Showing posts with label folklore. Show all posts
Showing posts with label folklore. Show all posts

Saturday, 8 February 2014

Folklore of British Guiana

FOLK-LORE OF RORAIMA AND BRITISH GUIANA.

Extracted from J. Boddam-Whetham's "Roraima and British Guiana," by Mabel Peacock.
IT is the fashion in many parts of the West Indies for sheep to accompany horses. They say it is healthy for sheep to live in the stables with horses, and they get so attached to one another that, out-of-doors, the former will not leave the latter as long as they can keep up with them.—(.P 31.) [Compare the preceding extract with the English custom of keeping goats in stables, and among flocks of sheep.]
"A fishing boat sailed by, in which was an enormous Jew-fish, at which the 'Admiral' pulled a very long face, and explained to us that, whenever a Jew-fish was caught, some one of high position in St. Thomas (in the West Indies) was sure to die, or perhaps was already dead. Strangely enough, next morning we noticed that all the flags were at half-mast, and heard that news had just arrived of the death in England of the head of one of the chief firms in the island."—(P. 34.)
"The yellow flowers of the 'cedar bush' sprinkle the mountain-side (in St. Thomas), and a species of bitter aloe is common; from the latter an old black woman of the town makes a decoction which is positively declared to be a certain cure for lung disease. The fleshy leaves contain a jelly-like pulp; this, after being extracted, is washed seven times in pure water, and beaten up with eggs and milk. To effect a cure, seven wine-glasses of it must be drunk. In Mexico I have frequently seen the same medicine used, and have heard wonderful stories of its power, but there the number seven is not included in the recipe."—(P. 37.)
"Morne Rouge (in Martinique) is one of the localities which the negroes say is at certain seasons visited by the celebrated Dominican friar, Père Labat, who arrived in Martinique in 1693. He is said to appear in the guise of a lambent flame."—(P. 65.)
"After the Warimambo (Guiana), we came almost immediately on some very steep rapids . . . . . . Here one of the crew nearly lost his life, as he was swept off his feet by the strong current, and only just caught the rope in time to save himself from being carried over a dangerous eddy . . . . . . He attributed his safety to the strictness with which the Indians had observed the proper respect due to a trogon that had flown over our heads in the morning; they have a superstition that, if on setting out on a journey they should turn their backs to this species of birds, ill-luck will surely follow."—(P. 146.)
"Of game birds we bagged a paui, curasow, and two maroudis, a species of wild turkey. The Indians say that the maroudi obtained its bare red throat by swallowing a fire-stick which it mistook for a glow-worm."— (P. 160.)
"A small accourie (Dastyprocta agouti) was the only four-footed creature we got. This little rodent figures prominently in Indian mythology. One of the legends runs thus: The inhabitants of the sky once peeped through a hole that they had been told not to approach, and on looking down saw another world. They therefore cut down long bush-ropes and let themselves down. After wandering about they became frightened and began to ascend the ladder, but an old lady of too ample proportions stuck in the hole, and, during the fighting and scrambling that ensued, the rope broke and many had to remain on earth. Then as they had no provisions they become very lean, but noticing that the accourie was always plump they set the woodpecker to watch its feeding-ground. But the woodpecker betrayed himself by his tapping. Then the alligator was told to watch, and he found out, but came back and told a lie, so they cut out his tongue.[1] Then the rat was sent off, but he never returned and the people starved. They wandered off and left a little child behind, and when they returned after a long time, having lived on berries, they found the child alive and well, and surrounded by indian corn-cobs that the accourie had fed it with. Then the child followed the accourie after its next visit and discovered the maize-field, and the people were saved. In gratitude they kill and eat the delicate little animal whenever they have the opportunity.
"In their tradition of the Deluge, maize takes the place of the olive-branch. They say that only one man was saved in his canoe, and when he sent out a rat to discover land, it brought back a head of Indian corn. The Caribs, in their account of the Creation, say that the Great Spirit sat on a mora-tree, and picking off pieces of the bark threw them into the stream, and they became different animals. Then the Great Spirit Makanaima made a large mould, and out of this fresh, clean clay, the white man stepped. After it got a little dirty the Indian was formed, and the Spirit being called away on business for a long period the mould became black and unclean, and out of it walked the negro. All the Indian tribes of Guiana .... rank themselves far higher than the negro race, and the Caribs consider themselves the first of the tribes, calling themselves 'the' people, and their language 'the' language."—(Pp. 171, 172.)
"As we ascended the river from Teboco, we had noticed on some distant hills a remarkable rocky peak which is called 'the Caribisce' from the legend stating that it is an Indian hunter who was turned into stone for daring to ascend the mountain. To-day from our camp we saw in the direction from which we had come, east, another curious peak rising like a gigantic thimble from a flat table-mountain. The name of this is Sororieng, i.e. Swallow's Nest, and it is an object of much dread to the superstitious Indians."—(P. 177.)
"Above all other localities, an Indian is fond of an open, sandy beach whereon to pass the night. There in the open, away from the dark, shadowy forest, he feels secure from the stealthy approach of the dreaded 'kanaima' (the 'kanaima' is a secret murderer who performs his work generally by poison); the magic rattle of the 'peaiman' (the 'peaiman' is the sorcerer and doctor of the tribe) has less terror for him when unaccompanied by the weird rustling of the waving branches; and there even the wild hooting of the 'didi' (the 'didi' is supposed to be a wild man of the woods, possessed of immense strength and covered with hair) is bereft of that intensity with which it pierces the gloomy depths of the surrounding woodland. It is strange that the superstitious fear of these Indians, who are bred and born in the forest and hills, should be chiefly based on natural forms and sounds. Certain rocks they will never point at with a finger, although your attention may be drawn to them by an inclination of the head. Some rocks they will not even look at, and others again they beat with green boughs. Common bird-cries become spirit-voices. Any place difficult of access, or little known, is invariably tenanted by huge snakes or horrible four-footed animals. Otters are transformed into mermaids, and water-tigers inhabit the deep pools and caves of their rivers."—(P. 182.)
"Two of our Acawais would not eat the delicious pacu, although they did not refuse the ray, or the electric fish. In North America, too, the Comanche Indians will not eat fish that have scales, but are fond of those that have none. The different tribes of Guiana have various ideas regarding what food is fit and what is unfit to be eaten. For instance the Caribs will not touch large fish, nor will they eat pork. The Macusi consider the flesh of cattle unclean, but do not object to that of peccary and wild boar. The Warraees think roast dog a great delicacy, therein resembling the Cheyennes of North America."— (P. 184.)
"After crossing the river, the first part of our journey was to ascend the slopes of the Seroun mountains . . . The narrow trail wound in and out, and up and down, and over and under enormous masses of conglomerate rock, whose smooth and shapely sides, rising perpendicularly for sixty or seventy feet, were crowned by grasses and ferns. Under some of these were flowers and green branches that had been offered to the rock-spirits by the superstitious natives."—(P. 190.)
"The campanero (Procnias carunculata, bell-bird) is pure white, strange colour for a tropical bird, and from its forehead extends a long tube which it can inflate at pleasure, and which is covered with small white, downy feathers . . . . . . Our Indians, and others that we met, did not object to shoot one occasionally, but in Brazil the campanero is greatly dreaded, as its call is believed to be the cry of a soul, condemned to perpetual torments."—(P. 192.)
"As the captain did not arrive at the appointed time with the woodskins, we amused ourselves with some amateur hair-cutting, which so delighted the natives that many of them insisted on being shorn of their long black tresses. These they carefully gathered, and after wrapping them in leaves buried in some retired part of the forest, so that no kanaima should get hold of them and exercise his incantations to the destruction of the late owner."—(P. 204.)
"Before it was dark we heard the sound of a horn blown lustily from the river, and soon a woodskin appeared containing a man, woman, and child. It turned out that they lived near Roraima, and having heard from Captain David that we wanted a guide had hastened after us. The man's name was Abraham, He declined to camp with us, but preferred going farther on, as he said that close by was the cave of a celebrated 'water-māmā,' near whom it was dangerous to sleep.
"The Indians firmly believe in the reality of these mermaids, or 'water-māmās' as they are called in Dutch-Creole; and where they are supposed to have their caves or nests there great danger awaits the traveller. Some are related to be extremely beautiful and possessing long golden hair, like the Lorelei, and whoever casts his eye on them is seized with madness, jumps into the deep water, and never returns. Others are hideous, snakes being twined about them, and with their long white talons they drag boats under the water and devour their occupants. On the Orinoco and Amazon similar creatures are supposed to exist, but these are capable of drawing their prey into their mouths at a distance of a hundred yards. In order to avoid such a calamity, the natives always blow a horn before entering a creek or lagoon in which one of these monsters may be living; if it happens to be there, it will immediately answer the horn and thus give warning to the intruder."—(P. 211.)
"A very old lady with long white hair received us, and began to moan and beat her breast wildly. We asked what she was doing, and discovered that she was relating the difficulties of the path to Roraima. . . . . . . Already our superstitious carriers had lent too ready an ear to the terrors of Roraima as depicted by the son, and now the mother seemed disposed to add her store of legends and tales of witchcraft for general information. Before we left she made the entire party blow three times on her back for good luck, but whether the luck was for her or for us we never found out."—(P. 217.)
"In the evening a party of Indians arrived. . . . . . . Like other Indians we had met and questioned, these people beat their breast and uttered various cries when they told us of the mountains to be crossed, and added their testimony to the spirits of Roraima."—(P. 221.)
"Horn-blowing was a very useful accomplishment of our guide, as it kept us straight and frightened away the various evil spirits, from a water-māmā to a wood-demon."—(P. 224.)
"We commenced with a short but very steep ascent, and after following a wretched path came to a mountain called Marikamura. Then we had a climb which, in length, far surpassed that of the previous day. . . . . . . About half-way up we met an unpleasant-looking Indian who informed us that he was a great 'peaiman,' and the spirit which he possessed ordered us not to go to Roraima. The mountain, he said, was guarded by an enormous 'camoodi,' which could entwine a hundred people in its folds. He himself had once approached its den, and had seen demons running about as numerous as quails."~(P. 22-5.)
"A wet evening made us retire early to our hammocks, and soon after a few shrill cries were heard issuing from the forest, and presently with hair streaming wildly and shaking a rattle the old sorcerer, whom we had met on the mountain, passed hurriedly along the road to Roraima. He looked neither to the right nor left, and quickly disappeared in the gloom."—(P. 226.)
"No wonder . . . . . . that such a spirit-dreading race should regard the weird and mysterious mountain (Roraima) with an awe which might almost be called reverential, were it not entirely inspired by fear. They (the Indians) believe that the magic circle which encompasses their 'red-rocked night mountain,' cannot be approached without danger, that he who enters it will never return, and that the demon-guarded sanctuary on the summit will never be gazed on by mortal eyes."—(P. 229.)
"Near where we had halted, we found the 'peaiman' looking very disconsolate under the shelter of leaves. For a consideration, he offered to charm away the evil spirits that would beset us, and declared that without his assistance we should be unable to cross the river that we saw below us. Not desiring his society, we declined his aid."—(P. 230.)
"Our Indians were rejoiced to see us back again, as they had not expected that the mountain-demons would allow us to return."—(P. 244.)
"Indians never eat eggs or poultry, and only keep hens as pets."—(P. 250.)
"I had been anxious to visit the emerald mines of Muzo, not only for the sake of seeing the mines themselves, but in order to obtain some specimens of the rare 'Morpho Cyprio.' Afterwards at Panama, I saw two of these wonderful butterflies, and was not astonished at the belief of the miners of Muzo that the splendid insects feed on the emeralds, and so obtain their brilliant hue."—(P. 311.)
"The natives of Panama have an odd legend, which accounts for the absence of feathers on the head and neck of these birds (turkey-buzzards, Cathartes aura), gallinazos, as they call them. It is said that after the Deluge, Noah, when opening the door of the ark, thought it well to give a word of advice to the released animals. 'My children,' said he, 'when you see a man coming towards you and stooping down, go away from him; he is getting a stone to throw at you.' 'Very good,' said the gallinazo, 'but what if he has one already in his pocket?' Noah was taken aback at this, but finally decided that in future the gallinazo should be born bald in token of its remarkable sagacity."—(P. 334.)
1.                       The Indians to the present day do not recognise in the alligator that shapeless fleshy mass, which is incapable of extension, as a tongue. Herodotus, too, who was a keen observer of the crocodile, repeats the idea that it is tongueless and for that reason was regarded by the Egyptians as an emblem of mystery.

Thursday, 14 June 2012

How the Fog Came


   How the Fog Came
By A. Hyatt Verrill
Author of "Harpers Aircraft Book," "Harpers Wireless Book," etc.
From Everyland magazine, Legends of the Northland, March 1915. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, June 2012.

It was dreary winter time in the Arctic, and the icy gales whistled around the little group of igloos (snow houses), drifting the fine snow about them until nothing but their low, rounded tops showed above the dazzling white surfaces which stretched away for countless miles to the frozen shores of the Arctic Ocean.
Just within the tunnel-like entrances to the huts the dogs huddled together, now and then howling dismally at the storm without or snapping at one another in a wolfish, savage manner. Within the little dwellings built of blocks of frozen snow, it was warm and comfortable, with no sound or sign of the blizzard raging outside. Near the center of each house stood a rude stone lamp filled with whale-oil, and with a row of moss about its edge. This moss served as the wick, and from this primitive stove the occupants of the house received their warmth and light.
 All around the inside of the igloo was a bench of ice, covered with the skins and furs of foxes, bears, seals, and wolves. On this bench sat the women; among them old Nepaluka, her wrinkled face bent close to the deerskin shirt which she was patiently stitching with a sharp bone needle and sinew threads. Near her was Newilic, her son, busily at work upon a walrus tusk, which under his deft fingers was being transformed into a long snow-knife. Between these two sat Kemiplu, Newilic's motherless daughter, a chubby brown-eyed lass of five years, playing with a horn dipper and a handful of bright pebbles.
Finally the grandmother finished the last seam, and, placing the completed shirt aside, sank back among the furs. The little granddaughter had tired of her simple toys, and cuddling up to the old woman, begged for a story. The grandmother smiled and gathering the little bundle of fur-wrapped humanity in her arms said:
"And of what shall I tell you, little daughter? Shall it be of Ukla the great bear who made the fog; of Nowgaluk the gull who ate the whales; or why the crow is black and the loon speckled?"
"O tell me of Ukla, Ananating!" (Grandmother), cried the child delightedly, and her busy father looked up from his work and listened attentively, for the simple Eskimos love their quaint old legends and never tire of hearing them repeated.
"Many, many winters ago," began the old woman, "there was a great white bear named Ukla. He and his wife lived many days' travel to the west in a great skin house upon a rocky plain, and all about the house were the skulls of men and women; for wicked old Ukla loved human flesh, and every night he traveled far across the land to the homes of our people. He would kill those whom he could find outside their huts, or would steal the bodies of the dead, and, fastening a rope of skin about their feet, would drag them across the rocks and hills to his home.
"Sometimes he was seen by the Eskimos, but oftener they saw only his giant footprints in the moss and snow, or found the graves deserted and empty. For many years this had gone on, and, although the people held medicine feasts and asked the Great Spirit to help them, yet he seemed displeased and answered not their prayers.
"Many times also the people lay in wait and tried to kill the robber bear with their spears and arrows, but Ukla was a great anti-coot (magician), and the bone-tipped weapons fell back bent or broken from his shaggy sides. At last the Eskimos were in despair, when one day a tall fair stranger came among them and said.
" 'Take heart, for I will rid you of this Ukla.'
"Then the Eskimos danced and beat their drums and rejoiced, and the stranger said to them:
" 'Tomorrow I will pretend to die and you must wrap me in skins and bury me among the stones, and when Ukla comes let him depart in peace with me.' Then the people grew very sad and sorrowful, but he answered them saying, 'Weep not, for soon I will return, and never after shall Ukla rob the graves of the Eskimos.'
"Then the people did as the stranger told them, and, wrapping the stranger in skins, placed him among the stones and departed to their homes crying aloud as if in sorrow. In the evening the great bear, having heard their cries, came across the hills to the village and, finding the body of the stranger, he fastened his rope about the man's heels and started homeward. But the man spread out his arms and grasped at stones, and although Ukla pulled and tugged he could travel but slowly, and every few miles he was compelled to stop and rest from his labors. Then as he looked at his burden he would shake his head in wonder.
" Ah,' he would say to himself, 'who would think such a small man would weigh so much; but he must be fat and fine indeed! What a grand supper he will make!' And thus encouraged by the thoughts of the fine feast he would have, he would again start onward. At last he reached his home and dragging the man within the door threw him into a corner, and tired out with his hard work crawled into his sleeping-bag, telling his wife they would feast in the morning.
"After a time the stranger opened his eyes to look about, but Ukla's wife, who was trimming the lamp, saw him and cried out to her husband:
" 'This man is not dead—he is looking about.'
"But Ukla was very tired and answered sleepily,
" 'Oh, man dead, man frozen stiff.'
"Then the man kept very quiet indeed, and when the bear's wife turned away he caught up Ukla's knife and leaping forward killed her. As she fell the bear awoke, and the man, throwing down the knife, dashed through the door and across the rocky plain while the bear followed close at his heels, panting and growling terribly as he ran.
"At last, run as fast as he might, the man found the bear was constantly gaining and would soon overtake him. Now this stranger was a mighty magician, and as he ran he caused a great hill to rise between himself and Ukla, and as the bear climbed slowly up one side the man ran swiftly and easily down the other; but when Ukla reached the top he curled up and rolled swiftly down the side of the hill and nearly caught the man again.
"Then the stranger caused a mighty river to flow between himself and his pursuer and sat down upon a stone to rest. When Ukla reached the farther side he roared and growled with rage, and in a great voice called out,
" 'How, O man, did you cross the river?'
"And the man laughed and answered, 'I drank my way across.'
"When Ukla heard this he plunged into the stream and drank and drank until at last he made a dry path across the torrent and crawled slowly up the other bank. But his long hair was wet and heavy, and his body was greatly swollen with all the water he had swallowed, so that the man feared him not, and taunted him. Then the bear grew very angry, and with growls like icebergs clashing in a storm he cried out, 'Ugh, even though I am so sodden that I cannot overtake you, yet you shall not escape me,' and giving himself a mighty shake he burst, and the water which he had swallowed flew in all directions and caused a thick fog over all the land.
"Now the man was greatly troubled, for all the hills and plains were hidden from his eyes and he knew not which way to turn. But having skinned the bear he grasped the shaggy hide in his hands and waved it many times about his head, thus making a great wind which drove away the mist. When he reached the village of the Eskimos great was the rejoicing and the men did not work and the women did not comb their hair for three days and three nights, but danced and beat drums and feasted. For many years the stranger dwelt among the Eskimos and taught them many things, and performed many great and brave deeds, but of these I will tell you some other day, for now it is time to sleep, little daughter."
As the old woman ended her tale the little brown eyes were closing, and the grandmother laid the child tenderly among the soft rich furs to dream of the good brave stranger and mighty Ukla the "Fog Father."

Friday, 1 June 2012

Why the Crow is Black and the Loon Speckled



 Why the Crow is Black and the Loon Speckled
‘Legends of the Northland’ column, Everyland magazine, June 1915. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, May 2012.
By A. Hyatt Verrill
Author of "An American Crusoe" "The Cruise of the Cormorant,"etc.

The spring was approaching in the Arctic, and little flocks of snowbirds were twittering outside the igloos on the snow. Soon the Eskimos would be moving into their skin houses and would live much of the time out-of-doors, but it was still cold and dreary, and the people were glad to seek the shelter of their ice huts save when fishing or hunting. In Newilic's home old Nepaluka, ever busy, stitched steadily away at a pair of sealskin moccasins while her son bound a tough thong of skin about the cracked stock of his ancient rifle given him by a whaler in exchange for musk-ox and bearskins.
Little Kemiplu played about, running here and there, tumbling among the heavy robes and furs and filling the close, smoky air with childish laughter. Presently she spied a pot of black soot carefully set aside for future use, and unnoticed she dipped her chubby fingers in the thick black mass and, pleased at its appearance, daubed it over her round little cheeks. Then, running to her grandmother, she proudly exhibited the results of her first attempt at self-adornment. The gentle, patient old woman dropped her work and threw up her hands in amazement:
"Hail Ai!" she cried, "what is this, you naughty little one? Are you a little imp, or is it a little crow I see? Ah, Kemiplu, you are indeed like the crow. Never quiet for a moment, and now you are as black as when the loon was through with him."
All unabashed Kemiplu cried out in glee.
"Oh, Ananating," (Grandmother), "tell me the story of the crow and the loon!"
The old woman picked up the pet of the household in her arms and exclaimed:
"Ah, you little tease, you have wasted the father's black and have daubed your face, and what now but your grandmother must reward you with a story! Well, my old eyes are tired with the sewing, and 'twill serve to keep you from further mischief, so I will tell you the tale you desire."
"Many moons ago," began the old woman, "all the birds were of one color, white like the snow, and all the beasts were of one color, brown like the rocks. One day the crow, while stealing bits of skin from the village of the Eskimos, saw the medicine-man, as he pierced the skin and rubbed in the black for the tattoo.
" 'Ah,' said the crow, 'how beautiful do the men make themselves, while we birds are ugly white and one can scarce be known from another!' Flying off he soon saw his friend the loon, and stopped for a chat.
" 'Ai! Ai!' he cried, 'I have been watching the Eskimos and have seen how the men-creatures make themselves beautiful. What a shame that you and I cannot do likewise!'
"Now the loon is a very wise bird; indeed, he might be called a medicineman among the feathered people, and when he heard the crow's story he exclaimed:
" 'And why, brother, should we not also use the black pot and paint our bodies ? If you, who are so wily, will steal the pot of color, we will try.'
"So the crow flew back to the village of the Eskimos, and watching his chance he stole the pot and made off with it. Then the loon said:
" 'You, brother, have seen the man use this thing and must know how to use it better than I. Tattoo me first and I will watch you work, and then when you are through and I have learned the trick I wall tattoo you.' " So the crow took the little sharp bones and dipped them in the black and commenced to tattoo the loon's neck. The loon squawked in pain but he stood still patiently while the crow decorated his neck with black stripes and dots and made neat black squares upon his back.
"Then the loon took up the bone points and told the crow to stand still while he worked out a pattern. But the crow—always a coward—danced and hopped at the first prick, and the needle slipped and made an ugly, scraggly mark. So the loon, who is ever quick-tempered, cried out, 'Stand still, or I will throw the pot at you!'
"Then for another while the crow was quiet, but soon he again began to move and squirm, and the loon, seeing all his beautiful lines and dots rubbed and spoiled, grabbed up the pot of black and threw it at the crow, and the soot spreading and running over him blackened all his feathers as he flapped, squaking, away.
"And as the ugly black bird flew off, the loon, thinking of his own fine tattoo marks laughed loud and long; and even to this day the crow is black and the loon is speckled, and ever as the loon sits on the calm water and sees the reflection of his pretty black and white feathers he thinks of the long ago and laughs in wild glee.
"And now, little daughter, if you are like the crow surely your father is like the loon, for even as he looks upon your black face his sides shake with laughter, so I will clean you lest he burst with merriment."
Thus closing her tale with a fling at her fat, good-natured son, she began the difficult task of removing the black stains from Kemiplu, and presently tucked the child among the robes to dream of things even more wonderful than her grandmother's old legends.

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