Indo-China and its primitive people
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Title: Indo-China and its primitive people
Author: Henry Baudesson
Translator: E. Appleby Holt
Release date: June 13, 2014 [eBook #45958]
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INDO-CHINA AND ITS PRIMITIVE PEOPLE
[Illustration:
_Photo by_] [_L. de Layougune._
The Tomb of a Radé Chief decorated with Statues of his Faithful Women.]
INDO-CHINA AND ITS PRIMITIVE PEOPLE
by
CAPTAIN HENRY BAUDESSON.
Translated by E. Appleby Holt.
With 48 Illustrations from photographs.
[Illustration]
London: Hutchinson & Co.
Paternoster Row
TO
PROFESSOR ANTOINE CABATON
A TOKEN OF REVERENCE AND AFFECTION
CONTENTS
BOOK I
_AMONG THE MOÏ_
CHAPTER I
AMONG THE MOÏ
General characteristics of the Moï--A legend as to their selection of
a home--The part played by ocean currents in the distribution of
races--Had primitive peoples a sense of direction?--Features of daily
life--The hut--The village--Clothing and ornaments--A primitive method
of kindling a fire _p._ 3
CHAPTER II
INDUSTRIES AND OCCUPATIONS
Agriculture--Industries--Weaving, iron and copper mining--Commerce
and industrial products--Food supplies--Fishing--How we once
fished with dynamite--Hunting--Various methods of big-game hunting--My
first elephant hunt--Some useful hints to big-game
hunters--Poisons--Arms and weapons of defence--The tiger, a dangerous
neighbour--A bathing tragedy _p._ 18
CHAPTER III
FAMILY LIFE
Diseases and their cure--Betrothal and marriage--Adultery--Divorce--A
Moï wedding--Birth--Childhood--The game of Pig-Snatcher _p._ 52
CHAPTER IV
SOCIAL LIFE
Property--Slavery--Utilitarian morals--A bashful race--The
Levirate--Law and custom--An amateur arbitrator--Principles
and practice of the Ordeal _p._ 75
CHAPTER V
RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND RITES
Similarity between the philosophical conceptions of uncivilized
races--Most of the ritual derived from magic--Dualism--Private
and public talismans--The Pi--The Legend of the Dog-King--
Totemism--Sorcery--Rebel Moï _p._ 98
CHAPTER VI
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (_continued_)
Tribal and proprietary signs--Tattooing and mutilation--Principles and
practice of the taboo--Its survival in modern Europe--The incarnation
of Spirits in stones, trees and animals--Belief in the magic powers
of the tiger--Animal poison--Bones as a charm--A protecting
ear--Ex-votos offered to the Spirit of the tiger--Superstitions about
monkeys--Hunting rites _p._ 116
CHAPTER VII
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (_continued_)
Agrarian rites--How Me-Sao, King of the Moï, opens the jar--Rites of
initiation and "coming of age" _p._ 137
CHAPTER VIII
BELIEFS AND RITES
The origin and observance of funeral rites--The ceremony of the
Commemoration of the Dead--Burial rites and various methods _p._ 161
CHAPTER IX
ART AND CULTURE
The relation between the evolution of artistic expression and social
development as illustrated by the Moï and the Laotians--The intimate
connection between Music, Dance and Stage--A Moï orchestra and war
dance--Deficiencies in the sense of sound due to lack of artistic
education--The effect of a gramophone--Predominance of the analytical
over the synthetic faculty--Exaggerated respect for form--Impression
produced by the stereoscope--Decorative arts--Sports, fêtes, and
public amusements--Extensive use of marks for ritual and other
purposes _p._ 177
CHAPTER X
INTELLECTUAL LIFE
The relations between the development of language and social
evolution--An enigmatic system of writing--Knotted cords, notches
in sticks and their accessories--The evolution of literature among
primitive races--Length of memory among races that have no written
records--Historical value of legends transmitted by oral
tradition--Nature of the more usual alterations to be met with
in documentary folklore--The most general legends, fables and
proverbs of the Moï _p._ 193
BOOK II
_THE CHAM_
CHAPTER I
THE CHAM
General characteristics of the Cham--A Mohammedan group--Its place
among ancient civilizations--Social life--Dress and ornaments--The
calendar--Rites accompanying the construction of a house, a cart, and
a junk--Agriculture and industry--Medicines--The use of narcotics
by criminals to stupefy their victims _p._ 225
CHAPTER II
SOCIAL AND FAMILY LIFE
Traces of the matriarchal system in the conception of the family--The
"Karoh"--Circumcision--Precautions against seduction--Rites incidental
to betrothal, marriage, birth and infancy _p._ 248
CHAPTER III
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS
The beginnings of Islam in Indo-China--Rites which accompany initiation
into the priestly caste--The gods of Cham--Temples--Resemblance
between the architecture of the Cham and that of the Kmer--Phallic
rites--A visit to a royal sepulchre _p._ 266
CHAPTER IV
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (_continued_)
Agrarian rites--Tabooed ricefields--Secret ploughing--Sleeping
rice--Various uses of eagle-wood--How the Cham procure it--Public
festivals and holy days _p._ 297
CHAPTER V
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (_continued_)
Burial rites--Philology--Legends and fables _p._ 310
BIBLIOGRAPHY _p._ 325
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Tomb of a Radé Chief _Frontispiece_
A Moï Maiden with enlarged Ears _Facing page_ 16
A Cham Chief and his Daughter 16
Laotian Barque under full sail 17
A Moï Farmer at work 17
Fishing with Dynamite 26
A Floating Village 26
A Typical Village in Laos 27
Primitive Irrigation in Laos 27
Birth Ceremonies 54
The Wife of a Moï Chief 55
A Little Moï Family 55
A Sorcerer performing the Marriage Ceremony 64
Children scrambling over the Remains of the Marriage Feast 65
A Little Kha 78
Our Native Prisoners 78
The Village Musician serenading a Young Couple 79
A Hut of Propitiation 100
Tombs fenced with Bamboo and decorated with Elephants' Tusks 100
Woven Bamboo Baskets used to carry Offerings to the Priests 101
Memorial Stone erected to a Tiger 130
A Hunting Party 131
An Elephant and his Driver 131
The festival of the Dead: carrying home the Sacrificial
Buffalo 160
The Festival of the Dead: Poles erected for the Celebration 161
Funeral Rites: the Body in a Coffin made from the Hollowed Trunk
of a Tree 174
Funeral Rites: the Body by its weight has indicated its wish to
be buried in this spot 175
A Medical Examination 186
Looking through the Stereoscope 186
Three Boys of our Native Guard 187
A Court of Trial on an Annamese Stage 204
A Group of Amateur Actors in Annam 205
A Mandarin of Annam 205
Royal Elephants in Cambodia 250
A Buddhist Procession 251
Image of a Departed Saint in a Phallic Temple 272
Statues erected to the Dead in Laos 272
Shrine of a Laotian Priest 273
The Interior of the Shrine 273
Statue of an Ancient King of Cambodia 288
Statue of an Ancient Queen of Cambodia 288
An Old Cham Temple in a Cambodian Forest 288
The House of a Cham Aristocrat 289
A Cottage Home in Cambodia 289
Cremation in Cambodia: the Head of the Procession 312
A Catafalque upon which several Bodies are carried away for
Cremation 312
The Hearse and Bearers at an Annamese Funeral 313
The Altar of his Ancestors, which accompanies the Deceased 313
FOREWORD
No nation which desires worthily to fulfil the rôle of Protector to
the barbarous races on whom it proposes to confer the benefits of
civilization can afford to remain ignorant of their ways of life and
thought. The interchange of ideas is as essential to successful
colonization as the exchange of commodities. Unfortunately the path to
knowledge is beset with difficulties. In the first place the savage or
semi-savage is unable to apply the method of synthesis to those of his
institutions which seem founded on custom. He cannot tell us which of
his usages have been borrowed or imposed from outside. Further, as a
rule, it seems impossible to find any medium of communication between
his language and ours, so that any attempt at cross-examination is met
by the sorry pretence that our questions "make his head ache."
During the period covered by the geodetical and topographical surveys
which preceded the construction of the Trans-Indo-Chinese railway, the
members of the mission to which I was attached lived for years among
the natives upon terms of the greatest familiarity. We saw them in
their homes, at their work and recreations, and we can at least claim
that we obtained our knowledge at first hand.
I have not hesitated throughout this book to record the conclusions of
my colleagues and to compare or contrast them with my own for the sake
of the light they may throw upon each other.
I have analysed the rites and superstitions which came to my notice
with a mind unhampered by obsession or prejudice. If I have seemed to
dwell too fondly on analogous ceremonies among other peoples and in
other days it is only because I wish to arrive at the broad principles
which seem to me to underly all these phenomena, principles which are
as immutable as human nature itself.
BOOK I
AMONG THE MOÏ
Indo-China and its Primitive People
CHAPTER I
AMONG THE MOÏ
General characteristics of the Moï--A legend as to their
selection of a home--The part played by ocean currents in the
distribution of races--Had primitive peoples a sense of
direction?--Features of daily life--The hut--The
village--Clothing and ornaments--A primitive method of kindling
a fire.
The half-civilized races who inhabit the mountains and uplands of
Indo-China are known by different names among their neighbours. The
Birmans call them "Karens," the Laotians, "Kha," the Cambodians,
"Stieng," or "Pnong," the Annamites, "Man," or "Moï." "Moï," which can
be translated by "savage," is perhaps the most convenient label for
the whole complex of these primitive folk.
Their number is not capable of exact computation but probably
approaches 400,000, divided between tribes of different names. They
are to be found scattered between the eleventh and the twentieth
degrees of latitude, from the frontiers of China to the boundaries of
Cambodia and Cochin-China.
From the earliest times they have made their homes in the wooded
uplands at an altitude which secures them from the fear of inundation.
Their love of mountain and forest is a primitive and unchangeable
instinct and all attempts to acclimatize them to the plains have ended
in failure. Further, this instinct is reinforced by their religious
beliefs and their respect for ancestral tradition. According to a
charming legend this domain was the gift of Eve herself.
"The first human family had offspring so numerous that the land
of their birth could no longer sustain them. The mother
resolved that they should scatter to people other portions of
the earth. Before the separation she called them all together
for the last time and made a great feast in their honour. All
did credit to her bounty with the exception of one, who took
nothing but some red pimento.
"This self-restraint was not lost on Eve. She recommended those
of her sons who appreciated good cheer to share the fertile
plains, and giving a bow and arrows to her sober guest,
promised him the kingdom of the mountains where the beasts rove
the forests.
"He was the father of the Moï. His descendants share his
frugality, and, like his, their wants are few."
These characteristics distinguish them to-day. Our first discovery on
arrival among them was that the use of money is unknown. They value
an empty bottle more highly than a piastre, and if by chance they
accept some such coin it is only to cut it in pieces for an ornament.
Though their disposition is generally peaceful, some tribes are
extremely jealous of their independence and receive an intruder,
however innocent, with showers of arrows. In this, as in all other
respects, the people reflect the character of their surroundings.
As the national costume consists of the absence of it there is no
obstacle to the observation of their physical forms. The European on
his first arrival in this country will think himself in a museum of
classical statuary! Simplicity, harmony, virility and grace are all
exhibited in perfect combination.
An average figure measures five feet five inches in height. Few of the
natives are more than five feet nine inches, or less than five feet
one inch. The torso is faultless, the line of the loins elegant.
Sometimes the lower limbs are rather frail. The big toe, while
preserving its prehensile faculty (the feature of all races of the far
East), is not detached from the other toes. In this respect the Moï
differ from the Annamites, who have gained the nickname of "Giao-Chi"
(detached toe).
The adipose tissue is so fine that obesity is rare. Generally speaking
the skin is of the colour of earth and varies between reddish brown
and dark yellow. It has a characteristic odour resembling that of a
wild beast in good condition. There is an abundance of coarse black
hair, which is generally rolled up in a knot at the back and fastened
with a comb or band of stuff. In case of illness the patient lets his
hair fall loose to conceal his face. The forehead is low and narrow
and sometimes terminates in a point. The expression of the eyes, which
are frequently oblique, is one of fearless frankness. The thick chin
is the characteristic prognathous feature. The lips are fleshy and
colourless. The prominence of the cheek-bones give the face the
appearance of a pentagon with the chin as its apex. The long and
narrow skull places the type among the dolichocephalic races.[1] These
are the broad characteristics of all branches of the Indonesian race
and are especially to be remarked among the peoples of the Asiatic
archipelago, the Battaks of Sumatra, the Dyaks of Borneo and the Alfurs
of the Celebes, who show the least alteration from the original type.
It is well known that these primitive peoples were aware of the
existence of ocean currents and used them for their own purposes. No
other theory can account for the distribution of the Malayo-Polynesian
races among the swarm of islands, some of them hundreds of leagues
apart. It demonstrates beyond doubt the importance of the influence of
currents on the dispersion of the human race over the surface of the
globe.
The existence of a large number of legends common to the two peoples
reinforces the physiological resemblance between the Moï and the
primitive races of the Malay Archipelago. The folklore of all of them
speaks of the existence of human beings reputed to have had a tail
like a monkey's, and, what is even more extraordinary, a razor-edged
membrane on the forearm which was used to cut down branches
obstructing their path.
Curiously enough Borneo possesses a people, the Murut, who habitually
wear the skin of a long-tailed monkey. At a distance this appendage
seems to belong to the wearer rather than to the garment.
In the same way it may be that the custom of carrying a wooden knife,
practised by forest-roving peoples, is responsible for the illusion
which confuses the weapon with the arm which wields it.
The Moï have a wonderful memory for places and a marked sense of
direction. The latter faculty is attributed mainly to a peculiarly
highly-developed sensibility to physical contact. Like all peoples who
spend most of their time in the open air they are constantly noting
the direction of the wind. They know the exact hour at which,
according to the season, the wind will rise or fall. However light, a
breeze will induce a sensation of freshness immediately recorded by
their bodies, especially when moist with exertion. As they walk or run
they note carefully every movement which obstacles oblige them to
make. According to Doctor Ouzilleau, this sixth sense is localized in
the ampullæ of the semicircular canals. A movement of the head causes
the displacement of the endolymph which acts on the auditory nerves.
Further, the Moï possess keen vision and a highly-developed sense of
smell which bring to their notice objects which would remain
unobserved by Europeans. A small drop of blood is on a leaf. It is the
evacuation of a wild boar whose lair is close at hand.
As is well known, instinct prompts almost all the actions of the
semi-savage. Accordingly the psychology of the Moï is not easy to
describe. Is he capable of altruism, pity, or gratitude? With few
exceptions these virtues are almost completely unknown. But he will
learn them, like anyone else, as soon as civilization has given him
more favourable conditions than under his present precarious
existence. To-day he falls an easy victim to injustice, intrigue and
exaction. So if Europeans arrive in force they are treated as an enemy
to be feared and therefore worthy of respect, but a casual foreigner
may easily pay for his rashness with his life.
Like all men of weak character, the Moï is very revengeful and awaits
with patience the day of redress. Months and years may pass without
effacing the least detail of his wrong. I was frequently called upon
to compose their quarrels and it was seldom that the injury was not
one of long standing.
"But why," I asked, "wait so long before taking action?"
"I had other things to do," came the answer.
"What other things, you idler?"
"Oh, invitations to share a flask of spirits of rice or a fat pig."
Nothing, not even the most imperious necessity, can overcome their
inveterate laziness.
I shall never forget the curious impression produced on me by my first
entry into a Moï village. The village in question was Dran on the
Da-Nhim, whose narrow valley marks the outposts of the great Annamite
chain. Five or six straw huts had been erected on stakes some ten feet
above the earth, less to avoid dampness than to secure immunity from
the raids of wild beasts.
Some women were pounding paddy (a preparation of rice) for the evening
meal in mortars of ironwood. The measured beat of a metronome and the
regular thuds of the pestles set the time for the wailing chant with
which the women beguiled their work. On seeing me they looked up
startled. A single piece of flimsy cloth draped from the waist to the
knee revealed the outline of many a full and graceful thigh and
emphasized rather than concealed their sinuous movements. The children
played around or pretended to help in lifting the heavy pestles.
At the top of a pole a rude figure had been carved of the genius of
the village armed with a murderous-looking cross-bow. He was the
tutelary deity of the place.
The supports of the houses are built of ironwood, the other portions
being of plaited bamboo sticks. The roof is open to the sky and
overhangs both the farmyard and the pigsty. We had no difficulty in
conjuring up the discomforts that awaited us should we ever be
compelled to lodge in such a place. The thin wattled walls would not
spare us the least noise nor the slightest odour.
My unwonted appearance still continued to excite demonstrations of
alarm, but it seems my beard was mainly responsible for the
indiscriminate flight which ensued. One old woman only was brave
enough to remain seated in her doorway. I asked her for permission to
inspect her dwelling, accompanying my request with a gift of a large
packet of tobacco. She acceded, not without hesitation and a look of
infinite distrust in her eyes. A rude wooden approach with apologies
for steps led up to the interior. The rooms, one of which is assigned
to each distinct family, were about the size of a horse-box, but a
special apartment was reserved for strangers and solemn occasions such
as a general reunion. The hearth, raised a few inches above the level
of the floor, consisted of a platform on which three fires were
burning and an appetizing and harmonious murmur proceeded from three
pots in which rice, the evening meal, and the food for the pigs were
being prepared. There was no chimney, for the duty of the smoke is to
keep off the mosquitoes, which are such a plague in these regions.
Accordingly every object in the place was covered with a thick layer
of soot, and no window was to be seen.
The inhabitants of this particular village were poor and the huts were
very small, but in some of the more fortunate villages the houses
sometimes attain a length of two hundred yards.
Huge blocks of wood served as beds to a people usually too tired to be
critical. The walls of the partitions were hung with a medley of
gongs, tom-toms, weapons and domestic utensils. The spirit flask,
without which no family celebration is complete, was suspended from a
post adorned with rude carving.
The frightened inhabitants eyed us askance and behaved like whipped
curs. The children squalled and hid under any convenient object, nor
could I gain their confidence by emptying my pockets of all the
tempting trifles I had brought with me for the purpose.
Seen from a distance there was nothing to point to the presence of a
village. It was perched on the side of a ravine with the forest behind
it, and thick brushwood in front protected it from the gaze of the
inquisitive. The only entrance, known to the initiated alone, was that
furnished by two narrow passages. Even when the entrance has been
found, another dark passage has to be traversed which is designed for
easy defence in case of attack. A small number of determined warriors
would be quite sufficient to repel invaders.
The open space in the centre of the village was adorned with two
public buildings, a large hut reserved for the boys who had just
attained the age of puberty and another which contained the last
harvest. The door of this public granary was secured in a manner which
demonstrated to perfection the naïve simplicity of these folk. The
lock consisted of a rattan thread passed through an empty egg-shell.
Of course it was impossible to touch the thread without breaking the
shell, and as all are equally interested in the preservation of the
precious grain supply, each man thus became policeman to his
neighbour.
The Moï is not nomadic by nature, but moves his habitation
periodically as soon as he has exhausted the natural resources of the
soil he occupies. Other causes of this periodical exodus are serious
misfortunes, such as a fire, an epidemic, or unpleasantly frequent
raids by the tiger. Such mishaps are invariably attributed by the Moï
to the evil influence of the genius of the place. To dispute the
possession of the ground with so powerful a divinity would be sheer
madness, and accordingly he yields with grace and betakes himself
elsewhere without regret.
The choice of the next habitation is not a mere matter of chance. The
Geomancer is called in to consult the omens, and no selection is made
until after ripe reflection.
But I am forgetting the mild adventure which was the occasion for
these general observations. After some time I became aware that my
visit could not be prolonged without a breach of etiquette and that I
was trespassing on the time of my hostess. She herself recalled me to
good manners by resuming her multifarious household duties.
Accordingly I bade her farewell and left her surrounded by a crowd of
the feathered tribe who assembled in answer to her guttural cry of
"loc-loc," the usual signal for a generous distribution of maize.
The national costume is marked by an almost evangelical simplicity.
The men may truly be described as clothed in sunbeams, for a flimsy
piece of cloth draping the waist can hardly be dignified with the name
of dress. A knife in a leather or wooden sheath is the only weapon
carried, though another small knife is frequently fastened in the
hair, which is twisted into a knot and secured by a comb. The women
have a clinging skirt, which does full justice to their graceful
figures. The bust is seldom covered at all, but in cold weather a
large piece of cloth is draped round the waist. Both sexes sometimes
wear a rough cloak trimmed at the edge with a variegated fringe, but
in spite of such precautions they are very liable to affections of the
throat.
The chief peculiarity, however, which distinguishes them from the
other groups of Indo-China is their inordinate love of personal
decoration. The passion for finery gives rise to the most embittered
rivalry among the women, and takes many curious forms, such as the
artificial elongation of the lobe of the ear, in which various
ornaments are introduced. This painful process begins in infancy, when
the ears are pierced with a sharpened bamboo rod. A wooden ring is
inserted in the hole thus made, and weights hung from it, at first
small, then increasing in size. The lobe, unnaturally distended,
sometimes reaches the shoulder, in which case it is accounted a
feature of the greatest beauty, and a husband with every talent and
virtue is assured to its fortunate possessor. But it is of prime
importance that the ear should remain unbroken. Should the skin give
way, the two hanging pieces will be an eternal reproach. No husband
will want a woman thus degraded, and a hopeless spinsterhood will be
her lot in life.
The men are addicted to the same practice, but with rather more
discretion. They confined themselves to filling the holes in their
ears with our champagne corks, which were quite at a premium on the
market and shared the honours with our boxes of Swedish matches.
Sometimes, too, their taste turned to an ivory serviette ring or even
a simple drawing pencil. Another fashionable masculine ornament is a
brass collar, consisting of a number of spiral rings. We never
satisfied ourselves as to whether this was pure decoration or served
some ulterior purpose, such as protection against affections of the
throat.
Copper and brass bangles adorned the wrists and ankles, but he who
wished to touch the supreme height of fashion wrapped his head in one
of the towels with which we rewarded our more industrious coolies.
I brought from Paris a supply of beads, in the hope of finding them
useful as a medium of exchange. To my surprise the natives took no
interest in them at all and they proved almost worthless. The Moï,
like the European, follows the caprice of fashion, and our beads, it
seemed, were too heavy and not gay enough for his taste. Besides, they
were not the mode of the moment.
It was thus sufficiently demonstrated that the wearing of clothes is
not even essential for the display of feminine vanity and coquetry.
Artifice can dispense with clothing, and if the sexes in this strange
land attract each other by means that seem curious and unaccountable
to us, the end in view is always and among all peoples the same, the
continuance of the race.
It must be remembered, too, that the development of a fashion is
similar to the development of a living organism. A certain form of
dress or style of decoration undergoes successive transformations, the
stages being generally exaggeration, diminution and ultimate
disappearance. For illustration we need go no further afield than the
recent vagaries of fashion in Europe which seem to oscillate between
the bell and the asparagus, but perhaps a more striking example is the
long, pointed shoes of the Middle Ages. At first the points were quite
reasonably short. Then little by little each man tried to sort himself
out of the common ruck of his neighbours by having longer points, and
after about a century the fashion culminated in the absurd
extravagance of the shoe with points long enough to be drawn upwards
and fastened to the knee. The mode first saw the light in the middle
of the thirteenth century and disappeared abruptly in 1428. The same
evolution can be traced in the progress of the ruff of the fifteenth
century and the crinoline of the nineteenth.
It is at least open to belief that ethnical transformations are
governed by similar laws. This distension of the lobe must be traced
to the practice of continually adding to the number of ornaments with
which the ear was overloaded.
Every individual tends to overrate the feature which is considered the
characteristic of his race. "Le beau pour le crapaud c'est sa
crapaude," said Voltaire, and the natural instinct of the savage is to
exaggerate what he regards as the most worthy of admiration. This
instinct is indubitably responsible for most of the mutilation
practised by primitive peoples. Thus the negresses of Africa produce
an artificial elongation of the nipple by the sting of a certain
insect, and the platyrrhine Malays make their flat noses even flatter,
while the Persians take the most elaborate pains to induce an extreme
hook on a nose already aquiline. This theory of exaggeration inherent
in our nature can alone explain certain customs which are otherwise
unaccountable.
[Illustration: A Moï Maiden with Enlarged Ears.]
[Illustration: A Cham Chief and his Daughter.]
[Illustration: Laotian Barque under Full Sail.]
[Illustration: A Moï Farmer at work.]
I ought perhaps, before leaving the subject, to enumerate three other
methods of decoration practised by the leaders of fashion among the
Moï. The women powder their hair with an odorous substance obtained
from the berries of the vetiver. Both men and women smear their teeth
with a kind of lacquer to protect the enamel from the action of lime,
the principal ingredient of the betel leaf.
Finally the society ladies dye their nails a vivid vermilion with the
sap of the plant "Semrang."
As I said above, our matches soon went to a premium as a medium of
exchange, but the Moï already employed two methods of kindling a fire.
One was by striking a flint against a piece of pyrite of iron, the
other by simply rubbing together two pieces of wood. The process is as
follows. A very dry bamboo is split at one end for about five inches
of its length. The two sections are kept apart by the insertion of a
wooden wedge. In this way a rude ventilating chimney is made under
which the operator piles up some dead leaves, bamboo cuttings and
moss. He now passes a long cane under the apparatus (which he keeps
steady with his foot) and rubs it rapidly backwards and forwards until
a spark appears, which is usually within a minute. The movement
closely resembles that of sawing.
This last method is only practised in the bush, for in the villages
the fires are carefully preserved under the ashes and seldom allowed
to go out. This preservation of fire is a phenomenon which
characterizes all primitive peoples in every clime.
CHAPTER II
INDUSTRIES AND OCCUPATIONS
Agriculture--Industries--Weaving, iron and copper
mining--Commerce and industrial products--Food
supplies--Fishing--How we once fished with
dynamite--Hunting--Various methods of big-game hunting--My
first elephant hunt--Some useful hints to big-game
hunters--Poisons--Arms and weapons of defence--The tiger, a
dangerous neighbour--A bathing tragedy.
The principal industry of the Moï is the cultivation of rice. The
method adopted, however, is unlike that of the Annamites of the
plains. Instead of cultivating a rice-field by continuous irrigation
which produces three crops a year, the Moï wait until November, the
end of the rainy season. They then clear a portion of the forest large
enough to raise a crop for the entire population of the village. In
April they set fire to the fallen trunks which the sun has dried. For
several days the whole mountain is illuminated by these immense
braziers and the crackling of the timbers can be heard for miles
around. Finally the ground is covered with a layer of fine ashes,
which are washed into the soil by the first rains. Then begins the
sowing.
Armed with a pointed stick the women hollow trenches in the soil and
throw in the seed. The rains first and then the soil itself complete
their work. The baskets are soon full and the public granaries stocked
with the precious cereal. Good as a harvest may be, however, it is
seldom that a crop is sufficient to support the population till the
next. More often the supply runs short and the tribe has to subsist
for several weeks on bamboo shoots and forest roots.
Several times during my visit I tried to inculcate in the natives some
elementary notions of thrift and foresight. A "Pholy," or village
chief, once showed me in a word the weak point of my counsels. "If I
were to start putting by a store," he gravely told me, "my elder
brother, the white warrior, would take it from me to feed his escort."
I vigorously denied in the name of my kind any such evil intentions.
"In that case," he continued, "my younger brothers in the
neighbourhood would seize it. So I am prudent and keep no store at
all."
Now what answer could I have returned to that?
However, whether the Moï blames civilization or his very human
neighbours, it is certain that he is happy-go-lucky by nature and
lives from hand to mouth. His ignorance of economy may be ascribed to
two causes, one that he possesses nothing of his own, since all
property is held in common by the tribe, the other that Nature is so
bountiful as to render foresight generally unnecessary.
Quite otherwise is the character of the Annamite, who spares no pains
over the cultivation and improvement of his ricefields. His barn is
never empty. The Emperor of Annam himself sets the example and takes
part each year in sowing the grain which is destined for religious
sacrifices. By a long series of proclamations the Government has
raised the status of the tiller of the soil, for it is generally
accepted that the prosperity of the country depends more on its
agriculture than on the expansion of its commerce. As for the
profession of arms, it has long been regarded as a relic of ancient
barbarism.
Here is an example of one of these proclamations:
"The tiller of the soil is a man of worth. The police shall
never molest him. But he who bears arms is a brigand and my
sbires will treat him as such."
This is no doubt the origin of the popular scorn of the military
profession. A parallel is offered by France in the time of Sully, when
the interests of agriculture were the special concern of the
legislature.
Throughout the territories occupied by the Moï the cultivation of rice
is carried on alternatively with that of maize. In the fertile soil
this latter grows to an enormous size. On the plateau of Langbian it
is quite usual to find stalks thirteen to seventeen feet high.
Every household grows its own tobacco. Cigarettes are made by rolling
up tobacco in the dried leaves of the banana tree. In shape they
resemble an extended cone of which the small end is put in the mouth.
The pipes are of copper and have a long stem. An inner shell of bamboo
fibres is attached to the bottom of the bowl and the more this is
impregnated with nicotine the more it becomes an object of desire,
especially to the women. Even the babies play their part in this
little comedy, for they compete eagerly for a suck at the stick which
serves their fathers as a pipe-cleaner.
Industry is in its infancy and is confined to the manufacture of
simple objects of daily use, such as stout wicker baskets and glazed
pottery. These vessels are not baked in a furnace but dried in the
sun, and are consequently very brittle. Another staple manufacture is
the three-foot chandelier, surmounted by a torch of resin. The women
weave various coarse cloths of cotton. Their sole implement is a
weaving frame consisting of two pieces of wood between which are
stretched two sets of threads. The shuttle is worked by hand with a
fair degree of skill.
Without professing any great knowledge of the art of dyeing the women
are quite familiar with the properties of certain substances, of which
they take full advantage. Thus indigo furnishes black as well as two
shades of blue, a colour more highly esteemed. Yellow is obtained from
the saffron. Alum and filtered cinders are put to a similar use.
Cotton is bleached by soaking the material in a concoction of
rice-water boiled for several hours.
The needles which we bestowed on the most skilful of the housewives
were accepted and preserved by them as precious objects of art. These
ladies, as guardians of the ancient traditions, remained faithful to
ancestral custom and preferred to use a blunt brass pin, which
dispenses with the necessity for a thimble, the manipulation of which
passes their understanding.
Iron, though found almost everywhere in its natural state, is worked
by only a few tribes which have specialized in the industry. The anvil
consists either of a huge stone or of a block of metal encased in a
wooden armature. The hammer is fairly long and has a bamboo handle.
Bamboo cylinders convey the draught to the furnace. This rudimentary
equipment produces lances and knives of the greatest efficacy.
The extraction of iron is carried on by the Catalan method. The
mineral in its natural state is first mixed with a large quantity of
charcoal and then covered over with clay and collected into a kind of
circular bin made of bricks. The mixture is then stirred vigorously
for twenty-four hours, at the end of which it liquefies and falls into
three layers. The lower part is composed of iron of a very poor
quality, the upper mainly of ashes. The middle layer alone is of the
desired temper and can be prepared for all purposes by a vigorous
hammering.
All these operations are accompanied by a series of religious
sacrifices, for the genii of the mine must be propitiated, and copious
libations alone can humour their caprice. A special day, the fourth of
the month, is devoted to an annual festival in their honour.
A few groups manufacture gongs of copper, which is found just below
the surface of the soil. It seems to be the practice among these
tribes, as soon as copper-bearing lands have been discovered, to
secure seclusion and freedom from interference by expelling all the
inhabitants of the country around. This is certainly one explanation
of the weird stories which the evicted competitors tell of their
successful rivals. If the vanquished are to be believed, the industry
is carried on by the women, who live alone except for one annual visit
to their husbands. These women are not merely unnatural wives, but
also unnatural mothers, for they slay all their male children, keeping
only the girls. Their other characteristics are hardly less
formidable. They wield the lance with a skill and vigour of which any
man might be envious. They are always accompanied by dogs, and finally
(for a touch of the supernatural is inevitable), the legend runs that
their spinal column terminates in a short tail.
I was extremely curious to make the acquaintance of these Amazons, but
my informant invariably took refuge in silence when I pressed him for
information of their whereabouts.
Whatever may be the value of these stories, it is well known that in
this country, where money is unknown, gongs, pots and jars serve as
the medium of exchange. The measure of value is the antiquity of the
particular object. If it has several centuries behind it, its price
reaches a truly fantastic figure.
Perhaps the Moï recognize that the arts are on the decline and that
modern productions, if more attractive, are far less beautiful than
those of bygone ages. It is very unlikely, for their æsthetic sense is
still in an early stage of development.
The value of a red earthenware jar three feet in height and two
hundred years old is equal to that of thirty buffaloes. Another vessel
known as "The Mother and Child," which is composed of two jars of
different sizes joined after the manner of the Siamese twins, is worth
fifty buffaloes. At the top of the scale stands a vase worth one
hundred buffaloes, partly because it enjoys the reputation of being
unique and partly because it is adorned with the figure of a shapeless
and mysterious human being.
The same curious standards of taste are revealed in the sets of gongs
and tom-toms. These instruments are designed to give three or five
concords, by the blending of which every variant of the Moï scale may
be produced.
There is also a flourishing industry in the cultivation of cinnamon,
both for the home market and for export to China, which is the largest
customer for that product.
The hunters make long journeys for the purpose of exchanging
elephants' tusks and feet and rhinoceros horn. A horn of the latter
animal is ordinarily worth ten buffaloes among the Moï, but one which
is new and flawless has been known to fetch the enormous sum of five
hundred piastres, or fifty pounds in English money. The Annamites are
the most successful hunters and dealers. Every power aiming at
colonial expansion should concentrate its efforts on developing
commercial relations with the natives. Trade is the most potent agent
of conquest and the only one which brings prosperity and security in
its train.
We found fishing with dynamite another means of peaceful penetration
into these regions, though available only in places watered by a
stream or river. We made a point of inviting all the inhabitants of
the villages in the neighbourhood of our camp and it was seldom that
the audience was not large and representative, so great was the
interest roused by this operation. Judging by the horde of women which
issued from every hamlet and the enormous baskets brought by the
children we might have been setting out to clear the river of every
living creature in it. The men, who fish both for food and sport,
showed themselves very willing to indicate the favourite haunts of our
prey.
Curiosity was roused to the highest pitch by the preparation of the
charge and the Bickford train was an object of interest almost
approaching reverence. I fired a few inches of this and astonishment
knew no bounds. The younger members of my audience spoke openly of
sorcery, while the elder smiled in a knowing manner but kept at a safe
distance.
At length the charge was ready. I fired the end of the train and threw
the infernal machine, weighted with a stone, into the middle of the
water. The stone described a long parabola and fell into the dark
depths carrying the instrument of destruction after it. For some
seconds there was a deathly silence. Then a terrific explosion rent
the air and a column of smoke and steam rose from the surface of the
water to the height of the highest trees. There was a whirr of wings
as the birds scattered from the branches. The Moï gaped at each other
in amazement and prostrated themselves on the ground. Screams of fear
from the children announced their conviction that the genius of the
river, enraged at this intrusion on his dominions, was coming to carry
them off.
[Illustration: Fishing with Dynamite: After the Explosion.]
[Illustration: A Floating Village.]
[Illustration: A Typical Village in Laos.]
[Illustration: Primitive Irrigation in Laos.]
Soon the cloud vanished, transformed into a shower of refreshing rain.
Calm replaced the storm. The startled doves cautiously returned to
their nests. The stream flowed on, unruffled, forgetful. Suddenly a
few white specks appeared on the surface, vanished and reappeared in
ever-increasing numbers until the waters seemed alive. These were the
fish, their air-bladders burst by the force of the explosion and now
floundering helplessly at the mercy of the swift current. The crowning
moment had arrived. With one accord the spectators dived into the
stream to secure their easy prey. The more wary had armed
themselves with a _liane_, to which they fastened their victims by the
gills. The booty was then easily towed between their teeth.
The women and children were in the very forefront of the fray, and
there are few more entertaining spectacles than that of all these
babies racing each other amid screams of delight. In a few moments the
water was cleared of its shouting, struggling invaders, whose bronze
skins glistened beneath a silver film of pearly drops. One by one,
after adjusting their simple garb, they advanced to lay their booty in
a large basket at my feet, then withdrew with a delightful affectation
of indifference as to my intentions. Then began the ceremony of
distribution. The basket raised on a mound of earth became the centre
of a circle. The children advanced in single file, the youngest first.
At the head of the procession was a youngster of less than six years
of age, who had no difficulty in selecting the largest fish, which he
dragged away by the tail stammering with excitement. The mothers
followed, more modest in their desires. In a few moments I was left
alone, a dismal survival of the merry throng.
Fish is the favourite food of the people in these regions and every
river contains an apparently inexhaustible supply of it. The three
current methods of fishing are with line, net, and spear. The nets are
spread across the narrow channel, which is always left in the middle
of the bamboo dams. The bait consists of the stalks of certain weeds
and plants, which are treated to form a soft paste. When a haul has
been particularly successful the fish is smoked and preserved for
several months. For this purpose it is pounded with salt and pimento
and stored in bamboo tubes. In this state it is a favourite condiment.
There is little change of diet, for the food supply is virtually
restricted to the products of fishing and hunting. Domestic animals
are never used for food except upon special occasions such as
religious sacrifices.
Traps are preferred to weapons for keeping down the wild beasts which
swarm in the forests. Both in devising and constructing snares the
natives display a high degree of invention and skill. We found
apparatus of different kinds all over the country, its form being
apparently determined by the seasons of the year and the particular
region. For example, the following method is employed in a
thickly-wooded country where the presence of beasts of prey is only
known by the tracks leading to their watering-places.
The hunters select a young tree, supple but yet sufficiently strong
for their purpose. The top is forced over and secured to the ground by
means of a tough fibre in which a noose is made. The long grass
conceals all these traces of human intervention. Now the monster,
tiger or panther, approaches. It cannot pass the spot without
disturbing the simple mechanism which the least shock would set in
motion. The sapling, suddenly released, flies back, and the
unfortunate captive finds its neck or paw firmly gripped by the noose.
The more it struggles the tighter becomes the knot, and if not
actually strangled, it soon becomes exhausted by its agonized efforts
to escape, and hangs, a miserable object, on this improvised gallows.
Another method is to dig a pit in a track the course of which has been
carefully noted. Animals have fixed habits according to the season of
the year. Shortly before nightfall they emerge from their lairs on an
expedition to secure an evening meal. The pit must be both narrow and
deep, and its dimensions calculated so nicely that the movements of
the prisoner will be hampered in every direction. This object is
further secured by driving stakes into the ground at the bottom so
that the mere act of falling in will inflict the most severe injuries.
The place is then concealed by a layer of branches, a part of the
operation which needs the greatest care if the trap is not to be
detected. A little earth from the excavation lying on the ground at
the side is quite enough to warn some animals of the presence of
danger and the condition of the grass and branches, which quickly
decay, is in itself a suspicious circumstance. The tiger is one of the
most wary and observant of beasts and is seldom captured in this
manner, except when being pursued, when it has not the time to take
its usual precautions. Deer, on the other hand, seem much less
suspicious and frequently fall a victim to this particular wile.
There is another trap which requires equal care in construction, and
closely resembles the eel traps which are common in Europe. It is a
cage, circumscribed by a double row of bamboos as a palisade. The
beast has to penetrate a hedge of bamboos to find the entrance which
leads to an open space where a pig or goat rewards its curiosity. Once
inside, however, its retreat is cut off, for the bamboos spring back
to their natural position, thus closing up the entrance, and the
palisade is quite strong enough to resist attack, however fierce.
It will be recognized that the construction of these snares calls for
a degree of skill and experience to which few Europeans can attain.
Sometimes the pits were so cunningly dug that it was almost impossible
to detect their presence and we were in serious danger of falling in
ourselves. As a rule the natives indicate the proximity of a trap by
some signal such as a broken branch, a spear driven into a tree, or a
stalk twisted in a certain manner; but, of course, the purport of
these signs is known only to the initiated, and at the beginning of
our expedition we had much more to fear from the tiger-traps than from
the chances of an encounter with the beast for which they were
intended.
It must not be imagined that the Moï confine themselves to the
destruction of wild beasts only, or merely those which threaten their
safety. Elephants are slaughtered ruthlessly for the sake of their
ivory. The elephants haunt the damp and sandy regions of this country.
During the dry season from November to March herds consisting of
anything from ten to twenty beasts make their way to the forests both
for shelter from the heat and for the pools which have not yet dried
up. It is generally at watering-time that the creature makes itself
heard with loud trumpetings which are audible at an immense distance
and betray its presence to its human enemy. When the elephant is
undisturbed its progress is sedate and leisurely and it stops every
now and then to pluck a branch either for recreation or to serve as a
fly-swish.
It is this last habit, well known to the native hunter, which betrays
it and leads to its downfall. The first time I took part in an
elephant-hunt I was amazed to see that the native who was guiding me
kept his eyes fixed upwards all the time. I should have thought it was
obvious that we needed no other guide than the enormous footprints
left by the unwieldy beasts, and told him so. I was not long left in
error. Without relaxing his efforts he soon showed me that these
tracks were very unreliable, that they frequently pointed different
ways, cut across each other, and sometimes, in fact, disappeared
altogether. He told me also that the evacuations of the creature are
liable to be misleading unless quite fresh, still viscous, and
unaffected by insects. A trail in a forest must then be sought not on
the ground but in the branches of the trees. It is by the broken
branches, the appearance of the severed ends, and the consistency of
the gum which escapes, that the experienced hunter can deduce the more
or less recent passage of a herd.
I smile now when I think of the succession of surprises I experienced
on that first hunting adventure and the ignorance I must have
exhibited. We came to some swampy ground where my guide stopped short
before some tracks that seemed to him the most fresh we had yet
encountered. He carefully made some fresh tracks at the side with his
feet and then lay at full length on the ground to compare the two sets
of footprints. After a most minute examination of their respective
appearances he calculated that less than half an hour had elapsed
since the animals had passed by and went on his way without comment.
We had started out at sunrise, which is the orthodox and best time. To
set out earlier is to court failure, for it is impossible to be sure
of the traces in the darkness. At first we had directed ourselves by
the pools, and on reaching a third pond were overjoyed to observe some
traces obviously quite fresh. It is usually hopeless to start on a
trail which is several days old, for a track made only the previous
evening may easily take one much farther than is agreeable. Hunters
who say that they have tracked elephants for weeks show more
perseverance than intelligence. As it was, my companion lost the
trail several times, but never took a short cut in the wild hope of
picking it up farther on. He might as well have started hunting for
shadows. Every time this mishap occurred he retraced his steps to the
point of departure and looked again. He was not to be deflected from
his purpose even by the trumpetings of the elephants themselves,
though these were quite audible at times.
"Ong Bioi (Mr. Elephant) would make a liar of me," he explained in his
picturesque jargon.
He was quite right, for in tracking these monsters the only safe rule
is to follow the trail and leave short cuts severely alone. Besides,
this hunting sense, if I may so call it, is only a practical
application of that sense of direction of which I have spoken before,
and which seems almost to be an instinct with some people. It is
something analogous to the sense of danger which is found in certain
specially constituted individuals who can foretell the presence of a
danger by the twitching of the muscles of the back.
Soon, without any apparent reason, my guide signalled to me to relieve
myself, and as I did not comply at once, he repeated his order with a
gesture that left no doubt as to his wishes. He knew from long
experience of big-game hunting how dangerous a nervous contraction,
such as that of an overcharged bladder, can be at a moment when the
accuracy of a shot may make all the difference between life and
death.
He then took off my colonial helmet, which in all its khaki glory was
a somewhat conspicuous object, and replaced it by his own head-gear, a
muddy-coloured turban, quite unnameable, which certainly harmonized
better with our surroundings. I was dressed in a suit of Chinese
linen, slate grey in colour, which seemed to meet with his approval,
while, for himself, he carried his whole wardrobe, consisting of a
thin woollen cloth, lightly wrapped round his waist.
He then picked up a handful of dust and threw it up in the air to
observe the direction of the wind. This is the most indispensable
precaution, for if the elephant is not blessed with keen sight, its
hearing is extremely acute and can detect an unwonted sound at a great
distance. It must be approached, therefore, against the wind.
During the hottest part of the day the elephant either stands with its
trunk wound round the lower branch of a tree, or else lies down,
sometimes with its legs folded under it and sometimes at full length
on its side, just like a horse. In none of these positions does it
need the assistance of a mound of earth or a tree trunk to rise,
though some travellers would have us believe it. In spite of its
immense bulk it can get up unaided at the first hint of danger. M.
Millet, of the Woods and Forests Department of Indo-China, who was
also a member of our party was a specialist in this form of sport, and
gave me the benefit of his fifteen years' experience.
It must be understood that though the preliminary stalking is usually
done by the natives the honour of executing the sentence of death is
reserved for the European. This would naturally seem the easiest part
of the operations, for it would appear impossible to miss so vast an
object at short range. The uninitiated always fall into the error of
underrating the difficulties involved in killing these creatures, but
the error rarely survives the first experience.
To begin with, the hunter who wishes to kill with the first shot must
have a considerable knowledge of the beast's anatomy. Otherwise he
exposes himself to a furious charge or to the mortification of seeing
his bullet reach a non-vital spot and his prey vanish into the forest
unharmed. A knowledge of the structure of the skull is, in fact,
indispensable, for a miss by a hair's-breadth in that region will
change a wound that might have been mortal into an insignificant
scratch. The natives are notoriously ignorant of such matters, and, in
consequence, usually aim at the shoulder and lose half the animals
they hunt.
The vulnerable spot to which all experienced shots direct their
attention is the temple, or rather a spot about one third of an inch
above the ear-hole. If the hunter can find some eminence which puts
him at the level of this vital place his bullet will pass straight
through the brain and out at the other ear. Death occurs
instantaneously. The creature sinks down, its fore legs bent under
him, its back legs stretched out, while its head and body remain
rigid. The same result is obtained by aiming behind the ear. On the
other hand it is almost useless to fire straight into the advancing
creature or hit it at the base of the trunk, especially with rifles of
small bore.
It was this last shot that I attempted on this first elephant hunt
when I was still in the depths of ignorance. The creature uttered a
roar of agony, raised its trunk in the air and charged straight at me,
covering thirty yards in a flash. I thought myself lost, but when
almost on me it suddenly made a half turn on its haunches with as much
agility as a circus pony and dashed off at a tangent smashing every
obstacle in its path. My tracker had also fired with his Laotian
rifle, and both shots were, in fact, mortal, though quite incapable of
arresting its mad career. Only next day we came upon its carcase,
already in a state of putrefaction and half devoured by white ants.
No less important for big-game hunting of this character is the choice
of a rifle.
Fired by an expert a Winchester bullet not more than seven millimetres
in diameter and fourteen grammes in weight is quite sufficient for all
purposes, but a beginner should never start with anything less than
ten millimetres in diameter and nineteen grammes in weight when
hunting the tiger or any larger animal. Such a ball, projected at an
initial velocity of 650 metres to the second, will stop any animal if
it strikes either the shoulder or the breast. The Moï, of course, are
not armed with our modern rifles. In fact, few of them possess a rifle
at all, but the more fortunate among them buy the rustic Laotian
rifles, a kind of blunderbuss which kicks and not infrequently knocks
them down. The projectile used is not a bullet but a poisoned arrow
made from an extremely hard wood.
Among the Moï the sorcerers alone know the secret processes which are
employed in the manufacture of two extremely powerful cardiac poisons,
antiarin and strophanthin, though these are also in use among the
Dyaks of Borneo. No one else is allowed to be present when their
preparation is taking place, but fortunately one of my compatriots in
the mission, M. Odera, who was in the Woods and Forests Departments
and had thirty elephants killed or captured to his credit, was once
honoured by an invitation to be present at the ceremony.
A moonlight night is chosen. The novice first invokes the genii of the
forest and then cuts a portion of the creeper _strophantus giganteus_,
strips off the bark, grinds it up in a mortar and boils it over a fire
until it attains the consistency of gum. This operation takes place at
a great distance from the village, for the fumes are supposed to be
noxious. To ascertain whether the required strength has been attained
they cut off part of a lizard's tail and put a drop of the concoction
on the severed end. Death ought to be immediate.
The second poison is obtained from the _antiaris toxicaria_ without
any special preparation. An incision is made in the bark of the tree.
In some regions the arrows are poisoned by the simple expedient of
sticking them into the trunk of the poison-bearing tree and leaving
them in this novel pincushion until required.
It is a curious fact that game killed by poisoned arrows is perfectly
wholesome if the wound is carefully washed at once. The young plants
also of the _antiaris toxicaria_ supply an absorbent poison. Their sap
is not as powerful as that of the full-grown trees, but on the other
hand has neither its bitterness nor repulsive smell.
Both the _strophantus giganteus_ and the _antiaris_ are found all over
the Indo-Chinese and Malay peninsulas. The effect of _antiaris_ is the
same whether introduced into the digestive organs or applied to the
cellular tissue, but in the former case the dose must be considerably
stronger to produce the same result. It is pleasant to record that
there is little data on which to base observations on the effect of
the Moï poisons on human beings. Our own experience furnished one or
two illustrations, however. While we were in Nhe-An, a province of
Annam, one of our captains was wounded by two arrows and, though they
were taken out at once, he died twenty-two days later in fearful
agony. Another officer was struck by a poisoned missile and after a
few minutes went mad and committed suicide. The danger of attack by
the rebellious Moï was always present to our minds during the
expedition. Two officers, MM. Canivey and Barbu, were wounded by
several arrows. As there was no post where medical assistance could be
obtained within several days' march and no doctor among us, I
undertook a rational cure. All the symptoms pointed to poison. The
nervous tremours, the alternating phases of excitement and lethargy,
the dilation of the pupil, the feeble voice and the subnormal
temperature left no doubt as to the nature of the malady. For a long
time it seemed that recovery was impossible, for the arrow heads had
not been immediately extracted; but events took a happier turn and in
four weeks they were both well again. I can only conclude that the
poison cannot have been fresh and consequently had lost much of its
strength. The natives treat a patient for poison by first making the
wound bleed, then washing it in water impregnated with sea salt and
calcined alum, and finally inducing a heavy perspiration by making him
drink an infusion of mulberry leaves.
Most of the Moï arm themselves with the cross-bow, which is a deadly
weapon at a range of not more than forty yards. At half that distance
the arrow will easily penetrate through two inches of the hardest
wood. The arrow head is made of iron or wood, around which is wound a
thread impregnated with the poisonous substance. It is fashioned with
a notch at the base to make its extraction from a wound difficult, if
not impossible.
The manipulation of the cross-bow requires no little strength. The
bowman props the cross against his body and holds the bow firm on the
ground with his foot. The strain of fixing the arrow is so great that
it has been known to burst the bladder.
When the Moï goes to war with his neighbours he generally swathes his
body in a multitude of thick wrappings to give him protection against
such weapons as knives and daggers. His shield is of stout cane or
buffalo hide and usually ornamented with the insignia of his tribe.
Finally his panoply is completed by a spear with a handle of mahogany
or sometimes by a two-handed sword. He is also ingenious at
constructing subsidiary defences. On the outbreak of hostilities the
neighbourhood of a village is thickly studded with small bamboo
javelins, which are extremely difficult to distinguish from the grass
and brushwood. Some of our party received grievous wounds from these
concealed weapons.
The forests we encountered during our topographical survey are the
home of a certain kind of buffalo of immense size. This species, which
is very rare and not found elsewhere, is no other than the Aurochs,
which are called "Con-minh" by the Annamites and "Co-bay" by the Moï.
These animals are bay in colour and have a short and scanty coat, with
the longest hairs under the belly and at the throat. They have white
spots on all four feet, and resemble the wild buffalo in not being
dewlapped. They are formidable foes and never wait to be attacked,
but charge with lowered head at a prodigious speed. The tiger seems to
have no terrors for them and many are the stories of their triumphs
over the king of the forest himself.
Now, as a rule, a tiger is not dangerous unless it takes the
initiative itself, which it seldom fails to do in these regions, where
its supremacy has hardly yet been seriously challenged. Hence the
saying which experience has abundantly justified: "In Indo-China the
tiger is the hunter and man the hunted."
Of course, it is very unusual to meet this ferocious creature by
daylight, even in regions where its ravages are the most frequent.
Every traveller will pass by its lair in the bamboo groves, but it is
quite exceptional to see the beast itself, except at nightfall, when
it comes forth to seek its prey. Once a tiger has tasted human flesh
it prefers it to all other food. Accordingly, the natives live in a
state of chronic fear of the man-eater and will willingly abandon
their villages rather than make the least effort to rid themselves of
the pest. As I shall show later, they endow their enemy with human
qualities and frequently refuse to destroy it when at their mercy for
fear of arousing the vengeance of the whole species.
One of our party once witnessed the following scene. A tiger had
fallen into a pit which had been laid for some deer. It had not been
wounded, but the space was so cramped that it was quite unable to
move. The natives were terrified lest it should die, in which case its
spirit would never cease to molest them; so they decided to set it
free. They made a cage without a floor, lowered it into the pit and
then raised it up again by means of ropes passed under the creature.
Perched on the neighbouring trees they pulled away the prison and let
the captive go, offering it their humble apologies for having already
detained it so long! Our representative had been compelled to promise
his acquiescence, and, lest he should repent and show fight, his rifle
was carefully left behind in the village.
I myself saw tigers on several occasions and often under circumstances
when I wished them at the bottom of the deepest pit that human
ingenuity could devise. One such occasion has left so vivid an
impression on my mind by reason of its tragic outcome that I shall
relate it here.
It was during the hot season when Sergeant Valutioni and I were in
charge of a reconnoitring party sent forward to report on a region
which he assured me was infested with tigers. In fact on the day in
question he had gone so far as to bet me that we would meet a
man-eater before nightfall. Now during the whole of my ten months'
residence in Annam I had frequently passed through alleged
tiger-stricken provinces but had never seen a single tiger, though at
every station I was literally shot through and through with stories of
their wholesale depredations. According to my colleagues every step
was accompanied by the probability of immediate destruction. I became
more and more sceptical and finally persuaded myself that the fearsome
tales were spread by the old colonists with a view to discouraging
newcomers. Accordingly I dismissed Valutioni's sinister predictions
with a knowing smile.
Our way led through a magnificent forest. The sun grew hotter with
every step, the ground harder as the carpet of moss and ferns dried up
and withered. The trees became more stunted and their branches, almost
denuded of leaves, took on strange fantastic shapes. Such foliage as
there was seemed burnt up and ready to fall at the first breath of
wind. Now and then a huge ant-heap broke the level sky-line and
blended bewitchingly with the reddening trunks. A deathlike silence
reigned, unchallenged even by a bird, over this realm of ill-omen.
Sao, the nephew of the chief of our escort, was walking a few yards
ahead of me carrying my rifle. He was an intelligent boy about twelve
years of age, with a peculiarly frank and pleasant expression, and I
had had considerable hesitation in bringing him with us on an
expedition which was bound to be long and trying, if not actually
dangerous. His urgent request to join the party, however, overcame my
reluctance, and I was also tempted by the knowledge that the young Moï
is more tough and reliable than his elders.
He busied himself with cutting down the low projecting branches which
impeded my progress and enlivened our march by humming a plaintive
native melody in honour of the great Spirit who keeps watch and ward
over the tigers. About midday we found a thick bamboo grove which
offered welcome shelter against the torrid heat. Sao now took on the
duties of scullion and rendered invaluable aid to my boy in preparing
our bushman's lunch.
Valutioni lost no time in attacking a consommé of parrakeet, while a
salmi of rat met with universal approval, and this sumptuous feast was
crowned with a cup of mocha in St. Galmier water, which accompanies
every expedition, as the forest pools are both few and foul.
Meanwhile our Moï escort were preparing and taking their more frugal
meal. They made a fire and cooked a kind of pancake, of which rice is
the chief constituent. The thick paste swells up rapidly looking like
a piece of bread soaked in water. Sao made a hearty meal, showing a
healthy contempt of European delicacies.
When we resumed our journey the sun was more cruel than ever. Not a
breath of wind stirred the parched air, which almost burnt our
nostrils. The bearers were hindered in their march by a thick carpet
of dried branches and the necessity of stopping at frequent intervals
to remove the thorns from their feet.
These delays were particularly aggravating, as we had resolved to make
our night quarters at Song-Phan, where the river promised us a welcome
bathe and an ideal spot for a camp. Also the horses, tormented by the
flies, became so restive as to be almost unmanageable.
At length the sound of the torrent broke the silence, and presently a
sheet of water gleaming like burnished steel appeared between two
gaunt bluffs. In a few minutes our men had felled two large trunks to
serve as a bridge from one bank to the other, and in a few more the
fires were burning brightly. Valutioni insisted on my taking some
precautions against the attacks of wild beasts and I issued an order
that no one should go to find water without some escort.
One who has never experienced the pangs of a tropical thirst cannot
imagine the delirious delight of a "bushman" when a chance is
presented of a drink of pure water. How much greater is his ecstasy
when the opportunity of a bathe is added! We threw prudence to the
winds and took to the water like ducks in spite of Valutioni's solemn
warning that the hour was late and none other than that selected by
the tiger for its evening work.
Soon night came down, unheralded by twilight, and shrouded the earth
in a thick mantle of darkness. We felt somewhat awed and dressed
ourselves in silence. The way back to the camp took us by a narrow
path cut in an impenetrable bamboo thicket. A party of water-carriers
passed us, Sao bringing up the rear swinging his heavy gourd and
singing the same melancholy chant. He looked so happy that I could
not resist giving him a friendly pat on the cheek as he went by.
I had not advanced five yards when a heart-rending scream made me turn
round sharply just in time to see the boy in the grip of a huge tiger
and still struggling feebly. I snatched my rifle, raised it and took
aim. At what? With one bound the monster had cleared the stream,
bearing its prey in its fearful jaws, and vanished into the jungle.
A hoarse roar of horror and dismay broke the silence. All the Moï of
our escort were screaming frantically as if suddenly stricken with
madness.
"The Lord Tiger," they yelled, waving their long bamboo poles in the
air.
My companion and I gazed at each other dumbfounded. What was to be
done? The night was now black, the jungle impenetrable. Pursuit under
such circumstances would be the height of folly. Realizing that we
must wait for daylight and raging at our impotence, we returned to the
camp fires thinking of the ghastly tragedy that was being enacted
behind that barricade of brambles, perhaps only a few yards away.
I called up the unhappy uncle to offer what consolation I could. He
was almost dumb with weeping, but managed to inform me amid his tears
that the same evil fate had befallen both the father and mother of the
poor boy.
"My brother should know," he added gravely, "that the spirits of my
relations who never received burial nor the rites that were their due
have long demanded another companion."
At that time I was profoundly ignorant of beliefs and superstitions
which came to my notice later, and I attributed his words to the
raving of a madman. Valutioni soon enlightened me, however, and showed
me that not only the Moï but most of the Annamites also entertain the
most curious beliefs on this subject.
They believe that the spirit of a tiger's victim is compelled to ride
on the back of his murderer and guide it. Accordingly, when a trap is
being laid the natives are careful to sprinkle a quantity of roasted
maize around the place. When the monster approaches the spirit smells
the grain, is warned of the impending danger, and leaps off in time to
avoid falling with the tiger into the snare.
The story may raise an incredulous smile but is not so fanciful as it
sounds. The attacks of the tiger on the Moï are so frequent, ruthless,
and calculated that a savage naturally ascribes them to the direct
instigation and assistance of some supernatural power. All Europeans
will testify to the ferocious malevolence of the creatures, and many a
traveller has paid for his ignorance or carelessness with his life. It
was probably pure chance that Sao's evil fate did not befall my
companion or myself.
It was evident that while we were enjoying our reckless bathe the
tiger must have been watching us from the thicket, awaiting a
favourable moment to spring. With its usual cunning it selected the
weakest for its prey, and neither rifles nor knives would have barred
its path. The slightest wound from its paw filled with putrefying
matter is calculated to bring tetanus and an agonizing death.
Such was the course of our melancholy reflections when our attention
was aroused to the presence of a new danger by the voices of a number
of coolies who were arguing in undertones. We pretended to be asleep
but listened carefully. They were talking of flight.
Someone was seeming reluctant, suggesting that the country was
strange, the tigers at large. The whites had angered the spirits and
brought all this evil upon them. It would be better to wait till the
morning and steal away at daybreak.
We realized that vigorous measures were called for to avert a crisis.
The nearest station was more than a hundred miles away and the country
was absolutely without resources. If our escort fled we should have to
give up the expedition. Fortunately the chief remained faithful to us.
I ordered him to collect all the identification cards which every
coolie carries with him in accordance with the regulations. Each card
recites the length of the finger-joints of its owner and is stamped
with each of his finger-prints.
Deprived of their cards, our men became as meek as sheep. The prospect
before them was not inviting. They would have to pay the native
equivalent of three piastres and produce satisfactory evidence of
identity in the capital of the province before a duplicate would be
supplied, and happily a coolie with three piastres is a rare
phenomenon.
This danger disposed of, we attempted to sleep, but all in vain. The
dog trembled and whined as if scenting evil. The tiger must have been
watching us!
At dawn we beat out the thickets and at length came upon the tiger's
lair where, among a mass of unrecognizable remains, we distinguished
the corpse of the last victim. Not a fragment of flesh was to be seen
on the skull which looked like an ivory ball. The animal's rough
tongue had literally scraped it clean. A few paces away was a path,
access to which was barred by the fallen trunk of an immense banian
struck by lightning. It was plain that persons using this path had
been unable to pass this obstacle and had been compelled to make a
detour through the thicket. Hidden behind its bamboo barrier the tiger
had watched them threading their way, and fallen upon them at the
moment they presented their backs to it. We saw several fragments of
human clothing and many bones to prove, if proof were needed, that we
were on the site of a veritable man-trap.
We proceeded to give the poor boy as decent a burial as time and the
circumstances permitted. His corpse was reverently laid in a shroud of
latania leaves and buried in a grave at the very spot on which he had
met his death. His uncle asked me for a piece of drawing paper, on
which he traced the rude figure of a tiger with a pencil. He then drew
three figures on the tiger's back. He explained to me that as the
boy's parents were both very big, only a small place remained on the
beast's back, quite near the tail.
"That is the reason," he added, "that my brother, the White Mandarin,
has not been devoured. The tiger loves the flesh of a white man far
more than that of my countrymen, and if there had been room he would
doubtless have taken my brother for his victim."
I could say nothing to turn him from this conviction, and indeed I
knew that my imprudence in bathing at so dangerous a time might very
well have proved fatal.
The old man finished his drawing and then solemnly burnt it,
scattering the fine ashes over the tomb to the accompaniment of many
prayers. When the soil had all been returned the grave-diggers strode
several times round the grave crying to the High and Mighty One to
seek no more victims.
The moral effect of this tragedy was so great on the Moï of our escort
that it seemed to me wiser to suspend the expedition with a view to
avenging the boy's death and restoring confidence. Unfortunately the
Moï were even more terrified at this suggestion and spared no efforts
to dissuade me. They feared the vengeance of the tiger, but I was not
to be turned from my purpose.
I took up my station in a tree and secured a fine young roebuck as
bait. For fourteen nights I waited for the tiger to come within range,
but it never came. It ravaged the neighbourhood frequently, startling
the forest with its roars, but we never had a glimpse of it. At the
end of the period the escort became restive and I acceded to the
general desire to strike our camp and retreat before the enemy.
A few months later Lieutenant Gautier, another member of the mission,
was devoured on the same spot.
CHAPTER III
FAMILY LIFE
Diseases and their cure--Betrothal and
marriage--Adultery--Divorce--A Moï
wedding--Birth--Childhood--The game of Pig-Snatcher.
No one with the least experience of the savage, no matter to what race
he may belong, will deny that the best way to win his friendship is to
cure his ailments.
Speaking for myself I habitually relied on my medical knowledge as a
passport to the approval of the Moï, and I was rarely disappointed,
for invalids of all sorts and conditions came daily to invoke the aid
of my medicine chest. Most of them suffered from ailments caused by
sudden changes of temperature, and their scanty clothing is a prolific
source of bronchial affections. They always came up with their hair in
disorder, hiding their faces as a sign of distress, putting out their
tongues, and striking themselves on the breast to draw my attention to
the seat of all their woe. They could hardly contain their glee when I
painted the affected part with iodine. Their bronzed skins assumed a
violet hue, then turned to browny red, assisted by their vigorous
scratching.
Some came from immense distances for auscultation, and my patients
included a large number of women, inspired, I think, more by curiosity
than any immediate necessity, for I usually presented a mirror to each
new patient. A few brought me their aged parents, under the impression
that I was quite capable of restoring them to youth. A man with one
arm came to ask for another, a man with one eye seemed astounded when
I repeated my refusal to get him a new one. I remember once a patient
appearing who was shivering with fever. I gave him a few grains of
quinine and a glass of water to wash it down.
"Now whistle, my boy."
He whistled at once under the impression that this musical exercise
was part of the treatment, whereas in truth my only object was to make
sure that the drug had really been swallowed. Its bitterness had no
deterrent effect whatever, for he stretched out his hands,
accompanying the movement with a wink which means in all languages; "I
can do with as much as you like."
In another case a chronic bronchitis demanded treatment by
wet-cupping. A thick plank which happened to be handy took the place
of an operating-table, while an empty Madeira glass had to perform the
functions of the cupping-glasses of which I was destitute.
Lack of cleanliness and ordinary precautions is mainly responsible for
the fatal outcome of so many of the more serious complaints. Even the
most trifling ailments last an abnormal time, but I soon proved that
with reasonable treatment the adult Moï easily shakes off quite
virulent diseases. The race is, in fact, submitted to a process of
strict selection by the mortality among the infants, which is very
high. Only the hardiest specimens survive their childhood and are all
the more fitted to resist the attacks of disease.
Infants are fed in the most ignorant and reckless manner, hence the
prevalence of gastro-enteritis and rickets. On the other hand, the Moï
suffer considerably less from malaria than the Annamites and the
Chinese. Tuberculosis is uncommon and where found carries off its
victims with incredible rapidity.
The use of simples is not unknown and some of the less complicated
ailments have been successfully treated by this method. In general,
however, all diseases are attributed to the displeasure of the
Spirits, a superstition which the Sorcerer habitually turns to his own
advantage.
At first we had the greatest difficulty in inducing the natives to
submit to vaccination. The story was busily circulated that the mark
left by inoculation was a badge of servitude, and it was some time
before we succeeded in exposing the fallacy.
[Illustration: Birth Ceremonies: Carrying Fuel to a Young Mother.]
[Illustration: The Wife of a Moï Chief.]
[Illustration: A little Moï Family.]
Among certain Moï groups, such as the Sedang, Djarai and Rognao of the
lower lakes, it is usual for the boys to sleep in a special hut after
puberty has been reached. The primary purpose of this custom is to
prevent sexual intercourse before marriage, but it is quite
ineffectual to prevent the girls from meeting their lovers on the sly.
The usual result is that the mother generally kills her firstborn, as
no one comes forward to claim the fatherhood.
It is not too much to say that the Moï seems to attach no importance
to feminine chastity. Marriage is only the consecration of a
cohabitation of long standing, and sometimes there are several
children of the union before either party thinks of putting it on a
legal footing.
As a rule, a man must take his wife from the same group, or, in other
words, endogamy is _de rigueur_. The only connecting links with other
groups are the alliances with female slaves, to which the woman need
not be a consenting party. The consequence is that all the inhabitants
of a region are related. We have often tried to decide the vexed
question as to whether this consanguinity exercises a good or bad
influence on the progress of the race, but it is impossible to say
more than that the evidence is inconclusive.
Some European travellers, who, like myself, have resided among the
Moï, say that marriages are forbidden between first cousins on the
mother's side. They deduce from this fact that the natives consider
the part played by the mother in the transmission of hereditary
qualities more important than that of the father.
This theory, interesting and valuable as it might be if it applied to
a race in a higher stage of development, is probably unsound with
regard to the Moï, the phenomenon on which it is based being probably
merely the effect of coincidence. There has been an increasing
tendency of late years to attribute to half-civilized races scientific
knowledge which we have only recently acquired ourselves, and to
consider certain customs and beliefs primitive merely because they are
ignorant and coarse. Both tendencies are liable to lead to error and
require careful watching. In nine cases out of ten such customs are
not inspired by any exact knowledge of physiological phenomena at all.
Only a few groups permit exogamy, that is marriages with others than
members of the clan, and even where the system persists it does not
seem to be due to any defined totemic rule.
Totemism is a semi-magical, semi-religious system which is based on
the belief in a bond of relationship between a group of human beings
and some species of animal regarded as protector, "totem." It has been
noticed that a characteristic feature of totemism is the prohibition
of marriages between men and women with the same totem and therefore
belonging to the same clan.
The Moï are a strictly monogamous people, for the very natural reason
that the males outnumber the females, and this again for the equally
natural reason that the men are hardier and more able to survive the
manifold mischances of infancy. Another contributory cause to their
moderation in the matter of wives is their financial disability to
keep more than one. But it is not a matter of principle, and a man
would not hesitate to add to his stock if a sudden windfall made it
possible.
A woman's commercial value depends on her age and social condition and
varies also in different localities. In most cases she is paid for in
instalments to her parents, for the future husband is too poor to give
the presents which constitute the purchase price, and his only
resource is to sell his labour to pay off the debt. Accordingly there
is a stage more or less prolonged during which the young man combines
wooing and the duties of maid-of-all-work in the home of his beloved.
No arrangement could be happier in this country where labour is
scarce. The real object, however, of this cohabitation on trial is to
make sure that the characters of the two young people will harmonize
and that their affections will survive continuous personal contact.
Here, as elsewhere, there are cynics who say that familiarity breeds
contempt.
If the engagement is broken off the man must pay an indemnity fixed
beforehand. He pays his pig and takes his leave.
This custom is also in vogue among the Annamites, who call it "The
Son-in-Law in the making." A similar institution is found even to-day
in France, in certain villages of Haute-Savoie. The future son-in-law
comes to reside with his future wife's parents. In popular phraseology
he "makes the goat's marriage." The allusion becomes clear when we
know that in this country it is usual to lead the he-goat to the
she-goat, whereas in the case of other animals, such as bulls and
horses, the female is always taken to the male.
Returning to the question of a woman's commercial value, I made
inquiries in every province we visited, but found it seldom higher
than the equivalent of fifty francs.
The final act that seals the marriage compact is a reciprocal
scratching. While I was still in ignorance of this custom I received a
severe rebuff from a girl to whom I offered some ointment for the
scratches that disfigured her face. She refused it with scorn, for the
nail-marks with which her lover had adorned her cheeks were, in her
eyes, no other than his signature to the marriage-contract.
The rites and customs relative to betrothal and marriage vary greatly
in different parts of the country and among different groups. One
rule, however, is universal, and that is that the first step must be
taken by the man's parents, who approach those of the girl, not
without trepidation at the outset, for nothing is more humiliating
than to be rejected. Accordingly the first interview is popularly
dubbed the "Visit of the little gift of betel to the little garden
gate."
If the parents' advances are received with favour a second visit
follows and the presents are more valuable than on the first occasion,
generally including chickens, rice, and still more betel. This last
substance is considered throughout the Far East as the emblem of
fidelity.
The dowry is met with only among the more prosperous groups. Of course
it is the future husband who provides it, a far more reasonable
arrangement than that with which we are familiar in Europe. In this
happy land worldly considerations count for nothing; dressmakers and
fashion-plates are unknown. The most expensive jewellery is of copper,
the finest coiffures are the superb orchids which abound in the
forests. There is no need to save up for the children to come. Books
are unknown. The sons will learn to hunt, their sole education, and
the girls will be taught to spin and weave. Far from being a burden to
her husband a wife is his most valuable assistant, so it is only fair
that the husband should make some compensation to her parents for the
loss he occasions to them.
The Moï, thanks to the kindly influences of the Laotians, have a much
higher idea of the status of womanhood than their neighbours the
Annamites. The husband always takes his wife into his confidence and
consults her in all the crises of life, and the wives reward their
husbands with a very high degree of fidelity. I remember one occasion
when I offered a trifling gift to the wife of one of our coolies. She
refused it point blank with the one word "bao" ("I am married"). She
was not familiar with our gallant European manners, and regarded the
acceptance of a present from a man as the first step towards the
rupture of the marriage tie.
The penalty of adultery is renowned for its severity. There was a
woman in our camp who was feeding her new-born baby. One night I was
roused by a succession of screams, and thinking that a fire must have
broken out, I called my boy and asked him the cause of the
disturbance. He adopted a tone of lofty cynicism and told me that a
husband was thrashing his unfaithful wife. Next day the woman was
unable to go to work and the child was nowhere to be seen. It seems
that her husband had suddenly conceived doubts as to its paternity,
and, suspecting his wife of adultery with an Annamite soldier who was
in our escort, he had turned himself into an instrument of justice,
beaten her without pity and cut the baby's throat. I complained of his
conduct to the Pholy (village chief), but far from taking any
proceedings he delivered himself in these words: "My only regret is
that the betrayed husband did not kill both the adulteress and her
paramour." I learnt thereby that the Moï regard an act which may
enfeeble the race as a crime against the community and punishable with
the utmost severity. The Annamites take a similar view, for their code
provides no punishment for a husband who kills an adulterous wife and
her paramour if caught in the act. The other alternative is to arraign
them before the provincial tribunal, which usually means a sentence
of ninety strokes with the lash. In most cases this severe penalty has
fatal results, but it may always be compounded at the price of one
franc per stroke, the redemption money being paid to the husband as
damages.
Divorce is easy and can be demanded at the instance of either party or
by mutual consent. The village elders meet to hear the charges and
complaints and assess the amount of compensation. If the dissolution
of the marital tie is the wish of both, the care of the younger
children is confided to the mother, that of the elder to the father.
Divorces, however, are uncommon. The husband does not want one, for it
will be difficult to replace the partner who represents half his
capital and perhaps all his labour. The wife is equally reluctant
whatever her sorrows may be, for any change may easily be for the
worse. If she marries another she will be little more than his humble
slave. All the heavy farm and household work falls on her shoulders,
including arduous duties which in civilized countries are assigned
exclusively to men. She crushes the rice, shells the corn, attends to
the harvest and assists in clearing the brushwood. Pregnancy makes no
difference to the burden of her daily tasks except for the entirely
inadequate period essential to delivery.
If the husband's means permit she will have no objection to his taking
a companion to himself. On the contrary, the new-comer will be an
addition to the household staff to whom she will assign the largest
burdens. She knows that as first wife her position will never be
seriously challenged, and as undisputed mistress of the household she
will exercise authority over the other "wives." This unwritten law
prevails throughout the Far East. A widow has little difficulty in
remarrying, as the area of choice is extensive, owing to the numerical
superiority of the men.
I was once honoured with an invitation to a Moï wedding. It was in the
village of Lebouy where I resided for some time, and my host was no
other than the chief himself, who couched his request in the following
terms:
"My elder brother, the great Giver of Tobacco" (this being the name
under which I was popularly known), "will, I hope, do me the honour of
sharing a buffalo which I propose to offer up at the marriage of my
daughter."
It would have been ungracious to decline an invitation expressed in
terms of such old-world courtesy. I exhibited my appreciation of the
honour by offering him a large glass of Madeira. He hesitated at
first, then squatted on the ground as a compliment to the excellence
of the liquor, took the glass gingerly in his hand and slowly emptied
it. The slaves who formed his bodyguard watched him with evident
admiration.
The evening before the wedding the bride-elect went to the banks of
the Da-Nhim, a river which flows at a distance of a few hundred yards
from the village. All her relations formed themselves into an escort,
for it is absolutely imperative that the whole family should be
present at the kind of ritual bathe on which she was bent. The entire
company plunged into the water, and after a few seconds of merry
splashing emerged and dried in the sun.
The opening item of the next day's festivities was the slaughter of
the buffalo which is, so to speak, the foundation of the feast. The
young warriors of the village armed with lances formed a circle round
the victim and hurled their weapons in turn, until at length one
struck a vital part and the beast fell over dead. The carcase was
dragged to the foot of a pole wreathed round with bamboo-shoots, and
the amateur butchers proceeded to cut it up into strips, of which some
were reserved to be smoked at a later stage.
The nuptial ceremony proper then began and was marked by an extreme
simplicity. The Guru, or Sorcerer, placed the couple and their parents
before a row of lofty posts adorned with the horns of recently killed
buffaloes. With great solemnity he then drew his knife, seized a white
cock and cut off its head, throwing the body over his right shoulder.
The headless bird struggled for a moment, flapped its wings in a last
spasm, and finally remained motionless on its breast on the ground.
The Sorcerer spat into a copper vase, not so much to relieve his
feelings as in satisfaction, for the victim's position foretold a
numerous posterity to the young couple. He then took a cotton thread
and bound the right hand of the man to the left hand of the woman.
This act made them man and wife and was of the same force as the
exchange of rings in our own country. A rapid invocation to the
Spirits of the Hearth followed, and then the feast began.
First I was requested to take my place on a rush mat under a huge shed
built for the occasion. A number of women appeared bringing fried
locusts, spices, bitter oranges, spirits of rice and meat, almost raw
and cut into strips. The newly married couple overwhelmed each other
with attentions, filled each other's mouths with rice and accepted in
good part the food which all their friends and relations thought it
necessary to offer them. Perhaps this rite is a symbol of the
principle of mutual help which ought to actuate not merely a family
but also tribes and nations.
Meanwhile a woman was conducting an orchestra of four all but naked
boys who beat a tattoo on huge gongs. Lest this should become
monotonous a musician played a melody in the minor mode and not
without a strange haunting charm. The instrument was a large empty
gourd on which three bamboo tubes were fastened. The range of this
original organ was confined to five notes, but the tones blended
pleasantly and in spite of the dragging time the tune was anything but
discordant.
[Illustration: A Sorcerer performing the Marriage Ceremony before the
Sacrificial Posts.]
[Illustration: Children scrambling over the Remains of the Wedding
Feast.]
We encouraged this artist with an offer of some cigarettes, and
presently he began to play for a dance, of which the principal
movements seemed to be raising the feet in turn, and striking the
ground with the heels or a stick. These operations became more rapid
and ended with a tremendous contortion of the whole body. It reminded
me forcibly of the well-known "bear dance," and is not peculiar to the
Moï, being also popular in Thibet.
Both the musician and the dancer were rewarded with the most unstinted
applause and invited to take a well-earned rest in view of the orgy
which now followed. On such an occasion the Moï regard sobriety as an
insult to the host, and indeed the charge could not have been levelled
at any of the guests then assembled. The last stage of the proceedings
was the distribution of presents, for interest can always seal the
bonds of friendship. At a given signal the husband flung lemons,
mangoes, areca nuts and other fruits among the crowd, who scrambled
for them without the least regard for order or good manners. For some
moments a free fight seemed imminent, but good humour finally
prevailed and the combatants dispersed chewing the inevitable betel
and bidding each other an inebriated farewell.
Among the Moï, as everywhere else, the birth of a child is an occasion
for rejoicing both to the family and the village. Such is the fear
that malevolent spirits will assail the mother during the critical
period that a special hut is made for her accommodation and all
strangers are forbidden to enter the village itself. This
prohibition, or "taboo," is known as "Dieng" in some regions and as
"Calam" in others. The experienced traveller will never dream of
attempting to evade it and expose himself to a summary vengeance at
the hands of the inhabitants, who are under orders to see it enforced.
Foreigners stand in no privileged position and we ourselves had
frequent occasion to bewail this absurd regulation. Imagine our rage
after a hard day's march under a tropical sun or soaked by torrential
rains when we found ourselves condemned to spend the night perched in
trees for fear of tigers, with the fires of a tabooed village burning
almost under our noses! The punishment of Tantalus was nothing to
this, and little consolation is to be derived from inveighing against
the ignorance which is the offspring of such blind superstition.
The house in which the mother-to-be is lodged is distinguished from
the others by a tuft of pompelmoose and a piece of charcoal suspended
from the roof. About the time when the happy event is to take place
all the inhabitants forgather in a special place to await the good
news.
Even to-day in certain European countries custom forbids the husband
and family to be present during labour.
If the group is not altogether destitute, sacrifices must be offered
to conciliate the Spirits, especially if it seems likely that
complications are threatening. Of course, the villagers offer no more
than they can help. The bidding, so to speak, for divine favour
generally starts with an egg and rises if the complications continue.
The egg will be followed by a chicken, then a goat, then a pig, and
finally an ox in cases of extreme necessity.
Only the woman's nearest relations are allowed to be present at the
accouchement, for which she assumes a sitting position. As soon as
labour begins they rub her stomach from top to bottom with tiger's gut
and make her lean against the knees of a female nurse. This is not a
universal practice, for in the North, among the Tho, for example, the
woman stands supported by two cords passed under her armpits.
Immediately after the birth the child is washed and anointed with
cocoa-nut oil. The navel-string is then cut with a sharpened bamboo
and the severed end tied up with a cotton thread or a blade of long
grass. The placenta is buried either in the house itself or in some
place adjacent.
It is interesting to compare these rites with those which accompany
the same event among certain African races. Among the Bushongo of the
Belgian Congo the woman adopts a sitting position and is supported by
the knees of a midwife. The placenta is likewise buried and also, at a
later stage, the foreskin of the child, if male. In Mandeling (on the
western frontier of Sumatra) the child is first washed and then kept
in confinement in the house, the natives claiming that this procedure
secures the child against evil influences.
After delivery the Moï woman lies on a low bed and a fire is kept
burning at her side day and night, the ashes from which are left
smouldering in earthenware vases to keep the room at an even
temperature. The smoke is supposed to act as an antiseptic. All the
young woman's friends demonstrate their devotion by bringing wood for
the fire, taking care to select the dead branches of certain species
of trees. Drifting logs from a river must on no account be used. They
bring fearful convulsions and certain death to the child.
A potion composed of simples which stimulate the circulation is now
administered to the invalid and the effect is augmented by rubbing her
all over with ginger. Her first meal consists of ginger, eggs and
rice. She is allowed to drink a concoction made from the horns of a
young stag. Strange as it may sound, this beverage is a valuable
tonic, which we ourselves used at times with great effect.
Ten or fifteen days after the birth the woman resumes her usual
arduous occupations. The baby is hung on her back in a little cloth
sack, secured over her shoulders to her girdle. His feet dangle on
each side of her, and in this position he passes the days cradled by
his nurse's movements.
The child is fed at the breast until between two or three years of
age, a custom which is a great strain on the mother. To lessen this
she gives him manioc and rice, taking care to soften them in her own
mouth first. The net result is that the baby's stomach attains an
unnatural size and his digestive organs suffer.
The nursling's first meal is the occasion of a special ceremony. The
mother is not yet ready to feed him herself, so the duty falls on one
of her attendants, who takes her seat on an upturned earthenware jar.
The position of this jar is highly significant in the eyes of the Moï.
A jar so placed can hold no water. Similarly a child's stomach can
hold no food, for it empties itself as fast as it is filled.
Dyspepsia, it would appear, is unknown among this fortunate people!
After this first meal an attendant goes through the pretence of
flattening the child's head against the centre pole of the hut. This
is to ensure that the head may not become pointed later on, a physical
peculiarity which is regarded as a sign of bad character. Another
favourite superstition in these regions is that certain odd numbers
are lucky and certain even numbers unlucky. Every mother hopes to give
birth to a three or a seven. Her fear is that the birth may occur
during the last quarter of the moon. As everyone knows, this belief in
the efficacy of certain numbers is almost universal and dates from
remote times. The Hebrews and Egyptians furnish many examples, and
many more are met with among the peoples of the Far East. Thus the
Brahminic Trinity comprises three persons, Brahma, Vishnu and Siva.
Angkor was built in seven days, as the Bible tells. The stars which
the faithful of Asia worship are seven in number.
The child is not named for the first two years of his life and is
doubtless happy enough to be called "Con-Nie," which to all intents
and purposes corresponds to our term "baby." Both the Moï and the
Annamites regard the naming of a child as a matter of great moment,
for the future depends on a fortunate choice. Nothing can be done
before the Sorcerer has been called in to consult the Spirits. This
official suggests a name, which is usually whispered into his ear by
the mother or the person who presided at the birth. The popular name
for a boy is "Squirrel," for a girl "Mouse." A large bowl filled with
rice is brought in. The Sorcerer empties it, taking out the grains two
at a time. If at the end of this operation only one grain is left at
the bottom the proceedings must be repeated until that ill-omened
result does not recur. It is not surprising, therefore, that
occasionally several days elapse before the ceremony can be continued.
The Sorcerer has an interest in the prolongation of these rites, for
throughout the whole time he is the guest of the family. If the child
dies or is attacked by one of the infantile affections so common in
this treacherous climate the mischance is attributed to the choice of
an unlucky name. The only hope is to change it at once, which involves
a repetition of the ritual rigmarole.
When the child is old enough to bear a light burden he will carry on
his back a basket, or even a younger brother, securely rolled up in a
kind of sack. Nothing could be more amusing than the solemnity with
which the youngster performs his function of dry nurse.
Among certain groups the children's hair is always kept short except
for a long wisp at the crown, which gives them a curiously old look.
Clothing is forgotten, as a rule, till the sixth year is past.
Sometimes a metal disc is hung from a cord round the waist, and a
favourite ornament is an anklet of iron with a small bell attached,
which is made and fitted by the village blacksmith. It is a badge of
servitude, for henceforth the child is devoted to the service of the
Spirits, who, in return, make him an object of their peculiar care.
During their early years the boys are active and intelligent and
readily absorb knowledge of all kinds, but as manhood approaches they
become apathetic, lazy and incapable of sustained effort. I once
undertook the experiment of training a boy to act as my servant. He
was about twelve years old, with a remarkably bright face, and very
quick and graceful in his movements. In a short time he had learnt to
read and count. His eyesight was so good that we always used him when
taking sights for our geodetical instruments. He was never happier
than when I gave him a rifle to carry during our shooting-parties.
After a year, however, his character changed completely. He became
intractable and moody, and fiercely resented any criticism. We were a
long way from his tribe and he could not return home except through a
forest infested with tigers. The prospect of a long and dangerous
journey seemed to have no terrors for him. He begged me to let him go,
and jumped with joy when I gave my permission. In a twinkling he was
out of his European clothes and had donned the old loin-cloth, which
he had preserved with the greatest care as a mark of race. He bowed
three times, took up his basket and disappeared with every expression
of jubilation. His obvious glee was some consolation for the annoyance
his departure caused me, for I had set my heart on softening his
savage nature and winning his affection. It was with real regret that
I confessed myself beaten. On the other side of the account must be
placed the feat of Madame Cunhac, the wife of one of our governors,
who successfully brought up a Moï girl. The child grew to have an
unshaken belief in her mistress and followed her about like a faithful
dog, showing her affection and gratitude on every possible occasion,
nor could she be induced to return to her village by threats or
bribes.
A child receives nothing that can be dignified with the name of
education. His incessant occupation consists of playing all day with
his little companions. Many of the games played are extremely
interesting and we spent many an hour in the evening watching them.
Perhaps the favourite is a game they call "The Pig-Snatcher," in which
there are three principal _dramatis personæ_, the Snatcher, the
Shopkeeper and the Pig. The greatest competition is for the position
of the two former, so the candidates are subjected to a preliminary
trial. They all take turns at catching a twig on a long pole and
balancing it, and the two most expert are rewarded with the rôles of
Shopkeeper and Snatcher respectively. The next plays the part of the
Pig, which consists of saying nothing, but grunting vigorously at
intervals.
The unsuccessful candidates join hands and make a ring round the lucky
three.
The Snatcher now approaches with slow steps and interrogates the
Shopkeeper as follows:
"Hello, maternal aunt! Please give me some fire."
"O elderly brother, the fire is under the ashes."
"Well, then, give me a gourd of water."
"The water is at the bottom of the well."
"Then give me a guava."
"The guava is still on the tree."
Feigning dismay at these repeated rebuffs the Snatcher takes a few
steps backwards and suddenly stops, for the Pig, in the person of a
small urchin of barely five years old, gives forth a timid grunt.
"What is the animal I hear in your stable?"
"It is a spotted pig."
"What kind of spots has it?"
"Red on its paws and white on its tail. It has every perfection, and
the less I feed it the fatter it gets."
"Really! Will you take a Mat for it?" (A Mat is a piece of iron which
is used for exchange and worth about a penny.)
"No, it is not for sale."
The dialogue continues, the Snatcher increasing his offer up to a set
of gongs, but the Shopkeeper is not to be tempted. At length the
Snatcher is weary and pretends to leave the shop. The game seems to be
over, but the children enjoy it too much to allow it to be cut short;
so there is a general burst of laughter when the Shopkeeper in her
most wheedling voice recalls the customer before he has proceeded very
far.
"Here, Pig-Snatcher, come in! I have changed my mind and I will sell
it to you for a broken cup."
The Snatcher, delighted at this unexpected turn of events, hastens to
secure his prize, but is prevented from moving out of the circle
formed by the children. He clasps a girl of about twelve who
represents one of the doors of the house and shakes her by the
shoulders.
"What is this door made of?" he asks.
"It is of ironwood," replies the Shopkeeper. Burglary in that quarter
is doomed to failure, he thinks, and finds a younger girl.
"Of what wood is this one?"
"Teak."
"Still too strong. What of this third?"
"It is made of rotten fibres," the Shopkeeper cries.
On that the encircling chain snaps suddenly. The Snatcher, who is no
other than the Tiger in human form, darts at the Pig. Despairing
squeals. A savage roar. The village dogs appear upon the scene, and
amid peals of merry laughter the game comes to an end.
CHAPTER IV
SOCIAL LIFE
Property--Slavery--Utilitarian morals--A bashful race--The
Levirate--Law and custom--An amateur arbitrator--Principles and
practice of the Ordeal.
The Moï who inhabit the more northerly portion of this country have
largely fallen under the domination of their neighbours the Laotians.
In the south, however, in spite of their proximity to the warlike and
powerful Annamites, the Moï have, to a large degree, resisted
absorption and preserved their independence. Consequently their
immemorial institutions have survived the chances and changes of the
centuries without appreciable modification.
The unit of administration is the village, which forms a kind of
anarchical republic with a nominal chief who is elected. As a general
rule these shadow potentates are chosen either for their physical
prowess or reputed moral superiority. The Chief's powers are not
transferable and lapse on his death.
It sometimes happens that several villages of the same region are
united by community of interests or family alliances. The union is
then cemented by the formation of a league with a view to defence
against common enemies. From such associations for mutual insurance
the tribe takes its origin. In many cases one of the first signs that
this new organization has become a social or political entity is the
appearance of an obligation on its members to intermarry.
It is well known that in the primitive ages of the Aryan races the
tribesmen were not only shepherds rather than warriors but also
essentially nomadic in habit. It was in the character of
owners-in-common that they held the land on which they pastured their
flocks. Later, when they began to settle in defined localities to till
the soil, the ownership of property ceased to be collective. As
population and the area under cultivation increased, private property
appeared at first as the right of the family and finally as the right
of the individual.
Even to-day, however, we see traces of such primitive collectivism in
the "Mir" of Russia, the "Dessa" of Java, and the "Zadruga" of
Bulgaria. The peculiarity of the Moï is that they exhibit the three
forms of ownership, collective, family, and individual, in
conjunction.
Evidence of the communistic basis of their proprietary system is
plentiful and cumulative. The whole group takes part in the
acquisition and development of a tract of land sufficient to satisfy
all their needs. The trophies of war, the spoils of the chase and the
harvests are divided equally among those entitled to them. Inequality
of distribution is almost unknown. The Chief reserves a portion in
addition to his own to offer as a sacrifice to the Spirits or to
dispense in hospitality to strangers.
There is equally strong evidence of the system of family ownership of
property. Every family has its private residence and household
implements. This economic dispensation accounts for differences of
wealth and station among members of the same communal group. For
example a family in which there are many grown-up girls will become
rich on the proceeds of their skill in weaving, pot-making, and other
spheres of activity.
The individual ownership of property seems to be confined to
jewellery, pipes, weapons, and similar objects which any man can make
for himself. Further, any member of the group is entitled to do what
he likes with the portion of food distributed to him. In most cases if
he does not consume it himself he will lend it to some less thrifty
neighbour who finds his store exhausted. If the day for repayment
comes round and the liability is not discharged, the borrower, his
wife and children, become the absolute property of the lender whose
sole obligation is to support them. The debtor thus becomes a slave,
or rather, to speak more accurately, a servant for life. It is not at
all unusual in times of great scarcity for the Moï to sell both
themselves and their families when faced with the prospect of
starvation. These facts are well known to our Government, which is
powerless to prevent such evils so long as the imperfect means of
communication prevent the easy transport of food supplies from a
fertile region to a famine-stricken province.
Trading in slaves is prohibited, but there is no doubt that it goes on
in secret.
In principle the debtor-slave can procure his own redemption by his
own labour. But the value of that labour is calculated by the master
and at so ridiculous a figure that in practice hardly any slave earns
his freedom before his death. The annual value of the labour of a
strong man is reckoned at about five francs more than the cost of his
support. Further, if a slave does not satisfy his master he may be
resold at a price which represents an increase of twenty-five per
cent. on the original debt.
The system may truly be described as in every sense an exploitation of
human misery. At the current rate of calculation it may take several
generations of sufferers to pay off the first debt.
In theory there is another mode of redemption. On his master's death a
slave can recover his liberty by sacrificing a buffalo and placing a
small portion of the flesh in the mouth of the deceased. The mere idea
of a debtor-slave having the means to buy a buffalo is one to provoke
bitter mirth!
[Illustration: A Little Kha (Slave Girl).]
[Illustration: Our Native Prisoners.]
[Illustration: The Village Musician serenading a Young Couple about to
be married.]
Any reform should aim at an equitable calculation of the value of the
services rendered and the rate of interest should be drastically
revised. This rate, which is extremely exorbitant, soon trebles and
even quadruples the amount of the original debt. It is to be noted,
however, that a slave shares in the family life, is consulted in any
crisis that may arise, and, if a woman, may inherit. Cruelty and
ill-usage are rare, and even where they exist there is some safeguard
in the slave's right of appeal to the village Elders.
A female slave is protected against any abuse of authority by her
master. If he violates her she is freed at once by the act.
In Babylon the law was equally favourable to slaves and even went so
far as to permit them to contract independently of their masters under
the ingenious system of _peculium_. It was also quite usual for anyone
to escape from an embarrassing financial position by entering on a
kind of voluntary servitude which could be terminated in time by
payment of a sum for redemption out of the earnings of the service.
Further, it was enacted by Hammurabi's code, two thousand years before
the Christian era, that a creditor, after three years, must set free
the wife or daughter of his debtor if he had accepted them as sureties
for the debt.
The laws of the Hebrews likewise permitted an insolvent debtor to sell
himself and his family into bondage to extinguish a debt. A peculiar
feature in this case was the debtor's right to sell his wife or
daughters and himself retain his liberty.
The laws of the Annamites forbid this same transaction, but there is
no doubt that it frequently takes place. Custom in these matters is
of far more force than the law, and the actual nature of the contract
is concealed under various disguises.
The Chinese code contains a special provision relating to "The letting
on hire of wives or daughters."
Another force working to the same end is the fact that in countries in
which individualistic ownership of land prevails, and where labour is
scarce the owner stops at nothing to increase the number of hands on
his estate. This necessity is the mother of all manner of abuses, to
which the weakest naturally fall victims.
The Sorcerers, for example, impose the most exorbitant fines on those
who have failed to carry out the least detail of the rites. A penalty
thus inflicted constitutes the delinquent to all intents and purposes
a slave of the offended Spirit. He has to place himself at the
disposal of the Sorcerer, the representative of the deity. Another
species of slavery is created by the capture of prisoners of war.
There are no provisions in law or custom for their redemption or
liberation except by way of exchange. Otherwise the servitude is
deemed perpetual.
The independent Moï have recourse to a raid on their neighbours, the
Annamites, when their stock of slaves falls low. The prisoner of war
is considered as belonging to an inferior order of creation with no
status and few rights. A woman may not marry and neither male nor
female may inherit; but the law contemplates the case of a free woman
marrying a male prisoner of war. The father and the male children
become the slaves of the woman. Female children are freed. If the
children are all boys or all girls they are divided and one half
become the slaves of the other.
In short, although less cruel and inhuman than wholesale slaughter,
slavery is one of the most blighting institutions in these barbarous
regions. The Moï prefer the milder to the more drastic treatment, not
from any motives of altruism but solely from considerations of
self-interest. The death of an individual for religious disobedience
or even the commission of a crime profits no one, but material
benefits accrue both to the private citizen and to the state from the
fine imposed or the services exacted as punishment. The most
superficial investigation reveals the essential utilitarianism of the
conception of justice which obtains among the Moï.
No less utilitarian is their conception of morality. They never ask
whether an act is good or bad in itself, for abstract standards of
right and wrong are unknown to them. They merely ask whether the act
is prejudicial to private or public well-being. It follows from this
that crimes against the individual are punished far less severely than
crimes against the state, and further that the most serious offences
are those which touch material prosperity and enjoyment. A theft of
rice from the public granary is punished by enslavement, for rice is
the staple food and an indispensable necessity to the whole group.
The same theft from a private individual is regarded only as a minor
offence punishable summarily by fine. In this case Society does not
suffer, or at least only indirectly and to an imperceptible degree.
In the same way a murderer receives no punishment if his act is one of
vengeance for a similar crime. He is exacting the price of blood, and
the blood-feud is recognized and approved. It is highly meritorious to
kill a foreigner or a public enemy, and the slayer becomes _ipso
facto_ a popular hero.
This conception of morality is the production of tradition and has
been influenced in various ways by the jurisdiction of the Sorcerers
over a number of offences, especially those relating to sex and
ritual.
It has long been popularly supposed that races in a rudimentary stage
of civilization enjoy absolute immunity from regulation in the matter
of sexual relations. Nothing could be further from the truth, the
evidence all pointing the other way. Indeed, paradoxical as it may
seem, it is none the less true that sexual relations of primitive
peoples are more restricted, more bound round by various
interdictions, than those of peoples which have reached a higher stage
of development. It is plain that we have often confused complete
sexual licence with the exercise of perfectly limited and defined
rights which are only permitted during certain public festivals. It is
only necessary in this connection to remind ourselves of the
Saturnalia in Rome.
The same error appears in the popular attitude towards polyandry,
which is frequently attributed to the moral abandonment of the women.
In reality the system is no less organized and regulated than that of
polygamy. Further, all educated travellers who have lived long enough
among primitive races to attain some degree of intimacy have expressed
surprise at their reticence in speaking of these matters. They display
the most marked repugnance to give any information about their women,
and if pressed to answer questions, take refuge in evasion or refuse
to continue the conversation.
It is only after years spent amongst them, and, after winning their
confidence, mainly by medical services, that a European can penetrate
at all into that region of mystery from which he is jealously
excluded.
Some of the following observations are the result of personal
investigation. Others are made on the authority of several of my
countrymen with the experience of a long residence in the country
behind them, while others again are founded on information supplied by
the natives which I have myself verified. Some of my remarks apply
only to a tribe or a particular region, but in many cases they hold
good of the whole group, and even of a wider circle, for it must never
be forgotten that resemblances are encountered everywhere between the
customs of these folk and those, not only of other peoples of the Far
East, but also of the semi-savages of Africa and Polynesia.
I have had occasion to speak before of the custom, practised by
several of the Moï tribes, of killing the firstborn if no one comes
forward to claim the paternity. Thanks to this convenient institution,
it is quite usual for a young girl to become a mother solely to prove
her fertility.
We find this same custom among the Bohindu of the Belgian Congo, where
the girls indulge in promiscuous prostitution until conception takes
place. This event guarantees them a husband, for sterility is a ground
for divorce, and the man looks upon fertility as the highest virtue in
a woman. Thus, calculated prostitution, if I may use the phrase, is
not regarded with disfavour by some primitive peoples. Where the
motive is other than the desire for maternity it is regarded merely as
mental aberration or weakness of mind. If a woman gives herself
without love, she is not a criminal but an idiot. The same attitude is
displayed by the Abahua of the Belgian Congo. Each time that we made
the acquaintance of a Moï tribe the Chief was careful to demonstrate
his hospitality by the offer of some female slaves instructed to put
themselves at our disposal. It seems that this act of courtesy is
invariably extended to strangers of their own race, and consequently
their astonishment was all the greater when we declined the honour.
This magnanimous custom is also found among several of the races which
inhabit equatorial Africa, notably the Medgé and the Mangbetù.
Incestuous relationships are by no means uncommon among the Moï. I
once spent several months in the village of Lebouy, where the chief
was the father of his daughter's children. Nor was any exception taken
to his action, which was regarded merely as the exercise of a right
which immemorial precedent had sanctioned.
These incestuous connections are by no means confined to the eastern
archipelago, but are constantly met with in Africa also. I need only
mention the Avura-Gura of the Congo as an example. It is a mere matter
of history that incest was practised and recognized by the royal
family in ancient Egypt. The most usual instance was a union between
sisters and brothers. The object, of course, was to ensure that the
royal blood should be transmitted from generation to generation
without any admixture of alien strains, and thus preserve its identity
with its true and first origin the union of a god and some creature,
such as the hawk or gryphon. The example of the princes soon found
imitators among their subjects, and after being confined to the
nobility and ruling classes, it spread among all orders of society. We
possess an accumulation of proof, which places the matter beyond
doubt, in the documents and inscriptions which archæological research
has brought to light.
By way of contrast, a custom obtains among certain groups in
Indo-China (though almost unknown elsewhere), especially the Man Coc,
and Man Pa Tong, which formally prohibits intercourse between a woman
and her father-in-law or uncles, and likewise between a man and his
mother-in-law, his aunts, or his sisters-in-law. I shall have occasion
further on to investigate this peculiar veto which is enforced by
certain African tribes also.
The Levirate (from "Levir," a brother-in-law, in Sanscrit _dêvar_) is
also found operating as a stringent injunction.
This, as everyone knows, takes its name from that law of Moses which
commanded a brother-in-law to marry his deceased brother's widow (in
cases where there had been no issue) in order to provide an heir to
the family and to perpetuate his name. It was a species of "adoption
beyond the tomb."
In the same way, there are laws among certain of the Moï tribes, such
as the Radé, by which a widow is compelled to remarry with some member
of her husband's family. Various reasons are assigned for this
injunction, but primarily it is dictated by a desire to secure the
inheritance to the family of the deceased.
I was told of several cases of bestiality which seemed to me, even if
proved, to present no features worthy of comment. Sexual perversions
of this character are not confined to any one country nor any one
period, and it is sufficient to remark that nearly every race has
legends of gods changing themselves into animals with the aim of
uniting themselves with mortals. These fables are not mere fictions of
a poet's brain but reminiscences of a distant period when Egyptians
and Greeks worshipped animal-gods whom superstition had endowed with
mortal offspring.
One fact which I was able to prove to my own satisfaction was the
dietary regulations to which pregnant women are subjected. Among the
prohibited foods at that period figures the flesh of all male animals
which have not been castrated. Here, without doubt, is an analogy with
the law of the Man-Coc that no sexual intercourse may take place after
the third month of pregnancy. In particular, the mother-to-be must
abstain from fat and green vegetables. She may undertake no kind of
work, not even the most trivial of household duties.
Like other races with a low degree of civilization, the Moï attribute
to physical excess of all kinds a loss of force which puts an
individual at a disadvantage in his contest with the powers of the
earth or the air. On this belief are based the rules which prescribe
the preparations of one who is about to face some judicial test or
ordeal. He must pass the previous night in a state of complete
abstinence, so that his moral and physical condition shall be perfect
for the trial he is to undergo. The golden rule is summed up in a
motto of the Adio of Central Africa: "No man may face the ordeal if
not pure in body and mind, sinless and unstained." It seems doubtful
whether the origin of this belief is religious or experimental. We
know that it flourished among the Egyptians from an early period.
It is impossible to obtain even the most superficial understanding of
many Moï laws and institutions without investigating the peculiar
conceptions of morality on which they are based.
A Moï woman appears before the Council of the Ancients with a charge
that some man has touched her without her consent. A fine is inflicted
on the accused varying in amount with the importance of the part of
the body which he touched. If there has been complete seduction and
the seducer refuses to marry the complainant the fine is doubled.
Perhaps it is a husband who complains that his wife has committed
adultery on three different occasions with three different men. He
himself will be punished, and the sentence will be accompanied by some
withering reflections on his incompetence and complacence, hardly
flattering to his vanity. I ought to add that this curious judicial
perversion is met with only on the shores of the great lakes, where
morals are less rigid than in other parts of Indo-China.
I was told that among a few groups adultery is not considered criminal
if the woman's accomplice is a relation of her husband. The Batua of
the Congo also seem to regard this as an extenuating circumstance, but
their neighbours, the Medgé and the Mangbetù, take a precisely
opposite view and rigorously forbid brothers to seduce each other's
wives. All the Moï consider it a gross aggravation of the offence if
the seducer takes advantage of the husband's absence in war or the
hunting-field.
I have already recorded that I was frequently prevailed on by the Moï
to act as arbitrator in their disputes. I have the gravest misgivings
that my judgments did more credit to my kindly intentions than to my
legal knowledge.
I always made a point of using all my resources to impress the
litigants with a due sense of the importance of the occasion and the
dignity of the tribunal.
A scarlet cloth is thrown over my folding table. Next the huge
blue-cotton umbrella, whose humble function is to protect our
theodolite from the sun's rays, is commandeered to shelter the
miserable packing-case which serves me for my curule chair. I don a
wide-brimmed Boer hat and my revolver-case is reverentially attached
to my belt by my boy, who is crier, clerk, and usher all in one.
To-day the case in the list is:
"Annamite _v._ Moï."
It would be altogether a miracle if the plaintiff did not herald his
appearance with a present of some kind, in this case chickens, eggs
and bananas. He is convulsed with astonishment when, incorruptible, I
reject his bribes. His ordinary judges, the Mandarins, have other and
better manners. They have not prepared him for such a rebuff.
The Moï, on the other hand, has brought nothing with which to seek my
favour. Perhaps he is too poor or perhaps he has already sufficient
faith in my impartiality.
The case opens with a recital of the facts in issue.
The Annamite tells his story first.
He bows three times, kisses the ground and remains on his knees
throughout the hearing in accordance with the procedure prescribed for
the plaintiff.
"I am a dealer in pigs," he tells me, "and I was bringing four
of them to market in the hills.
"While passing through this Moï village the heat and my
weariness compelled me to break my journey; so I sought out the
Pholy with a request for hospitality and the shelter of my pigs
in his sty. You may imagine my amazement when, on resuming my
journey, I discovered that my fine animals, all more than two
years old, were nowhere to be seen and had been replaced by
four miserable creatures which are hardly six weeks old.
"I demand therefore that the great soldier Mandarin shall
restore to me what is my own."
Questioned in turn, the defendant swears by the Spirit of the Hearth
that the plaintiff's story is a mere tissue of lies. His version is
that the Annamite took advantage of the previous night to steal some
of his young pigs which had got loose in the neighbourhood, and that,
failing to procure sufficient food for them, he had attempted to
exchange them legally for animals of greater value.
Under these perplexing circumstances I find Solomon's mantle weighing
heavily upon me.
Suddenly an inspiration comes to me, doubtless a gift from the Spirit
of the Hearth.
If the animals have really been stolen from the village they will
surely be able to return to their homes by themselves. They have
fasted since the morning and it will be strange if their empty
stomachs cannot spur their memories to something more than normal
activity.
Accordingly with the becoming solemnity of a just and wise judge, I
order the plaintiff to drive the four animals in dispute before him
through every street in the village. The procession forms up, the
Tribunal, strangely nervous as to the result of its experiment,
bringing up the rear.
The Annamite assumes a swaggering air and brandishes his whip like a
man sure of his facts, but a significant contraction of his eyebrows
gives me the impression that he is not wholeheartedly in agreement
with my plan. Sure enough, before the troupe has progressed more than
a few hundred yards, one of the pigs hesitates, sniffs suspiciously,
and wags its tail, then, uttering a vigorous grunt, dashes into a
stable with a certitude that leaves no doubt of its familiarity.
A few steps farther on a second animal repeats the comedy, with the
same features of hesitation, recognition, and precipitation. The
Annamite thrashes the air with his whip and swears by Buddha that he
is the victim of a pernicious conspiracy. All in vain. Soon all the
pigs have recovered their native haunts and there is nothing left for
him to drive. The Ministry of Justice has an easy task in constructing
a case against him and the impudent rascal is unanimously convicted of
theft, aggravated by abuse of hospitality. He thinks himself lucky to
escape with the loss of one of his gold rings as a fine and
compensation to the Head of the village.
I wonder if I was right?
Happily for my reputation as judge, this _cause célèbre_ was
positively my last appearance in the rôle. A few days afterwards I was
a spectator, by official invitation and on the principle of
reciprocity, at one of the native trials.
No luxurious court-house, no gilt and trappings here! The Pholy,
following the example of St. Louis, administers justice beneath a
sacred fig-tree--the most majestic object conceivable--beneath whose
all-embracing branches a concourse, vaster than any that throngs our
courts at a sensational trial, could find shelter. The chiefs surround
their President and form a truly imposing tribunal. The Sorcerer, too,
is there, and he will play the chief part to-day.
Some cattle have been stolen a week or so ago and every man suspects
his neighbour of the crime. The real malefactor, however, is known
only to the Spirits, and they alone can expose him. As their cares and
interests are too multifarious to permit them to appear in person on
the earth, our Sorcerer declares that they have assigned to him their
powers and functions for the occasion. To-day he will be their
mouthpiece. He takes an egg lightly between his thumb and first
finger, pressing the ends with two other fingers. At his request a
young assistant proclaims in a wailing voice the names of all the
neighbouring lands. He cannot believe, he tells us, that a fellow
countryman should be guilty of so dastardly an outrage. But the
recital is over and the egg has not trembled. There is nothing left
but to call out the name of his own village. Alas! No sooner are the
words uttered than an ominous crack is heard and a sticky yellow fluid
issues from the shell, now broken in two. Recourse must now be had to
the evidence. The circle of inquiry is narrowed and it only remains to
discover the guilty individual.
The first experiment has proved far too successful to be discarded in
favour of any innovation. An egg, balanced in the same way as before,
will be the sole cost of the continued investigation. The same
unsophisticated youth now proceeds to recite the names of all the
inhabitants of the village. In most cases he designates them by their
nicknames. The "Squirrel," the "Pagoda Cock" and the "Marabout" are at
present white as snow. They all appear to heave an immense sigh of
relief as their names are called out without any sign of expostulation
from the egg. It is plain that their belief in the justice of the
Spirits is far from profound. They lose no time in vanishing from the
scene.
Suddenly, just as the youthful voice proclaims "The Scorpion," the egg
unmistakably collapses. The malefactor thus indicated is a
broken-down old man, an object more of sympathy than of suspicion. His
rickety frame is supported with considerable difficulty by his legs,
which are swollen to an unnatural degree by gout. But the eye of the
Spirits is piercing, their justice unfailing. No escape for the guilty
is possible. However, as the accused protests his innocence with all
the emphasis at his command, the Pholy condescends to allow him to
prove it by submitting to the ordeal prescribed by the Gods. Two
alternatives are offered to him, the ordeal by water and that by
boiling resin, in which an innocent man may plunge his hand and
withdraw it unharmed.
"The Scorpion" is not slow to choose the former. The divine instrument
of trial is near at hand in the shape of a river which flows within a
short distance of the sacred judgment tree. While the preparations for
the ordeal are going forward, the accused asks for permission to make
a preliminary statement. If he can associate an accomplice with him in
the crime it will doubtless mitigate his punishment. Accordingly he
formally names another villager as his partner in transgression. The
alleged partner's vigorous denials are followed by immediate arrest.
The question now is as to the respective degrees of guilt, a point
which the river will ultimately settle. Two stakes are driven into the
middle of the stream at a point where the depth is about ten feet. The
unfortunate victims are conveyed by canoe to the spot and left
clinging desperately to the stakes while trying to keep their heads
under water as long as possible. The test is quite simple. The one who
loses his breath and comes up to the surface first stands convicted of
being the principal in the theft, while his larger-lunged rival is
cleared of everything save the charge of complicity.
In a few seconds the performance is over, for the unhappy "Scorpion,"
already paralysed by fear of the immersion, cannot hold his breath at
all, and bobs up to the surface immediately, half asphyxiated. The
Sorcerer, delighted at the result of his experiment, expresses his
appreciation in a series of approving gestures.
The principle of the ordeal rests on the belief, prevalent among the
great majority of half-civilized races, that the tutelary deity of any
individual withdraws his protection and assistance if his "ward" has
violated any of the fundamental principles of morality, or neglected
the rites and ceremonies enjoined by his religion.
This notion of loss of protection of a higher power may possibly be
associated with the vague idea of a conscience. It is certainly one of
the most curious conceptions which research into the science of
divination has brought to our notice. The submission of a suspected
criminal to trial by ordeal is an invitation to the Spirits to give a
manifestation of their desires.
There are many forms of this species of divine interrogatory, varying
in number and character in different parts of the world. Fifty
varieties at least are met with in Africa. It is not to be believed,
however, that every ordeal is dangerous or even necessarily harmful.
Many forms are known far less cruel than those which arrest the
imagination of the traveller by virtue of their more inhuman
incidents, such as the ordeal by boiling water, molten lead, or poison
dropped into the eyes.
Thus, among the Moï, a favourite ordeal is to compel the accused to
drink an excessive quantity of water or alcohol resulting in temporary
discomfort without danger or permanent injury.
In Africa cases are known where an ordeal is carried through without
the suspected criminal knowing of it. For example, it has been
considered sufficient to observe the direction in which the smoke of a
chimney is blown, or to set a trap in some place known to be
frequented by rats. The innocence or guilt of the accused will be
determined according to whether a rat is caught or not.
To judge by the enormous quantity of spirits consumed by the Moï I
should have said that this form of ordeal was the most frequent
incident of daily life. My flask of ammonia was in perpetual
requisition after I had, in an evil moment, revealed to them the
peculiar property of ammonia gas, which dissipates the fumes of
alcohol.
Perhaps I am doing my friends an injustice. Perhaps there was a more
edifying explanation of the run on my flask. May it not be that it
furnished a magic potion to some lover of the "bottle" with which to
renew his stock of dreams?
A psychologist friend of mine once said that man cannot do without his
"dream-world."
The Moï is no exception. He, too, needs an artificial paradise and
finds it in the bottle. He drinks to see life rosy!
CHAPTER V
RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND RITES
Similarity between the philosophical conceptions of uncivilized
races--Most of the ritual derived from magic--Dualism--Private
and public talismans--The Pi--The Legend of the
Dog-King--Totemism--Sorcery--Rebel Moï.
A study of the general history of mankind reveals many striking
resemblances between the crude ideas which pass for philosophical
conceptions among nations in their infancy.
Whether the Moï is considered as an undeveloped or a degenerate being
(and the consideration will be determined by the school of thought to
which the inquirer adheres) it is beyond dispute that he must be
classed among the half-civilized portion of mankind, if only because
his ideas of the supernatural are those which the brain of the savage
has evolved at all times and in all places. Unlike the civilized
races, he has never been able to distinguish the natural from the
supernatural. He still believes that the world is controlled by
invisible forces set in motion by Spirits constituted like himself,
susceptible to emotions and passions like his own, and ready to shape
their actions at the dictates of humour or caprice.
This belief is the foundation of the multifarious rites which
accompany the most trivial daily act of the group which we are now
studying.
Since the invisible Beings who thus direct and sway the fortunes of
men are susceptible of love, pity, and even, it seems, of fear, it is
both possible and advisable to appeal to these emotions to secure
their assistance, or, at least, their neutrality.
It will readily be accepted that experience of life does little or
nothing to shake this belief in the perpetual intervention of the
supernatural, for naturally it is seldom that the desired event does
not follow, sooner or later, the particular ceremony in which that
desire finds expression.
For example, a great sacrifice is celebrated to secure a cessation of
drought. Even if there is no rain for several weeks afterwards, it
will still be regarded as an answer to supplication.
The Moï is still in utter ignorance of the connection between cause
and effect, largely because he has only the most elementary notions of
time and space.
It is an almost universal rule that from the earliest times religion
grew out of a belief in magic. Indeed it is worthy of remark at this
point that most of the customs and traditions found among civilized
races are in essence forms of ancient magical rites which have been
adapted to changing conditions.
The most recent investigations by the most eminent ethnologists
confirm the view that a great number of ritualistic ceremonies are
founded on the principles of imitative or sympathetic magic. This fact
must be kept in mind.
Imitative magic is based on a belief which obtains general currency
that the effect resembles the cause which produces it. The rudimentary
intelligence of the savage infers from this that it is possible to
bring about the commission of some act merely by imitating it.
Suppose a Moï desires success in the chase. Before starting on his
expedition he will prick himself with one of his arrows, or else he
will go through a series of contortions resembling the struggles of an
animal caught in his net. He never doubts for a moment that by
imitating his action, his prey will become an easy victim to his
toils.
"Sympathetic" magic is based on another equally prevalent belief that
objects which have once been in contact will continue to influence
each other after the contact has ceased and that such continuance of
influence remains unaffected either by time or distance.
[Illustration:
_From "Les Tribes Moï"_] [_By Henri Maître._
A Hut of Propitiation containing Offerings to the Gods.]
[Illustration:
_From "Les Tribes Moï"_] [_By Henri Maître._
Tombs fenced with Bamboo and decorated with Elephants' Tusks.]
[Illustration:
_Photo by_] [_A. Cabaton._
Woven Bamboo Baskets used to carry Offerings to the Priests.]
It follows as a logical conclusion from this belief that all that is
necessary to obtain or maintain influence over any person or object is
to get possession of some part of that person or object. Accordingly
the Sorcerer's first task is to secure some portion of his intended
victim, a few hairs, perhaps, or some blood, or a piece of nail. By
tormenting the image he will inflict the same sufferings on the
original. In the same way a rejected lover will dress a burnt-clay
figure in a fragment of the robe of his mistress and by supplications
addressed to her representative seek to turn her hard heart towards
himself.
Thanks to the new light thrown on these fundamental principles by the
untiring efforts of Frazer, van Gennep and other eminent ethnologists,
analysis of the better known beliefs of the Moï has become both
practicable and intelligible. We can at any rate distinguish their
salient characteristics.
As the Spirits are susceptible to human passions their natural
inclination is to be malevolent towards man, for passions excite to
ill-will and ill-doing rather than to benevolence. To counteract this
baneful tendency it is highly desirable to incite the supernatural
powers to turn their anger upon one another, and this is the more easy
of accomplishment because they are numerous, jealous, and have each
their particular domain.
To this origin must we assign the idea of provoking a supernatural
conflict--dualism--which inspires the accomplishment of certain rites.
Further, it is impossible to secure either the assistance or even the
neutrality of the superior powers without a talisman. The Sorcerer
supplies these indispensable instruments, of which he enjoys the
monopoly. Their nature and appearance vary with the object which their
wearer has in view. If a native fears the attack of some particular
animal his talisman will be some part of the object of his fears. The
teeth of wild animals, the claws of tigers, the tongues of serpents,
figure frequently among the talismans of those who fear an encounter
with these formidable enemies. As a rule they are enclosed in a small
wallet and suspended round the neck.
In a sense this is as natural an instinct as that which prompts
savages of all races to make a protective amulet of the object of
their fears, for, by an analogous association of ideas, they have
frequently found the remedy in the apprehended evil itself. Anyone who
has lived in the bush knows that immunity from the ill effects of a
scorpion's bite can be obtained by injecting under the skin a paste
made from the tails of those venomous creatures.
Some of these talismans are valueless to all save their original
owner, and sometimes even to him only so long as he remains attached
to his tribe and village. They are, so to speak, personal and not
transferable.
On the other hand there are what I may call "collective" talismans
endowed with powers to protect a family, a community, or even a whole
tribe. They are displayed in some prominent position, hung on the
door-post, a sacred tree, the mast of a canoe, or the palisade of a
village.
Others are endowed with medicinal properties and are alleged to cure
fevers and dysentery. Our portable chemist's shop was regarded as a
very sacred grove of the Spirits of Healing. These august deities
consented to appear in the form of a white powder (quinine) or of
fire-water (tincture of iodine) to allay human ills. A bottle of
chlorodyne which I used frequently in the many cases of dysentery and
cholera was elevated to the rank of a deity.
I must confess also that there were many occasions on which I took
advantage of their credulity in these matters. There were times when
my request for food and lodging for our party met with hesitation and
even point-blank refusal. In such circumstances a simple threat to
grind them all to powder produced a prompt compliance with our wishes.
The Moï apply the generic term of "Pi" to all the occult powers whose
intervention in human affairs is a matter of daily terror. The word
"Pi" roughly denotes the idea of supernatural action. It corresponds
to the "Orenda" of the Iroquois and the "Mana" of the savage tribes of
Polynesia.
The Spirits who claim sway over the region of the forest-clad
mountains are both numerous and quarrelsome. Those whose intentions
towards men are known to be beneficent are neglected while worship and
sacrifice are concentrated on the propitiation of the malevolent ones.
The "Chicken-Devil" is an object of the greatest terror to women.
Legend relates that once upon a time he was imprisoned within the body
of an ogress by whose murder he was restored to liberty.
The malevolent disposition of this Spirit is displayed by his habit of
poisoning the breath of all the women who cross his path. A woman
thus contaminated poisons every particle of food with which she comes
in contact.
No less dangerous are the Spirits which have been liberated from
bondage by the violent death or suicide of their masters. Woe betide
the traveller who encounters them on his journey. If his escort be not
large and his weapons of the latest pattern he will go to swell the
already lengthy list of victims of the powers of evil.
Farther on lurks a fresh horror.
The road is long, the sun overpowering, the earth a burning carpet.
Suddenly a tree offers welcome rest and shelter to the weary
traveller. He loses no time in seeking its grateful shade and,
selecting a suitable branch for a fly-swish, prepares to cut it with
his knife.
Heaven help him if he carries out his intention. The tree is haunted
by the spirit of a chief slain in war. It will snatch up the
sacrilegious criminal and bear him to the great Beyond.
It is a horrible catastrophe to meet with certain Ghouls, whose method
of progression is a rolling motion like that of a barrel, and who
devour all the refuse of the roads. If a woman is with you their
vengeance will fall upon her. She will become barren and gradually rot
away.
On moonlight nights young warriors often meet with ravishing nymphs
who beckon them to follow into the depths of the forest. The
loveliness and wiles of these mystic temptresses soon overpower the
strongest will and the young men yield to the spell and disappear in
the darkness. Soon the vision vanishes. The victims, terror-stricken,
walk round in fruitless circles until dawn. Their tormentors are
malignant spirits who assume the form of lovely nymphs solely to
gratify their cunning spite by hindering and terrorizing their
victims.
Among the numerous uncivilized groups of Indo-China it is curious that
only one offers the peculiar characteristic of possessing a totem. The
"Man" or "Yaos" believe that their first ancestor was a dog.
Accordingly, their veneration for that animal is profound, and it is
strictly forbidden to use its flesh for food.
If we are to believe one legend which at least has the sanction of
general acceptance, about 525 B.C. Pen Hung, who was at that time
ruler of the Chinese province of Su, promised his daughter's hand and
the half of his kingdom to the hero who should rid him of the
conquering marauder Cu-Hung, who was menacing his security. The
invader's reputation for valour had preceded him and was such that no
man dared cross swords with him. When all seemed lost a dog named
Phan-Hu undertook the task of destroying the enemy, and, having
succeeded in slaying Cu-Hung in mortal combat, he returned to claim
from the King the fulfilment of his promise.
The King gave his daughter to the victor, but in order to keep to
himself the more fertile portion of his kingdom, he assigned only the
uncultivated mountain-tops as the dog's share. This unfairness was
resented by the Dog-King, and to remedy it special concessions were
granted to his descendants.
The copy of a charter in which these privileges are set forth is still
preserved among what we may call the archives of the "Man." This
apocryphal document has been translated by Colonel Bonifacy of the
Colonial Infantry, who was the first to call the attention of
Europeans to its existence. On the other hand, if we are to believe
the twelfth-century historian Fan-Chi-Hu, the dog Phan-Hu was no other
than a savage who took that name and did in fact marry a princess as
the prize for a very remarkable triumph in a personal combat.
However that may be, it is incontestable that individuals are found in
every country whose excessive hairiness suggests a striking
resemblance to the dog, especially as regards the face. The Toda of
India and the Birmans have recently furnished several striking
examples of the freak which is popularly known as the "dog-faced man."
But to return to the legend, we may at least conclude that the
marriage took place at a much earlier period than that suggested.
The "Man," the issue of this union, have shown a marked tendency to
expand. From the mountain-tops which formed their original kingdom
they have penetrated into Tonkin, Annam and the region of the lakes.
They seem to have made ample use of a provision in their ancient
Charter which entitled them to set fire to any forest which impeded
their progress. They claim that this authority is still valid and
subsisting, and we had the greatest difficulty in enforcing obedience
to our forest regulations. The most interesting feature of this
ethnical group is that it shows undoubted traces of the existence of
an alliance formed in immemorial times with some species of animal.
Now the underlying idea of totemism is that of a compact between an
aggregation (family, or group) of human beings and some animal species
from which has sprung a relationship at once physical and social.
The recent controversy over the definition of totemism seems to make
it both redundant and impertinent for me to enlarge on a subject which
is still fresh in the memory of all. Nor is the matter of great
moment, for I am convinced that, with few exceptions, if the peoples
whom I am studying have any connection with these quite special
phenomena, that connection is too remote to be regarded as a basis for
any satisfactory deductions.
Besides, it is well known that competent observers have frequently
confused totemic practices with certain customs whose origin is rather
to be looked for in zoolatry or theriolatry (_thēr_, a wild beast).
Theriolatry embraces such curiosities as tiger and crocodile-worship,
while zoolatry signifies the worship of the domestic animals. It must
be admitted that when the totem of a group is a wild beast the
totemism is probably theriolatric, but it is impossible to dispute van
Gennep's statement that all theriolatry is not necessarily totemic.
Organization in groups or totemic clans is only found among races that
are just emerging from barbarism, and proof is not lacking that
several peoples in classical antiquity had passed through that stage
of progress before the period of recorded history begins.
Sorcerers, among the Moï, fall into two categories, those who are
gifted with the faculty of divination whereby the guilty can be
detected, and those whose exorcisms are confined and directed to the
healing of disease.
As a rule the Spirit himself selects the individual whom he proposes
to endow with these divine functions.
The first intimation to the happy mortal on whom the choice of Heaven
has thus fallen is a feeling of violent colic or sickness of a
peculiar kind which leaves no doubt as to its message or mission. The
sufferer suffers gladly.
It is by no means the rule that initiation is followed by an immediate
assumption of the divine functions. In most cases a prolonged interval
elapses, for a candidate who feels unequal to the rôle thus suddenly
thrust upon him will prefer exile rather than a return to the ranks of
common mortals, a set-back which would make him a public
laughing-stock.
Among the Djarai, one of the most important of the Indo-Chinese
groups, there are two sorcerers of the greatest renown, known as the
"King of Fire" and the "King of Water."
It is probable that these mythological names originally personified
the incarnation of Agni, God of Fire, and Varouna, God of Water, and
are themselves traces of Brahminism which at one time exercised
immense influence over the southern Indo-Chinese peoples and which
cannot be said to be entirely defunct to-day.
The Hindu god Agni is always represented as armed with a lance. The
"King of Fire" carries, not a lance, but a sword, to which an
extraordinary magical power is attributed. If its guardian were to
draw it merely an inch or two from its scabbard the sun would cease to
illumine the earth. If he drew it out altogether a paralysing lethargy
would settle upon his subjects.
Hardly less astonishing are the powers ascribed to the two fetishes
which are in the official keeping of the "King of Water." One is the
fruit of a creeper which shows not the slightest trace of decay though
it was plucked at the time of the Deluge. The other is a sacred rattan
which, though of immemorial antiquity, looks as fresh as on its first
day of existence. The owner of these talismans has only to utter a
word and the universe will disappear beneath the celestial cataracts.
The Cambodians and the Cham assert that these talismans formerly
belonged to their kings and were stolen from them by treachery. More
than once they have organized expeditions to recover their treasure,
but the Spirits have willed otherwise, and the Djarai have never had
any difficulty in repelling the invaders.
The predecessors of Norodom, as long as they held sway and directed
the destinies of Cambodia, brought presents each year to their
cousins, the Kings of the Savage Lands. These gifts took the form of
an elephant gorgeously caparisoned, a quantity of brass and some
superb pieces of silk destined for the sheath of the sacred sword. As
a fitting reply to this act of homage, the King of Fire condescended
to leave the imprint of his august finger on a cake of wax, which was
then sent to Pnom-Penh, and on two gourds filled with rice.
India, as well as Cambodia, is familiar with the custom of preserving
the print of the foot or hand of anyone who has become an object of
veneration. Oil of sesame figures frequently in ritual sacrifices,
especially when offered by those guilty of intemperance. It is said to
purify the worshipper and be grateful to the outraged Spirit.
Wax and corn are alleged to have a remarkably soothing effect on
Spirits with a tendency to active malevolence.
But to return to the two Potentates, it must be admitted that they
have no effective political authority, though their influence in the
sphere of religion is unchallenged.
Their residences lie at a distance of several miles from each other on
opposite sides of the watershed between the rivers of Annam and the
lakes.
Their offices are hereditary and, if we are to believe the current
legend, the family are always present at the death of a pontiff to
assist his passage to the next world. This is not from any urgent
desire to succeed him but to accomplish a traditional rite. The next
step in the proceedings is remarkable. The individual on whom the
mantle of the deceased has fallen by hereditary right takes refuge in
flight. He is pursued and caught, and in spite of his repeated
refusals is compelled to continue the dynasty.
This solemn mockery, parading as a custom, is by no means confined to
the group of which I am speaking. In all lands and all periods men are
to be found who meet their appointment to places of high honour with
sincere or insincere refusals. For one case of genuine apprehension of
unfitness there are ten of mock-modesty.
In many cases, it must be admitted, the office of Chief is both
onerous and precarious. Sometimes the Chief is only the titular head
of the tribe, bound hand and foot by custom and tradition and held
responsible for all the misfortunes that overtake his country during
his reign. In these circumstances it is hardly to be wondered at that
there is some misgiving among those elected to the burdensome office.
The Princes of Loango, the Sheik of Gardaia, and the King of the Hobbé
in Central Nigeria all take to ignominious flight when their turn
comes to assume the reins of government.
In most cases, however, the refusal has become a tradition, whether
spontaneous in its origin or not. The Moslem is doing no more than to
imitate Mahomet's modest denials when the angel Gabriel came to
announce his selection as the prophet of Allah. Even in our days, how
many times have we not seen the good citizen professing his
unworthiness of a proffered honour and accepting under the pretence of
compulsion that on which his heart has long been set!
We have an interesting account of a visit to the "King of Fire" from
the lips of Commandant Cupet of the Pavie mission. The Potentate put
every conceivable obstacle in the way of the expedition and spared no
pains to make their residence in the country as uncomfortable as
possible. Having surmounted these obstacles, however, the explorers
were faced with a flat refusal to allow them to depart. The situation
was becoming extremely strained when a happy accident relieved it. The
Pontiff chanced to see a compass, and was so impressed by the
movements of the magnetic needle, which he attributed to some magic
power, that he withdrew his opposition and allowed the expedition to
proceed unmolested.
Tragically otherwise was the experience of my friend Prosper Odend'
Hal, Director of the Indo-Chinese Civil Service, during the
archæological and ethnographical mission of 1904.
Some days before the departure of his expedition under the auspices of
the French School in the Far East, he came to ask me if I would lend
him my Moï vocabularies, which he wished to complete during the
journey. In the course of our conversation he told me of his
intention to dispense with an escort other than an interpreter and a
few boys, with a view to facilitating movement and saving time. I had
already had sufficient experience of the insecurity of the regions he
proposed to explore to know the danger of such a course, and I
exhausted every argument to turn him from his purpose. The country was
far from pacified and the guerilla warfare which detached bodies of
the Moï carried on against us seemed likely at any moment to break out
in open conflict. Nothing appeared to me more foolhardy than to go
among them defenceless at a time when force was the only argument they
could appreciate. Unhappily Odend' Hal remained firm in his conviction
that a mark of confidence would fire their imaginations and touch
their hearts. He professed a high regard for these unregenerate
savages and endowed them, quite gratuitously, with all manner of
virtues.
This blind confidence was the cause of his undoing. He started from
Phan-Rang at the end of March, crossed the Annamite range, the
mountains of Langbian and the plateau of the Darlac, then penetrated
into the interior of Phuyen (Annam), the land of the "King of Fire."
It seems that from the first he had made up his mind to see the
renowned sacred sword. After much negotiation, its royal owner had
intimated his pleasure to gratify the desire and invited the explorer
to a great banquet to be given in his house.
On the seventh of April Odend' Hal attended, accompanied only by his
interpreter and unarmed, to demonstrate his confidence in the loyalty
of his host. Some hours later his servants were aroused by a report of
fire. In an isolated hut, already wrapped in flames, they found the
bodies of the two victims pierced through and through with spears.
Odend' Hal was a senior officer of the same standing as myself. He had
taken part in our earliest expeditions at the time of the conquest,
and lived more than twenty years in the country, where his kindness
and outstanding ability had won universal respect.
More than one punitive expedition had to be sent out after this
outrage, and some of them met with open and unremitting hostility from
detached bodies of the Moï. I have mentioned before that even during
the mission on which I was engaged MM. Canivey and Barbu, who were in
command of the Militia, had to organize a flying column to operate to
the north of Langbian, where we were then engaged on a topographical
survey. These two officers themselves commanded the force, which was
composed of fifty militiamen and the same number of coolies.
They left Dalat, where we had made our headquarters, and marched in
the direction of the Darlac. Within a few days they were in touch with
the rebels, who pursued the policy of retiring before their advance,
abandoning their villages and attempting to draw the column into the
forest-clad mountains, where numerous defiles offered special
advantages for guerilla warfare. Captain Canivey was not to be
deceived by such tactics, and advisedly gave the order for retreat,
leaving the subjugation of the rebels to a later occasion.
When the first stage of the return journey was almost completed the
advance-guard reported towards evening that their progress was impeded
by small bamboo stakes fixed into the ground. Rifle in hand Canivey at
once went forward, suspecting an ambush. Behind the palisade of thorny
bamboo he thought he detected several dark dots moving hither and
thither. Suddenly two arrows, then a third, struck him, and a fourth
followed. Captain Barbu, who rushed to the rescue, was received by a
shower of missiles.
The Linhs, or native soldiers, threw themselves flat on the ground and
fired volley after volley in the direction of the attack. The Moï
replied with an avalanche of arrows and javelins, but the rapidity of
our fire soon proved too much for them and, after their ranks had been
seriously depleted, they gave way and fled, leaving all but a few of
their wounded. We made prisoners of all the rebels thus left to their
fate and buried the corpses in an effective, if summary, manner.
It was long before MM. Canivey and Barbu recovered from their wounds,
but after many anxious moments their natural vitality triumphed, and
within a short time a new expedition was organized which proved a
complete success.
CHAPTER VI
RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS (_continued_)
Tribal and proprietary signs--Tattooing and
mutilation--Principles and practice of the taboo--Its survival
in modern Europe--The incarnation of Spirits in stones, trees
and animals--Belief in the magic powers of the tiger--Animal
poison--Bones as a charm--A protecting ear--Ex-votos offered to
the Spirit of the tiger--Superstitions about monkeys--Hunting
rites
Most of the barbarous races of all countries seek to preserve their
identity and distinguish themselves from their neighbours by some
marked peculiarity either of dress, jewels and ornaments, or even by
some particular mutilation of the body.
Africa shows a wonderful variety of tribal symbols. Among the most
general of these are the elliptical or concentric marks of a red-hot
iron on the face and breast which are considered such an embellishment
by the Bangendi of the Belgian Congo. Another common form is the
artificial elongation of the breasts caused by cords or the weight of
heavy ropes of pearls. This fashion is in vogue mainly among the
Isambo of the same region. Then again it is quite usual for certain
classes to dye their hair red, shave off their eyebrows and tear out
their eye-lashes and moustaches. The most widely practised form of
mutilation, however, is that of the jaw. The Bushongo, also of the
Belgian Congo, extract the two incisors of the upper jaw, and some of
the women have the lower incisors cut in such a way as to form a
hollow in the centre.
Some of these practices are found among the Moï and more particularly
the elongation of the ears and breasts and the extraction or pointing
of the teeth. This last mutilation takes place at the age of puberty,
a fact which suggests that it forms part of the complex of rites which
mark the passing of the young from one state to another, or which
celebrate their initiation into the full status of membership of the
group. If so, it merely follows a custom which is encountered in all
latitudes.
Among the Moï the operation of filing lasts from ten to fifteen days.
The instrument employed is a hard stone, which is found in the bed of
certain rivers, notably the river of Phanrang. It is the subject of a
flourishing export trade to the tribes of the interior. The incisors
of the lower jaw are filed to resemble a triangle, or perhaps the
teeth of a cat, those of the upper jaw are cut in the form of a
semicircle or filed down to the level of the gums. Although this
mutilation is extremely painful, so great is the influence of
tradition that no man would dream of dispensing with it. For as the
piercing of the lobe of the ear devotes a woman to perpetual
spinsterhood, so the neglect to be filed deprives a man of the right
to found a family.
In Australia the young men submit to the extraction of several of
their teeth at the moment of initiation. Sometimes the teeth thus
removed are hidden under the bark of a tree unknown to their late
owner. If he dies the tree is dried by fire and becomes a monument to
perpetuate the memory of the deceased. This is a striking example of
sympathetic magic, of which I have spoken before.
In Africa the village blacksmith is the appointed minister to perform
the rite of dressing the teeth. He places a small iron ring against
the tooth and strikes it with a light hammer. It would be natural to
suppose that this process would be even more painful than the filing.
What matter! In the eyes of the savage the suffering involved is the
most meritorious part of the operation. Our coolies could hardly
contain their indignation at the suggestion that an anæsthetic should
first be administered. Painless filing would be a stigma to man, an
outrage to Heaven!
In Africa the practice is extended to women as well as men in several
groups, though only after marriage, but in Indo-China I never met any
women who had undergone the treatment.
It is well known that mutilations of this kind are not the only badge
of race which distinguishes one group from another, for it seems plain
that tattooing also originated in a desire to serve the same purpose.
The islanders of Timor employ hereditary marks tattooed on the cheeks,
the chin, or the breasts of the women, to distinguish the different
families. The same custom is followed in New Guinea. Most of these
symbols are compounded of an ideograph and a letter of the alphabet.
Their use is extended to distinguish owners of such things as shields
and weapons. Here they form a kind of trade-mark of which the owner
alone knows the meaning, and which all others are prohibited from
infringing. (If I had known of this peculiarity during my travels
among the Moï, I should have been more careful in noting the tattoo
marks which are to be met with among the dwellers by the lakes and
also the signs which are engraved on various objects. As it was I
merely observed the blue markings which adorned the legs of the men
and the curious red hieroglyphics inscribed in rectangles on their
arms and backs. It is very likely that these were also the symbols of
relationship or ownership.)
It is well to remind ourselves that the custom exists even in Europe
to-day. Some of the Catholic women of Bosnia still practise the
tattooing of the forearm or chest with the form of a Latin cross. The
practice seems to date from the twelfth century and to be inspired by
a desire for a visible sign of their religious isolation, for they
live among a Mohammedan population which has never been distinguished
for its tolerance.
In whatever manner the custom came into being there is little variety
in the substance used in the process. The skin is firmly stretched and
the figure lightly sketched upon it. Then a number of punctures very
close together are made with a needle dipped in the staining matter
and wrapped in cotton almost up to the point. The part is then
bandaged until the lapse of a fixed period, after which all covering
is taken off and the indelible traces, changed in colour to a Prussian
blue, remain on the skin.
Of course the operation is attended with all manner of prayers and
ceremonial. It may not take place on certain days which are regarded
as unfavourable, and never without the approval and assistance of the
Sorcerer. This again recalls the custom of the Catholics of Bosnia,
who invariably select Sunday or some other holy day for the ceremony
of engraving the sacred sign.
Like the Moï, the youths of the lower Congo reside in a specially
reserved dwelling when the time has come for them to undergo the rites
associated with initiation into full citizenship. In Africa, however,
this residence is always outside the village and the profane are
prohibited from entering under pain of death. Further, its principal
function is to accommodate those who intend to enter the sect of the
"Nkimba" (meaning "initiation"), members of which take the name of
"Nkissi" ("enchanted"). Sometimes this voluntary retirement lasts as
long as a year.
A widespread, but unfounded, belief prevails that races in a
rudimentary state of civilization enjoy greater licence than those
which have advanced further along the path of progress. On the
contrary, the savage is subject to all manner of restrictions which
make freedom of will almost a mockery. Not alone his acts but even his
feelings and desires are hedged about with repressive regulations. The
simple explanation is that he sees the supernatural in a very
different light from us and brings it into the smallest action of his
daily life. Once granted that he is not a free agent, and that unseen
powers have to be consulted at every end and turn, it follows
logically that a number of prohibitions arise which it is convenient
to refer to in this book as "Taboos," a generic term which has been
used by the Polynesians and now adopted almost universally by
ethnologists.
Taboos are of every conceivable kind, royal, sacerdotal, sexual,
proprietary, and they all spring from the fundamental notion that it
is necessary to regulate every action in accordance with the
probability of arousing or conciliating divine displeasure. Some of
them follow as a corollary to the belief in the effect of magic by
imitation or contact.
Thus, since in time of drought rain can be caused by spilling water on
the ground, it is taboo to perform that operation at a period when a
cessation from rain is required.
Other taboos are prophylactic. Thus certain persons, contact with whom
is considered to be prejudicial to morals, are isolated to preserve
the virtue of the others.
I have already recounted the prohibitions of every kind which regulate
the behaviour of a woman during pregnancy. Here again the motive is
the same. The rules as to isolation and the restriction of diet have
no other object than to preserve her from dangers which are ever
hovering around.
Other taboos are directed towards the preservation of health and
physical strength, and apply largely to kings, chiefs and officials.
Thus in Japan princes were never permitted to put their feet on the
ground. The Mikado was compelled to spend several hours motionless on
the throne. He violated the injunction if he even turned his head. The
sun must never shine on his face, and on no account must he cut his
nails, hair, or beard. Even to-day the King of Cambodia is not allowed
to be in a house of more than one story lest some human being should
pass over his head. Accordingly the ceilings of his palace are made of
glass so that no one shall commit such an act of treason unobserved.
These curious regulations become more intelligible when we remember
that the chief of a savage tribe is regarded as the depository of the
health and strength of the whole group, which is thus directly
interested in the preservation of its ruler from every form of malady
and mischance. It is possible that this very ancient idea is the
origin of many of the rules of etiquette which are so punctiliously
observed by the Courts of certain States.
An explanation of many of these taboos may also be sought in an
examination of the religious systems on which they are based. For
example, in totemic groups unions between persons who have entered
into a compact with the same totem are invariably prohibited.
Accordingly we should expect to find, and do in fact find, that
exogamy is the rule among members of the same clan.
The most superficial observation of the religious systems of all
nations reveals the existence of taboos in some form or another. They
appear in Christianity as in Buddhism, Brahminism, and others which
dispute among themselves the title of the true faith.
Even outside the sphere of religious observance we know that certain
acts, insignificant in themselves, are habitually avoided. This can
only be attributed to a traditional prohibition dating from ancient
times. I myself know many devout Christians who would gaze at me in
astonishment if I told them that many of their most cherished beliefs
can trace their descent from the precepts of pagans. But I spare them
any such inward perplexity and merely smile to myself when I see them
hasten to put out one of three lights burning in a room, or
ostentatiously separate two forks which some clumsy servant has put
crosswise on the table.
But besides all these taboos which apply without distinction to all
the members of a group, there are others which concern one or other of
the sexes, such as the regulation which appoints certain occupations
and pursuits as proper for women only, and vice versâ.
Thus, among the Moï the women do all the work about the farms and in
the fields, though this would seem to be the natural province of the
men. It is easy to suggest laziness as the reason for this reversal of
the natural order, but probably the origin is to be sought in some
ancestral tradition long since forgotten. More noble occupations, such
as war and the chase, are reserved to the men, and their wives, proud
of their husbands' glorious duties, are quite content to play the part
of beast of burden. The difference is illustrated in many humble
actions. A woman must carry a burden on her head or her back. A man
submits to no such indignity. He divides the load into two parts,
hangs one on each end of a bamboo pole and balances them across his
shoulder. It is again necessary to recall that Europe shows traces of
this conception which have hitherto remained unexplained. Why is it
natural for a woman in Austria to act as a mason's labourer, while in
France it would be deemed an outrage to impose such laborious duties?
Why is the office of lemonade-seller confined to men in France, while
in Austria that rôle is invariably played by women? The list of these
anomalies is lengthy and would furnish evidence for a plausible
argument that the feminist movement is no more than the belated
revenge of a sex whose activities have been too long checked by the
arbitrary prohibitions of man.
We have now seen that certain persons, natural and supernatural,
certain objects, and even actions, are deemed harmful and to be
avoided at all costs. It is therefore not altogether surprising that
the truly righteous avoid even referring to those persons, objects,
or actions.
The Moï, for example, will never utter the word "Tiger," an animal he
regards with a kind of holy awe, and which has been raised to the rank
of a deity. If he must refer to the creature he calls it "The Master"
or "The Lofty One," or else uses some obvious paraphrase the sense of
which escapes no one.
Hunting one day in the forest, I happened to meet a little girl who
was gathering bamboo shoots for the family meal. I chanced to ask her
whether peacocks and heath-cocks were to be found in those regions.
"Oh, yes," she replied, "there were several here just now, but they
have gone.... There is no peace among us," and a few moments after,
"We fear."
I had little difficulty in guessing the object of her terror though
she dared not put it into words, but to convince myself, and partly, I
fear, from an unmannerly enjoyment of her confusion, I feigned
ignorance and asked again:
"But what do you fear?"
She hesitated a moment, half paralysed with fear at the thought of
uttering the dread name, then recovered her composure and with sly
malice replied:
"We fear Heaven."
Heaven, that was the Tiger without doubt! The following week I learnt
with tragic force how natural were her fears, for she fell a victim,
by no means the first, to the terrible enemy.
The incident remains engraved on my memory both for the melancholy
interest attaching to it, and also because it was the first time I had
come into actual contact with the taboo which forbids certain names to
be uttered or requires the employment of a special language when
prohibited subjects are to be referred to.
Explanations have often been attempted of the belief commonly held by
savages in the incarnation of Spirits in forms other than that of a
human being. The most natural theory is probably the most obvious.
Since the world began all peoples have noticed that man is one of the
most perishable of the objects about them. Is it likely, they ask,
that the Spirits would choose so destructible a home for their earthly
habitation? Surely they would select a place with greater chances of
permanence, a stone, for example, or a tree? Hence the worship of
these objects, not for any intrinsic value, but because they are
housing Spirits.
Among the Bahnar, a Moï group, certain flints of immense age are
objects of the greatest veneration. Frequently one of these stones is
raised on high on a pedestal of bamboos and the more curious they are
in appearance, the more reverence is bestowed upon them. The
conception of the incarnation of a deity in an animal must be traced
back to the same idea. Primitive man naturally attributed to animals,
which sometimes preyed upon him, powers superior to his own. He was
far from thinking himself the lord of creation and ascribed that
superiority to the presence of a Spirit incarnated in the animal and
directing its actions. The Egyptians worshipped the crocodile under
various names, such as "Lord of the Waters," and "The Devourer." If
such a belief prevailed among an advanced people such as these, it is
hardly surprising that the barbarous races of Indo-China should fall
into the same error.
We find, in fact, among these races clear traces of litholatry (from
the Greek _lithos_, a stone), dendrolatry (_dendron_, a tree), and
theriolatry (_thēr_, a wild beast).
It is quite usual to find some hoary guardian, such as a fig-tree or
ebony tree, stationed at the entrance of a village. It shelters with
its spreading foliage a minute house raised on piles and dedicated to
the Genius of the Soil or the Master of the Earth. Within this pagoda
is a brazier from which the fumes of incense are always rising. The
offerings which are brought will call down the blessing of Heaven on
the harvest, and in particular will inspire the Genius to wreak
vengeance on thieves who attempt to rob the public granary. A few
canes hung on the walls of this little building serve to put a holy
fear in the less imaginative visitors. They are the symbol of the
punishment which will be meted out to robbers.
Unfortunately, the harvest has to encounter not merely the
depredations of the evilly-disposed, but also the attacks of animal
enemies such as the boar and the deer. To ward off this class of
mischance a stretched bow is hung on the roof, threatening with its
arrow any animal bold enough to approach, I may add that the farmers
frequently use this hut as a lair from which to shoot the marauders.
By thus doing the work of the Genius they augment his reputation and
benefit themselves, a very satisfactory arrangement.
Similar rites are to be found in every part of the world from the
earliest times. In ancient Egypt the festival of Sokari (the
hawk-headed Osiris) at Memphis always concluded with the erection of a
pillar called "Tat" or "Ded" in the form of a tree without foliage.
The same custom obtains among the Siamese, the Cambodians, and the
Laotians, where the "Tat" is often to be seen. Its origin is plainly
ritual. In the region of the lakes the "Tats" are to be found placed
so close together as to look like a nursery garden. As a rule these
monuments are made of simple hewn masonry and vary greatly in size.
The same variety is to be observed in their form and design, which
seems to be determined by the individual caprice of the architect
rather than by any conformity to established custom. They generally
resemble a pyramid in shape, the base being either circular or square,
the apex assuming the form sometimes of a Byzantine roof or that of a
spire. Their erection is usually the fulfilment of a vow or the
commemoration of some fortunate occurrence in the family. Among the
Laotians the number of "Tats" which a man raises is considered the
measure of his piety.
In Europe the same conception appears in the familiar festivities of
the maypole.
It sometimes happened in the course of our geodetical survey that we
were compelled to cut down a tree which interrupted the field of view
of our instruments. A most interesting scene preceded the act of
destruction. The "foreman" of our Moï coolies approached the condemned
tree and addressed it much as follows:
"Spirit who hast made thy home in this tree, we worship thee and are
come to claim thy mercy. The white mandarin, our relentless master,
whose commands we cannot but obey, has bidden us to cut down thy
habitation, a task which fills us with sadness and which we only carry
out with regret. I adjure thee to depart at once from the place and
seek a new dwelling-place elsewhere, and I pray thee to forget the
wrong we do thee, for we are not our own masters."
This harangue, accompanied by spitting and an immense obeisance, being
concluded, the foreman addressed another in very similar terms to the
Lord Tiger, which in its character of undisputed King of the Forest
has jurisdiction over every tree within it.
The tiger, indeed, thanks to its fearful ravages in this land of hilly
jungle, is easily first among the animals which popular superstition
has endowed with supernatural powers. Nor is this to be wondered at,
for Europeans who live in the country are frequently obliged to
confess themselves thwarted and even driven away by the depredations
of this ferocious beast. I have already mentioned an occasion on
which, after fourteen nights of inactivity, I was compelled to
withdraw and abandon the place to a tiger which had carried off one of
my natives before my very eyes. It was during this same fruitless
attempt to get rid of the pest that I learnt from my escort the
popular superstitions concerning the powers of this formidable foe.
In the first place their beliefs are determined by terror. Everything
concerning the creature is fantastic, mysterious, marvellous.
[Illustration: Memorial Stone erected to a Tiger.]
[Illustration: A Hunting Party.]
[Illustration: An Elephant and his Driver.]
A fearsome natural power resides in its whiskers, which produce the
awful thing known as animal-poison. The right and ability to invoke
this phenomenon pertain to the Sorcerer who proceeds in this wise. As
soon as a tiger has been killed or captured he pulls out its whiskers
and encloses them with the utmost care in a hollow bamboo stick. A
hundred watches later a snake emerges from this prison and takes
refuge in the garden. The Sorcerer seeks out the place where it lies
hidden and once a year on the fifteenth day of the seventh moon he
takes it a few grains of maize, which constitute its sole nourishment.
The creature rises from its hole, rears itself aloft, swallows the
gift, and if it finds it to its taste leaves a few drops of poison on
the ground as a sign of gratitude. The Sorcerer collects these
carefully in a saucer. According to the rites he must use this poison
before the year is over under penalty of himself becoming impotent.
His duty is to mingle it with the food of certain persons whom the
Spirits will designate.
After a short time disturbing symptoms make their appearance. The
patient is seized with a trembling fit which agitates his whole frame.
Convulsions follow, or else he loses his sight, or hearing, or sense
of smell, while his stomach swells in a manner alarming to behold. The
disease soon defies all treatment and the wretched victim expires
amidst the most atrocious sufferings.
It is easy to scoff, but every traveller in these regions has known
cases of sudden attacks of a particularly virulent form of fever which
manifests itself in most alarming forms, such as suicidal mania,
epilepsy, pronounced deafness, or swelling of the abdomen.
I myself had an unpleasant practical illustration of the unshakable
belief in animal-poisons and their baneful effect. There was a native
member of the mission who believed himself bewitched in this manner.
Although he was in a high fever, he stolidly refused all medical
assistance and immediately coughed up the mixture which I attempted to
force down his throat. Within four days he was dead, a victim to his
own superstitious ignorance. The most unfortunate effect of the
tragedy, however, was that it only served to confirm his companions in
their belief.
It must not be believed that everything pertaining to the tiger is
necessarily harmful. On the contrary certain parts of its body are
credited with some remarkably beneficial properties. Thus some small
bones of the shoulder are frequently carried about as a charm against
the attacks of the animal itself, and also to give their owner
physical superiority over his foes and preserve him against an
unfavourable result of the ordeal, should he be called on to face that
trial. It is therefore little surprising that competition for this
talisman is often bitter and bloody and that its market value
sometimes exceeds that of a buffalo.
Another widespread superstition is that a tiger which, in springing
upon its prey, is clumsy enough to damage the ear, will abandon its
victim immediately and never return to devour it. Curiously enough we
received from the mouths of two members of the mission, M. Millet and
Sergeant Valutioni, proof that this belief is not altogether devoid of
foundation. The former once spent four days watching over the corpse
of a buffalo with a torn ear which had been killed by a tiger. The
animal never returned to carry away its prey. Now we know that the
habit of this carnivorous beast is to return nightly to devour its
victims when their weight is too great to permit of their being
carried off immediately to its lair. So was it simple caprice which
prompted this strange behaviour or had the tiger perhaps been wounded
in the encounter? It is impossible to bring the question out of the
realm of surmise.
The Sergeant's experience was somewhat similar. He was riding at
nightfall when his horse suddenly swerved and nearly threw him out of
the saddle. Picking hi
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