[Illustration]
Cape Gracias à Dios, was so called by Columbus, when, after a weary
voyage, he gave “Thanks to God” for the happy discovery of this, the
extreme north-eastern angle of Central America. Here the great Cape, or
Wanks River, finds its way into the sea, forming a large, but shallow
harbor. It was a favorite resort of the buccaneers, in the olden time,
when the Spanish Main was associated with vague notions of exhaustless
wealth, tales of heavy galleons, laden with gold, and the wild adventures
of Drake, and Morgan, and Llonois. Here, too, long ago, was wrecked a
large slaver, destined for Cuba, and crowded with negroes. They escaped
to the shore, mixed with the natives, and, with subsequent additions
to their numbers from Jamaica, and from the interior, originated the
people known as the “Mosquito Indians.” Supported by the pirates, and
by the governors of Jamaica, as a means of annoyance to the Spaniards,
they gradually extended southward as far as Bluefields, and at one time
carried on a war against the Indians, whom they had displaced, for the
purpose of obtaining prisoners, to be sold in the islands as slaves.
But with the suppression of this traffic, and in consequence of the
encroachments of the semi-civilized Caribs on the north, their settlement
at the Cape has gradually declined, until now it does not contain
more than two hundred inhabitants. The village is situated on the
south-western side of the bay or harbor, not far from its entrance, on
the edge of an extensive, sandy savannah.
Between the shore and the village is a belt of thick bush, three or four
hundred yards broad, through which are numerous narrow paths, difficult
to pass, since the natives are too lazy to cut away the undergrowth and
branches which obstruct them. The village itself is mean, dirty, and
infested with hungry pigs, and snarling, mangy dogs. The huts are of
the rudest description, and most of them unfitted for shelter against
the rain. The only houses which had any pretensions to comfort, at the
time of my visit, were the “King’s house,” another belonging to a German
named Boucher, and that of my new friend H. The latter was boarded and
shingled, and looked quite a palace after my experience of the preceding
two months, in Mosquito architecture. Mr. H. made us very comfortable
indeed. In addition to the numerous native products of the country, he
had a liberal supply of foreign luxuries. As a trader he had, for many
years, carried on quite a traffic with the Wanks River Indians, in deer
skins, sarsaparilla, and mahogany, and with the Sambos themselves in
turtle-shells. And whatever nominal authority may have existed previously
at the Cape, it was obvious enough that he was now the _de facto_
governor.
Thoroughly domesticated in the country, he had no ambitions beyond it,
and had made several, although not very successful, attempts to introduce
industry, and improve the condition of the natives. At one time he had
had a number of cattle on the savannah—which, although its soil is too
poor for cultivation, nevertheless affords abundance of good grass—but
the Sambos killed so many for their own use, that he sold the remainder
to the trading vessels. He had now undertaken their introduction again,
with better success, and had, moreover, some mules and horses. The latter
were sorry-looking beasts; since, for want of proper care, the wood-ticks
had got in their ears, and caused them not only to lop down, but also, in
some instances, entirely to drop off.
The Sambos have a singular custom, unfavorable, certainly, to the raising
of cattle, which Mr. H. had not yet entirely succeeded in suppressing.
Whenever a native is proved guilty of adultery, the injured party
immediately goes out in the savannah and shoots a beeve, without regard
to its ownership. The duty of paying for it then devolves upon the
adulterer, and constitutes the penalty for his offence!
Nearly all the Sambos at the Cape speak a little English, and I never
passed their huts without being saluted “Mornin’, sir; give me grog!” In
fact their devotion to grog, and general improvident habits, are fast
thinning their numbers, and will soon work their utter extermination.
Although there are several places near the settlement where all needful
supplies might be raised, yet they are chiefly dependent on the Indians
of the river for their vegetables.
[Illustration: HUNTING DEER.]
There is little game on the savannah, but on the strip of land which
separates the harbor from the sea, and which is called the island of San
Pio, deer are found in abundance. This island is curiously diversified
with alternate patches of savannah, bush, and marsh, and offers numerous
coverts for wild animals. The deer, however, are only hunted by the
few whites who live at the Cape, and they have hit upon an easy and
novel mode of procuring their supply. The deer are not shy of cattle,
and will feed side by side with them in the savannahs. So Mr. H. had
trained a favorite cow to obey reins of cord attached to her horns,
as a horse does his bit. Starting out, and keeping the cow constantly
between himself and the deer, he never has the slightest difficulty in
approaching so close to them as to shoot them with a pistol. If there are
more than one, the rest do not start off at the discharge, but only prick
up their ears in amazement, and thus afford an opportunity for another
shot, if desired. I witnessed this labor-saving mode of hunting several
times, and found that H. and his cow never failed of their object.
While upon the subject of game, I may mention that San Pio abounds with
birds and water-fowl. Among them are two varieties of snipe, beside
innumerable curlews, ducks, and teal. The blue and green-winged teal were
great favorites of mine, being always in good condition. They were not
obtained, however, without the drawback of exposure to the sand-flies,
which infest the island in uncountable millions. The European residents
always have a supply of turtles, which are purchased at prices of from
four to eight yards of Osnaberg, equal to from one to two dollars,
according to their size. Two kinds of oysters are also obtained here,
one called the “bank oyster,” corresponding with those which I obtained
in Pearl Cay Lagoon, and the little mangrove oysters. The latter are
about the size of half a dollar, and attach themselves to the roots of
the mangrove-trees. It is a question whether a hungry man, having to
open them for himself, might not starve before getting satisfied. A
few hundreds, with a couple of Indians to open them, make a good, but
moderate, lunch!
The bay and river swarm with fish, of the varieties which I have
enumerated as common on the coast. During still weather they are caught
with seines, in large quantities. These seines belong to the foreigners,
but are drawn by the natives (when they happen to be hungry!), who
receive half of the spoil.
Mr. H. was not a little piqued at my incredulity in the _Sukias_, and,
faithful to his promise, persuaded one of them to give us an example of
her powers. The place was the enclosure in the rear of his own house, and
the time evening. The _Sukia_ made her appearance alone, carrying a long
thick wand of bamboo, and with no dress except the _ule tournou_. She was
only inferior to her sister at Sandy Bay, in ugliness, and stalked into
the house like a spectre, without uttering a word. H. cut off a piece
of calico, and handed it to her as her recompense. She received it in
perfect silence, walked into the yard, and folded it carefully on the
ground. Meanwhile a fire had been kindled of pine splints and branches,
which was now blazing high. Without any hesitation the _Sukia_ walked up
to it, and stepped in its very centre. The flames darted their forked
tongues as high as her waist; the coals beneath and around her naked
feet blackened, and seemed to expire; while the _tournou_ which she
wore about her loins, cracked and shriveled with the heat. There she
stood, immovable, and apparently as insensible as a statue of iron, until
the blaze subsided, when she commenced to walk around the smouldering
embers, muttering rapidly to herself, in an unintelligible manner.
Suddenly she stopped, and placing her foot on the bamboo staff, broke it
in the middle, shaking out, from the section in her hand, a full-grown
_tamagasa_ snake, which, on the instant coiled itself up, flattened its
head, and darted out its tongue, in an attitude of defiance and attack.
The _Sukia_ extended her hand, and it fastened on her wrist with the
quickness of light, where it hung, dangling and writhing its body in
knots and coils, while she resumed her mumbling march around the embers.
After a while, and with the same abruptness which had marked all of her
previous movements, she shook off the serpent, crushed its head in the
ground with her heel, and taking up the cloth which had been given to
her, stalked away, without having exchanged a word with any one present.
Mr. H. gave me a triumphant look, and asked what now I had to say. “Was
there any deception in what I had seen?” I only succeeded in convincing
him that I was a perversely obstinate man, by suggesting that the _Sukia_
was probably acquainted with some antidote for the venom of the serpent,
and that her endurance of the fire was nothing more remarkable than that
of the jugglers, “fire kings,” and other vagrants at home, who make no
pretence of supernatural powers.
“Well,” he continued, in a tone of irritated disappointment, “can your
jugglers and ‘fire kings’ tell the past, and predict the future? When
you have your inmost thoughts revealed to you, and when the spirits
of your dead friends recall to your memory scenes and incidents known
only to them, yourself, and God—tell me,” and his voice grew deep and
earnest, “on what hypothesis do you account for things like these? Yet
I can testify to their truth. You may laugh at what you call the vulgar
trickery of the old hag who has just left us, but I can take you where
even your scoffing tongue will cleave to its roof with awe; where the
inmost secrets of your heart shall be unvailed, and where you shall
_feel_ that you stand face to face with the invisible dead!”
I have never felt it in my heart to ridicule opinions, however absurd, if
sincerely entertained; and there was that in the awed manner of my host
which convinced me that he was in earnest in what he said. So I dropped
the conversation, on his assurance that he would accompany me to visit
the strange woman to whom he assigned such mysterious power.
Antonio had been an attentive witness of the tricks of the _Sukia_,
and expressed to me the greatest contempt for her pretensions. Such
exhibitions, he said, were only fit for idle children, and were not to
be confounded with the awful powers of the oracles, through whom the
“Lord of Teaching and the spirits of the Holy Men” held communion with
mortals. I spoke to him of the mysterious woman, who was greater than
all the _Sukias_, and lived among the mountains. “She is of our people,”
he exclaimed, warmly, “and her name is _Hoxom-Bal_, which means the
Mother of the Tigers. It was to seek her that I left the Holy City of the
Itzaes, with no guide but my Lord who never lies. And now her soul shall
enter into our brothers of the mountains, and they shall be tigers on the
tracks of our oppressors!”
The form of the Indian boy had dilated as he spoke; his smooth limbs
were knotted by the swelling muscles; his eyes burned, and his low voice
became firm, distinct, and ominous. But it was only for an instant; and
while I listened to hear the great secret which swelled in his bosom, he
stopped short, and, turning suddenly, walked away. But I could see that
he pressed his talisman closer to his breast.
The _Sukias_ of the coast are usually women, although their powers and
authority are sometimes assumed by men. Their preparation for the office
involves mortifications as rigorous as the Church ever required of her
most abject devotees. For months do the candidates seclude themselves in
the forests, avoiding the face of their fellows, and there, without arms
or means of defense, contend with hunger, the elements, and wild beasts.
It is thus that they seal their compact with the mysterious powers which
rule over earth and water, air and fire; and they return to the villages
of their people, invested with all the terrors which superstition has
ever attached to those who seem to be exempt from the operations of
natural laws.
These _Sukias_ are the “medicine-men” of the coast, and affect to
cure disease; but their directions are usually more extravagant than
beneficial. They sometimes order the victim of fever to go to an open
sand-beach by the sea, and there, exposed to the burning heat of the
vertical sun, await his cure. They have also a savage taste for blood,
and the cutting and scarification of the body are among their favorite
remedies.
The Mosquitos, I may observe here, have no idea of a supreme beneficent
Being; but stand in great awe of an evil spirit which they call
_Wulasha_, and of a water-ghost, called _Lewire_. _Wulasha_ is supposed
to share in all the rewards which the _Sukias_ obtain for their
services. His half of the stipulated price, however, is shrewdly exacted
beforehand, while the payment of the remainder depends very much upon the
_Sukia’s_ success.
Among the customs universal on the coast, is infanticide, in all cases
where the child is born with any physical defect. As a consequence,
natural deformity of person is unknown. Chastity, as I have several
times had occasion to intimate, is not considered a virtue; and the
number of a man’s wives is only determined by circumstances, polygamy
being universal. Physically, the Mosquitos have a large predominance
of negro blood; and their habits and superstitions are African rather
than American. They are largely affected with syphilitic affections,
resulting from their unrestrained licentious intercourse with the pirates
in remote, and with traders (in character but one degree removed from
the pirates) in later times. These affections, under the form of the
_bulpis_, red, white, and scabbed, have come to be a radical taint,
running through the entire population, and so impairing the general
constitution as to render it fatally susceptible to all epidemic
diseases. This is one of the powerful causes which is contributing to the
rapid decrease, and which will soon result in the total extinction of the
Sambos.
Their arts are limited to the very narrow range of their wants, and
are exceedingly rude. The greatest skill is displayed in their dories,
canoes, and pitpans, which are brought down by the Indians of the
interior, rudely blocked out, so as to give the purchaser an opportunity
of exercising his taste in the finish. Essentially fishers, they are
at home in the water, and manage their boats with great dexterity.
Their language has some slight affinity with the Carib, but has
degenerated into a sort of jargon, in which Indian, English, Spanish,
and Jamaica-African are strangely jumbled. They count by twenties, _i.
e._, collective fingers and toes, and make fearful work of it when
they “get up in the figures.” Thus, to express thirty-seven, they say,
“_Iwanaiska-kumi-pura-matawalsip-pura-matlalkabe-pura-kumi_,” which
literally means, one-twenty-and-ten-and-six-and-one, _i. e._, 20 × 1 + 10
+ 6 + 1. They reckon their days by sleeps, their months by moons, and
their years by the complement of thirteen moons.
Altogether, the Mosquitos have little in their character to commend.
Their besetting vice is drunkenness, which has obliterated all of their
better traits. Without religion, with no idea of government, they are
capricious, indolent, improvident, treacherous, and given to thieving.
All attempts to advance their condition have been melancholy failures,
and it is probable they would have disappeared from the earth without
remark, had it not suited the purposes of the English government to put
them forward as a mask to that encroaching policy which is its always
disclaimed, but inseparable and notorious characteristic.
There is a suburb of the village at the Cape, near the river, which is
called Pullen-town. Here I was witness of a curious ceremony, a _Seekroe_
or Festival of the Dead. This festival occurs on the first anniversary of
the death of any important member of a family, and is only participated
in by the relatives and friends of the deceased. The prime element, as
in every feast, is the _chicha_, of which all hands drink profusely.
Both males and females were dressed in a species of cloak, of _ule_
bark, fantastically painted with black and white, while their faces
were correspondingly streaked with red and yellow (_anotto_). The music
was made by two big droning pipes, played to a low, monotonous vocal
accompaniment. The dance consisted in slowly stalking in a circle,
for a certain length of time, when the immediate relatives of the dead
threw themselves flat on their faces on the ground, calling loudly on
the departed, and tearing up the earth with their hands. Then, rising,
they resumed their march, only to repeat their prostrations and cries.
I could obtain no satisfactory explanation of the practice. “So did our
ancestors,” was the only reason assigned for its continuance.
We had been at the Cape about a week, when Mr. H. received information
that the news of our affair at Quamwatla had reached Sandy Bay, and
that the vindictive trader had dispatched a fast-sailing dory by sea
to Bluefields, to obtain orders for our “arrest and punishment.” This
news was brought in the night, by the same Indian whom I had protected
from the trader’s brutality, and who took this means of evincing his
gratitude. I had already frankly explained to Mr. H. the circumstances of
our fight, which, he conceded, fully justified all we had done. Still, as
the trader might make it a pretext for much annoyance, he approved the
plan which I had already formed, for other reasons, to explore the Wanks
River, and accompany my Poyer boy to the fastnesses of his tribe, in the
untracked wilderness lying between that river and the Bay of Honduras.
By taking this course, I would be able again to reach the sea beyond
the Sambo jurisdiction, in the district occupied by the Caribs, not far
from the old Spanish port of Truxillo. Furthermore, the tame scenery of
the lagoons had become unattractive, and I longed for mountains and
the noise of rushing waters. The famous _Sukia_ woman also lived on one
of the lower branches of the river, and in accordance with this plan we
could visit her without going greatly out of our way.
In fulfillment of his promise, Mr. H. prepared to accompany us as far
as the retreat of the mysterious seeress, and two days afterward,
following the lead of his pitpan, we embarked. The harbor connects with
the river by a creek at its northern extremity, which is deep enough to
admit the passage of canoes. Emerging from this, we came into the great
Wanks River, a broad and noble stream, with a very slight current at
its low stages, but pouring forth a heavy flood of waters during the
rainy season. It has ample capacity for navigation for nearly a hundred
miles of its length, but a bad and variable bar at its mouth presents an
insurmountable barrier to the entrance of vessels. Very little is known
of this river, except that it rises within thirty or forty miles of the
Pacific, and that, for the upper half of its course, it flows among high
mountains, and is obstructed by falls and shallows.
We made rapid progress during the day, the river more resembling an
estuary than a running stream. The banks, for a hundred yards or more
back from the water, were thickly lined with bush; but beyond this belt
of jungle there was an uninterrupted succession of sandy savannahs. There
were no signs of inhabitants, except a few huts, at long intervals, at
places where the soil happened to be rich enough to admit of cultivation.
We nevertheless met a few Indians coming down with canoes, to be sold at
the Cape, who regarded us curiously, and in silence.
Near evening, we encamped at a point where a ridge of the savannah,
penetrating the bush, came down boldly to the river, forming an eddy,
or cove, which seemed specially intended for a halting-place. Mr. H.
had named the bluff “Iguana Point,” from the great number of iguanas
found there. They abound on the higher parts of the entire coast, but
I had seen none so large as those found at this place. It is difficult
to imagine uglier reptiles—great, overgrown, corrugated lizards as they
are, with their bloated throats, and snaky eyes! They seemed to think
us insolent intruders, and waddled off with apparent sullen reluctance,
when we approached. But the law of compensations holds good in respect to
the iguanas, as in regard to every thing else. If they are the ugliest
reptiles in the world, they are, at the same time, among the best to
eat. So our men slaughtered three or four of the largest, selecting
those which appeared to be fullest of eggs. Up to this time I had not
been able to overcome my repugnance sufficiently to taste them; but now,
encouraged by H., I made the attempt. The first few mouthfuls went much
against the grain; but I found the flesh really so delicate, that before
the meal was finished, I succeeded in forgetting my prejudices. The eggs
are especially delicious, surpassing even those of the turtle. It may
be said, to the credit of the ugly iguana, that in respect of his own
food, he is as delicate as the humming-bird, or the squirrel, living
chiefly upon flowers and blossoms of trees. He is frequently to be seen
on the branches of large trees, overhanging the water, whence he looks
down with curious gravity upon the passing voyager. His principal enemies
are serpents, who, however, frequently get worsted in their attacks, for
the iguana has sharp teeth, and powerful jaws. Of the smaller varieties,
there are some of the liveliest green. Hundreds of these may be seen on
the snags and fallen trunks that line the shores of the rivers. They will
watch the canoe as it approaches, then suddenly dart off to the shore,
literally walking the water, so rapidly that they almost appear like
a green arrow skipping past. They are called, in the language of the
natives, by the generic name, _kakamuk_.
In strolling a little distance from our camp, before supper, I saw a
waddling animal, which I at first took for an iguana. A moment after,
I perceived my mistake. It appeared to be doing its best to run away,
but so clumsily that, instead of shooting it, I hurried forward, and
headed off its course. In attempting to pass me, it came so near that
I stopped it with my foot. In an instant it literally rolled itself up
in a ball, looking for all the world like a large sea-shell, or rather
like one of those curious, cheese-like, coralline productions, known
among sailors as sea-eggs. I then saw it was an armadillo, that little
mailed adventurer of the forest, who, like the opossum, shams death when
“cornered,” or driven in “a tight place.” I rolled him over, and grasping
him by his stumpy tail, carried him into camp. He proved to be of the
variety known as the “three-banded armadillo,” cream-colored, and covered
with hexagonal scales. I afterward saw several other larger varieties,
with eight and nine bands. The flesh of the armadillo is white, juicy,
and tender, and is esteemed one of the greatest of luxuries.