not use, he demands, “Who brought the sticks?” until a young brave steps forward in front of him and replies, “Father of Kittens, I brought the sticks.” This young man is then commanded to stand apart, the girl is hunted out, and together they wait while the witch-doctor X-rays them through and through. After this close scrutiny, they are asked: “Do you want this man?” “Do you want this girl?” To which they reply, “Yes, Father of Kittens, I do.” Then, with great show of power, the medicine-man says, “Go!” and off the newly-married pair start, to live together until death (in the form of burial) does them part.
It may be a great surprise to the reader to learn that these savages are exceedingly moral. Infidelity between man and wife is punished with death, but in all my travels I only heard of one such case. A man marries only one wife, and although any expression of love between them is never seen, they yet seem to think of one another in a tender way, and it is especially noticeable that the parents are kind to their children.
One evening I rode into an encampment of savages who were celebrating a feast. About fifty specially-decked-out Indians were standing in a circle, and one of the number had a large and very noisy rattle, with which he kept time to the chant of Ha ha ha ha ha! u u u u u! o o o oo! au au au au au! The lurid lights of the fires burning all around lit up this truly savage scene. The witch-doctor, the old fakir named “Father of Kittens,” came to me and looked me through and through with his piercing eyes. I was given the rattle, and, although very tired, had to keep up a constant din, while my wild companions bent their bodies in strange contortions. In the centre of the ring was a woman with a lighted pipe in her hand. She passed this from one to another and pushed it into the mouth of each one, who had “a draw.” My turn came, and lo! the pipe was thrust between my teeth, and the din went on: Ha ha! u u! o o! au au! This feast lasted three nights and two days, but the music was not varied, and neither man nor woman seemed to sleep or rest. Food was cooking at the different fires, attended by the women, but my share was only a _roasted fox’s head!_ The animal was laid on the wood, with skin, head and legs still attached, and the whole was burnt black. I was very hungry, and ate my portion thankfully. Christopher North said: “There’s a deal of fine confused feeding about a sheep’s head,” and so I found with the fox’s. Truly, as the Indian says, “hunger is a very big man.”
At these feasts a drum, made by stretching a serpent’s skin over one of their clay pots, is loudly beaten, and the thigh-bone of an ostrich, with key-holes burned in, is a common musical instrument. From the _algarroba_ bean an intoxicating drink is made, called _ang- min_, and then yells, hellish sounds and murderous blows inspire terror in the paleface guest. “It is impossible to conceive anything more wild and savage than the scene of their bivouac. Some drink till they are intoxicated, others swallow the steaming blood of slaughtered animals for their supper, and then, sick from drunkenness, they cast it up again, and are besmeared with gore and filth.”
After the feast was over I held a service, and told how sin was _injected_ into us by the evil spirit, but that all are invited to the heavenly feast. My address was listened to in perfect silence, and the nodding heads showed that some, at least, understood it. When I finished speaking, a poor woman, thinking she must offer something, gave me her baby–a naked little creature that had never been washed in its life. I took it up and kissed it, and the poor woman smiled. Yes, a savage woman can smile.
As already stated, many different tribes of Indians dwell in the Chaco, and each have their different customs. In the Suhin tribe the rite of burial may be thus described. “The digger of the grave and the performer of the ceremony was the chief, who is also a witch- doctor, and I was told that he was about to destroy the witch-doctor who had caused the man’s death. A fire was lit, and whilst the digging was in progress a stone and two pieces of iron were being heated. Two bones of a horse, a large bird’s nest built of sticks, and various twigs were collected. The skin of a jaguar’s head, a tooth, and the pads of the same animal were laid out. A piece of wax and a stone were also heated; and in a heap lay a hide, some skins for bedding, and a quantity of sheep’s wool. The grave being finished, the ceremony began by a wooden arrow being notched in the middle and waxed, then plunged into the right breast of the corpse, when it was snapped in two at the notch, and the remaining half was flung into the air, accompanied with a vengeful cry, in the direction of the Toothli tribe, one of whose doctors, it was supposed, had caused the man’s death. Short pointed sticks, apparently to represent arrows, were also daubed with wax, two being plunged into the throat and one into the left breast, the cry again accompanying each insertion. One of the jaguar’s pads was next taken, and the head of the corpse torn by the claws, the growl of the animal being imitated during the process. An incision was next made in the cheek, and the tooth inserted; then the head and face were daubed with the heated wax. The use of the wax is evidently to signify the desire that both arrows and animal may stick to the man if he be attacked by either. The arrows were plunged, one into the right breast downwards, and another below the ribs, on the same side, but in an upward direction, a third being driven into the right thigh. They also spoke about breaking one of the arms, but did not do so. An incision being made in the abdomen, the heated stone was then placed within the body. They place most reliance upon the work of the stone. The ceremony is known by the name of ‘Mataimang’ stone, and all the other things are said to assist it. Meteorites, when seen to pass along the sky, are regarded with awe; they are believed to be these stones in passage. The body was placed in the grave with the head to the west, the jaguar’s head and pads being first placed under it. A bunch of grass, tied together, was placed upon the body; then the bird’s nest was burned upon it. The bones were next thrown in, and over all the various articles before mentioned were placed. These were to accompany the soul in its passage to the west. In this act the idea of a future state is more distinctly seen than ever it has been seen amongst the Lenguas, who burn all a man’s possessions at his death. The ceremony finished, the grave was covered in, logs and twigs being carelessly thrown on the top, apparently simply to indicate the existence of a grave. The thing which struck me most was the intense spirit of vengeance shown.”
Notwithstanding such terrible savagery, however, the Indian has ideas of right and wrong that put Christian civilization to shame. The people are perfectly _honest_ and _truthful_. I believe they _cannot lie_, and stealing is entirely unknown among them.
Many are the experiences I have had in the Chaco. Some of them haunt me still like ghostly shadows. The evening camp-fire, the glare of which lit up and made more hideous still my savage followers, gorging themselves until covered with filth and gore. The times when, from sheer hunger, I have, like them, torn up bird or beast and eaten it raw. The draughts of water from the Indian hole containing the putrefying remains of some dead animal; my shirt dropping off in rags and no wash for three weeks. The journeys through miles of malarial swamps and pathless wilderness. The revolting food, and the want of food. Ah! the memory is a bad dream from which I must awake.
The other side, you say? Yes, there is another. A cloudless blue sky overhead. The gorgeous air-flowers, delicate and fragrant. Trees covered with a drapery of orchidaceae. The loveliest of flowers and shrubs. Birds of rainbow beauty, painted by the hand of God, as only He can. Flamingoes, parrots, humming-birds, butterflies of every size and hue. Arborescent ferns; cacti, thirty feet high, like huge candelabra. Creeping plants growing a hundred feet, and then passing from the top of one ever-vernal tree to another, forming a canopy for one from the sun’s rays. Chattering monkeys. Deer, with more beautiful eyes than ever woman had since Eve fell. The balmy air wafting incense from the burning bush; and last, but oh, not least, the joy in seeing the degraded aborigine learning to love the “Light of the World”! Yes, there are delights; but “life is real, life is earnest,” and a meal of _algarroba_ beans (the husks of the prodigal son of Luke XV.) is not any more tempting if eaten under the shade of a waving palm of surpassing beauty.
The mission station previously referred to lies one hundred miles in from the river bank, three hundred miles north of Asuncion, among the Lengua Indians. As far as I am aware, no Paraguayan has ever visited there. The missionaries wish their influence to be the only one in training the Indian mind. The village bears the strange name of Waikthlatemialwa (The Place Where the Toads Arrived). At the invitation of the missionaries, I was privileged to go there and see their work. A trail leads in from the river bank, but it is so bad that bullock carts taking in provisions occupy ten and twelve days on the journey. Tamaswa (The Locust Eater), my guide, led me all during the first day out through a palm forest, and at night we slept on the hard ground. The Indian was a convert of the mission, and although painted, feathered and almost naked, seemed really an exemplary Christian. The missionaries labored for eleven years without gaining a single convert, but Tamaswa is not the only “follower of Jesus” now. During the day we shot a deer, and that evening, being very hungry, I ate perhaps two pounds of meat. Tamaswa finished the rest! True, it was only a small deer, but as I wish to retain my character for veracity, I dare not say how much it weighed. This meal concluded, we knelt on the ground. I read out of the old Book: “I go to prepare a place for you,” and Locust Eater offered a simple prayer for protection, help and safety to the God who understands all languages.
My blanket was wet through and through with the green slime through which we had waded and splashed for hours, but we curled ourselves up under a beer barrel tree and tried to sleep. The howling jaguars and other beasts of prey in the jungle made this almost impossible. Several times I was awakened by my guide rising, and, by the light of a palm torch, searching for wood to replenish the dying fire, in the smoke of which we slept, as a help against the millions of mosquitos buzzing around. Towards morning a large beast of some kind leaped right over me, and I rose to rekindle the fire, which my guide had suffered to die out, and then I watched until day dawned. As all the deer was consumed, we started off without breakfast, but were fortunate later on in being able to shoot two wild turkeys.
That day we rode on through the endless forest of palms, and waded through a quagmire at least eight miles in extent, where the green slime reached up to the saddle-flaps. On that day we came to a sluggish stream, bearing the name of
“Aptikpangmakthlaingwainkyapaimpangkya” (The Place Where the Pots Were Struck When They Were About to Feast). There a punt was moored, into which we placed our saddles, etc., and paddled across, while the horses swam the almost stagnant water. Saddling up on the other side, we had a journey of thirty miles to make before arriving at a waterhole, where we camped for the second night. I don’t know what real nectar is, but that water was nectar to me, although the horses sniffed and at first refused to drink it.
At sunset on the third day we emerged from the palm forest and endless marshes, and by the evening of the fourth day the church, built of palm logs, loomed up on the horizon. Many of the Indians came out to meet us, and my arrival was the talk of the village. The people seemed happy, and the missionaries made me at home in their roughly-built log shanties. Next morning I found a gift had been brought me by the Indians. It was a beautiful feather headdress, but it had just been left on the step, the usual way they have of making presents. The Indian expects no thanks, and he gives none. The women received any present I handed them courteously but silently. The men would accept a looking-glass from me and immediately commence to search their face for any trace of “dirty hairs,” probably brought to their mind by the sight of mine, but not even a grunt of satisfaction would be given. No Chaco language has a word for “thanks.”
[Illustration: TAMASWA (THE LOCUST EATER) PROCURING FOOD. This young man could put the point of his arrow into a deer’s eye a hundred yards distant]
[Illustration: FASHIONS OF THE CHACO.]
There is, among the Lenguas, an old tradition to the effect that for generations they have been expecting the arrival of some strangers who would live among them and teach them about the spirit-world. These long-looked-for teachers were called _The Imlah_. The tradition says that when the Imlah arrive, all the Indians must obey their teaching, and take care that the said Imlah do not again leave their country, for if so they, the Indians, would disappear from the land. When Mr. Grubb and his helpers first landed, they were immediately asked, “Are you the Imlah?” and to this question they, of course, answered yes. Was it not because of this tradition that the Indian who later shot Mr. Grubb with a poisoned arrow was himself put to death by the tribe?
About twenty boys attend the school established at Waikthlatemialwa, and strange names some of them bear; let Haikuk (Little Dead One) serve as an example. It is truly a cheering sight to see this sign of a brighter day. When these boys return to their distant _toldos_ to tell “the news” to their dark-minded parents, the most wonderful of all to relate is “Liklamo ithnik nata abwathwuk enthlit God; hingyahamok hiknata apkyapasa apkyitka abwanthlabanko. Aptakmilkischik sat ankuk appaiwa ingyitsipe sata netin thlamokthloho abyiam.” [Footnote: John 3:16]
Well might the wondering mother of “Dark Cloud” call her next-born “Samai” (The Dawn of Day).
The Indian counts by his hands and feet. Five would be one hand, two hands ten, two hands and a foot fifteen, and a specially clever savage could even count “my two hands and my two feet.” Now Mr. Hunt is changing that: five is _thalmemik_, ten _sohok-emek_, fifteen _sohokthlama-eminik_, and twenty _sohok-emankuk_.
When a boy in school desires to say eighteen, he must first of all take a good deep breath, for _sohok-emek-wakthla-mok-eminick- antanthlama_ is no short word. This literally means: “finished my hands–pass to my other foot three.”
At the school I saw the skin of a water-snake twenty-six feet nine inches long, but a book of pictures I had interested the boys far more.
The mission workers have each a name given to them by the Indians, and some of them are more than strange. Apkilwankakme (The Man Who Forgot His Face) used to be called Nason when he moved in high English circles; now he is ragged and torn-looking; but the old Book my mother used to read says: “He that loseth his life for My sake shall find it.” Some of us have yet to learn that if we would remember _His face_ it is necessary for us to forget our own. If the unbeliever in mission work were to go to Waik-thlatemialwa, he would come away a converted man. The former witch-doctor, who for long made “havoc,” but has since been born again, would tell him that during a recent famine he talked to the Unseen Spirit, and said: “Give us food, God!” and that, when only away a very short while, his arrows killed three ostriches and a deer. He would see Mrs. Mopilinkilana walking about, clothed and in her right mind. Who is she? The murderess of her four children–the woman who could see the skull of her own boy kicking about the _toldo_ for days, and watch it finally cracked up and eaten by the dogs. Can such as she be changed? The Scripture says: “Every one that believeth.”
The Lengua language contains no word for God, worship, praise, sacrifice, sin, holiness, reward, punishment or duty, but their meanings are now being made clear.
The church at Waikthlatemialwa has no colored glass windows–old canvas bags take their place. The reverent worshippers assemble morning and evening, in all the pride of their paint and feathers, but there is no hideous idol inside; nay! they worship the invisible One, whom they can see even with closely shut eyes. To watch the men and women, with erect bearing, and each walking in the other’s footsteps, enter the church, is a sight well worth the seeing. They bow themselves, not before some fetish, as one might suppose, but to the One whom, having not seen, some of them are learning to love.
One of the missionaries translated my simple address to the dusky congregation, who listened with wondering awe to the ever-new story of Jesus. As the Lengua language contains no word for God, the Indians have adopted our English word, and both that name and Jesus came out in striking distinctness during the service, and in the fervent prayer of the old ex-witch-doctor which followed. With the familiar hymn, “There is a green hill far away,” the meeting concluded. The women with nervous air silently retired, but the men saluted me, and some even went so far as to shake hands–with the left hand. Would that similar stations were established all over this neglected land! While churches and mission buildings crowd each other in the home lands, the Chaco, with an estimated population of three millions, must be content with this one ray of light in the dense night.
On that far-off “green hill” we shall meet some even from the Lengua tribe. Christ said: “I am the door; by Me if _any_ man enter in, he shall be saved.” But oh, “Painted Face,” you spoke truth; the white “thing” _is_ selfish, and keeps this wondrous knowledge to himself.
PART IV.
BRAZIL
[Illustration]
“There can be no more fascinating field of labor than Brazil, notwithstanding the difficulty of the soil and the immense tracts of country which have to be traversed. It covers half a continent, and is _three times the size of British India_. Far away in the interior there exist numerous Indian tribes with, as yet, no written language, and consequently no Bible. Thrust back by the white man from their original homes, these children of the forest and the river are, perhaps, the most needy of the tribes of the earth. For all that these millions know, the Gospel is non-existent and Jesus Christ has never visited and redeemed the world.” [Footnote: The Neglected Continent]
BRAZIL
The Republic of Brazil has an area of 3,350,000 square miles. From north to south the country measures 2,600 miles, and from east to west 2,500 miles. While the Republic of Bolivia has no sea coast, Brazil has 3,700 miles washed by ocean waves. The population of this great empire is twenty-two millions. Out of this perhaps twenty millions speak the Portuguese language.
“If Brazil was populated in the same proportion as Belgium is per square mile, Brazil would have a population of 1,939,571,699. That is to say, Brazil, a single country in South America, could hold and support the entire population of the world, and hundreds of millions more, the estimate of the earth’s population at the beginning of the twentieth century being 1,600,000,000.” [Footnote: Bishop Neely’s “South America.”]
Besides the millions of mules, horses and other animals, there are, in the republic, twenty-five millions of cattle.
Brazil is rich in having 50,000 miles of navigable waterways. Three of the largest rivers of the world flow through its territory. The Orinoco attains a width of four miles, and is navigable for 1,400 miles. The Amazon alone drains a basin of 2,500,000 square miles.
Out of this mighty stream there flows every day three times the volume of water that flows from the Mississippi. Many a sea-captain has thought himself in the ocean while riding its stormy bosom. That most majestic of all rivers, with its estuary 180 miles wide, is the great highway of Brazil. Steamboats frequently leave the sea and sail up its winding channels into the far interior of Ecuador–a distance of nearly 4,000 miles. All the world knows that both British and American men-of-war have visited the city of Iquitos in Peru, 2,400 miles up the Amazon River. The sailor on taking soundings has found a depth of 170 feet of water at 2,000 miles from the mouth. Stretches of water and impenetrable forest as far as the eye can reach are all the traveller sees.
Prof. Orton says: “The valley of the Amazon is probably the most sparsely populated region on the globe,” and yet Agassiz predicted that “the future centre of civilization of the world will be in the Amazon Valley.” I doubt if there are now 500 acres of tilled land in the millions of square miles the mighty river drains. Where cultivated, coffee, tobacco, rubber, sugar, cocoa, rice, beans, etc., freely grow, and the farmer gets from 500 to 800-fold for every bushel of corn he plants. Humboldt estimated that 4,000 pounds of bananas can be produced in the same area as 33 pounds of wheat or 99 pounds of potatoes.
The natural wealth of the country is almost fabulous. Its mountain chains contain coal, gold, silver, tin, zinc, mercury and whole mountains of the very best iron ore, while in forty years five million carats of diamonds have been sent to Europe. In 1907 Brazil exported ten million dollars’ worth of cocoa, seventy million dollars’ worth of rubber; and from the splendid stone docks of Santos, which put to shame anything seen on this northern continent, either in New York or Boston, there was shipped one hundred and forty-two million dollars’ worth of coffee. Around Rio Janeiro alone there are a hundred million coffee trees, and the grower gets two crops a year.
Yet this great republic has only had its borders touched. It is estimated that there are over a million Indians in the interior, who hold undisputed possession of four-fifths of the country. Three and a quarter million square miles of the republic thus remains to a great extent an unknown, unexplored wilderness. In this area there are over a million square miles of virgin forest, “the largest and densest on earth.” The forest region of the Amazon is twelve hundred miles east to west, and eight hundred miles north to south, and this sombre, primeval woodland has not yet been crossed. [Footnote: Just as this goes to press the newspapers announce that the Brazilian Government has appropriated $10,000 towards the expenses of an expedition into the interior, under the leadership of Henry Savage Landor, the English explorer.]
Brazil’s federal capital, Rio de Janeiro, stands on the finest harbor of the world, in which float ships from all nations. Proudest among these crafts are the large Brazilian gunboats. “It is a curious anomaly,” says the _Scientific American_, “that the most powerful Dreadnought afloat should belong to a South American republic, but it cannot be denied that the _Minas Geraes_ is entitled to that distinction.” This is one of the vessels that mutinied in 1910.
Brazil is a strange republic. Fanatical, where the Bible is burned in the public plaza whenever introduced, yet, where the most obscene prints are publicly offered for sale in the stores. Where it is a “mortal sin” to listen to the Protestant missionary, and _not_ a sin to break the whole Decalogue. Backward–where the villagers are tied to a post and whipped by the priest when they do not please him. Progressive–in the cities where religion has been relegated to women and children and priests.
Did I write the word religion? Senhor Ruy Barbosa, the most conspicuous representative of South America at the last Hague Conference, and a candidate for the Presidency of Brazil, wrote of it: “_Romanism is not a religion, but a political organization, the most vicious, the most unscrupulous, and the most destructive of all political systems. The monks are the propagators of fanaticism, the debasers of Christian morals. The history of papal influence has been nothing more nor less than the story of the dissemination of a new paganism, as full of superstition and of all unrighteousness as the mythology of the ancients–a new paganism organized at the expense of evangelical traditions, shamelessly falsified and travestied by the Romanists. The Romish Church in all ages has been a power, religious scarcely in name, but always inherently, essentially and untiringly a political power_.” As Bishop Neely of the M. E. Church was leaving Rio, Dr. Alexander, one of Brazil’s most influential gentlemen, said to him: “_It is sad to see my people so miserable when they might be so happy. Their ills, physical and moral, spring from lack of religion. They call themselves Catholics, but the heathen are scarcely less Christian_!” Is it surprising that the Italian paper _L’Asino_ (The Ass), which exists only to ridicule Romanism, has recently been publishing much in praise of what it calls authentic Christianity?
“Rio Janeiro, the beautiful,” is an imperial city of imposing grandeur. It is the largest Portuguese city of the world–greater than Lisbon and Oporto together. It has been called “the finest city on the continents of America,–perhaps in the world, with unqualifiedly the most beautiful street in all the world, the Avenida Central.” [Footnote: Clark. “Continent of Opportunity.”] That magnificent avenue, over a mile long and one hundred and ten feet wide, asphalt paved and superbly illuminated, is lined with costly modern buildings, some of them truly imposing. Ten people can walk abreast on its beautiful black and white mosaic sidewalks. The buildings which had to be demolished in order to build this superb avenue cost the government seven and a half millions of dollars, and they were bought at their _taxed_ value, which, it was estimated, was only a third of the actual. [Footnote: “But as a wonderful city, the crowning glory of Brazil–yes of the world, I believe–is Rio de Janeiro.”–C. W. Furlong, in “The World’s Work.”]
Some years ago I knew a thousand people a day to die in Rio Janeiro of yellow fever. It is now one of the healthiest of cities, with a death-rate far less than that of New York.
Rio Janeiro, as I first knew it, was far behind. Oil lamps shed fitful gleams here and there on half-naked people. Electric lights now dispel the darkness of the streets, and electric streetcars thread in and out of the “Ruas.” There is progress everywhere and in everything.
To-day the native of Rio truthfully boasts that his city has “the finest street-car system of any city of the world.”
A man is not permitted to ride in these cars unless he wears a tie, which seems to be the badge of respectability. To a visitor these exactions are amusing. A friend of mine visited the city, and we rode together on the cars until it was discovered that he wore no tie. The day was hot, and my friend (a gentleman of private means) had thought that a white silk shirt with turn-down collar was enough. We felt somewhat humiliated when he was ignominiously turned off the car, while the black ex-slaves on board smiled aristocratically. If you visit Rio Janeiro, by all means wear a tie. If you forget your shirt, or coat, or boots, it will matter little, but the absence of a tie will give the negro cause to insult you.
Some large, box-like cars have the words “_Descalcos e Bagagem_” (literally, “For the Shoeless and Baggage”) printed across them. In these the poorer classes and the tieless can ride for half-price. And to make room for the constantly inflowing people from Europe, two great hills are being removed and “cast into the sea.”
Rio Janeiro may be earth’s coming city. It somewhat disturbs our self-complacency to learn that they have spent more for public improvements than has any city of the United States, with the exception of New York. Municipal works, involving an expenditure of $40,000,000, have contributed to this.
Rio Janeiro, however, is not the only large and growing city Brazil can boast of. Sao Paulo, with its population of 300,000 and its two- million-dollar opera house, which fills the space of three New York blocks, is worthy of mention. Bahia, founded in 1549, has 270,000 inhabitants, and is the centre of the diamond market of Brazil. Para, with its population of 200,000, who export one hundred million dollars’ worth of rubber yearly and keep up a theatre better than anything of the kind in New York, is no mean city. Pernambuco, also, has 200,000 inhabitants, large buildings, and as much as eight million dollars have recently been devoted to harbor improvements there.
Outside of these cities there are estates, quite a few of which are worth more than a million dollars; one coffee plantation has five million trees and employs five thousand people.
With its Amazon River, six hundred miles longer than the journey from New York to Liverpool, England, with its eight branches, each of which is navigable for more than a thousand miles, Brazil’s future must be very great.
CHAPTER XII.
_A JOURNEY FROM RIO JANEIRO TO THE INLAND TOWN OF CORUMBA_.
Brazil has over 10,000 miles of railway, but as it is a country larger than the whole of Europe, the reader can easily understand that many parts must be still remote from the iron road and almost inaccessible. The town of Cuyaba, as the crow flies, is not one thousand miles from Rio, but, in the absence of any kind of roads, the traveller from Rio must sail down the one thousand miles of sea- coast, and, entering the River Plate, proceed up the Parana, Paraguay, and San Lorenzo rivers to reach it, making it a journey of 3,600 miles.
“In the time demanded for a Brazilian to reach points in the interior, setting out from the national capital and going either by way of the Amazon or Rio de la Plata systems of waterways, he might journey to Europe and back two or three times over.” [Footnote: Sylvester Baxter, in The Outlook, March, 1908.]
The writer on one occasion was in Rio when a certain mission called him to the town of Corumba, distant perhaps 1,300 miles from the capital. Does the reader wish to journey to that inland town with him?
Boarding an ocean steamer at Rio, we sail down the stormy sea-coast for one thousand miles to Montevideo. There we tranship into the Buenos Ayres boat, and proceed one hundred and fifty miles up the river to that city. Almost every day steamers leave that great centre for far interior points. The “Rapido” was ready to sail for Asuncion, so we breasted the stream one thousand miles more, when that city was reached. There another steamer waited to carry us to Corumba, another thousand miles further north.
The climate and scenery of the upper reaches of the Paraguay are superb, but our spirits were damped one morning when we discovered that a man of our party had mysteriously disappeared during the night. We had all sat down to dinner the previous evening in health and spirits, and now one was missing. The All-seeing One only knows his fate. To us he disappeared forever.
Higher up the country–or lower, I cannot tell which, for the river winds in all directions, and the compass, from pointing our course as due north, glides over to northwest, west, southwest, and on one or two occasions, I believe, pointed due south–we came to the first Brazilian town, Puerto Martinho, where we were obliged to stay a short time. A boat put off from the shore, in which were some well- dressed natives. Before she reached us and made fast, a loud report of a Winchester rang out from the midst of those assembled on the deck of our steamer, and a man in the boat threw up his arms and dropped; the spark of life had gone out. So quickly did this happen that before we had time to look around the unfortunate man was weltering in his own blood in the bottom of the boat! The assassin, an elderly Brazilian, who had eaten at our table and scarcely spoken to anyone, stepped forward quietly, confessing that he had shot one of his old enemies. He was then taken ashore in the ship’s boat, there to await Brazilian justice, and later on, to appear before a higher tribunal, where the accounts of all men will be balanced.
Such rottenness obtains in Brazilian law that not long since a judge sued in court a man who had bribed him and sought to evade paying the bribe. Knowing this laxity, we did not anticipate that our murderous fellow-traveller would have to suffer much for his crime. The _News_, of Rio Janeiro, recently said: “The punishment of a criminal who has any influence whatever is becoming one of the forgotten things.”
After leaving Puerto Martinho, the uniform flatness of the river banks changes to wild, mountainous country. On either hand rise high mountains, whose blue tops at times almost frowned over our heads, and the luxuriant tropical vegetation, with creeping lianas, threatened to bar our progress. Huge alligators sunned themselves on the banks, and birds of brilliant plumage flew from branch to branch. _Carpinchos_, with heavy, pig-like tread, walked among the rushes of the shore, and made more than one good dish for our table. This water-hog, the largest gnawing animal in the world, is here very common. Their length, from end of snout to tail, is between three and four feet, while they frequently weigh up to one hundred pounds. The girth of their body will often exceed the length by a foot. For food, they eat the many aquatic plants of the river banks, and the puma, in turn, finds them as delicious a morsel as we did. The head of this amphibious hog presents quite a ludicrous aspect, owing to the great depth of the jaw, and to see them sitting on their haunches, like huge rabbits, is an amusing sight. The young cling on to the mother’s back when she swims.
Farther on we stopped to take in wood at a large Brazilian cattle establishment, and a man there assured us that “there were no venomous insects except tigers,” but these killed at least fifteen per cent. of his animals. Not long previously a tiger had, in one night, killed five men and a dog. The heat every day grew more oppressive. On the eighth day we passed the Brazilian fort and arsenal of Cuimbre, with its brass cannon shining in a sun of brass, and its sleepy inhabitants lolling in the shade.
Five weeks after leaving Rio Janeiro we finally anchored in Corumba, an intensely sultry spot. Corumba is a town of 5,000 inhabitants, and often said to be one of the hottest in the world. It is an unhealthy place, as are most towns without drainage and water supply. In the hotter season of the year the ratio on a six months’ average may be two deaths to one birth. It is a place where dogs at times seem more numerous than people, a town where justice is administered in ways new and strange. Does the reader wish an instance? An assassin of the deepest dye was given over by the judge to the tender mercies of the crowd. The man was thereupon attacked by the whole population in one mass. He was shot and stabbed, stoned and beaten until he became almost a shapeless heap, and was then hurried away in a mule cart, and, without coffin, priest or mourners, was buried like a dog.
Perhaps the populace felt they had to take the law into their own hands, for I was told that the Governor had taken upon himself the responsibility of leaving the prison gates open to thirty-two men, who had quietly walked out. These men had been incarcerated for various reasons, murder, etc., for even in this state of Matto Grosso an assassin who cannot pay or escape suffers a little imprisonment. The excuse was, “We cannot afford to keep so many idle men–we are poor.” What a confession for a Brazilian! I do not vouch for the story, for I was not an eye-witness to the act, but it is quite in the range of Brazilian possibilities. The only discrepancy may be the strange way of Portuguese counting. A man buys three horses, but his account is that he has bought twelve feet of horses. He embarks a hundred cows, but the manifest describes the transaction as four hundred feet. The Brazilian is in this respect almost a Yankee– little sums do not content him. Why should they, when he can truthfully boast that his territory is larger than that of the United States? His mile is longer than that of any other nation, and the _bocadinho_, or extra “mouthful,” which generally accompanies it, is endless. Instead of having one hundred cents to the dollar, he has two thousand, and each cent is called a “king.” The sound is big, but alas, the value of his money is insignificantly small!
The child is not content with being called John Smith. “Jose Maria Jesus Joao dois Sanctos Sylva da Costa da Cunha” is his name; and he recites it, as I, in my boyhood’s days, used to “say a piece” while standing on a chair. There is no school in the town. In Brazil, 84 per cent. of the entire population are illiterate.
Corumba contains a few stores of all descriptions, but it would seem that the stock in trade of the chemist is very low, for I overheard a conversation between two women one day, who said they could not get this or that–in fact, “he only keeps cures for stabs and such like things.” In the _armazems_ liquors are sold, and rice, salt and beans despatched to the customer by the pint. Why wine and milk are not sold by the pound I did not enquire.
One is not to ask too much in Brazil, or offence is given. When seated at table one day with a comrade, who had the misfortune to swallow a bone, I quietly “swallowed” the remedy a Brazilian told us of. He said their custom was for all to turn away their heads, while the unfortunate one revolved his plate around three times to the left, and presto! the bone disappeared. My friend did not believe in the cure; consequently, he suffered for several days.
I have said that dogs are numerous. These animals roam the streets by day and night in packs and fight and tear at anyone or anything. Some days before we arrived there were even more, but a few pounds of poison had been scattered about the streets–which, by the way, are the worst of any town I have ever entered–and the dog population of the world decreased nine hundred. This is the Corumba version. Perhaps the truth is, nine hundred feet, or, as we count, two hundred and twenty-five dogs. In the interests of humanity, I hope the number was nine hundred heads. Five carts then patrolled the streets and carried away to the outskirts those dead dogs, which were there burnt. I, the writer, find the latter part of the story hardest to believe. Why should a freeborn Brazilian lift dogs out of the street? In what better place could they be? They would fill up the holes and ruts, and, in such intense heat, why do needless work?
Corumba is a typical Brazilian town. Little carts, drawn by a string of goats or rams, thread their way through the streets. Any animal but the human must do the work. As the majority of the people go barefooted, the patriarchal custom prevails of having water offered on entering a house to wash the feet. At all hours of the day men, women and children seek to cool themselves in the river, which is here a mile wide, and with a depth of 20 feet in the channel. While on the subject of bathing, I might mention that a wooden image of the patron saint of the town is, with great pomp, brought down at the head of a long procession, once every year, to receive his annual “duck” in the water. This is supposed to benefit him much. After his immersion, all the inhabitants, men, women and children, make a rush to be the first to dip in the “blessed water,” for, by doing this, all their sins are forgiven them for a year to come. The sick are careful to see that they are not left in the position of the unfortunate one mentioned in the Gospel by John, who “had no one to put him into the pool.”
I have also known the Virgin solemnly carried down to the water’s edge, that she might command it to rise or fall, as suited the convenience of the people. While she exercised her power the natives knelt around her on the shingly beach in rapturous devotion. At such times the “Mother of Heaven” is clothed in her best, and the jewels in her costume sparkle in the tropical sun.
What the Nile is to Egypt, the Paraguay River is to these interior lands, and what Isis was to the Egyptians, so is the Virgin to these people. Once, when the waters were low, it is related the Virgin came down from heaven and stood upon some rocks in the river bed. To this day the pilot tells you how her footprints are to be clearly seen, impressed in the stone, when the water is shallow. Strange that Mahomet does not rise from his tomb and protest, for that miracle we must concede to him, because his footprints have been on the sacred rocks at Mecca for a thousand years. Does he pass it over, believing, with many, that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?
Whatever Roman Catholicism is in other parts of the world, in South America it is pure Mariolatry. The creed, as we have seen, reads: “Mary must be our first object of worship, Saint Joseph the second.” Along with these, saints, living and dead, are numberless.
A traveller in South Brazil thus writes of a famous monk: “There, in a shed at the back of a small farm, half sitting, half reclining on a mat and a skin of some wild animal, was a man of about seventy years of age, in a state of nudity. A small piece of red blanket was thrown over his shoulders, barely covering them. His whole body was encrusted with filth, and his nails had grown like claws. His vacant look showed him to be a poor, helpless idiot. Beside him a large wood fire was kept burning. The ashes of this fire, strewn around him for the sake of cleanliness, are carried away for medicinal purposes by the thousands of pilgrims who visit him. Men and women come from long distances to see him, in the full persuasion that he is a holy man and has miraculous powers.” [Footnote: “The Neglected Continent”] Romanism is thus seen to be in a double sense “a moral pestilence.”
The church is, of course, very much in evidence in Corumba, for it is a very religious place. A _missa cantata_ is often held there, when a noisy brass band will render dance music, often at the moat solemn parts. The drums frequently beat until the worshippers are almost deafened.
In the town of Bom Fim, a little further north, the priest runs a “show” opposite his church, and over it are printed the words, “Theatre of the Holy Ghost.”
Think, O intelligent reader, how dense must be the darkness of Papal America when a church notice, which anyone may see affixed to the door, reads:
RAFFLE FOB SOULS.
A raffle for souls will be held at this Church on January 1st, at which four bleeding and tortured souls will be released from purgatory to heaven, according to the four highest tickets in this most holy lottery. Tickets, $1.00. To be had of the father in charge. Will you, for the poor sum of one dollar, leave your loved ones to burn in purgatory for ages?
At the last raffle for souls, the following numbers obtained the prize, and the lucky holders may be assured that their loved ones are forever released from the flames of purgatory: Ticket 4l.–The soul of Madame Coldern is made happy for ever. Ticket 762.–The soul of the aged widow, Francesca de Parson, is forever released from the flames of purgatory. Ticket 84l.–The soul of Lawyer Vasquez is released from purgatory and ushered into heavenly joys. [Footnote: “Gospel Message.”]
But, my reader asks, “Do the people implicitly believe all the priest says?” No, sometimes they say, “Show us a sign.” This was especially true of the people living on the Chili-Bolivian border. The wily, yet progressive, priest there made a number of little balloons, which on a certain day of the year were sent up into the sky, bearing away the sins of the people. Of course, when the villagers saw their sins float away before their own eyes, enclosed in little crystal spheres, such as _could not be earthly_, they believed and rejoiced. Yes, reader, the South American priest is alive to his position after all, and even “patents” are requisitioned. In some of the larger churches there is the “slot” machine, which, when a coin is inserted, gives out _”The Pope’s blessing.”_ This is simply a picture representing his Holiness with uplifted hands.
The following is a literal translation, from the Portuguese, of a “notice” in a Rio Janeiro newspaper:
FESTIVAL IN HONOR OF THE LADY OF NAZARETH.
“The day will be ushered in with majestic and deafening fireworks, and the ‘Hail Mary’ rendered by the beautiful band of the—-Infantry regiment. There will be an intentional mass, grand vocal and instrumental music, solemn vespers, the Gospel preached, and ribbons, which have been placed round the neck of the image of St. Broz, distributed.
“The square, tastefully decorated and pompously illuminated, will afford the devotees, after their supplications to the Lord of the Universe, the following means of amusement,—–the Chinese Pavilion, etc.,—–. Evening service concluded, there will be danced in the Flora Pavilion the _fandango a pandereta_. In the same pavilion a comic company will act several pieces. On Sunday, upon the conclusion of the Te Deum, the comic company will perform,” etc.
The spiritual darkness is appalling. If the following can be written of Pernambuco, a large city of 180,000 inhabitants, on the sea coast, the reader can, in a measure, understand the priestly thraldom of these isolated towns. A Pernambuco newspaper, in its issue of March 1st, 1903, contains an article headed, “Burning of Bibles,” which says:
“As has been announced, there was realized in the square of the Church of Penha, on the 22nd ult., at nine o’clock in the morning, in the presence of more than two thousand people, the burning of two hundred and fourteen volumes of the Protestant Bible, amidst enthusiastic cheers for the Catholic religion, the immaculate Virgin Mary, and the High Priest Leo XIII.–cheers raised spontaneously by the Catholic people.” [Footnote: Literal translation from the Portuguese.]
A colporteur, known to me, when engaged selling Bibles in a Brazilian town, reports that the fanatical populace got his books and carried them, fastened and burning, at the end of blazing torches, while they tramped the streets, yelling: “Away with all false books!” “Away with the religion of the devils!” A recent Papal bull reads: “Bible burnings are most Catholic demonstrations.”
Is it cause for wonder that the Spanish-American Republics have been so backward?
I have seen a notice headed “SAVIOUR OF SOULS,” making known the fact that at a certain address a _Most Holy Reverend Father_ would be in attendance during certain hours, willing to save the soul of any and every applicant on payment of so much. That revelation which tells of a Saviour without money or price is denied them.
Corumba is a strange, lawless place, where the ragged, barefooted night policeman inspires more terror in the law-abiding than the professional prowler. The former has a sharp sword, which glitters as he threatens, and the latter has often a kind heart, and only asks “mil reis” (about thirty cents).
How can a town be governed properly when its capital is three thousand miles distant, and the only open route thither is, by river and sea, a month’s journey? Perhaps the day is not far distant when Cuyaba, the most central city of South America, and larger than Corumba, lying hundreds of miles further up the river, will set up a head of its own to rule, or misrule, the province. Brazil is too big, much too big, or the Government is too little, much too little.
The large states are subdivided into districts, or parishes, each under an ecclesiastical head, as may be inferred from the peculiar names many of them bear. There are the parishes of:
“Our Lady, Mother of God of Porridge.”
“The Three Hearts of Jesus.”
“Our Lady of the Rosary of the Pepper Tree.”
“The Souls of the Sand Bank of the River of Old Women.”
“The Holy Ghost of the Cocoanut Tree.”
“Our Lady Mother of the Men of Mud.”
“The Sand Bank of the Holy Ghost.”
“The Holy Spirit of the Pitchfork.”
The Brazilian army, very materially aided by the saints, is able to keep this great country, with its many districts, in tolerable quietness. Saint Anthony, who, when young, was _privileged to carry the toys of the child Jesus_, is, in this respect, of great service to the Brazilians. The military standing of Saint Anthony in the Brazilian army is one of considerable importance and diversified service. According to a statement of Deputy Spinola, made on the 13th of June, the eminent saint’s feast day, his career in the military service of Brazil has been the following: By a royal letter of the 7th of April, 1707, the commission of captain was conferred upon the image of Saint Anthony, of Bahia. This image was promoted to be a major of infantry by a decree of September 13th, 1819. In July, 1859, his pay was placed upon the regular pay-roll of the Department of War.
The image of St. Anthony in Rio de Janeiro, however, outranks his counterpart of Bahia, and seems to have had a more brilliant military record. His commission as captain dates from a royal letter of March 21st, 1711. He was promoted to be major of infantry in July, 1810, and to be lieutenant-colonel in 1814. He was decorated with the Grand Cross of the Order of Christ also, in 1814, and his pay as lieutenant-colonel was made a permanent charge on the military list in 1833.
The image of St. Anthony of Ouro Preto attained the rank and pay of captain in 1799. His career has been an uneventful one, and has been confined principally to the not unpleasant task of drawing $480 a month from the public treasury. The salaries of all these soldiery images are drawn by duly constituted attorneys. [Footnote: Rio News]
Owing to bubonic plague, my stay in Corumba was prolonged. I have been in the city of Bahia when an average of 200 died every day from this terrible disease, so Brazil is beginning to be more careful.
Though steamers were not running, perspiration was. Oh, the heat! In my excursions in and around the town I found that even the mule I had hired, acclimatized as it was to heat and thirst and hunger, began to show signs of fatigue. Can man or beast be expected to work when the temperature stands at 130 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade?
As the natives find bullocks bear the heat better than mules, I procured one of these saddle animals, but it could only travel at a snail’s pace. I was indeed thankful to quit the oven of a town when at last quarantine was raised and a Brazilian steamboat called.
Rats were so exceedingly numerous on this packet that they would scamper over our bodies at night. So bold were they that we were compelled to take a cudgel into our berths! A Brazilian passenger declared one morning that he had counted three hundred rats on the cabin floor at one time! I have already referred to Brazilian numbering; perhaps he meant three hundred feet, or seventy-five rats.
With the heat and the rats, supplemented by millions of mosquitos, my Corumba journey was not exactly a picnic.
In due time we arrived again at Puerto Martinio, only to hear that our former fellow-passenger, the assassin, had regained his freedom and could be seen walking about the town. But then–well, he was rich, and money does all in Brazil–yea, the priest will even tell you it purchases an entrance into heaven! In worldly matters the people _see_ its power, and in spiritual matters they _believe_ it. If the priest has heard of Peter’s answer to Simon–“Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money”–he keeps it to himself. How can he live if he deceives not? Strange indeed is the thought that, three hundred years before the caravels of Portuguese conquerors ever sailed these waters, the law of the Indian ruler of that very part of the country read: “Judges who receive bribes from their clients are to be considered as thieves meriting death.” And a clause in the Sacred Book read: “He who kills another condemns his own self.” Has the interior of South America gone forward or backward since then? Was the adoration of the Sun more civilizing than the worship of the Virgin?
When we got down into Argentine waters I began to feel cold, and donned an overcoat. Thinking it strange that I should feel thus in the latitude which had in former times been so agreeable, I investigated, and found the thermometer 85 degrees Fah. in the shade. After Corumba that was _cold_.
PART V.
URUGUAY
[Illustration]
THE LONE TRAIL.
And sometimes it leads to the desert and the tongue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of the hunger-goaded desire.
–_Robert W. Service._
The Republic of Uruguay has 72,210 square miles of territory, and is the smallest of the ten countries of South America. Its population is only 1,103,000, but the Liebig Company, “which manufactures beef tea for the world, owns nearly a million acres of land in Uruguay. On its enormous ranches over 6,000,000 head of cattle have passed through its hands in the fifty years of its existence.” [Footnote: Clark. “Continent of Opportunity.”]
The republic seems well governed, but, as in all Spanish-American countries, the ideas of right and wrong are strange. While taking part in a religious procession, President Borda was assassinated in 1897. A man was seen to deliberately walk up and shoot him. The Chief Executive fell mortally wounded. This cool murderer was condemned to two years’ imprisonment for _insulting_ the President.
In 1900, President Arredondo was assassinated, but the murderer was acquitted on the ground that “he was interpreting the feelings of the people.”
Uruguay is a progressive republic, with more than a thousand miles of railway. On these lines the coaches are very palatial. The larger part of the coach, made to seat fifty-two passengers, is for smokers, the smaller compartment, accommodating sixteen, is for non-smokers, thus reversing our own practice. Outside the harbor of the capital a great sea-wall is being erected, at tremendous cost, to facilitate shipping, and Uruguay is certainly a country with a great future.
The capital city occupies a commanding position at the mouth of the great estuary of the Rio de la Plata; its docks are large and modern, and palatial steamers of the very finest types bring it in daily communication with Buenos Ayres. The Legislative Palace is one of the finest government buildings in the world. The great Solis Theatre, where Patti and Bernhardt have both appeared, covers nearly two acres of ground, seats three thousand people and cost three million dollars to build. The sanitary conditions and water supply are so perfect that fewer people die in this city, in proportion to its size, than in any other large city of the world.
The Parliament of Uruguay has recently voted that all privileges hitherto granted to particular religious bodies shall be abrogated, that the army shall not take part in religious ceremonies, that army chaplains shall be dismissed, that the national flag shall not be lowered before any priest or religious symbol. So another state cuts loose from Rome!
The climate of the country is such that grapes, apricots, peaches, and many other fruits grow to perfection. Its currency is on a more stable basis than that of any other Spanish republic, and its dollar is actually worth 102 cents. The immigrants pouring into Uruguay have run up to over 20,000 a year; the population has increased more than 100 per cent in 12 years; so we shall hear from Uruguay in coming years more than we have done in the past.
CHAPTER XIII.
SKETCHES OF A HORSEBACK RIDE THROUGH THE REPUBLIC.
I CROSS THE SILVER RIVER.
I left Buenos Ayres for Uruguay in an Italian _polacca_. We weighed anchor one Sunday afternoon, and as the breeze was favorable, the white sails, held up by strong ropes of rawhide, soon wafted us away from the land. We sailed through a fleet of ships from all parts of the world, anchored in the stream, discharging and loading cargoes. There, just arrived, was an Italian emigrant ship with a thousand people on board, who had come to start life afresh. There was the large British steamer, with her clattering windlass, hoisting on board live bullocks from barges moored alongside. The animals are raised up by means of a strong rope tied around their horns, and as the ship rocks on the swell they dangle in mid-air. When a favorable moment arrives they are quickly dropped on to the deck, completely stupefied by their aerial flight.
As darkness fell, the wind dropped, and we lay rocking on the bosom of the river, with only the twinkling lights of the Argentine coast to remind us of the solid world. The shoreless river was, however, populous with craft of all rigs, for this is the highway to the great interior, and some of them were bound to Cuyaba, 2,600 miles in the heart of the continent. During the night a ship on fire in the offing lit up with great vividness the silent waste of waters, and as the flames leaped up the rigging, the sight was very grand. Owing to calms and light winds, our passage was a slow one, and I was not sorry when at last I could say good-bye to the Italians and their oily food. Three nights and two days is a long time to spend in crossing a river.
MONTEVIDEO.
Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay, is “one of the handsomest cities in all America, north or south.” Its population is over 350,000. It is one of the cleanest and best laid-out cities on the continent; it has broad, airy streets and a general look of prosperity. What impresses the newcomer most is the military display everywhere seen. Sentry boxes, in front of which dark-skinned soldiers strut, seem to be at almost every corner. Although Uruguay has a standing army of under 3,500 men, yet gold-braided officers are to be met with on every street. There are twenty-one generals on active service, and many more living on pension. More important personages than these men assume to be could not be met with in any part of the world.
The armies of most of these republics are divided into sections bearing such blasphemous titles as “Division of the Son of God,” “Division of the Good Shepherd,” “Division of the Holy Lancers of Death” and “Soldiers of the Blessed Heart of Mary.” These are often placed under the sceptre of the Sacred Heart of Jesus as the national emblem.
Boys of seven and old men of seventy stand on the sidewalks selling lottery tickets; and the priest, with black beaver hat, the brim of which has a diameter of two feet, is always to be seen. One of these priests met a late devotee, but now a follower of Christ through missionary effort, and said: “Good morning, _Daughter of the Evil One_!” “Good morning, _Father_,” she replied.
The cemetery is one of the finest on the continent, and is well worth a visit. Very few of Montevideo’s dead are _buried_. The coffins of the rich are zinc-lined, and provided with a glass in the lid. All caskets are placed in niches in the high wall which surrounds the cemetery. These mural niches are six or eight feet deep in the wall, and each one has a marble tablet for the name of the deposited one. By means of a large portable ladder and elevator combined, the coffins are raised from the ground. At anniversaries of the death the tomb is filled with flowers, and candles are lit inside, while a wreath is hung on the door. A favorite custom is to attend mass on Sunday morning, then visit the cemetery, and spend the afternoon at the bull-fights.
NATIVE HOUSES AND HABITS.
Uruguay is essentially a pastoral country, and the finest animals of South America are there raised. It is said that “Uruguay’s pasture lands could feed all the cattle of the world, and sheep grow fat at 50 to the acre.” In 1889, when I first went there, there were thirty- two millions of horned cattle grazing on a thousand hills. Liebig’s famous establishments at Fray Bentos, two hundred miles north of Montevideo, employs six hundred men, and kills one thousand bullocks a day.
Uruguay has some good roads, and the land is wire-fenced in all directions. The rivers are crossed on large flat-bottomed boats called _balsas_. These are warped across by a chain, and carry as many as ten men and horses in one trip. The roads are in many places thickly strewn with bones of dead animals, dropped by the way, and these are picked clean by the vultures. No sooner does an animal lie down to die than, streaming out of the infinite space, which a moment before has been a lifeless world of blue ether, there come lines of vultures, and soon white bones are all that are left.
On the fence-posts one sees many nests of the _casera_ (housebuilder) bird, made of mud. These have a dome-shaped roof, and are divided by a partition inside into chamber and ante-chamber. By the roadside are hovels of the natives not a twentieth part so well-built or rain- tight. Fleas are so numerous in these huts that sometimes, after spending a night in one, it would have been impossible to place a five-cent piece on any part of my body that had not been bitten by them. Scorpions come out of the wood they burn on the earthen floor, and monster cockroaches nibble your toes at night. The thick, hot grass roofs of the ranches harbor centipedes, which drop on your face as you sleep, and bite alarmingly. These many-legged creatures grow to the length of eight or nine inches, and run to and fro with great speed. Well might the little girl, on seeing a centipede for the first time, ask: “What is that queer-looking thing, with about a million legs?” Johnny wisely replied: “That’s a millennium. It’s something like a centennial, only its has more legs.”
After vain attempts to sleep, you rise, and may see the good wife cleaning her only plate for you by rubbing it on her greasy hair and wiping it with the bottom of her chemise. Ugh! Proceeding on the journey, it is a common sight to see three or four little birds sitting on the backs of the horned cattle getting their breakfast, which I hope they relish better than I often did.
A WAKE, AND HOW TO GET TO HEAVEN.
During my journey I was asked: Would I like to go to the wake held that night at the next house, three miles away? After supper, horses were saddled up and away we galloped. Quite a number had already gathered there. We found the dead man lying on a couple of sheepskins, in the centre of a mud-walled and mud-floored room. “No useless coffin enclosed his breast,” nor was he wound in either sheet or shroud. There he lay, fully attired, even to his shoes. Four tallow candles lighted up the gloom, and these were placed at his head and feet. His clammy hands were reverently folded over his breast, whilst entwined in his fingers was a bronze cross and rosary, that St. Peter, seeing his devotion, might, without questioning, admit him to a better world. The scene was weird beyond description. Outside, the wind moaned a sad dirge; great bats and black moths, the size of birds, flitted about in the midnight darkness. These, ever and anon, made their way inside and extinguished the candles, which flickered and dripped as they fitfully shone on the shrunken features of the corpse. He had been a reprobate and an assassin, but, luckily for him, a pious woman, not wishing to see him die “in his sins,” had sprinkled _Holy Water_ on him. The said “Elixir of Life” had been brought eighty miles, and was kept in her house to use only in extreme cases. The poor woman had paid the price of a cow for the bottle of water, but the priest had declared that it was an effectual soul-saver, and they never doubted its efficacy. Around the corpse was a throng of women, and they all chattered as women are apt to do. The men, standing around the door, talked of their horse-races, fights or anything else. For some hours I heard no allusion to the dead, but as the night wore on the prophetess of the people came forth.
If my advent among them had caused a stir, the entrance of this old woman caused a bustle; even the dead man seemed to salute her, or was it only my imagination–for I was in a strangely sensitive mood–that pictured it? As she slowly approached, leaning heavily on a rough, thick staff, all the females present bent their knees. Now prayers were going to be offered up for the dead, and the visible woman was to act as interceder with the invisible one in heaven. After being assisted to her knees, the old woman, in a cracked, yet loud, voice, began. “_Santa Maria, ruega por nosotros, ahora, y en la hora de nuestra muerte!_” (Holy Mary pray for us now, and in the hour of our death!) This was responded to with many gesticulations and making of crosses by the numerous females around her. The prayers were many and long, and must have lasted perhaps an hour; then all arose, and mate and cigars were served. Men and women, even boys and girls, smoked the whole night through, until around the Departed was nothing but bluish clouds.
The natives are so fond of wakes that when deaths do not occur with great frequency, the bones of “grandma” are dug up, and she is prayed and smoked over once more. The digging up of the dead is often a simple matter, for the corpse is frequently just carried into the bush, and there covered with prickly branches.
THE SNAKE’S HISTORY.
I met with a snake, of a whitish color, that appeared to have two heads. Never being able to closely examine this strange reptile, I cannot positively affirm that it possesses the two heads, but the natives repeatedly affirmed to me that it does, and certainly both ends are, or seem to be, exactly alike. In the Book of Genesis the serpent is described as “a beast,” but for its temptation of Eve it was condemned to crawl on its belly and become a reptile. A strange belief obtains among the people that all serpents must not only be killed, but _put into a fire_. If there is none lit, they will kindle one on purpose, for it must be burned. As the outer skin comes off, it is declared, the four legs, now under it, can be distinctly seen.
A GIRL’S NEW BIRTH AND TRANSLATION.
At Rincon I held a series of meetings in a mud hut. Men and women, with numerous children, used to gather on horseback an hour before the time for opening. A little girl always brought her three-legged stool and squatted in front of me. The rest appropriated tree-trunks and bullocks’ skulls. The girl referred to listened to the Gospel story as though her life depended upon it, as indeed it did! When at Rincon only a short time, the child desired me to teach her how to pray, and she clasped her hands reverently. “Would Jesus save _me_?” she asked. “Did He die for me–_me_? Will He save me now?” The girl _believed_, and entered at once into the family of God.
One day a man on horseback, tears streaming down his cheeks, galloped up to my hut. It was her father. His girl was dead. She had gone into the forest, and, feeling hungry, had eaten some berries; they were poisonous, and she had come home to die. Would I bury her? Shortly afterwards I rode over to the hovel where she had lived. Awaiting me were the broken-hearted parents. A grocery box had been secured, and this rude coffin was covered with pink cotton. Four horses were yoked in a two-wheeled cart, the parents sat on the casket, and I followed on horseback to the nearest cemetery, sixteen miles away. There, in a little enclosure, we lowered the girl into her last earthly resting- place, in the sure and certain hope of a glorious resurrection. She had lived in a house where a cow’s hide served for a door, but she had now entered the “pearly gates.” The floor of her late home was mother earth; what a change to be walking the “streets of gold!” Some day, “after life’s fitful fever,” I shall meet her again, not a poor, ragged half-breed girl, but glorified, and clothed in His righteousness.
HOW I DID NOT LOSE MY EYES.
One day I was crossing a river, kneeling on my horse’s back, when he gave a lurch and threw me into the water. Gaining the bank, and being quite alone, I stripped off my wet clothes and waited for the sun to dry them. The day was hot and sultry, and, feeling tired, I covered myself up with the long grass and went to sleep. How long I lay I cannot tell, but suddenly waking up, I found to my alarm that several large vultures, having thought me dead, were contemplating me as their next meal! Had my sleep continued a few moments longer, the rapacious birds would have picked my eyes out, as they invariably do before tearing up their victim. All over the country these birds abound, and I have counted thirty and forty tearing up a living, quivering animal. Sometimes, for mercy’s sake, I have alighted and put the suffering beast out of further pain. Before I got away they have been fighting over it again in their haste to suck the heart’s blood.
A BACHELOR RABBIT.
The pest of Australia is the rabbit, but, strange to say, I never found one in South America. In their place is the equally destructive _viscacha_ or prairie dog–a much larger animal, probably three or four times the size, having very low, broad head, little ears, and thick, bristling whiskers. His coat is gray and white, with a mixture of black. To all appearance this is a ferocious beast, with his two front tusk-like teeth, about four inches long, but he is perfectly harmless. The viscacha makes his home, like the rabbit, by burrowing in the ground, where he remains during daylight. The faculty of acquisition in these animals must be large, for in their nightly trips they gather and bring to the mouth of their burrow anything and everything they can possibly move. Bones, manure, stones and feathers are here collected, and if the traveller accidentally dropped his watch, knife or handkerchief, it would be found and carried to adorn the viscacha’s doorway, if those animals were anywhere near.
The lady reader will be shocked to learn that the head of the viscacha family, probably copying a bad example from the ostrich, his neighbor, is also very unamiable with his “better half,” and inhabits bachelor’s quarters, which he keeps all to himself, away from his family. The food of this strange dog-rabbit is roots, and his powerful teeth are well fitted to root them up. At the mouth of their burrows may often be seen little owls, which have ejected the original owners and themselves taken possession. They have a strikingly saucy look, and possess the advantage of being able to turn their heads right around while the body remains immovable. Being of an inquisitive nature, they stare at every passer-by, and if the traveller quietly walks around them he will smile at the grotesque power they have of turning their head. When a young horse is especially slow in learning the use of the reins, I have known the cowboy smear the bridle with the brains of this clever bird, that the owl’s facility in turning might thus be imparted to it.
Another peculiar animal is the _comadreka_, which resembles the kangaroo in that it is provided with a bag or pouch in which to carry its young ones. I have surprised these little animals (for they are only of rabbit size) with their young playing around them, and have seen the mother gather them into her pouch and scamper away.
DRINKING WATER, SAINTS AND THE VIRGIN.
In Uruguay it is the custom for all, on approaching a house, to call out, “Holy Mary the Pure!” and until the inmate answers: “Conceived without sin!” not a step farther must be made by the visitor. At a hut where I called there was a baby hanging from the wattle roof in a cow’s hide, and flies covered the little one’s eyes. On going to the well for a drink I saw that there was a cat and a rat in the water, but the people were drinking it! When smallpox breaks out because of such unsanitary conditions, I have known them to carry around the image of St. Sebastian, that its divine presence might chase away the sickness. The dress of the Virgin is often borrowed from the church, and worn by the women, that they may profit by its healing virtues. A crucifix hung in the house keeps away evil spirits.
The people were very _religious_, and no rain having fallen for five months, had concluded to carry around a large image of the Virgin they had, and show her the dry crops. I rode on, but did not get wet!
NO NEED OF THE DOCTOR OR VET.
“A poor girl got very severely burnt, and the remedy applied was a poultice of mashed ears of _viscacha_. The burn did not heal, and so a poultice of pig’s dung was put on. When we went to visit the girl, the people said it was because they had come to our meetings that the girl did not get better. A liberal cleansing, followed by the use of boracic acid, has healed the wound. Another case came under our notice of a woman who suffered from a gathering in the ear, and the remedy applied was a negro’s curl fried in fat.”
To cure animals of disease there are many ways. Mrs. Nieve boasted that, by just saying a few cabalistic words over a sick cow, she could heal it. A charm put on the top of the enclosure where the animals are herded will keep away sickness. To cure a bucking horse all that is necessary is to pull out its eyebrows and spit in its face. Let a lame horse step on a sheepskin, cut out the piece, and carry it in your pocket; if this can’t be done, make a cross with tufts of grass, and the leg will heal. For ordinary sickness tie a dog’s head around the horse’s neck. If a horse has pains in the stomach, let him smell your shirt.
A RACE FOR INFORMATION.
Uruguay is said to have averaged a revolution every two years for nearly a century, so in times of revolutionary disturbance the younger children are often set to watch the roads and give timely warning, that the father or elder brother may effect an escape. The said persons may then mount their fleetest horse and be out of sight ere the recruiting sergeant arrives. Being one day perplexed, and in doubt whether I was on my right road, I made towards a boy I had descried some distance away, to ask him. No sooner did the youth catch sight of me than he set off at a long gallop away from me; why, I could not tell, as they are generally so interested at the sight of a stranger. Determined not to be outdone, and feeling sure that without directions I could not safely continue the journey, I put spurs to my horse and tried to overtake him. As I quickened my pace he looked back, and, seeing me gain upon him, urged his horse to its utmost speed. Down hill and up hill, through grass and mud and water, the race continued. A sheepskin fell from his saddle, but he heeded it not as he went plunging forward. Human beings in those latitudes were very few, and if I did not catch him I might be totally lost for days; so I went clattering on over his sheepskin, and then over his wooden saddle, the fall of which only made his horse give a fresh plunge forward as he lay on its neck. Thus we raced for at least three miles, until, tired out and breathless, I gave up in despair.
Concluding that my fleet-footed but unamiable young friend had undoubtedly some place in view, I continued in the same direction, but at a more respectable pace. Shortly afterwards I arrived at a very small hut, built of woven grass and reeds, which I presumed was his home. Making for the open door, I clapped my hands, but received no answer. The hut was certainly inhabited–of that I saw abundant signs–but where were the people? I dare not get down from my horse; that is an insult no native would forgive; so I slowly walked around the house, clapping my hands and shouting at the top of my voice. Just as I was making the circuit for the third time, I descried another and a larger house, hidden in the trees some distance away, and thither I forthwith bent my steps. There I learned that I had been taken for a recruiting sergeant, and the inhabitants had hidden themselves when the boy galloped up with the message of my approach.
I FIND DIAMONDS.
“For one shall grasp and one resign. One drink life’s rue, and one its wine; And God shall make the balance good.”
Encamped on the banks of the Black River, idly turning up the soil with the stock of my riding-whip, I was startled to find what I believed to be real diamonds! Beautifully white, transparent stones they were, and, rising to examine them closely in the sunlight, I was more than ever convinced of the richness of my find. Was it possible that I had unwittingly discovered a diamond field? Could it be true that, after years of hardship, I had found a fortune? I was a rich man–oh, the enchanting thought! No need now to toil through scorching suns. I could live at ease. As I sat with the stones glistening in the light before my eyes, my brain grew fevered. Leaving my hat and coat on the ground, I ran towards my horse, and, vaulting on his bare back, wildly galloped to and fro, that the breezes might cool my fevered head. Rich? Oh, how I had worked and striven! Life had hitherto been a hard fight. When I had gathered together a few dollars, I had been prostrated with malarial or some other fever, and they had flown. After two or three months of enforced idleness I had had to start the battle of life afresh with diminished funds. Now the past was dead; I could rest from strife. Rest! How sweet it sounded as I repeated aloud the precious word, and the distant echoes brought back the word, Rest!
I was awakened from my day dreams by being thrown from my horse! Hope for the future had so taken possession of me that the present was forgotten. I had not seen the caves of the prairie dog, but my horse had given a sudden start aside to avoid them, and I found myself licking the dust. Bather a humiliating position for a man to be in who had just found unlimited wealth; Somewhat subdued, I made my way back to my solitary encampment.
Well, how shall I conclude this short but pregnant chapter of my life? Suffice it to say that my idol was shattered! The stones were found to be of little worth.
“The flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts, and then flies.”
A MAN WITH TWO NOSES AND TWO MOUTHS.
I was lost one day, and had been sitting in the grass for an hour or more wondering what I should do, when the sound of galloping hoofs broke the silence. On looking around, to my horror, I saw a _something_ seated on a fiery horse tearing towards me! What could it be? Was it human? Could the strange-looking being who suddenly reined up his horse before me be a man? A man surely, but possessing two noses, two mouths, and two hare-lips. A hideous sight! I shuddered as I looked at him. His left eye was in the temple, and he turned it full upon me, while with the other he seemed to glance toward the knife in his belt. When he rode up I had saluted him, but he did not return the recognition. Feeling sure that the country must be well known to him, I offered to reward him if he would act as my guide. The man kept his gleaming eye fixed upon me, but answered not a word. Beginning to look at the matter in rather a serious light, I mounted my horse, when he grunted at me in an unintelligible way, which showed me plainly that he was without the power of speech. He turned in the direction I had asked him to take, and we started off at a breakneck speed, which his fiery horse kept up. I cannot say he followed his nose, or the reader might ask me which nose, but he led me in a straight line to an eminence, from whence he pointed out the estancia I was seeking. The house was still distant, yet I was not sorry to part with my strange guide, who seemed disinclined to conduct me further. I gave him his fee, and he grunted his thanks and left me to pursue my journey more leisurely. A hut I came to had been struck by lightning, and a woman and her child had been buried in the debris. Inquiring the particulars, I was informed that the woman was herself to blame for the disaster. The saints, they told me, have a particular aversion to the _ombu_ tree, and this daring Eve had built her house near one. The saints had taken _spite_ at this act of bravado, and destroyed both mother and daughter. Moral: Heed the saints.
A FLEET-FOOTED DEER.
One day an old man seriously informed me that in those parts there was a deer which neither he nor any other one had been able to catch. Like the Siamese twins, it was two live specimens in one. When I asked why it was impossible to catch the animal, he informed me that it had eight legs with which to run. Four of the legs came out of the back, and, when tired with using the four lower ones, it just turned over and ran with the upper set. I did not see this freak, so add the salt to your taste, O reader.
I SLEEP WITH THE RATS.
Hospitality is a marked and beautiful feature of the Uruguayan people. At whatever time I arrived at a house, although a stranger and a foreigner, I was most heartily received by the inmates. On only one occasion, which I will here relate, was I grudgingly accommodated, and that was by a Brazilian living on the frontier. The hot sun had ruthlessly shone on me all day as I waded through the long arrow grass that reached up to my saddle. The scorching rays, pitiless in their intensity, seemed to take the energy from everything living. All animate creation was paralyzed. The relentless ball of fire in the heavens, pouring down like molten brass, appeared to be trying to set the world on fire; and I lay utterly exhausted on my horse’s neck, half expecting to see all kindled in one mighty blaze! I had drunk the hot, putrid water of the hollows, which did not seem to quench my thirst any, but perhaps did help to keep me from drying up and blowing away. My tongue was parched and my lips dried together. Fortunately, I had a very quiet horse, and when I could no longer bear the sun’s burning rays I got down for a few moments and crept under him.
Shelter there was none. The copious draughts of evil-smelling water I had drunk in my raging thirst brought on nausea, and it was only by force of will that I kept myself from falling, when on an eminence I joyfully sighted the Brazilian estancia. Hope then revived in me. My knowing horse had seen the house before me, and without any guidance made straight towards it at a quicker pace. Well he knew that houses in those desolate wastes were too far apart to be passed unheeded by, and I thoroughly concurred in his wisdom. As I drew up before the lonely place my tongue refused to shout “Ave Maria,” but I clapped my perspiring hands, and soon had the satisfaction of hearing footsteps within. Visions of shade and of meat and drink and rest floated before my eyes when I saw the door opened. A coal-black face peeped out, which, in a cracked, broken voice, I addressed, asking the privilege to dismount. Horror of horrors, I had not even been answered ere the door was shut again in my face! Get down without permission I dare not. The house was a large edifice, built of rough, undressed stones, and had a thick, high wall of the same material all around.
Were the inmates fiends that they let me sit there, knowing well that there was no other habitation within miles? As the minutes slowly lengthened out, and the door remained closed, my spirits sank lower and lower. After a silence of thirty-five minutes, the man again made his appearance, and, coming right out this time, stared me through and through. After this close scrutiny, which seemed to satisfy him, but elicited no response to a further appeal from me, he went to an outlying building, and, bringing a strong hide lasso, tied it around my horse’s neck. Not until that was securely fastened did he invite me to dismount. Presuming the lasso was lent me to tie out my horse, I led him to the back of the house. When I returned, my strange, unwilling host was again gone, so I lay down on a pile of hides in the shade of the wall, and, utterly tired out, with visions of banquets floating before my eyes, I dropped off to sleep.
Perhaps an hour afterwards, I awoke to find a woman, black as night, bending over me. Not seeing a visitor once in three months, her feminine curiosity had impelled her to come and examine me. Seemingly more amiable than her husband, she spoke to me, but in a strange, unmusical language, which I could not understand; and then she, too, left me. As evening approached, another inmate of the house made his appearance. He was, I could see, of a different race, and, to my joy, I found that he spoke fluently in Spanish. Conducting me to the aforementioned outhouse, a place built of canes and mud, he told me that later on a piece of meat would be given me, and that I could sleep on the sheepskins. I got the meat, and I slept on the skins. Fatigued as I was, I passed a wretched night, for dozens of huge rats ran over my body, bit my hands, and scratched my face, the whole night long. Morning at last dawned, and, with the first streaks of coming day, I saddled my horse, and, shaking the dust of the Brazilian estancia off my feet, resumed my journey.
THE BURSTING OF A MAN.
A friend of mine came upon an ostrich’s nest. The bird was not near, so, dismounting, he picked up an egg and placed it in an inside pocket of his coat. Continuing the journey, the egg was forgotten, and the horse, galloping along, suddenly tripped and fell. The rider was thrown to the ground, where he lay stunned. Three hours afterwards consciousness returned. As his weary eyes wandered, he noticed, with horror, that his chest and side were thickly besmeared. With a cry of despair, he lay back, groaning, “I have burst!” The presence of the egg he had put in his pocket had quite passed from his mind!
I FIND A LONE SCOTSMAN.
One evening after a long day’s journey, I reached a house, away near the Brazilian frontier, and was surprised indeed to see that the owner was a real live Scotsman. Great was my astonishment and pleasure at receiving such a warm Scotch welcome. He was eighty miles away from any village–alone in the mountains–and at the sight of me he wept like a child. Never can I forget his anguish as he told me that his beloved wife had died just a few days before, and that he had buried her–“there in the glen.” At the sight of a British face he had completely broken down; but, pulling himself together, he conducted me through into the courtyard, and the difficulty of my journey was forgotten as we sat down to the evening meal. Being anxious to hear the story of her who had presided at his board, I bade him recount to me the sad circumstances.
She was a “bonnie lassie,” and he had “lo’ed her muckle.” There they had lived for twelve years, shut out from the rest of the world, yet content. Hand in hand they had toiled in joy and sorrow, when no rain fell for eight long months, and their cattle died; or when increase was good, and flocks and herds fat. Side by side they had stood alone in the wild tangle of the wilderness. And now, when riches had been gathered and comfort could be had, his “lassie” had left him, and “Oh! he grudged her sair to the land o’ the leal!” Being so far removed from his fellows, he had been compelled to perform the sacred offices of burial himself. Surrounded by kind hearts and loving sympathizers, it is sad indeed to lose our loved ones. But how inexpressibly more sad it is when, away in loneliness, a man digs the cold clay tomb for all that is left of his only joy! When our dear ones sleep in “God’s acre” surrounded by others it is sad. But how much more heartbreaking is it to bury the darling wife in the depths of the mountains alone, where a strong stone wall must be built around the grave to keey the wild beasts from tearing out the remains! Only those who have been so situated can picture the solemnity of such a scene.
At his urgent request, I promised I would accompany him to the spot– sanctified by his sorrow and watered by his tears–where he had laid his dear one. Early the following morning a native servant saddled two horses, and we rode in silence towards the hallowed ground. In about thirty minutes we came in view of the quiet tomb. Encircling the grave he had built a high stone wall. When he silently opened the gate, I saw that, although all the pasture outside was dry and withered, that on the mound was beautifully green and fresh. Had he brought water from his house, for there was none nearer, or was it watered by his tears? His greatest longing was, as he had explained to me the previous night, that she should have a Christian burial, and if I would read some chapter over her grave he would feel more content, he said. As with bared heads we reverently knelt on the mound, I now complied with his request. Then, for the first time in the world’s history, the trees that surrounded us listened to the Christian doctrine of a resurrection from the dead. “It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption.” And the leaves whispered to the mountains beyond, which gave back the words: “It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.”
Never have I seen a man so broken with grief as was that lone Scotsman. There were no paid mourners or idle sightseers. There was no show of sorrow while the heart remained indifferent and untouched. It was the spectacle of a lone man who had buried his all and was left–
“To linger when the sun of life,
The beam that gilds its path, is gone– To feel the aching bosom’s strife,
When Hope is dead and Love lives on.”
As we knelt there, I spoke to the man about salvation from sin, and unfolded God’s plan of inheritance and reunions in the future life. The Lord gave His blessing, and I left him next day rejoicing in the Christ who said: “I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
As the world moves forward, and man pushes his way into the waste places of the earth, that lonely grave will be forgotten. Populous cities will be built; but the doctrine the mountains then heard shall live when the gloomy youth of Uruguay is forgotten.
THE WORD OF GOD CONTRASTED WITH THAT OF THE R. C. CHURCH.
“Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve.”–The Christ.
“Mary must be the first object of our worship, St. Joseph the second.”–Roman Catholic Catechism.
“Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them, for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.”
“I most firmly assert that the images of Christ and of the mother of God, ever virgin, and also of the other saints, are to be had and retained, and that due honor and veneration are to be given to them.”–Creed of Pope Pius IV.
“My glory will I not give to another, neither my praise to graven images.”–Jehovah.
“The saints reigning together with Christ are to be honored and invocated; … they offer prayers to God for us… their relics are to be venerated.”–Creed of Pope Pius IV.
“For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men–the man Christ Jesus.”–Paul.
“Mary is everything in heaven and earth, and we should adore her.”– The South American Priest.
“Who changed the truth of God into a lie and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever.”–Paul
“All power was given to her.”–Peter Damian, Cardinal of Rome.
“Search the Scriptures.”–The Christ.
“All who read the Bible should be stoned to death.”–Pope Innocent III.
PART VI.
MARIOLATRY AND IMAGE WORSHIP.
[Illustration: OUR LADY OF GUADALOUPE. Many legacies are left to this image.]
CHAPTER XIV.
MARIOLATRY AND IMAGE WORSHIP.
Before the light of Christianity dawned on ancient Rome, the Pantheon contained goddesses many and gods many. Chief of these deities to receive the worship of the people seems to have been Diana of the Ephesians, a goddess whose image fell down from Jupiter; the celestial Venus of Corinth, and Isis, sister to Osiris, the god of Egypt. These popular images, so universally worshipped, were naturally the aversion of the early followers of Christ. “The primitive Christians were possessed with an unconquerable repugnance to the use and abuse of images. The Jewish disciples were especially bitter against any but the triune God receiving homage, but, by a slow, though inevitable, progression, the honors of the original were transferred to the copy, the devout Christian prayed before the image of a saint, and the pagan rites of genuflexion, luminaries, and incense stole into the Christian Church.” [Footnote: Gibbons’ “Rome.”]
Having Paul’s masterly epistle to the Romans, in the first chapter of which he so distinctly portrays man’s tendency to change “the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man,” and worship and serve the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed forever, they were careful to remember that “God is a spirit,” and to be worshipped only in spirit. Peter, in his epistle to them, also wrote of the One “whom having not seen ye love.” As time wore on, however, the original inclination of man to worship a god he could see and feel (a trait seen all down the pages of history) asserted itself, and Mary, the mother of Christ, took the place in the eye and the heart previously occupied by her predecessors. [Footnote: Just as this work goes to press, the dally papers of the world announce that the oldest idol ever discovered has just been unearthed. The idol is a goddess, who is holding an infant in her arms.] Being in possession of the Acts of the Apostles, which plainly declares that Mary herself met with the rest of the disciples “for prayer and supplication,” and, knowing from the four Gospels that no worship had been at first given to her, the innovation was slow to find favor; but, in the year 431, the Council of Ephesus decided that Mary was equal with God.
“After the ruin of paganism they were no longer restrained by the apprehension of an odious parallel” in the idol worship. Symptoms of degeneracy may be observed even in the first generations which adopted and cherished this pernicious innovation. “The worship of images had stolen into the Church by insensible degrees, and each petty step was pleasing to the superstitious mind, as productive of comfort and innocent of sin. But, in the beginning of the eighth century, in the full magnitude of the abuse, the more timorous Greeks were awakened by an apprehension that, under the mask of Christianity, they had restored the religion of their fathers. They heard with grief and impatience the name of ‘idolaters,’ the incessant charge of the Jews and Mahometans, who derived from the Law and the Koran an immortal hatred to graven images and all the relative worship.” [Footnote: Gibbons’ “Rome.”]
It should be a most humiliating fact to the Romanists to have it recorded as authentic history that “the great miracle-working Madonna of Rome, worshipped in the Church of St. Augustina, is only a pagan statue of the wicked Agrippina with her infant Nero in her arms. Covered with jewels and votive offerings, her foot encased in gold, because the constant kissing has worn away the stone, this haughty and evil-minded Roman matron bears no possible resemblance to the pure Virgin Mary; yet crowds are always at her feet, worshipping her. The celebrated bronze statue of St. Peter, which is adored in the great Church, and whose feet are entirely kissed away by the lips of devotees, is but an antique statue of Jupiter, an idol of paganism. All that was necessary to make the pagan god a Christian saint was to turn the thunderbolt in his uplifted right hand to two keys, and put a gilded halo around his head. Yet, on any Church holiday, you will see thousands passing solemnly before this image (arrayed in gorgeous robes, with the Pope’s mitre on its head), and after bowing before it, rise on their toes and repeatedly kiss its feet.” [Footnote: Vickers’ “Rome”]
This method of receiving heathen deities as saints has been common all over South America, and many Indian idols may be seen in the churches, now adored as Roman Catholic saints, while the worship of Mary has grown to an alarming extent. In Lima’s largest church, printed right over the chancel, is the motto, “Glory to Mary.”
In Cordoba, the Argentine seat of learning–a city so old that university degrees were being given there when the Pilgrim Fathers landed on the shores of New England–charms, amulets and miniature images of the Virgin are manufactured in large numbers. These are worn around the neck, and are supposed to work great wonders. As may be understood, the workers in these crafts stand up for Romanism, and are willing to cry themselves hoarse for Mary, just as the people of old cried for Diana of the Ephesians.
It is often told of the Protestant worker that he keeps behind his door an image of the Blessed Virgin, and, when entering or leaving the house, he spits in her face. No pains are spared to stamp out any dissenting work, and the missionary is made a by-word of opprobrium. I have repeatedly had the doors and windows of my preaching places broken and wrecked. The priests have incited the vulgar crowd to hoot and yell at me, and on these occasions I have been both shot at and stoned.
In Cordoba, there is a very costly image of Mary. Once every year it is brought out into the public square, while all the criminals from the state prison stand in line. By a move of her head she is supposed to point out the one whom she thinks should be given his liberty.
From Goldsmith’s “Rome” we learn that the _vestal virgins_ possessed the power to pardon any criminal whom they met on the road to execution. Thus does Romanism follow paganism. With the Virgin is often the image of St. Peter. The followers of this saint affirm that they are always warned, three days before they die, to prepare for death. St. Peter comes in person and knocks on the wall beside their bed.
As the virgin, Diana, was the guardian of Ephesus, so the Virgin Mary protects Argentina.
The Bishop of Tucuman, in a recent speech, said: “Argentina is now safe against possible invasion. The newly-crowned _Lady of the Miracles_ defends the north, and the _Lady of Lujan_ guards the south.”
A writer in _The Times of Argentina_ naively asks: “If these can safely defy and defeat all comers, is there any further necessity for public expenditure in military matters?”
South America groans under the weight of a mediaeval religion which has little to do with spiritual life. In Spain and Portugal, perhaps the two most deluded of European lands, I have seen great darkness, but even there the priest is often good, and at least puts on a veneer of piety. In South America this is not generally considered necessary. Frequently he is found to be the worst man in the village. If you speak to him of his dissolute life, he may tell you that he, being a priest, may do things you, a layman, must not. In Spain, Portugal and Italy, next door to highly enlightened countries, the priest cannot, for very shame, act as he is free to do in South America. That great continent has been ruled and governed only by Roman Catholics, without outside interference, and Romanists in other lands do not, and would not, believe the practices there sanctioned.
_”You ask about this nation and the Roman Catholic Church,” said the American Minister in one South American capital. “Well, the nation is rotten, thanks to the Church and to Spain. The Church has taught lies and uncleanness, and been the bulwark of injustice and wrong for 300 years. How could you expect anything else?” “Lies,” said a priest to a friend, who told the remark to us, “what do lies have to do with religion.” [Footnote: “Missions In South America,” Robt. E. Speer.]
A missionary writes: “Recently the Roman bishop and several other priests visited the various towns. It was a business trip, for they charged a good price for baptisms, confirmations, etc., and carried away thousands of dollars. In Santa Cruz a disgraceful scene was publicly enacted in the church by the resident priest and one of the visitors. Both saw a woman drop a twenty-five cent piece into the pan; each grabbed for it, and then they fought before the people! The village priest wanted me to take his photo, but he was so drunk I had to help him put on his official robes. He was taken standing in the doorway of the church beside an image of the Virgin.”
“There wan a feast in honor of the image of the Holy Spirit in the church. This is a figure of a man with a beard; beside it sits a figure of Christ, and between them a dove. Great crowds of people attend these feasts to buy, sell and drink. On a common in the town a large altar was erected, and another image of the Holy Spirit placed, and before it danced Indians fantastically dressed to represent monkeys, tigers, lions and deer. Saturday, Sunday and Monday were days of debauchery. Men, women and children were intoxicated; the jails were full, and extravagances of all kinds were practised by masked Indians. The vessels in the church are of gold and silver, and the images each have a man to care for them. The patron saint is a large image of the Virgin, dressed in clothing that cost $2,500.”
Since returning to more civilized lands, I have been asked: But do they really worship the Virgin, or God, through her? I answer that in enlightened countries where Roman Catholicism prevails, the latter may be true, but that in South America, discovered and governed by Romanists from the earliest times, millions of people worship the Virgin without any reference to God. She is the great goddess of the people, and while one may see her image in every church, it is seldom indeed that God is honored with a place–then He may be seen as an old man with a long white beard. What kind of God they think He is may be seen from the words of Missionary F. Glass: “I found a ‘festa’ in full swing, called the ‘Feast of the Divine Eternal Father,’ and a drunken crowd were marching round, with trumpets, drums and a sacred banner, collecting alms professedly on His behalf.” [Footnote: “Through the Heart of Brazil”]
Mary is the one to whom the vast majority of people pray. They have been taught to address supplications to her, and, being a woman, her heart is considered more tender than a man’s could be. During a drought their earnest prayer for rain was answered in an unexpected way, for not only did she send it, but with such accompanying violence that it washed away the church!
In some churches the mail-box stands in a corner, and _”Letters to the Virgin”_ is printed over it. There are always many young women to be seen before the image of St. Anthony, for he is the patron of marriages, and many a timid confession of love is dropped into the letter-box, and it often happens that a marriage is arranged as a result. The superstitious maiden believes that her letter goes directly to the Virgin or to the saint in his heavenly mansion, and she has no suspicion that it is read by the parish priest.
Saints are innumerable and their powers extraordinary. When travelling in Entre Rios, I learned that St. Ramon was an adept in guiding the path of the thunderbolt. A terrific storm swept across the country, and a woman, afraid for her house, placed his image leaning against the outside wall, that he might be able to see and direct the elements. The tempest raged, and as though to show the saint’s utter helplessness, the end of the house was struck by lightning and set on fire. Little damage was done, but I smiled when the indignant woman, after the storm ceased, soundly thrashed the image for not attending to its duty.
While preaching in the town of Quilmes, a poor deluded worshipper of Rome “turned from idols to serve the living and true God.” He had been a sincere believer in St. Nicolas, and implicitly believed the absurd account of that saint having raised to life three children who had been brutally murdered by their father and secreted in a barrel. He brought me a picture of this wonder-worker tapping the barrel, and the little ones in the act of coming out alive and well.
One familiar with Romanism in South America has said: “It is amazing to hear men who have access to the Word of God and the facts of history and of the actual state of the Romish world attempt to apologize for or even defend Romanism. Romanism is not Christianity.”
_The Church deliberately lies about the Ten Commandments, entirely omitting the second and dividing the tenth in order to make the requisite number. Can a Church which deceives the people teach them true religion? Is the preaching of Mary the preaching of Christ?_ [Footnote: “Mission In South America,” Robert B. Speer.]
_”There is not an essential truth which is not distorted, covered up, neutralized, poisoned,_ and completely nullified by the doctrines of the Romish system.” [Footnote: Bishop Neely’s “South America.”]
A missionary in Cartago writes: “I must tell you about the annual procession of the wonderful miracle-working image called ‘Our Lady Queen of the Angels,’ through the principal streets of the town. Picture to yourselves, if you can, hundreds of people praying, worshipping, and doing homage to this little stone idol, for which a special church has been built. To this image many people come with their diseases, for she is supposed to have power to cure all. On a special day of the procession, people receive pardon for particular sins if they only carry out the bidding of ‘Our Lady,’ She seems to order some extraordinary things, such as crawling in the streets with big rocks on the head after the procession, or painting one’s self all the colors of the rainbow. One man was painted black, while others wore wigs and beards of a long parasitic grass which grows from the trees. Some were dressed in sackcloth, and all were doing penance for some sin or crime. This little image was carried by priests, incense was burned before her, and at intervals in the journey she was put on lovely altars, on which sat little girls dressed in blue and green, with wings of white, representing angels. Some weeks ago ‘Our Lady’ was carried through the streets to collect money for the bull-fights got up in her honor. She is said to be very fond of these fights, which are immoral and full of bloody cruelty. This year the bulls were to kill the men, or the men the bulls, and the awful drunkenness I cannot describe. After this collection the bishop came over here, and is said to have taken away some of the money. Soon after he died, and the people here say that ‘Our Lady’ was angry with him.”
From a recent list of prayers used in the Church of Rome I select the following expressions:
“Queen of heaven and earth, Mother of God, my Sovereign Mistress, I present myself before you as a poor mendicant before a mighty Queen.
“All is subject to Mary’s empire, even God Himself. Jesus has rendered Mary omnipotent: the one is omnipotent by nature, the other omnipotent by grace.
“You, O Holy Virgin, have over God the authority of a mother.
“It is impossible that a true servant of Mary should be damned.
“My soul is in the hands of Mary, so that if the Judge wishes to condemn me the sentence must pass through this clement Queen, and she knows how to prevent its execution.
“We, Holy Virgin, hope for grace and salvation from you.