The Project Gutenberg eBook of Children of South America, by Katharine A. Hodge This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Children of South America Author: Katharine A. Hodge Release Date: December 22, 2020 [eBook #64105] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILDREN OF SOUTH AMERICA *** CHILDREN OF SOUTH AMERICA Oliphant’s Other Lands Series CHILDREN OF CHINA By C. Campbell Brown CHILDREN OF INDIA By Janet Harvey Kelman CHILDREN OF AFRICA By James B. Baird CHILDREN OF ARABIA By John Cameron Young CHILDREN OF JAMAICA By Isabel C. Maclean CHILDREN OF JAPAN By Janet Harvey Kelman CHILDREN OF EGYPT By L. Crowther CHILDREN OF CEYLON By Thomas Moscrop CHILDREN OF PERSIA By Mrs Napier Malcolm CHILDREN OF BORNEO By Edwin H. Gomes CHILDREN OF LABRADOR By Mary Lane Dwight CHILDREN OF SOUTH AMERICA By Katharine A. Hodge A MAPUCHE INDIAN MOTHER AND HER BABY CHILDREN OF SOUTH AMERICA BY KATHARINE A. HODGE WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR OLIPHANTS LD. 100 PRINCES STREET, EDINBURGH 21 PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON, E.C. Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh Bound by Anderson & Ferrier, St Marys, Edinburgh INTRODUCTION By the Rev. Alan Ewbank Secretary of the South American Missionary Society I have read through with great interest the manuscript of this little book, and can say of those parts of South America which it has been my privilege to visit that Mrs Hodge writes as one who has personal knowledge of the various mission stations. I trust that her words will not only reach the children, but also all who love children, that what little is being done to make their lot brighter may be strengthened, and much more undertaken, so that where now there are superstition and darkness there may be knowledge and light. For the natural world, God said: “Let there be light, and there was light.” For the spiritual world, Jesus said: “I am the Light”; and because He meant to work through us, He also said: “Ye are the light of the world.... Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” November 1915 [5] [6] FOREWORD My dear Young Friends, This little book has been written expressly for you, to whom South America is an entirely new field. On this account I feel it is necessary to devote Chapter I. to the continent itself before proceeding to acquaint you with its youthful inhabitants. I tender my grateful thanks to the South American Missionary Society, the Evangelical Union of South America, the Inland-South America Missionary Union, and the Bolivian Indian Mission for the help their publications have afforded me in trying to place before you something of the sorrows and intense need of South American childhood. Yours, for South America, (Mrs) KATHARINE A. HODGE November 1915 [7] CONTENTS PAGE Introduction 5 Foreward 7 CHAP. I. A Peep at the Continent 11 II. Brazilian Brownies 17 III. Blossom Babies 30 IV. Paraguayan Piccaninnies 37 V. Argentine All-Sorts 57 VI. Diminutive Dwellers in the Land of Fire 74 VII. Chilian Children 86 VIII. Bolivian Bairns 95 IX. Pearls of Peru 113 [8] CHILDREN OF SOUTH AMERICA CHAPTER I A PEEP AT THE CONTINENT South America is a tremendous continent in the Western Hemisphere, and occupies one-eighth of the land surface of the world. By looking at this chart you will get some little idea as to the size of it, by comparing it with other countries. South America, you will therefore see, is twice the size of Europe, three times the size of China, four times the size of India, and sixty times the size of our British Isles. From Panama, at the extreme north, to the furthest southern point of Tierra-del-Fuego (“the Land of Fire”), it is about 4700 miles in length, and it is 3000 miles from east to west. South America (leaving out the three northern Guianas) is divided up into eleven countries, or rather republics, each republic being under its own president. The names of the republics are:— Brazil Venezuela Argentina Chili Peru Colombia Bolivia Paraguay Ecuador Uruguay and Panama Everything in South America is on a large scale—rivers, forests, mountains, and plains. There is the mighty River Amazon, with its many tributaries, flowing through Northern Peru and Brazil; the Orinoco, in Venezuela; the Araguaya, in Brazil; and the River Plate, which runs through the Republic of Argentina. AN AMAZONIAN CREEK I hope you will study a map as we go along. If you look on the western side of the continent you will see a long range of mountains, called the Andes, tipped with sleeping volcanic fires on some, and capped by perpetual snow on others. Nestling away up among these rugged peaks is the highest body of water in the world, called Lake Titicaca, on which float the rush-boats of the Inca Indians, the silent and down-trodden “Children of the Sun.” How vast China seems; and India, too, how big! Africa we feel we know very little about as yet, in spite of Livingstone and all the books that have been written; but here is South America—so neglected, and so large, that there is more unexplored territory there than in any other part of the world. Not only so, but the continent is teeming with treasure. Diamonds and gold are hidden away in the earth in Brazil and Peru. Bolivia is a vast storehouse of silver and tin and coal. Petroleum and fertilizing nitrates for cleansing the soil are to be found in Chili. The forests of Peru and Brazil spell rubber—“black gold” it is called by the natives. Chinchona trees flourish in abundance in Peru; also cocaine, which the Indians chew from morning till night, to deaden their sufferings, and their hunger. Although South America is so large, there are, roughly speaking, only about fifty million people living in it, but the population increases every year through immigrants of all nations pouring into the continent. Five hundred years ago, South America was the Indian’s land. In the heart of the continent dwelt the savages, but Peru was the home of the highly-civilized Inca race. To the north lived an Indian people called the Chibchas, who came next in culture; and south, in Chili and Argentina, were the Araucanian Indians, who were not so cultured as the Incas or Chibchas, but who, notwithstanding, were a powerful people. About five hundred years ago the Pope, in his arrogance, “gave” South America to the two Roman Catholic countries of Spain and Portugal. It was a dark day for that land when the Portuguese adventurers and their priests went to Brazil, and Pizarro and his Spanish followers to Peru, the home of the cruel Inquisition. From that day onward slavery, ill-treatment, and cruel deaths have been the lot of the Indians. La Casas, a Roman Catholic official, more humane than his brethren, was so concerned at the lot of the Indians in Brazil that he suggested that Africans should be brought to help the Indians in the gold mines, and they too suffered from the hands of the merciless Portuguese. Hence, to-day, we see in Brazil the negroes (of whom there are said to be some four millions), the Indians, and the Portuguese-speaking people of many nations, comprising about twenty millions. In Central and Southern Argentina the population is chiefly European. Buenos Aires, the capital, is largely Italian, though a very large number of British folk are living there. In Peru nearly three-fourths of the people are pure Indian, and Bolivia is mostly Indian as well. [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] For five long centuries this has indeed been the Land of Darkness and of the “Christless Cross.” Two thousand years ago, nearly, Christ said to the Apostle Peter: “Feed My lambs.” What have the so-called followers of Peter done for the Lambs of South America? Let us see. CHAPTER II BRAZILIAN BROWNIES Entering the mouth of the mighty River Amazon, we travel slowly by steamer right away through Northern Brazil, past Manaos, with wonderful forests on either side of us. How hot and stifling it is, for we are journeying through the Tropics! On we go, gliding past the crocodiles that lie basking in the sun, and that lazily open one eye at us or a huge mouth, the sight making us shudder, but with a sense of devout thankfulness that we are at a respectable distance! No sound disturbs the quiet, except the ripple of the water, and the screams of gaily-coloured parrots. Now and again we hear a sound like human voices, and straining our ears to listen we find to our amusement that it comes from monkeys chattering and quarrelling among themselves. At length we branch off into one of the many tributaries of the great river, the Yavari for choice, which brings us to the borders of Peru. Pitching our tent on the river-bank, we settle down for a quiet evening. In front of us is the Yavari River, filled with many wonderful varieties of fish. Stretching away behind us is the forest, full of strange and wonderful things. We are in the home of the wild Indians, of whom there are many, many tribes. They live by fishing in the river, and hunting in the forest. There are said to be one hundred different kinds of fish, the largest of which is the King Herring, weighing often as much as three hundred- weight. When one gets weary of fish diet, stewed monkey makes a pleasant variety, and cooked alligator a nice change! Darkness has now fallen, and the stars are out. No sound now but the humming of the mosquitoes, which are the bane of the traveller’s life in South America. Here in this great land even the insects are on a large scale. Spiders, jiggers, carrapatoes, ticks, and other insects threaten to disturb our reverie. So if we would escape such unwelcome attentions from blood-thirsty mosquitoes, we must take shelter under a net. But not yet; the night is cooler than the day, and the fire-flies are out, like vivid electric sparks, darting about us as we lie and watch and dream of Paradise. By and by we fall asleep. Suddenly we sit up, rubbing our eyes. What was that? Listening, for we are wide awake now, we hear a cry as of someone in distress. The dawn has broken as suddenly as the darkness fell last night. It always does so in the Tropics, and the crying and wailing gradually die away. Presently we hear a splash, something small and dark has been thrown into the river, and drifts slowly in our direction. Straining our eyes to see what it is, we find to our horror that it is a dear little brown baby, but quite dead, and following in its wake is a huge crocodile. Alas! Alas! Who is it that has been so inhuman to a little child? We will find out. Like scouts through the trees we stealthily creep along, hardly daring to breathe, and never once speaking above a whisper. Hark! What is that? It is the tramp of many feet, and away in the distance, across an open track, we see a company of naked Indians in charge of men clad in European clothing. In our eagerness to follow we almost stumble over a brown form, lying so still. It is an Indian woman, dead from a gun- shot wound, and lying at the foot of the tree close by is a little brown baby. We turn away from the sickening sight, for the wee brownie’s brains have been dashed out by one of the wicked white men in charge of the Indian gang, now quickly disappearing in the distance. But we must hurry on, or we will lose them. By and by they reach the rubber plantation, the place where the rubber- trees abound. The Brazilian and Peruvian forests are full of rubber, and for six months in the year (the other six months the land is under water) these trees are “bled”—as it is called—by the Indians for their taskmasters. The rubber trees grow in groups of 100 to 150, each tree yielding on an average eleven pounds of the grey, sticky juice. Here the Indians, under pain of terrible torture and death, were made to extract the rubber. The method of doing so is by making a V-shaped gash in the trunk, under which is hung a little clay cup to catch the juice. To each tree is this done in turn, and when the cups are full they are emptied into a large cauldron hanging on a tripod over a fire of pine- cones. After going through a certain process, the juice becomes a hard, congealed mass. This raw rubber is carried on the backs of Indians, through the forest and over the mountains, to the city of Iquitos, in Northern Peru; and every year sufficient rubber is exported to provide tyres for 300,000 motor-cars. In order to produce this rubber, the Indians have been hunted through the forests like wild beasts, and have been made to obtain the rubber under the threats and taunts of ignorant and cruel white men from neighbouring republics. The Indians have been allowed a certain time to get a certain quantity of rubber, and if it has not been forthcoming the Indians—men, women, and girls—have been flogged, put into stocks, starved, tortured, and tormented to death. Saddest and most cruel of all, the children have not escaped, as we have already seen. The mother has been killed because maybe she was too ill or weary to walk any farther, and her little ones, who would only be in the way, have been either thrown into the river to the alligators, or have had their heads smashed against the trees, or been thrown away into the forest alive to be devoured by wild animals. It was said to be a favourite pastime of some of these so-called “civilized” (!) agents of the rubber companies to sit round smoking, and for a little diversion to have one or more of these little brown children hung up on a tree, and to shoot at them as a target—for sport! [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] [23] Think of the agony of suffering of these children, flogged by wicked men, and even burned alive, in order to force them to tell where their parents were hidden. If those rubber-trees could only speak, what awful secrets they would reveal! Every thousand tons of rubber that have come to our own Christian land have cost seven Indian lives! Who knows, my young reader, what tragedy lies behind even the india-rubber ball with which you play so skilfully, and yet lose so carelessly! For ten long, weary years all this went on, before we heard in England the wail of the little brown children of the Brazilian and Peruvian forests. Have the cries ceased? God only knows, for the sounds are too far away for us to catch them. Now I want to introduce you to some more Brazilian babies, but of a very different kind. So we will leave this “Paradise of Satan,” and travel in an easterly direction, which will take us through the heart of the continent. In the Amazon Valley there are many, many tribes of savage Indians, who hide away as we approach, thinking in their great fear that we must be rubber-gatherers. Occasionally we see a large space, where once stood an Indian village, a place of ruins and desolation, and along the tracks are human bones lying bleached and dry, telling a silent, yet eloquent story of what had been once living forms. We, too, must be careful as we journey along, for the Indians near this rubber region we are leaving behind are in a dangerous mood, and there is much to be feared from their deadly blow-pipes. One little prick from the poisoned arrow, and we would be dead in a very few seconds. So we will proceed cautiously. As we get farther into the interior, we gradually find the vegetation becoming more dense; we enter the region of “Matto Grosso” (meaning, in English, “Big Woods”), covering a million square miles. You will see it on the map, in the centre of the continent. This forest swarms with monkeys, snakes, parrots, and many kinds of beautiful birds. Most wonderful of all the plants are the exquisite orchids, which grow luxuriantly on the moss-covered boughs in the gloomiest parts of the dark forest. They are beautiful both in shape and colour—pink, white, and yellow. Some spotted, and others striped with crimson. It may seem strange that such loveliness should be hidden away from the eyes of all but the God who made them, but it is the same everywhere in this wonderful country. The choicest flowers bloom unseen except by the chance traveller, and the strangest animals and birds hide in the most out-of-the-way places. Some of the trees are fully two hundred feet high, so that birds on the topmost branches are safe from the hunter. Right in the heart of the forest is a dead silence; no animal life is to be seen, though probably there are swarms of monkeys, birds, and other creatures hidden away in the tree-tops. Female monkeys usually carry their babies on their backs or shoulders, though sometimes they are carried on the breast with the legs and arms clasped round the body. They are very fond of Brazil nuts, several of which grow in one large, round shell, and in order to get at them the monkey beats the shell against the bough until it breaks and scatters the nuts upon the ground beneath. South America has been spoken of as a Christian country, and yet, here in Brazil, which is large enough to include the whole of the United States, and France as well, we find many tribes of savage Indians, each tribe speaking its own language, but to whom no messenger of the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ has ever been sent. Some of these tribes are large, some small, many move about from place to place, and others cannot be reached, so fearful are they of showing themselves. It is, on this account, exceedingly difficult to find out how many Indians there are living in the continent. There might be six millions, or the number might possibly be nearer ten, no one can tell. Tens of thousands have passed away without ever having heard of the Saviour. They have their witch-doctors and their religious feasts, and they live in constant dread of evil spirits. Those who have come in contact with so-called civilized white people are none the better for it. In fact we can say, without any hesitation whatever, that “the last state of these people is worse than the first”; for civilization without Christ is a far worse condition than paganism. Just a few words more about these Brazilian Brownies before we make our way to the coast. From its birth the Indian baby is seldom parted from its mother, until it learns to walk. A few days after baby is born mother takes it to the plantation, protecting the little head from the heat of the sun by a banana leaf. When on a visit to distant relatives they take all their goods and chattels with them; and when paddling down the river the little ones help father to row, while mother sits at the helm nursing baby. While baby is very tiny mother carries her in a broad, bark band which is hung over her right shoulder. When baby grows bigger, and is able to sit up by herself, she rides on mother’s hip, supported by her encircling arm. BRAZILIAN BROWNIES FISHING The Indians do not spoil their children, although they are very fond of them. They believe in hardening their little ones, so the girls and boys are bathed by their careful mothers every day in cold water, in some shady forest stream. Indian mothers are very fond of playing with their children, and when a tiny mite wants all her mother’s care the older ones are handed over for “grannie” to look after. Mother loves to deck her little one with necklaces, only I do not think we should say they were pretty, for they are made either of teeth or seeds. If you want to make an Indian woman your friend, nothing will win her friendship quicker [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] than a present of a bead necklace to her little child. Then no Indian mother thinks her little one’s toilet is complete until she is painted red, though I do not suppose we should think her at all beautiful. Girls soon begin to help their mothers in various ways, by looking after the smaller ones, netting hammocks, making pottery, spinning cotton, and learning to cultivate the fields and to cook. But “the children’s souls, which God is calling Sunward, spin on blindly in the dark.” CHAPTER III BLOSSOM BABIES Leaving our little Indian friends, we now make our way through the State of Sao Paulo, in South-Eastern Brazil, to the city of the same name, which means “St Paul.” The climate here is more temperate and healthy (except in the lowlands near the sea-coast), which is a pleasant change from the tropical heat of Northern Brazil. Sao Paulo is very up-to-date, and more like a modern European city than any other in Brazil. Yet although many of the Portuguese-speaking people who live here are educated, they are very ignorant of the true religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. Their religion, like that of the people in every other city in South America, consists chiefly in the worship of a woman, the Virgin Mary, and there are very many Roman Catholic feasts given in her honour during the year. The mother of our Saviour is thus the object of worship of many thousands of women and children in South America to-day, and yet the exaltation of the Virgin Mary has not by any means uplifted these women and children; on the contrary, their social, moral, and spiritual state is worse than that of the women and children of any heathen country. It is only where the Lord Jesus Christ is worshipped and upheld that mothers, sisters, and little children are honoured, cared for, and put into their proper place. In South America the Lord Jesus is either represented as a little child in His mother’s arms, as on the cross, or as lying dead in a coffin. As the Saviour is thus misrepresented to them, it is perhaps not to be wondered at that these women and children, who do not know the truth about His love, turn away from the apparently dead Christ, to the warm, kindly-looking, gaudily-decked figure of Mary, about whom the Church of Rome says: “Come unto Mary, all ye who are burdened and weary with your sins, and she will give you rest.” It is to Mary and not to the Lord Jesus that the children of South America are bidden to turn. Think of your own happy childhood, of mother and your bright home; of your church, your Sunday-school, and your day-school; of the bright, happy hours you spend in play; of the laughing, chubby, clean, and healthy children of our own cities. Think; and now come with me through the city of Sao Paulo, where we see people of all nations and colours, from the blackest negro to the whitest European. PALMS, LILIES AND BABY BLOSSOMS We will pay a visit to some bright, budding blossoms of humanity who have been gathered from streets and places of wickedness, and planted in a beautiful Home standing in its own grounds, lying on the outskirts of the town. Here thirty- six little human “blossoms” live and flourish under the motherly and fatherly care of Mr and Mrs Cooper, their daughter, and other workers. The story of the first “blossom” is that while Mr and Mrs Cooper were doing missionary work in another part of Brazil, a little baby girl was given to them by her mother, who was quite out of her mind. The poor wee mite was little more than skin and bones, but loving care and plenty of good food soon transformed her into a bonnie maiden. To describe all these thirty-six “blossoms” would fill a book. The Blossom Home is one of the brightest spots in Brazil to-day, and it is a real joy to leave the city and to hurry away at sunset over the low fields, with the wide sky on all sides coloured always with different hues, and the fresh, cool breath of evening, while a bevy of expectant children await your appearance under the pines and palms of the walk to the house. That these little ones were ever poor, or diseased, or homeless, does not seem possible as we mingle with them at the evening play-hour. That Tecla was ever anything but a sweet-faced yellow-haired child, that Baby was ever thin and wrinkled, that Bepy was ever serious, or Rosa not always happy, seems so long ago as not to belong to the present age of the Home. One “blossom” came all the way from Maranham, a city more than 2000 miles away from Sao Paulo, which shows how much such orphanages are needed in Brazil. It would be nice to stay here and make their further acquaintance, to see the little ones in the kindergarten, and the older ones at their lessons. It would be interesting to spend a Sunday at this haven, and to see the keen interest they display in missions and missionaries. During the week, at morning worship they are trained to look out over the whole world, and to pray for a particular place each day. At Sunday-school they, of their own accord, have a collection amongst themselves, and every week they try to do something extra, for which they are paid, and out of this they freely give to the missionary box. They send to the child-widows of India, to the school for blind children at Jerusalem, and to other missions in which they are interested. We would like to watch them, too, at their work, for they are all busy little bees, and what a hive of happy industry it is —dairying, poultry-raising, laundry, kitchen, housework, and gardening! The reason why we cannot stay for more than a flying visit is because there is no room for us, and if not for us, then for no one else, for the Home is already more than full. “The girls’ dormitories hold fourteen beds, and there are twenty girls! Baby Grace sleeps in a cot beside the bed of ‘Mother’ and ‘Daddy,’ but the other five have to sleep in the dining-room, which means making up beds at bedtime. The walls of the Home are not made of india-rubber, so they cannot be stretched to receive any more ‘blossoms.’ [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] What is then to be done? Applications are constantly coming in, a recent one being for a motherless baby girl of a month old. How the heart of Christ must yearn over these little ones of whom He said when here on earth: ‘Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!’” CHAPTER IV 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. 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 [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43]