PARAGUAYAN PICCANINNIES
Our next visit is to the Republic of Paraguay, so, leaving Sao Paulo,
we will travel in a westerly direction, though really, in order to
reach Paraguay in the proper way we should make our way to Santos, and
embark on a steamer for Buenos Aires, in Argentina, which is situated
at the mouth of the Silver River, called by the Spanish-speaking people
of Argentina “Rio de la Plata.”
From Buenos Aires all missionaries travel up this river to Paraguay,
but as we are not ordinary travellers, but extraordinary, we make
our way to the banks of the River Paraguay. Here we must pause for a
moment. Behind us is civilization; before us is heathenism and the
unknown. Across the river lies the “Gran Chaco” (Great Hunt), the
Indian’s land, about which one hears all kinds of queer stories. There
is something fascinating about “an unknown people in an unknown land,”
and so curiosity prompts us to cross and explore.
But it was something more than mere curiosity which took Mr W.
Barbrooke Grubb, of the South American Missionary Society, among the
Lengua Indians--a burning desire to tell these dusky people of a God
of Love. So one day this quiet, resolute Englishman, with a purposeful
air which reminded one strangely of David Livingstone, walked into the
Indian encampment, letting them know by his manner that he had come to
stay.
Still it is with the little people we wish to make friends. So climbing
into a bullock-cart--for we are now on the other side of the river--we
make our way slowly across swampy plains until we come to a palm
forest, where some Lengua Indians are encamped. Boys and girls with
browny-red skin, black eyes, and long black hair are playing about just
like English children--only they are not very merry or full of fun, but
are, oh, so dirty!
The boys have one garment, a little blanket of many patterns and
colours, which is twisted round the waist in the hot weather, but
worn round the shoulders when cold. They deck themselves with ostrich
feathers, bead necklaces, shells, and sheep’s teeth. The feathers are
worn in the hair; also round the ankles, to protect them from the
biting of the snakes which lurk in the long grass.
The girls also have one garment, a skirt made of deer skin. They, too,
wear beads and other ornaments like their brothers, though they are not
decked out like the boys.
Leaving our bullock-cart, we walk right into the camp. What queer
houses the people live in! Just a few branches of trees stuck in the
ground, with some palm leaves and a handful of grass on the top. There
are no windows or doors, and no furniture inside, but just a few deer
skins on the ground, which serve as beds. Everything is put on the
ground, for there are no shelves or cupboards, and all looks dirty and
untidy.
Presently the father comes in from the hunt, bringing an animal which
he has killed with his bow and arrow. Sometimes he brings a deer, an
ostrich, or a wild pig. To-night it is an ostrich. He drops his load
a little way off, and the women and children go and bring it in. It
is supper-time, and they are all hungry. First they take off the skin
carefully, for that will make a new skirt for the little girl, or a bed
for her brother.
Everyone now works hard. Boys and girls fetch water and wood, and fan
up the fire. Soon the meat in the pot is cooked, and the children pass
the word round that supper is ready. The pot is lifted off the fire,
everybody sits on the ground in a circle round it, and they get out
their horn spoons, though generally they use their fingers.
[Illustration: A PARAGUAYAN CHRISTIAN FAMILY]
Each child gets a large piece of meat in its hands. There is no
waiting, no blessing asked, but all eat until everything is finished,
while the crowd of hungry dogs around try to steal pieces out of the
pot.
Then the pipe is passed round; and the father tells how he saw the
ostrich, how he dressed himself up with leaves and twigs to look like
a tree and stalked the bird. Presently he got near enough to shoot it
with his arrow. He tells also how, in coming home, he saw a tiger in
the forest, and later on killed a snake. It is a long, long story, but
the children listen eagerly, and next day they act it all over in their
play.
Now it is bedtime. If we were Indians we would all choose a place as
near the fire as possible, not so much for the warmth, as to escape
the unwelcome attentions of our diminutive friends, the mosquitoes.
We would spread out our little skin beds, or if you had not one of
your own, you would cuddle up with the other children, always putting
the tiny tots and any sick ones in the middle. And while you are in
slumberland the dogs crouch near. Over you spreads the blue sky, with
the beautiful moon shining down upon you in company with the myriad
stars.
But you will not sleep for long: a weird cry rings out through the
silent night, the cry of some animal or bird, and, starting up in a
frightened way, the Indian shakes his rattle to frighten away the evil
spirit.
The fire has to be kept up all night while the children sleep, and
the dogs must be watched in case they try to reach the tasty piece
of ostrich hung up in the neighbouring tree for breakfast. You will
probably be disturbed, too, by the barking of wolves or the snarl of a
tiger, as they prowl round the encampment.
In the morning everybody is on the move, for these Lengua Indians do
not stay long in one place. Pots and pans are collected, together with
gourds and skins, and put into big nets which the women are expected to
carry. The men go on in front with their bows and arrows, so that they
may be ready for any dangers, such as tigers, or to shoot any game for
food.
Three children can ride astride a horse or mule, although it is
exceptional for an Indian to have either; or a mother and two little
ones can travel thus--one tied in front and one behind round her waist.
But very often you would have to walk on and on, through swamps and
over wide, hot plains, always on the look-out for something to eat.
Sometimes there is no water, and the children are only too glad to
stoop and scrape up the muddy dregs in the print of a horse’s hoof, or
else they look for the caraguata plant, which generally has a little
water at the bottom of its long, prickly leaves.
On the sandy plains there are tiny insects which burrow into the feet,
and make them swell until they are very, very sore. Sometimes so many
of these insects get in that you can scarcely walk at all.
All at once someone catches sight of a herd of wild pigs feeding; then
away go our little Indian friends, snatching up sticks, to chase and if
they can to capture a pig.
At night-fall another halt is made, this time by a stream, for there
are fish and alligators to make a splendid meal. So all the things
are unpacked, and the houses of twigs and leaves are soon erected. A
big fire is kindled, and after an “alligator” supper, quiet once more
reigns in the camp as another night falls, wooing the Chaco children to
sleep under the twinkling stars.
The Lengua Indians are very fond of their children, but they seldom
correct them when they are naughty. If mother should attempt to correct
them, father very unwisely interferes, so I am afraid a great many
Chaco children are spoilt.
When Mr W. Barbrooke Grubb came to the Gran Chaco the Indians showed
him plainly by their manner that they did not want him. This, however,
did not discourage him in the least, but only spurred him on to try
to win their favour. He made himself one with them; he learned their
customs and their language; he travelled when they travelled, took part
in their feasts, and lived exactly as they did--until finally he won
their confidence and love. How they needed the Gospel, for they were in
gross heathen darkness! They had no religious customs, though they had
their witch-doctors, and lived in constant dread of evil spirits.
Amongst the Indians here “baby-killing,” which grown-up people call
“infanticide,” is sadly very common. “Superstition,” writes Mr Grubb,
“causes many of these deaths. Girl babies, if they are born first, are
put to death; deformed children are also killed, and twins are never
allowed to live. Many die through want of care during the first years
of childhood.”
How heartless such customs seem! Yet there is something still more
sad, which has to do with their beliefs. For many years Mr Grubb tried
to show the Indians “the better way,” and to do away with the cruel
practice of killing their babies.
Their burial rites are very weird, and no funeral ever takes place
after sunset. If, therefore, a sick Indian is likely to die in the
night, before sunrise, they bury her or him before the sun goes down,
even though the spirit may not have left the body, break up their camp,
and move away before they settle down for the night.
The mother of a dear little Indian girl became very ill one day. The
husband, who really loved his wife, did all he could to make her well,
but in spite of this she gradually grew worse instead of better. When
he saw that she could not possibly live, and that all hope was gone he
left her alone.
There she lay, outside the hut, with a reed matting over her face, her
life fast ebbing away. It was about an hour before sunset. The Indians
were getting restless, when the missionary walked into their midst.
Seeing the form on the ground, he stooped down, taking the matting from
the Indian woman’s face.
She whispered: “Water.” Reluctantly it was brought by the Indian
husband, but a few minutes later she became quite unconscious. The eyes
of the Indians were anxiously looking, not towards the dying woman,
but toward the sinking sun, for she must be buried before sunset. They
would all have to pack up and hurry away to a new camping place, where
the woman’s spirit could not follow.
Impatiently they stepped forward, but were waved back by the
missionary. Her grave was ready, everything was prepared for the
funeral rites.
“The spirit has not left her yet,” he said; “do not touch her.”
“But we must hasten, or darkness will be upon us before we leave,”
replied the husband; “we cannot break our custom.”
The missionary held them off as long as he could, till finally they
bore her away. Stepping into their hut, he heard a faint noise, and
seeing a small, dark object on the floor, he stooped down and tenderly
lifted up the now motherless baby girl. What a dear, wee, brown living
thing she was!
Turning round he saw her father, who held out his arms saying that he
had come to take her away to be buried with her mother. The missionary
gazed at him with horror in his eyes.
“Oh, but you are not going to kill her, surely?” said he, hugging Baby
closer.
“Of course not,” said the father; “we are going to put her in the
ground alive. It is our custom!”
He did not think about the cruelty of such a proceeding. It was part
of their religion, and, therefore, must be carried out. So there was a
tussle between the father and the missionary for the Chaco baby’s life,
and I am glad to say the missionary won, but the Indians did not like
it at all.
The first thing to be considered was what to give baby to eat, and the
second problem how to get her to the mission-station a hundred miles
away. Finding that no Indian woman would help him in the matter of
nursing and feeding her, he saw that he would have to be both mother
and nurse to her himself.
What could he give “Brownie”? Well, God showed him what to do, so she
was kept alive on rice water and goat’s milk, which the missionary
gently squirted into her mouth from his mouth, and on egg and milk,
these being the chief items in Baby’s diet.
After miles and days of riding on horseback, with five Indians to show
the missionary the way, they at length reached the mission-station, and
Baby was handed over to a kind motherly missionary. I am sorry to say,
however, that Baby Hope (for that is the name the missionaries gave
her), was taken ill six months afterwards, and died, and she was laid
to rest on the banks of the River Paraguay.
How sad it is to think that there have been many of these little ones
who were not so fortunate in being rescued from a living grave like
Baby Hope! But these Indians are learning that Jesus loves the little
children in the Chaco. For nearly thirty years the missionaries of
the South American Missionary Society have been working here for the
preserving and uplifting of the children, and to-day they are being
rewarded by seeing many Christian Indian homes established.
There are day-schools, Sunday-schools, and schools of industry where
the older boys and girls are learning how to become useful men and
women. Carpentering, house-building, agriculture, cooking, laundry, and
housework are now taking the place of wandering, hunting, dancing, and
feasting, which, with them, have now become things of the past.
There are many other Indian tribes in Paraguay yet to be reached, so
we will leave the Gran Chaco, and once more crossing the river we come
back to civilization--but not to stay, our destination being Santa
Teresa, in South-Eastern Paraguay. We must travel on horseback now,
for there are no smooth roads; so, accompanied by Mr John Hay, of the
Inland-South America Missionary Union, we proceed on our journey. For
the benefit of those who did not go with him he wrote an account of his
experiences. In his diary he says:--
“When we entered the dense forests the Indian tracks soon became
impassable for men on horseback. We could no longer ride, and in some
places we were obliged to travel barefoot, in deep mud, leading our
horses as best we could, while we stumbled on over the roots of trees
and interlacing bamboo creepers.
“Led by a native guide, we found the Indians hidden away behind the
shelter of almost impassable swamps, across which we could not take our
horses--amid the most savage conditions, and in great poverty. Some of
them had a little maize, but for the most part they appeared to live
on wild fruits, roots, reptiles, caterpillars, or anything procurable
by hunting and fishing. For clothing, they wore only loin-cloths, and
bands of women’s hair twisted round the legs below the knees and round
the wrists.
“Their faces were painted in curious patterns, with some black pigment,
and in some cases mutilated by a hole in the lower lip, through which
a long appendage of resinous gum protruded, hanging down in front of
the chin. They were armed with long powerful bows, from which they
can shoot, with deadly effect, arrows pointed with long, hard, wooden
barbs. Some of these arrows measure over six feet in length.
“Some of the women were busily weaving their little loin-cloths, made
from fine cotton fibre, on rude square frames made with four branches
of a tree firmly fixed in the ground.”
It is to these Indians and their little children that Mr Hay and his
fellow-workers seek to minister. A mission-station has been built here
in the wilds, under tremendous difficulties and very trying conditions.
“The Indians are scattered in very small companies, sometimes merely
families, over immense areas; they are constantly moving their
dwellings”--their chief idea being to get away from the one they think
their greatest enemy--the white man!
It has, therefore, been uphill work to win the confidence of these
Indians; but God, who is always on the side of the missionaries, has
rewarded their patient, prayerful, and persevering efforts, so that now
quite a number of the Indians, recognizing the missionaries as their
friends, are seeking them out. At one time, when the maize and mandioca
crops failed, the people had to eat rats and wild animals of the
forest. The missionaries gave them work to do and paid them in food.
“At first they were very shy, especially the women, but as they got to
know them their shyness wore off, and even the little children began to
feel at home with them.”
It will take us too long to visit the other I.S.A.M.U. Stations. If we
had time we could go to Caaguazw, the base from which the missionaries
work among the Forest Indians; to Villarica, the third city in
Paraguay, where there is a school for the children of English-speaking
people, and where the Roman Catholic officials have warned their people
not to send their children to the Protestant schools, for Rome prefers
to keep her little ones ignorant.
Had we time to linger in Concepcion, the second city of the republic,
situated on the River Paraguay, with its 14,000 inhabitants, we should
be able to learn something of the missionary work carried on there
amongst the children. Here as elsewhere, the Roman Catholic priests are
very hostile, and do all they can to hinder the work of Christ amongst
these little ones.
Just before we leave Paraguay, we must have a peep at the children
who are not Indians, but the natives of the country. The Paraguayan
children go about naked from three to four years of age until they go
to school; the Paraguayans of the town are, of course, better dressed.
The boys are very fond of hunting birds, with bows and marbles of
hard clay. These bows have two strings each, with a little rag on the
strings on which the marble is placed. It shoots a good distance, and
can kill good-sized birds.
The Paraguayans, like other peoples, have bad habits--such as drinking,
card-playing, swearing, and smoking. Even little boys of three and
four years of age are sometimes seen smoking, while their parents just
look on and smile! Alas, that this religion of “baptized paganism”
should prevail everywhere, and that the boys and girls of Paraguay
should be bought and sold to Paraguayan masters to be their slaves!
The young, young children, Oh my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly!
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
“It is not the will of your Father that one of these little ones should
perish.”