many a sanguinary raid into the
settlements of Mexico! It would be easy to show that it is this false
pride of being hunters and warriors, with its associated aversion for an
agricultural life, that has thinned the numbers of the Indian race—far
more than any persecution they have endured at the hands of the white
man. This it is that starves them, that makes unendurable neighbors of
them, and has rendered it necessary in some instances to “civilize them
off the face of the earth.”
But they are not yet all civilized from off the face of the earth; nor
is it their destiny to disappear so readily as short-seeing prophets
have declared. Their idle habits and internecine wars have done much to
thin their numbers,—far more than the white man’s hostility,—but
wherever the white man has stepped in and put a stop to their tribal
contentions,—wherever he has succeeded in conquering their aversion to
industrial pursuits,—the Indian is found not only to hold his ground,
but to increase rapidly in numbers. This is the case with many
tribes,—Creeks, Choctaws, and Cherokees,—so that I can promise you,
young reader, that by the time you get to be an old man, there will be
as many Indians in the world as upon that day when Columbus first set
his foot upon “Cat” Island.
You will be inquiring how the horse could render the prairie Indian more
independent of agriculture? The answer is simple. With this valuable
auxiliary a new mode of subsistence was placed within his reach. An
article of food, which he had hitherto been able to obtain only in a
limited quantity, was now procurable in abundance,—the flesh of the
buffalo.
The prairies of North America have their own peculiarities. They are not
stocked with large droves of ruminant animals, as the plains of Southern
Africa,—where the simplest savage may easily obtain a dinner of
flesh-meat. A few species of deer, thinly distributed,—all swift, shy
animals,—the prong-horn antelope, still swifter and shier,—and the
“big-horn,” shiest of all,—were the only ruminants of Prairie-land, with
the exception of the great bison, or buffalo, as he is generally called.
But even this last was not so easily captured in those days. The bison,
though not a swift runner, is yet more than a match for the biped man;
and though the Indian might steal upon the great drove, and succeed in
bringing down a few with his arrows, it was not always a sure game.
Moreover, afoot, the hunter could not follow the buffalo in its grand
migrations,—often extending for hundreds of miles across plains, rivers,
and ravines. Once mounted, the circumstances became changed. The Indian
hunter could not only overtake the buffalo, but ride round him at will,
and pursue him, if need be, to the most distant parts of Prairie-land.
The result, therefore, of the introduction of the horse was a plentiful
supply of buffalo-meat, or, when that failed, the flesh of the horse
himself,—upon which two articles of diet the prairie Indian has almost
exclusively subsisted ever since.
The Comanche has several modes of hunting the buffalo. If alone, and he
wishes to make a grand _coup_, he will leave his horse at a
distance,—the animal being trained to remain where his master has left
him. The hunter then approaches the herd with great caution, keeping to
leeward,—lest he might be “winded” by the old sentinel bulls who keep
watch. Should there be no cover to shelter the approach of the hunter,
the result would be that the bulls would discover him; and, giving out
their bellow of alarm, cause the others to scamper off.
To guard against this, the Indian has already prepared himself by
adopting a _ruse_,—which consists in disguising himself in the skin of a
buffalo, horns and all complete, and approaching the herd, as if he were
some stray individual that had been left behind, and was just on the way
to join its fellows. Even the motions of the buffalo, when browsing, are
closely imitated by the red hunter; and, unless the wind be in favor of
his being scented by the bulls, this device will insure the success of a
shot. Sometimes the skin of the large whitish-gray wolf is used in this
masquerade with equal success. This may appear singular, since the
animal itself is one of the deadliest enemies of the buffalo: a large
pack of them hanging on the skirts of every herd, and patiently waiting
for an opportunity to attack it. But as this attack is only directed
against the younger calves,—or some disabled or decrepit individual who
may lag behind,—the strong and healthy ones have no fear of the wolves,
and permit them to squat upon the prairie within a few feet of where
they are browsing! Indeed, they could not hinder them, even if they
wished: as the long-legged wolf in a few springs can easily get out of
the way of the more clumsy ruminant; and, therefore, does not dread the
lowering frontlet of the most shaggy and ill-tempered bull in the herd.
Of course the hunter, in the guise of a wolf, obtains the like privilege
of close quarters; and, when he has arrived at the proper distance for
his purpose, he prepares himself for the work of destruction. The bow is
the weapon he uses,—though the rifle is now a common weapon in the hands
of many of the horse-Indians. But the bow is preferred for the species
of “still hunting” here described. The first crack of a rifle would
scatter the gang, leaving the hunter perhaps only an empty gun for his
pains; while an arrow at such close quarters is equally as deadly in its
effect; and, being a _silent_ weapon, no alarm is given to any of the
buffaloes, except that one which has felt the deadly shaft passing
through its vitals.
Often the animal thus shot—even when the wound is a mortal one—does not
immediately fall; but sinks gradually to the earth, as if lying down for
a rest. Sometimes it gets only to its knees, and dies in this attitude;
at other times it remains a long while upon its legs, spreading its feet
widely apart, as if to prop itself up, and then rocking from side to
side like a ship in a ground-swell, till at last, weakened by loss of
blood, it yields its body to the earth. Sometimes the struggles of a
wounded individual cause the herd to “stampede,” and then the hunter has
to content himself with what he may already have shot; but not
unfrequently the unsuspicious gang keeps the ground till the Indian has
emptied his quiver. Nay, longer than that: for it often occurs that the
disguised buffalo or wolf (as the case may be) approaches the bodies of
those that have fallen, recovers some of his arrows, and uses them a
second time with like deadly effect! For this purpose it is his
practice, if the aim and distance favor him, to send his shaft clear
through the body of the bison, in order that the barb may not hinder it
from being extracted on the other side! This feat is by no means of
uncommon occurrence among the buffalo-hunters of the prairies.
Of course, a grand wholesale slaughter of the kind just described is not
an every-day matter; and can only be accomplished when the buffaloes are
in a state of comparative rest, or browsing slowly. More generally they
detect the dangerous counterfeit in time to save their skins; or else
keep moving too rapidly for the hunter to follow them on foot. His only
resource, then, is to ride rapidly up on horseback, fire his arrows
without dismounting, or strike the victim with his long lance while
galloping side by side with it. If in this way he can obtain two or
three fat cows, before his horse becomes _blown_, or the herd scatters
beyond his reach, he considers that he has had good success.
But in this kind of chase the hunter is rarely alone: the whole tribe
takes part in it; and, mounted on their well-trained mustangs, often
pursue the buffalo gangs for an hour or more, before the latter can get
off and hide themselves in the distance, or behind the swells of the
prairie. The clouds of dust raised in a _mêlée_ of this kind often
afford the buffalo a chance of escaping,—especially when they are
running _with_ the wind.
A “buffalo surround” is effected by a large party of hunters riding to a
great distance; deploying themselves into a circle around the herd; and
then galloping inward with loud yells. The buffaloes, thus attacked on
all sides, become frightened and confused, and are easily driven into a
close-packed mass, around the edges of which the mounted hunters wheel
and deliver their arrows, or strike those that try to escape, with their
long spears. Sometimes the infuriated bulls rush upon the horses, and
gore them to death; and the hunters, thus dismounted, often run a narrow
risk of meeting with the same fate,—more than a risk, for not
unfrequently they are killed outright. Often are they obliged to leap up
on the croup of a companion’s horse, to get out of the way of danger;
and many instances are recorded where a horseman, by the stumbling of
his horse, has been pitched right into the thick of the herd, and has
made his escape by mounting on the backs of the bulls themselves, and
leaping from one to another until he has reached clear ground again.
The buffalo is never captured in a “pound,” as large mammalia are in
many countries. He is too powerful a creature to be imprisoned by
anything but the strongest stockade fence; and for this the prairie
country does not afford materials. A contrivance, however, of a somewhat
similar character is occasionally resorted to by various tribes of
Indians. When it is known that the buffaloes have become habituated to
range in any part of the country, where the plain is intersected by deep
ravines,—_cañons_, or _barrancas_, as they are called,—then a grand
_battue_ is got up by driving the animals pellmell over the precipitous
bluffs, which universally form the sides of these singular ravines. To
guide the herd to the point where it is intended they should take the
fatal leap, a singular contrivance is resorted to. This consists in
placing two rows of objects—which appear to the buffalo to be human
beings—in such a manner that one end of each row abuts upon the edge of
the precipice, not very distant from the other, while the lines extend
far out into the plain, until they have diverged into a wide and
extensive funnel. It is simply the contrivance used for guiding animals
into a pound; but, instead of a pair of close log fences, the objects
forming these rows stand at a considerable distance apart; and, as
already stated, appear to the not very discriminating eye of the buffalo
to be human beings. They are in reality designed to resemble the human
form in a rude fashion and the material out of which they are
constructed is neither more nor less than the dung of the buffaloes
themselves,—the _bois de vache_, as it is called by the Canadian
trappers, who often warm their shins, and roast their buffalo ribs over
a fire of this same material.
The decoy being thus set, the mounted hunters next make a wide sweep
around the prairie,—including in their deployment such gangs of
buffaloes as may be browsing between their line and the mouth of the
funnel. At first the buffaloes are merely guided forward, or driven
slowly and with caution,—as boys in snow-time often drive larks toward
their snares. When the animals, however, have entered between the
converging lines of mock men, a rush, accompanied by hideous yells, is
made upon them from behind: the result of which is, that they are
impelled forward in a headlong course towards the precipice.