WHEN the early Portuguese invaders reached the northern shores of Brazil, they found the whole country fairly thickly populated by many tribes of Indians. Within the first fifty years the greater number of these tribes were exterminated, or else were gradually absorbed in the newly developing Brazilian type, a mingling of the white, black, and red races, the latter, perhaps, predominating. Many of these redskins, however, were driven back, league by league, and not without considerable cost to the invaders, until they found temporary protection beyond the swift waters of the mighty Tocantins and the splendid Araguaya rivers, where most of them are to be found to this day.
In this retreat before the advancing tide of these ruthless invaders, with their superior arms, several of these tribes were left “high and dry,” so to speak, and were rapidly encircled by the white settlers. For a century or more they succeeded in maintaining their independence, and a large area of the countryside; but the cupidity of the pale-face soon proved too much for their simple minds, and they have long been landless and poverty-stricken.
Such are the Carijós referred to in the previous chapter, who live within a hundred miles of our home in Garanhuns. Though closely shut in by the surrounding whites, who have robbed them of their ancient land rights and their water springs, they yet retain a pride of race, a native dignity, and much self-respect ―indeed, more of the latter than their circumstances warrant.
Though Portuguese of a kind is spoken by the adults, yet among themselves they only use their own ancient tribal tongue, which is quite dissimilar in form from the language of the Carajás of the Araguaya, mentioned in a following chapter. There is, however, a great similarity between the languages in their soft musical tones and accents. Most of the adults have familiar spirits, some have several, and these demons have the greatest influence and power over the Indians, who think that the strange and wonderful voices, and the supernatural manifestations of a physical character are the work of God.
The Indian dare do nothing without the consent of these demons, who can do them great bodily evil if they rebel, or attempt to escape from their tribe. The chief of the mediums are women, and every year a special conference with these spirits is held in the heart of the forest, from which the white man has ever been banned, under risk of bodily harm or death, so jealous are they of their dread secrets. This gathering of the tribe is called the Uricury, and no Indian dare absent himself from this occasion, which lasts for a month and more. The demons speak in eloquent tones, preach a morality of a kind, and say they believe in God, but the name of Jesus Christ is never heard, or anything appertaining to the Good News. Like their kindreds in religion of Los Angeles, and some demonized sects in Britain and America, they have the gift of tongues, but the demons speak only in Carijó. Practically every vice is condoned, and the moral standard is very low indeed. The spirits also consent to their being good Catholics, but have put a ban upon our own gatherings, which has been intensified since the conversion of a man and his son from among these people. Several years ago we held well-attended Gospel meetings from time to time, in the home of the vice-chief, and a good impression was created. I overheard one old Indian telling his companions that we were not Brazilians, but belonged to the “Royal Race,” which, whatever that meant, certainly seemed to raise us greatly in their esteem. We also started a school in their village, which was most successful, but now, since the conversions referred to, this has changed, and we have very uphill work, although many of the young men of the tribe seem in our favor. The tribe numbers about eight hundred souls, though a few of the young folk seem to break away from time to time.
It is noteworthy that the spirits have no power whatever over a converted Indian.
On a certain occasion we held a fine open-air meeting in the center of the village, and nearly all the Carijós were present.
Part of the meeting was to be a lantern display, with the willing consent of the inspector; but the difficulty was to find a suitable wall for the pictures, as, until the new houses are built, the place is only a collection of huts and hovels, some of them made only of palm leaves. There was, however, the newly whitewashed Roman Catholic chapel, lately built by a notorious priest, who has long been the worst enemy of the Gospel in all the country around, and now seeks to shut out the light from the Carijós.
“As that Catholic chapel is built in the Indians’ reserve, I suppose it really belongs to them?” I remarked to the inspector.
“Well, yes, I imagine that is so,” he replied.
“In that case there could be no objection to my using its outside wall for my lantern lecture?” I queried.
“Oh, none at all,” said he, and at that I left it. For evident reasons we kept the matter quiet until the hour of the meeting, and then we drove up to the chapel and quickly put up our apparatus ready for the pictures to appear on its fine clean wall.
To avoid discussion and to keep eye and ear employed, we lit up our 200 candle-power petrol lamp, and started a meeting, while the Indians gathered round. Our singing soon drew a large, friendly crowd, who listened quietly to my short address, as I warned them that material improvements were of little avail unless they were trusting in Jesus Christ and His great gift. I addressed them in Portuguese, which most of them understand.
Then came the lantern, with its big 9 ft. projections; and never did the pictures look brighter or better than on the walls of that Roman Catholic Church. What an attractive scene they made, with the bright moon shining over all, but leaving our wall in the shade; and how thoroughly the Redskins enjoyed themselves―but not more so than did Gillanders and I. When I showed them pictures of their brethren the Carajá Indians of the Bananal Island, their delight and satisfaction were most infectious, and pretty well everybody had something to say. After photographs of this and other tribes in Brazil, I told them I should now show them descendants of their forefathers, and views of their very ancient empire and capital, where once they had lived in peace and prosperity, with a good emperor and wise princes to govern them.
When the pictures of the Quechua Indians of Peru followed, a subdued air of intense excitement fell on our strange audience, now numbering five hundred Indians or more, and visions of a great and glorious past must have thrilled many a young Redskin, especially when I showed them a fine picture of Cuzco, their hereditary home in the Andes.
It was not all about Indians, however, and some attractive slides of English railway trains provoked much amazement, also views of my own city of London, with St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the Bible is read two or three times a day in the ears of the people. There were also natural history pictures for the children, and never did the lion look so fierce and realistic!
A few carefully chosen scenes from “Pilgrim’s Progress” followed, and quietly the Indians listened to the explanations, seeming to understand what was signified, and they solemnly wagged their heads in sympathy.
One or two pictures from the Old Testament concluded this part of the program, and then Senhor Laurencio stood up against the wall of the chapel and addressed the great assembly. He spoke well and impressively, but the meeting had already been protracted, and those who had been standing so long showed some signs of dispersal, which was very undesirable; but I had an inspiration. In my case I had several chromoscope slides, so, dimming my lantern considerably, I managed to throw a very faint, but attractive little star on the wall, just above the speaker’s head. The exodus ceased at once; it looked rather like a miracle, and Laurencio had close attention to the end. Then the star burst forth into full splendor and action―and our meeting ended.