How I Became an Indian Chief
From the book “Thirty
Years in the Jungle”
By A. Hyatt Verrill, published 1929. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, Jan. 2012
Stillwoods.Blogspot.Com
Chapter XVIII
EVER since I had arrived in Panama
I had heard wild and lurid tales of the
Indians in the remote districts.
Obviously many of these were purely the result of the
vivid imaginations of the
Panamaneans; others were as
evidently vastly exaggerated, while some, I felt sure, had a certain groundwork
of facts and truth. But one and all agreed in certain respects, and there seemed to be no question that some of the Indians of the
Isthmus were far from friendly with the
natives, that they held their territories inviolate and kept out intruders,
and that they were practically
untouched by civilization, Christianity, or the
influence of other races.
Among the
tribes of which many of these
stories were told, were the Indians
of the high mountains and lofty
interior plateaus of the wildest
portions of northern Panama, where,
according to all reports, dwell the
mountain Guaymís.
Never had the Guaymís been conquered. For years they carried on a relentless warfare with the Spaniards, until the
Dons, deciding that the game was not
worth the candle, left the aborigines in undisputed possession of their ancestral mountains. To be sure, some of the Guaymís were enslaved, some were conquered, and
some became civilized subjects of Spain, for the
Guaymí race was a large one made up of many tribes and sub-tribes who were
constantly fighting among themselves.
But the true Guaymís of the still-unexplored mountains never gave in, their independence is still recognized by the Panama Government as the
"Zona de los Indigenos," and while they
are quiet and peaceable and give no trouble—as long as they
are left alone—they owe allegiance
to no one.
I had been warned that it
would be impossible for me to penetrate into the
Guaymí country, that every white man who had attempted it had been driven out,
and I knew that only a few months previously two American naturalists and their party had been chased from Guaymí territory
and had barely escaped with their
lives. Like many other tribes, the Guaymís had profited by experience; they knew that if one stranger were permitted to
enter their territory others would follow, and that very soon they would have neither
territory nor freedom left. They had no ill feeling towards civilized man, for,
through the centuries, many had
become semi-civilized themselves,
many had made visits to the outlying
settlements and towns, and many had learned to speak a little Spanish. Also, in
order to obtain cloth, tools and firearms they
had for years carried on a more or less regular trade with the Panamaneans. But they
came and went like shadows, appearing in the
border settlements singly or in small parties. Silent, shy and uncommunicative,
they remained only long enough to
dispose of their beautiful and
highly-valued woven pita-hemp bags, their
rubber, coffee and cacao, and then
vanished again into the unknown fastnesses
of their mountains. From time to
time, too, various men had attempted to enter the
Indian zone, attracted by stories of rich gold deposits, of oil or of rubber.
But none had ever gone far. They might penetrate the
mountains for a certain distance, might visit the
semi-civilized Indians on the
fringes of the country, might trade
with the outlying tribesmen—but that
was all. If they attempted to go farther they
were ordered away, although I could find no evidence that any stranger had been
killed or injured by the Guaymís for
many years.
Personally I had little fear of
being ordered out. I had had much experience with various reputedly hostile
tribes; I had learned their ways, their psychologies, and several of their dialects; and never had I been harmed or
threatened. And I felt I would be just as successful with the Guaymís. Most important of all, I had already
made a firm friend of one of the
Guaymí chiefs. To his house I went first of all, and, as I had expected and
hoped, with him to vouch for me the
rest was easy.
For days I dwelt in chief
Neonandí's house. I picked up a working knowledge of the
dialect, I met many of the tribe,
and I secured much valuable information and many specimens. The house, like all
Guaymí houses, was a huge affair built of split logs and roofed with thatch.
Around the inside of the walls were a number of small platforms
partitioned off by mats of fibre or palm-leaves and each of these was occupied by a family. Thus the building was a sort of apartment or communal
house. Each family had its own fire, but the
benches, the open centre floor and
everything else was used in common. These Indians were remarkably clean and had
a wonderful idea of sanitation. All drinking water was kept in stopped jars out
of reach of dirt or dogs, all food was hung up or placed on palmwood frames or
shelves, and no poultry or other
live stock was allowed in the house.
The house-site was carefully selected so that there
was no chance of drainage into the
stream used for drinking water, and even latrines were provided in the near-by jungle. Altogether
the Guaymís were a fine lot of
Indians, tall, stalwart, well-proportioned, with small hands and feet, straight
or slightly aquiline high-bridged noses, brown or even hazel eyes, brown or
black hair, and with pale-ochre or russet-coloured skins, many of the women being light olive and no darker than a
brunette European. They have no villages, the
tribesmen being scattered over an immense area—a house here, a house there, often many hours' or even days' marches
apart—while the whole country is
divided roughly into three districts, each ruled by a separate chief—one of
whom was my friend, Neonandí, another
his cousin, while the third, to whom
the others
are subject, was known as Montezuma. How he came by that name, none of the Indians knew. They could only tell me their head chief had always been a Montezuma, and
this, together with other facts, convinced me that the
Guaymís were the direct descendants
of some long-forgotten Aztec province. Many of their
customs and habits were distinctly Aztecan, many of their
religious beliefs and deities were identical with those of the Aztecs, over forty per cent of the words in their
language were Nahua or Aztec, and they—alone
of all known existing Indians—still used the
ancient Aztec spear-throwing-stick or atlatl which the Guaymís called "n'adli."
Having made these discoveries I was all the
more anxious to get into the heart
of the Guaymi country, to visit the other
chiefs—and most especially Montezuma—to meet as many of the
tribe as possible, and to witness some of their
dances and ceremonials.
Neonandí had no objections to
guiding me to any portion of the
Indian country I wished to visit, but he pointed out that it would be a hard,
difficult and long trip, that it would be impossible for me to visit all or
even a fraction of the houses, and
he offered to try and arrange matters so my work would be made much easier and
simpler.
The next day Indians by the dozen arrived at the
house. All wore their feather head-dresses of eagle, heron, owl, wild-turkey
or other feathers;
all were dressed in their gorgeously
coloured shirts and ornately decorated trousers; all were bedecked with
beautifully woven bead-collars and breastplates, necklaces of jaguar and peccary
teeth, human scalp-locks, and personal charms or fetishes; and all had their faces painted in red and black in elaborate
patterns.
Silently and gravely they would enter the
great house, mutter their greetings
and, as Neonandí introduced them,
would place the right hand on my
head and the left on their own breast. Then, seating themselves, they
would remain silent, staring fixedly ahead and waiting, as motionless and as
patiently as so many stone images. At last all had arrived and Neonandí began
talking. I could not catch all he said, but from the
words I understood and his eloquent gestures I knew he was urging my cause. In
his gorgeous clothes, and with his
chief's crown of long iridescent green quetzal feathers—the Aztecs' emblem of a chief—he looked every inch a
king. Whatever he said evidently met with approval, for every now and then some Indian would grunt "K'wank!"
(good) and nod his head. When the
chief at last ceased speaking another
Indian rose and talked, and again the
others grunted assent. When several
had spoken and approval appeared to be unanimous, Neonandí explained that he
had proposed sending word to the other chiefs, who in turn would send word to their subjects, calling upon the
tribesmen to gather at a certain
rendezvous on a certain date so that I might thus visit them
all together, and that the others
present—all of whom were sub-chiefs and councillors, had agreed.
This seemed an excellent
plan, but one of the younger
sub-chiefs had an even better idea. Perhaps, he suggested, many Indians would
not come merely to oblige a stranger and a white man; for white men were not
liked and the wilder and shyer Guaymís
might prefer to keep away. But if they
were summoned to a ceremonial dance, they
would be sure to come. All agreed with this, and preparations were at once made
to send word to the chiefs and the tribesmen.
Neonandí brought out a number
of plaited cords of palm-leaf, some black, some white, some chequered black and
white, and some striped. In these the Indians commenced tying knots, arranging them singly and in groups of various combinations.
They were astonishingly like the quipos
of the ancient Incas, and, to my
surprise and delight, I discovered they
were used in precisely the same
manner. Each cord had its own meaning or key, the
white ones signifying one kind of a message, the
blacks another, and so on, while
knots indicated the details. It was
amazing to find what long and intricate messages could be conveyed in this
simple manner.
When all were ready, several
young Indians appeared from outside the
house, their faces painted with
designs indicating they were
couriers from Chief Neonandí, and on official business. The face painting of the Guaymís is not purely ornamental, but every
design, mark and pattern has its definite meaning, and, in order that these may be always the
same, the Indians use carved or
engraved wooden stamps for imprinting the
pigments on the skin.
Each courier carried a chakara
or pouch containing parched maize, a bit of dried meat and some tobacco.
Each was given a number of the
letter-strings and, silently as ghosts, they
slipped from the house into the night and started on their
long journey over the mountains. I
was surprised that they did not use
horses, for the Guaymís all own
tough and wiry ponies and are splendid horsemen. But Neonandí assured me that they could travel faster and farther afoot; and later, when I journeyed over the mountains and saw the
awful trails and fearfully rough and broken country, I was not surprised that the couriers preferred Shank's mare.
The meeting had been arranged
for eight days later, and in due time we left Neonandí’s house, the chief having placed a carved wooden figure or
"proxy" in the doorway to
guard his home during his absence—and headed into the
mountains. The going was hard but the
scenery was superb. There were cloud-piercing peaks, roaring rivers, tumbling
cataracts, rich mountain valleys and vast upland plains or savannas. Most of the time we were well above the
jungle, often above the timber-line,
and stunted live-oaks and coarse grass were the
only forms of vegetation. Three days of fearful trails—traversing razor-edged
ridges with yawning abysses on cither
side, skirting terrific precipices where a misstep meant certain death, fording
torrents, scrambling up one precipitous mountain-side and sliding down another—brought us at last, tired, aching and
sun-baked, to the meeting-place. A
marvellously beautiful spot it was! In the
midst of a maze of cloud-draped ranges a great flat-topped, isolated mountain
rose like a stupendous pyramid. Upon this, in the
centre of the level space at the summit, stood the
ceremonial house or temple, an immense structure of fresh thatch and timber
especially erected for the occasion.
It was fully one hundred feet in length by sixty feet wide and fifty feet high,
with its eaves reaching to within two feet of the
ground. A few yards to one side was a smaller building—put up, I found, for my
own use. But it was already occupied. Just inside the
door was a small raised platform, and, squatting upon this and thoroughly at
home, was a shrewd-faced, wrinkled little Indian whose owl-feather head-band and insignia showed him to be a
medicine-man. Bobbing and grinning he declared—to Neonandí and myself—that he
had installed himself within the
entrance to my hut for the purpose
of guarding me from evil spirits. But I soon found the
wily fellow had more selfish motives for being there.
No Indian could come to my hut to trade without passing this Cerberus at my
gates, who permitted no one to enter without paying toll—or perhaps better,
duties—in the shape of articles of
native handiwork, which, later on, he disposed of to me at a good profit. He
was a leech, a grafter and a parasite no doubt, but he was a
medicine-man and as such was regarded with a certain amount of respect and
fear, and, as through him I secured many specimens which I might not have
obtained otherwise, and as he was
rich in folk-lore, and was a veritable mine of information for me, I permitted
him to remain.
Already scores of Guaymís had
gathered on the
mountain-top, dozens of spirals of blue smoke rose from the
camp-fires, and the gorgeously
coloured costumes of the assembled
Indians gave a most striking effect as they
moved about, the women cooking the evening meal, the
men busy with preparations for the
dance, and the children running,
jumping and rolling about here, there
and everywhere.
I had scarcely settled myself
in my hut when Neonandí, who had slipped away, returned and informed me that the "dance-chief" was very ill, and that
unless he recovered no ceremonial could be held. Would I try to cure him? I
agreed to try, and Neonandí led the
way to the great temple and,
stooping low, we squirmed under the
eaves and entered the building.
Within, the beams and rafters were hung with flowers, birds'
skins, and streamers of dyed cotton. In the
centre stood an altar-like table piled high with every variety of food known to
the Guaymís, and decorated with
maize-stalks, flower-covered coffee-tree branches, sugar-cane flowers, and
brilliant orchids. Round two sides of the
building were rows of roughly-hewn log benches and carved wooden stools, and in
a farther corner was a small raised
platform enclosed by a yard-high partition of woven palm leaf.
Here, wrapped in innumerable
skins and bark-cloth blankets, lay a wizened, grey-headed old Indian, his face
drawn and pinched with pain. I diagnosed his case as nothing worse than colic,
gave him some pills, and assured him and Neonandí that he would be quite well
by the following day.
As we emerged from the great house the
Indians gathered about and gazed at
me almost reverently, for word had spread that I was doctoring the dance-chief, who, to their
minds, was a most sacred personage and a great witchdoctor. If he sought
my help, they reasoned, I must be an
even greater medicine-man!
I had thought that all the participants in the
forthcoming ceremonial were now present, but throughout the
night and the day following the Indians continued to arrive, until on the morning of the
great day over one thousand Guaymís were gathered
on the mountain-top. Most assuredly Neonandí
s letter-strings had done their work
well!
Montezuma, however, had not
appeared. Neonandí was sure that he would attend, but as hour after hour passed
without a sign of him even the
assembled Indians began to think that their
head-chief had failed them. Then
from far off came the faint sound of
a cow-horn trumpet, and instantly the
Indians were on the alert. Shouting
"Montezuma! Montezuma!" they
commenced beating drums and blowing horns and whistles.
Soon, from beyond a
projecting spur of the mountainside,
a little group of mounted Guaymís appeared and, to a welcoming roar of
salutation, the ruler of all the Guaymís came riding into our midst.
I had pictured the Guaymí king as an old, grim-visaged Indian, but
to my amazement he was a young man, a finely-built, well set-up and very
light-skinned Indian, with regular features, a dignified expression, broad
forehead, and intelligent face. His costume was in no way different from that
of his subjects, though his crown of sacred quetzal plumes, set off by a
band of golden and scarlet macaw feathers,
was a most regal affair.
Also, much to my surprise,
Montezuma addressed me in fairly good Spanish, although it developed later that
a few set phrases comprised his entire knowledge of that language. He seemed
very friendly, told Neonandí that he would order his subjects to permit me to
photograph them, and added that he
would instruct them to bring all the handiwork they
possessed and trade with me. Then, accompanied by Neonandí and two
medicine-men, he disappeared into the
temple.
As the
sun set the Indians lit flaring
torches; and when night fell they gathered in a great throng about the ceremonial house. Drums boomed, flutes and
whistles shrilled, and rattles shook, until the
barbaric music rose to a deafening roar. Then, slowly at first, but with
ever-increasing speed, the Indians
commenced dancing round and around the
temple, chanting in unison, keeping time to the
throbbing drums and piping flutes, and alternately stooping low or leaping up
in regular order, until the moving
stream of figures appeared like a great serpent gliding in sinuous curves about
the building.
Suddenly the music stopped, and silently the dancers faded away, ducking under the eaves of the
temple. From within came a weird chant, a wailing cadence, and the slow measured beat of drums. I was anxious to
enter and watch what was going on, but Neonandí warned me against it. The evil
spirits were being driven out, he explained, and if I went near they might take possession of me. A few moments
later, however, when the music had
ceased, the chief touched my arm and
beckoned for me to follow him. I was to enter the
temple to witness the sacred
ceremonies of the Guaymís, to see
what no other white man had ever
looked upon!
Inside, a few guttering
torches cast a fitful glare over the
scene and filled the great building
with resinous smoke. Round one side the
men were seated—row after row of closely packed, savage-looking figures, staring
fixedly ahead, smoking their
ceremonial pipes of carved stone, and giving not the
least sign that they had noticed my
entrance or were aware of my presence. Between them
and the central altar-like structure
was a fire of huge logs, and over this girls were cooking thick, unsweetened
chocolate, while near by others
stirred an immense pot of rice chicha.
Moving silently about, other girls were passing the
chicha and bitter chocolate to the
men; and on the opposite side of the altar sat scores of women, their long hair falling over their
faces and their eyes fixed upon the floor. All about the
altar were placed small earthenware effigies
of birds, beasts and reptiles, with a few human figures, some monsters that
resembled ogres or devils, and many miniature clay pots, dishes and plates.
All this I took in at a
glance, and then seated myself on a
low stool that had been reserved for me. Also, I accepted the chicha and chocolate handed to me and
endeavoured to sit as silently and immovably as the
Indians, while expectantly awaiting the
next item on the programme.
Presently Neonandí rose,
approached the altar, and began to
harangue the assembled Guaymís. What
he said I could not catch, for he spoke rapidly and used many words I had not
before heard, but now and then a
phrase was intelligible. As he ceased speaking a chorus of "K'wanks!"
came from some of the Indians. Next
Montezuma stepped forward, arrayed in all his gorgeous regalia and with the long quetzal feathers
of his crown gleaming like emeralds in the
torchlight. Very eloquently he spoke, and as he concluded a roar of "K'wank!
K'wank!" came from the
audience. Many, however, remained silent, showing no signs of either approval or disapproval.
Montezuma resumed his seat, and
a strange and impressive figure came hopping to the
centre of the floor. Wonderfully
clad, decorated with strings of scalp-locks, feathers
and animal skins, his chest covered with beadwork and teeth, a crown of immense
white aigrettes upon his head, and his wrinkled features almost concealed by
intricate painting, I scarcely recognized the
old dance-chief whom I had doctored the
preceding afternoon.
In a high, cracked voice he
addressed the Indians, leaping in
air, waving his arms to emphasize his words. When he ceased at last every man
present shouted "K'wank! K'wank!" The vote, whatever it was, was
unanimous.
The next moment Neonandí and
Montezuma came forward, and grasping my arms, led me, astonished and
unresisting, to a spot beside the
altar. Was I, I wondered, to be sacrificed? Had all this ceremony been planned
to lead up to this end? I couldn't believe it, but I must admit I did feel
nervous. Neonandí’s grin and Montezuma's smile reassured me, however.
Then, in broken Spanish Neonandí
proceeded to explain, and his words were even more amazing than anything that
had gone before. I had, he said, been duly elected a member of the tribe! He had proposed it, Montezuma had
seconded it, and the old high-priest
had carried the motion without a
dissenting voice. It was evidently up to me to say something; so, as well as I
was able, I made an impromptu speech in a weird mixture of Guaymí and Spanish,
which was duly—though I fear far from literally—interpreted by Neonandí, and
was greeted with uproarious applause.
The next instant the dance-chief came hopping from his corner
carrying a basket and a bag. Thrusting his claw-like hand into the latter, he drew out a bead collar and gorget,
which he quickly placed about my neck. Next came a string of jaguar teeth and a
fillet of scalp-locks. A painted drum was hung over my shoulder, and then, as Montezuma deftly drew the tribal mark of the
Guaymís across my cheeks, and added two round spots below them and a line down my nose, the
dance-chief placed a crown of hair from the
giant ant-bear upon my head.
I was absolutely dumbfounded,
for 1 knew enough of Guaymí customs to realize that I was not only being made a
Guaymí, but a medicine-chief as well, for the
crown of ant-bear hair is the emblem
of that rank, as are also the
painted dots on the cheeks.
I was, I knew, being most
highly honoured by my Indian friends, but I confess I felt rather silly and horribly conspicuous with all those Guaymís
staring at me, for even the women
had brushed back their hair and had
turned to gaze at the unique
ceremony of transforming a white man into an Indian. And I was nervous
as to the further
steps in the initiation. Should I be
forced to endure some torture to prove my fitness to become a member of the tribe, or to undergo some other and perhaps equally unpleasant and impossible
test?
But I need not have worried.
The initiation—at least in my case—was very simple, once I had been elected by
vote and decked in the full regalia
of a Guaymí medicine-chief. Neonandí, Montezuma and the
dance-chief saluted me in Guaymí fashion, addressed me as "brother," and made short speeches.
These were greeted with howls
of approval and a bedlam of drums, whistles, rattles and trumpets. Then, when I
had swallowed a calabash of chocolate, the
ceremony was at an end, and I resumed my seat amid my fellow-tribesmen. I was a
full-fledged Guaymí chief, honoured as no other
white man had ever been—and all because I had cured an old Indian of
indigestion!
Scarcely was I seated when the assembled Indians rose and commenced a slow,
wailing chant. The barbaric music was resumed, while the
old dance-chief took his place beside the
altar, carrying a "devil-stick" in one hand.
Then, in perfect rhythm, the Indians began dancing round and round the altar. Every now and again one would shout the name of some bird, beast, person or spirit.
Then, leaping aside from the line of
dancers, he would seize a handful of food from the
altar, thrust some in his mouth, stoop quickly and drop some into one of the tiny clay dishes, and throw the remainder into the
fire. At the same time the dance-chief would pick up the
image of the creature or being whose
name had been called, together with the dish of food, and breaking them into bits, toss them
into the flames.
This continued until the last of the
food and the last of the images had been destroyed. It was a strange and
interesting rite, and Neonandí gladly explained its purpose to me. The images,
it seemed, represented persons, beasts, birds and supernatural beings who could
not attend the ceremony in person,
but whose spirits were believed to have entered the
figures for the occasion. The food
on the altar was for them, for being unable to eat while in their clay forms, the
Indians acted as proxies, while the
dance-chief broke the images in
order to release the spirits so that
they might return to their own bodies. And he burned the fragments in order to prevent evil spirits from
taking possession of them.
When the
last image had been disposed of the
ceremony came to an abrupt end. The Indians gathered
in groups, laughing and chatting, and presently all had slipped from the building. Outside all was in readiness for the grand finale—the
strange "stick-dance," dear to the
hearts of the Guaymís. About a
cleared level, flaring torches had been placed, although the
bright moonlight rendered them
unnecessary; and round this spot the
women and most of the men were
squatted, waiting for the fun to
begin. At one side stood the
band—gaily bedecked with feather
crowns and immense sloth-skin head-dresses—carrying drums, flutes, whistles,
trumpets and rattles. Near them, and
arguing loudly, were several Indians, some carrying seven-foot poles about
three inches in diameter, pointed at one end and brilliantly painted, and all
wearing strapped to their backs
stuffed skins of jaguar, otter, deer and peccary bedecked with feathers, bead-collars and scalps. These were the dancers, and there
appeared to be great difficulty in deciding who should start the dance. And when I saw it in full swing I was not
surprised that each man hesitated to be the
first victim, for compared to the Guaymí
stick-dance Rugby football is a gentle game.
Presently, however, all was
satisfactorily arranged. The band struck up, marched several times around the arena, and took up its position at one side. Two
Indians sprang into the open space,
one carrying his heavy stick poised like a harpoon in both hands. Instantly they began to dance, the
one without a stick hopping in the
air, spreading his feet wide apart, dodging back and forth, and constantly
looking over his shoulder at the other, who, with poised stick, shuffled and skipped
about in time to the music.
Presently he lurched forward,
the pole hurtled through the air, and with a dull thud struck the other's
leg. He went down as if shot, and a roar of merriment and applause arose from the onlookers. Limping, but with a broad grin, the fellow picked himself up and once more began to
dance. Once again his opponent threw the
stick, but this time the other dodged, the
staff sped harmlessly between his legs, and the
crowd fairly screamed with delight.
Now it was his turn,
and as the other
danced he threw the stick and
brought the fellow down at the first throw. By this time the
arena was crowded with dancers and stick-throwers, and the
heavy staves flew thick and fast. According to rules, the
dancer must serve as a target until he evades the
stick, whereupon the thrower takes
his place. Amid the fusillade of
sticks and the tangle of dancers, I could
not understand how anyone was sure who hit another,
or whose partner dodged. That some Indian was not crippled or killed seemed
miraculous, but the stuffed skins on
the dancers' backs protected their spines, and Neonandí assured me that serious
injuries were rare. Still, it was emphatically no child's game, and when the Indians urged me to try my hand—or rather feet—I felt that being a Guaymí had its
drawbacks. However, I was a member of the
tribe, I could not well refuse, and it would have ill-befitted a medicine-chief
to show signs of cowardice. So, with a stuffed ocelot skin on my back, I
hesitatingly entered the dancing
space.
Being a new hand at the game, the
Indians considerately arranged that I should have the
part of stick-thrower instead of dancer. I am quite sure, too, that the fellow who danced allowed me to bowl him over
repeatedly, and I am equally certain that when at last he dodged and I took his
place he purposely avoided hitting me. The assembled Guaymís, however, like the good sportsmen they
were, applauded my success as loudly as though I had been an expert. Throughout
the night the
fun continued, until all were too weary or too bruised to dance longer. By
dawn, too, many of the Indians had
vanished, slipping like ghosts into the
fastnesses of the mountains.
I had accomplished far more
than I had hoped for, but I greatly regretted that I had been unable to take a
photograph of the stick-dance. But
when I spoke of this to Montezuma and Neonandí, the
two chiefs at once solved the
difficulty. A special stick-dance would be held by daylight for my benefit!
Never in all the history of the
Guaymís had such a thing been done before, but Montezuma's word was law, and
though some of the Indians demurred
at first, they went through the dance. But despite all the
chiefs could do, the participants would
insist on watching me and my camera, and they
took far more interest in my actions than in the
dance.
All through that day the Indians continued to leave—often with no word of
farewell to anyone, sometimes coming to my hut to bid good-bye to Neonandí and
myself—but still hundreds remained.
That night, as we sat in my
hut, the Indians began dropping in
until the walls were lined with the Guaymís. Presently a fellow slipped in whom I
recognized as an Indian who had worn a remarkable head-dress of sloth-skin
during the day, and who had objected
most strenuously to being photographed.
Suddenly he emitted an
agonized groan and slumped to the
floor. I hurried to him to find him gasping, his face contorted, and apparently
dying. Here was a pretty how-do-you-do. If the
fellow expired every Indian—with the
possible exception of Neonandí and Montezuma—would be convinced he had been
destroyed by having been photographed, and, as practically all present had also
been snapped, they would begin to
fear for their own lives. In that
case, my life would not be worth a brass farthing. Even though I was an honorary
member of the tribe, even though Neonandí
and Montezuma stood by me, nothing could save me if that miserable Indian died
on my hands. Nervous, frightened, my mind trying to formulate some plan, I
dragged the fellow into the light and warmth of the
fire. I could find no heart-beat, no breath. I forced open his eyelids and
found the eyes rolled up, and never
a quiver resulted when I touched them.
I forced open his lips, poured whisky down his throat, rubbed him, slapped him,
tried artificial respiration, and finally, at the
end of my resources, wrapped him in blankets and placed him close to the fire. All the
time the Indians were gazing,
fixedly, silently at me. Their eyes gleamed, their
stern lips were set, and I felt it would be but a matter of minutes before they sprang upon me. Neonandí was as nervous, as
worried, as myself. But he was powerless to prevent an attack under such conditions,
and, I fear, he was not entirely free from superstitions regarding the cause of the
Indian's apparent demise. There was nothing I could do. Any effort to resist
those sullen, glaring savages would have been worse than useless, and so,
striving to remain calm and to show no signs of fear, with the idea of bluffing the
watching crowd, I calmly filled and lit my pipe and nonchalantly seated myself
in my hammock. Slowly, the minutes
passed; each second I thought would be my last, and then—so
unexpectedly that it was downright uncanny—the
miracle happened! The "dead" Indian sighed, he opened his eyes, he
rose to his feet, and without a word he stalked from the
hut and vanished into the night! He
had had a fit, nothing more.
It had been a close call for
me, but it brought most unexpected results. The Indians, quite convinced that their fellow-tribesman had actually died, saw in his
resurrection some great and awesome magic on my part. Had they not seen him dead? Had I not brought him back
to life? Their new white medicine-chief was a mighty witchdoctor indeed. They
gazed at me in awe, regarded me as a superior being, and vied with one another in bringing me their
choicest possessions. But, thank Heaven, they
did not bring a really defunct Indian and ask me to restore him to life!
By the
next morning only Neonandí and his people and Montezuma and his retinue were
left of the hundreds who had gathered on the
mountain-top. Montezuma had already urged me to visit his section of the kingdom, and when he prepared to depart he
repeated his invitation, addressing me as "brother"
and assuring me of protection and perfect freedom wherever and whenever I might
travel through the Guaymís' lands.
"You are one of
us," he said. "Though your skin is white, you are my kinsman and brother and a medicine chief. You are Cuviboranandi"
(the white stranger who came
over sea to become a medicine-chief). "Every Guaymí in the land knows of you, and whenever you return, even
though all of my blood and all those who have been here are dead, still will
you be known as a Guaymí and welcomed everywhere—even among the most barbarous and savage of my people."
I feel sure he spoke the truth. An Indian's memory is long, and, no
doubt, should I ever return to the Guaymí
country, I should be regarded not as a stranger and a white man, but as an
Indian. The chances are, however, that I shall never go back, and only my
picturesque regalia and the memory
of the weird night ceremony on the mountain-top will remain to remind me that I am
a Guaymí Indian chief.
From Everyland
magazine, January 1917. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, Jan. 2012.
